“I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
— Henry David Thoreau
I had a hankering for the wilderness that only hauling my ass up the side of a mountain could cure. So on the Fourth of July weekend, during one of the hottest and most crowded times of the year to go backpacking, I chose to return to the Bear Lakes alone… but not alone. Unfortunately, because it was a holiday weekend, there were sure to be other people around. On the positive side, the days were at their longest, which provided more time to get away from them. I decided it was worth the sacrifice of having company to satisfy the summer craving for something sweet.
With a reasonable assurance that there would be other backpackers (in case I needed them to carry me out, for instance), I considered experimenting with a new technique to thwart gravity’s evil plan: stealth camping. Stealth camping is a method of low-impact camping that immerses one in the “forest healing bath” without the barrier, burden, and distraction of bringing tons of stuff. It is a way of sneaking up on the wild, and blending in instead of conquering. This is not ultralight backpacking, where you typically buy expensive gear and hike as far and as fast as possible. With stealth camping, you bring only the “bear” necessities. (This is a horrible pun that, unfortunately for the reader, I have unrestricted rights to use as a cartoonist. I also reserve the right to forget about my worries and my strife.) Of course this wasn’t going to be a true immersion in the wilderness because of all the other holiday campers. All I needed was a car to get me there, but I actually didn’t have one of those darn contraptions for the first time in my adult life. So I borrowed an old Civic from my daughter’s generous husband, Dimari.
With stealth camping, it is wise to have a plan for where you will go, when you will return, etc. Prudence also suggests to let others know if you will be camping alone, where you are going, and then stick to that route. My safety was enhanced because I knew the terrain intimately. On the Bear Lakes Trail, there is only a beginning and an end, with nowhere else to go. You start where a mountain stream enters the Trinity River, and basically follow it to its source, where it trickles out of a lake. There are no branching trails or passes. There is no place to get sidetracked or lost, and when it’s over you just follow the creek back to your car.
What would it take (or not take) to achieve stealth camping?
I started by thinking about bringing nothing but “the clothes on my back.” Like John Muir, I could throw a loaf of bread and a couple of books in a sack, and head for the glory of the mountain cathedrals. Water and a few essentials in my pockets would be all I needed to spend anywhere from a few hours to a few days in the healing font of miracles. From that noble intention, my physical fears started working their mischief. I began reasoning, “Well, actually I need x, y, and z,” and that meant I would need a pack of some sort to hold those things. I didn’t have a horse or a mule, so naturally I would have to carry it all myself. “I can’t sleep without (fill in the blanks),” meant I would need a backpack with a frame to carry an artificial bedroom. This regressive rationalization was mostly psychological. There is almost nothing that can happen in the dark that might not also happen when one is in a tent… except mosquito bites! The temperature was going to be as warm as it gets, anyway, and a full tent would be too stuffy. Also, my chances in the local food chain were improved by the likelihood that there would be many humans in the near vicinity to discourage marauding lions, tigers, and bears.
I also considered combining stealth camping with ritual fasting, so I could carry less food, and commune with the wilderness in the manner of a vision quest. I had never done that, but always wanted to. However, mystical solitude was not a likely scenario on a summer weekend. Besides, I would be hungry when others around me had grub, and I might behave like a bear myself (we are hunter-gatherers; it’s in our genes). That meant I would have to carry rations for four days.
What else would I really need? I tried to imagine every necessity in a typical camping day, but without the distraction of eventualities like, “If this happens, I will need that.” I wanted to take only what was essential for my simplest moments and go out and live them. Next time, I might even leave something home that I thought I would need, but didn’t use. In this manner I hoped to develop an awareness of what is truly essential to live. How long do people last when they are lost in the forest, and have nothing but the clothes on their backs? I’ve heard of days; perhaps weeks, depending on the willpower and skill of the individual. It all comes down to the will. What do you really need? What is essential, and what is based on fear?
Overcoming fear is the main objective of stealth camping. It’s in our genes to be fearful of the wilderness; to regard it as a potential hazard or adversary. To alleviate our fears, we build shelters around every aspect of our lives, and surround ourselves with defensive possessions. Looking back on my life, I could measure my level of fear at the time by how much stuff I brought on every previous trip to the lakes. If I had compared my planning lists with an inventory of what actually wound up on my back, I might have asked myself, “What am I really afraid of?” Suffice to say, the symptoms of overburdening extended far beyond my backpack.
In the interest of contributing to the genetic library of the survival of our species, I will offer commentary on the ingredients of stealth camping. For the record, here are the primary essentials:
- Water
- Clothing (optional)
Other basic essentials for your consideration:
- Water pump and containers
- Small rag or baby wipes for cleaning your messy bits (ahem)
- A strong Ziploc bag to pack out those used wipes (yuck)
- Food (this too is optional)
- A utility knife (we are tool users, after all)
- The clothes on your back (make ‘em count)
- A walking stick (um, pick one up from the forest, duh)
- Notepad, camera, brain, or other method to record your experience (I always bring at least one of these)A map and compass, or another way of knowing exactly where you are at all times (why am I making so many parenthetic comments?)
Fear-based additions:
- Snacks for encouragement
- A pointy stick for protection
- Sleeping bag and/or tent
- Mosquito repellent
- First-aid kit
- Fire-making tools
- Cooking gear
- Toiletries
From there, you enter the realm of luxury and separate yourself further from your environment with every convenience.
Another advantage of stealth camping is that it greatly reduces the packing and unpacking; not to mention the endless fretting over checklists. It’s also much less expensive, and easier to prognosticate. Simply stated: if you are not bringing anything, then there is nothing for which to plan!
The answer, for those who need to know, is not about the underwear.
Once again, I wound up bringing more stuff than I used. But for the first time in over 40 years, my pack weighed less than 30 pounds when I left the car, not including trail water! This was more than one third less than on any previous trip since I was 12 years old. Two years ago, when I went with Kevin, a strong young man who could carry most everything we needed, my pack was still over 50 pounds. This time, I felt good about the preparations I had made. I watched the ounces carefully, and the pounds indeed took care of themselves.
The list of what actually gets taken on the trail may change at the very last minute if something is added, forsaken, or forgotten. To be sure, nearly every object that I wanted to have up at the lakes, I would have to carry myself. As this was my fifteenth trip to the same area, I had a pretty good idea of what I wouldn’t need. There would be no going back to the car for a phone charger!
Every trip over the years had its own goals. From the youthful exuberance of simply wanting an adventure, to the adult escape of getting away from it all, or very mature healing from serious life wounds. At this stage of my life, I was hoping for an awakening of some sort. A lift up to another level of awareness. I had been too long downtrodden; crushed under the weight of some tremendous burdens of my own making. I needed no help from the wilderness to create encumbrances, I was quite capable of making my own life difficult, thank you very much! Oh, how my heart yearned to be free again, so it would not hide itself away forever! I figured if I took less stuff to separate me from the essential wild, I might discover something to elevate me from the doldrums of emotional torpor and self-inflicted, post-traumatic stress. If less is more, I wanted to double down on the paradox.
In a practical sense, I also wanted my pack to weigh less because I was already carrying an extra 20 pounds of pot belly. This “spare tire” had accumulated from a combination of working over 50 hours a week on a computer, and from trying to drink away my many disappointments. So one of my goals on this trip was to walk the trail slowly, and savor all the scenic nuances of the changing terrain. Especially the blessed fallen logs and flat rocks upon which one may park one’s buttocks.
Naturally, as soon as I made it my intention to advance my soul a wee bit, the universe decided to challenge me with a plethora of minor obstacles anyway, to see if I was worthy. At first, it didn’t look like I would be able to pull together this experience on my own. Then all the events fell in place through my persistence, and in the week before my departure, the universe decided to get physical. My knees hurt, as always, but were joined by a menagerie of ridiculous maladies. I cut off a piece of my fingernail making a salad. I pulled my groin, favored it for a while, and then pulled it again. My legs got scratched badly from thorn bushes. A sliver got infected on my knuckle. The silly parade of comical mishaps goes on and on… presented solely to test my mettle.
I responded with even more determination to benefit from another blissful wilderness experience. I managed my work time effectively in order to add another day to my trip, and would now leave on Wednesday. So I could hike up Thursday all day, and still get a choice spot. (I know where they all are now; plus a few about which nobody else knows, I’d wager.) It never ceases to amaze me how quickly and accurately the universe can mobilize obstacles in the path of a seeker. These tests are the music of evolution, and we all must dance or perish. It’s entirely up to us to make the right moves, but the rules are constantly being modified to gauge our acceptance of change. So many of us just give up, or don’t even notice the barriers and guideposts, and fail miserably at the challenges. I can vouch for the failure and misery personally, but as of yet, I have not given up.
Delightfully, there was a new addition to our family just before I left. Sheldon Angel Epps decided to join our family for his life on Earth… or at least until he becomes a seeker, too. Fiona and Dimari gave Joy and I our third grandson, to join Jordan (going on 12) and Miles (5 ½), and we were so happy! I was thrilled that he was born before I left, and not while I was up at the lakes, with no communication for five days. I could see on the screen of my mind a potential future scene of a young man and two boys of very different heights walking up the Bear Creek Trail behind a grizzled old fart; politely trying to stay upwind.
“The old school of thought would have you believe that you’d be a fool to take on nature without arming yourself with every conceivable measure of safety and comfort under the sun. But that isn’t what being in nature is all about. Rather, it’s about feeling free, unbounded, shedding the distractions and barriers
of our civilization—not bringing them with us.”
— Ryel Kestenbaum