The One Where I Didn’t Freeze to Death

Have you ever been camping?

Well, well, well. Here’s a prompt that leads down a very entertaining rabbit hole.

In my very early twenties, I had very little experience doing pretty much anything. And the question of camping brings forth one particular memory, where my lack of experience led to a very cold night on the Buffalo River Trail.

Let me take you back. My father drove me to the trailhead, with plan in place to solo the section of the trail I was on in about a week, and meet him at the end. Needless to say, a sudden weather change, a bout of incredible clumsiness, and my own crippling stupidity got the better of me. Not to mention my friends sending me pictures of creepy clowns in the woods that stole every drop of rest I could have received.

I set out, feeling quite chipper, excited, and enjoying the trail quite a bit. It had freshly rained, it was cool, and the air was crisp and clean. There were small seasonal waterfalls everywhere one turned.

I made it almost to where I intended to camp for the first night, when disaster struck. You see, all that rain, and all those pretty waterfalls, meant something I hadn’t planned for: a lot of water crossings. And most of them were not particularly smooth.

It was getting dark, and had I been wise, I would have stopped sooner.

I didn’t.

And as the sun started to get low, and the shadow of the forest closed in around me, I slipped. Backpack, camera equipment, all of it, went straight into the drink.

Fortunately, I sustained no injuries. Unfortunately, it was starting to get very cold, and I was now very wet. My priorities had just shifted rapidly. Priority one: build a halfway decent shelter. Two, get dry clothes from my bag, and get changed. Three, fire, and fast.

The bad news is, all of this was to be done in the dark, and what I had planned to do in the warmth of dry clothing was now done in the cold. But done it was.

A long, sleepless night ensued. Every crackle of brush was a murderous clown. My body ached from the cold, and the nearly 10 miles of hiking and exploring sections off the trailhead had taken their toll on me.

And it was at this moment, I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I had to call it.

When I woke up in the morning, there were icicles hanging from the trees. It was significantly colder than forecasted. I warmed myself one last time by the fire, packed up, and headed out.

Fortunately, I didn’t suffer the misfortune of falling into any more water, but unfortunately, the remainder of the hike was quite rough.

This leads me to the moral of the story: if you’re going on a hike, be sure of what you’re doing. Prepare well, and know the weather habits of your environment. And don’t no matter what you do, ever, ever, ever, tell your friends that you’re scared of clowns.