It was March of 2023 and I was the poster child for anxiety.
I had been working quietly in the background for about a year gathering the courage to quit my desk job so I could focus on music and writing. I knew it was the right time and the right thing to do… but even the thought of approaching my boss to resign gave me heart palpitations so intense all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole.
Because this wasn’t just a normal job change… it was a huge career move. I was stepping away from a dependable source of income and a structured work environment and jumping into unknown territory. One where I would be my own boss and rely on myself to make money.
Cue the full body sweats. And sleepless nights. And hours and hours of trying to talk myself out of it.
I mean… what if I failed???
When I get like this, my first line of defense is to get outside. And so, I got to work planning a backpacking trip with my husband. A three day, 20 mile hike along the Ozark Trail with my hubby was sure to regulate my nervous system and fill my heart with natural beauty again.
We planned our route… set a date… pumped ourselves up…
And then he got a call. From work. Telling him he was needed for an impromptu mandatory training.
After a not-so-tiny tantrum and a deep breath, I examined my choices:
- I could stay at home alone and be sad.
- I could go alone with the possibility of not being sad.
I think we both know which one I chose.
Though I’d been on two backpacking trips at that point, I’d never gone out alone. Physically, I knew I could handle it. The staying overnight in the middle of the woods part was what made me hyperventilate.
No cell reception… complete darkness… all the little sounds outside the tent… and the scary beasts you imagine are making them…
As scared as I was to face this horror, I knew the benefit of pushing myself to overcome it would far outweigh the risk.
Shaking off the mental image of a rabid wolf attacking me, I packed my ten essentials, plus a journal and a plastic flute. Because priorities, people.
DAY ONE
After a three hour drive through the gorgeous rolling hills of the Mark Twain forest, I arrived at my parking spot south of Powder Mill. I triple checked my gear and reviewed my plan: I’d hike about 5 miles to Klepzig Mill, filter water for the night, and find a secluded spot to camp along the trail.
Though I felt pretty nervous starting out, I found a rhythm and actually began to enjoy myself. The wildflowers were starting to bloom and several interesting butterflies flitted about. I was in midwestern hiking heaven.
I crossed Indian Creek three times before arriving at Klepzig Mill and Rocky Creek – a day use area with a public parking lot. I felt vulnerable knowing that park visitors could spot me and see I was alone without a vehicle. I also felt nervous about wildlife that could be hanging around. Even so, I coaxed myself to enjoy the view, explore the mill, and filter water for the night.
When I finished, I hiked out of the area and found a good spot to camp. The tent went up easily and I settled my sleeping area, sent my husband a text, and made dinner.
At bedtime, I was exhausted but still had trouble sleeping. I woke up every couple of hours paranoid about critters lurking outside my tent – and when I was sleeping, I dreamt I was running with a herd of deer… away from a blazing wildfire.
DAY TWO
I woke up on Thursday morning to the sound of drizzling rain – relieved to have made it through the night unscathed.
With the rain spitting down, I made quick work of my morning routine. My wet tent rolled up and attached to the outside of my pack, I set off to hike the five miles back to my car before the hard rain hit.
The drizzly weather actually felt pretty good. The rain was light and I enjoyed the cool breeze. I felt confident about the hike since I covered it the day before.
After a brief scare crossing paths with a group of young male hikers, I reached my parking spot just in time to regroup and take cover from the heavy rain.
It’s a total luxury to have this option when you’re backpacking – but I planned to go easy on myself during my first solo overnight trek. I charged my devices, ate lunch, listened to a podcast, and even played my plastic flute for a while. I also had cell service and was able to text my husband and check the weather.
When the rain let up a bit, I strapped on my pack to hike north toward Powder Mill. Along the way, I managed to work myself up into quite the tizzy. I saw large pile of scat that made me worry about bears. I also feared there were snakes in the tall grass I trekked through.
And, right before I reached highway 106 to cross the river to the mill, I came upon a woman with her husband and two teenagers. They seemed friendly enough, but her interest in where I was going only increased my paranoia. I erred on the side of vague with a touch of midwestern kindness and hurried on my way.
I reached the bridge and crossed over into Powder Mill – hiking quickly and trying my best to conceal my vulnerable state. When I arrived, I felt even more exposed. It was another day-use area and there were quite a few people milling about. I had initially planned to camp there after a few more hours of exploring Owl’s Bend – but I ditched that plan in favor of more solitude.
Studying the topography map on All Trails, I staked out a new route. I’d continue my hike toward Owl’s Bend and hopefully find a good camping spot once I hiked to a lower elevation. Though I didn’t see any reliable water sources along my route, I was comfortable with the amount I was still carrying from my Indian Creek crossing earlier in the day.
Continuing on toward Owl’s Bend, things became more difficult. The elevation was increasing, and the technical footing required to safely navigate the river bluff was tricky. My lower back ached, the steady rain was wearing on me, and I worried about finding a good place to camp. I took a moment to ground myself by naming (out loud) what was going well, and praying for strength to make it to a campsite.
Owl’s bend was gorgeous. And treacherous.
I carefully took pictures of the Current River river valley. And, as birdsong floated above, I noticed a stray sunbeam or two. The rain was on its way out. Filled with new vigor, I powered up another painful hill.
At the top, I found an answer to my prayers.
A well-established camping spot with a fire ring, a flat spot for my tent, and a gorgeous bluff overlook about 100 feet away. It was still pretty early – about 4 p.m. – so I thought I’d hike a little more and come back to the site closer to dinner time.
Before long, when I realized I’d been hiking in the wrong direction for about 10 minutes, I decided to call it a day. Apparently my brain was more exhausted than my body, and that’s okay. I was still so proud of myself for hiking over 10 miles – the most I have ever hiked in one day.
I was settled and in my pajamas by 6:00 p.m. – and even though the rain was still falling, I was cozy and dry inside my tent.
I had enough cell service to text my husband – and it was nice to check in on what would’ve been our weekly date night. He heated up a backpacking meal at home so it could feel more like he was there with me. That touchpoint did wonders for my morale.
Even still, worry flooded my mind as I tried to sleep… will my tent stay staked down in this rocky soil? Will I stay dry if it keeps raining? Will I encounter dangerous wildlife during the night?
One thing you learn pretty quickly when you’re out on the trail alone is even when you are impeccably prepared for every possible situation – there are still so many things out of your control.
So, instead of dwelling on the uncontrollable, I closed my eyes and accepted the day’s end. A long, exhausting, beautifully adventurous day.
I slipped into a mostly restorative sleep – so much better than the night before.
DAY THREE
Friday morning arrived and the rain had finally stopped.
Wrestling out of my sleeping bag, I emerged from my tent to explore the river bluff. The sun was creeping over the horizon and giving out just enough light to caress the rolling hills through the river valley.
Steam rose up in puffs, marking the meandering path of the Current River. The gorgeous aqua blue I love so much glistening below.
I stood there, breathless from the majestic scene before me, and reflected on how anxious I was on the path to get here. How worried I was over every little thing. How I courageously pushed through the fear and got here anyway.
Just then, I spotted a beautiful feather.
I have no idea what bird dropped this for me, but I silently thanked her, held it up, and took a picture to mark the moment. It’s as if she whispered to me – it’s time to take flight. And please don’t worry, because everything will work out in the end.
In that moment, I knew I had what I came for.
I moved through my morning routine and loaded up my gear for the 5 mile trek back to my car. The light of spring shone through the forest, drying up any trace of yesterday’s dreary rain. Wildflowers popped all around me – love and pride filling my heart.
Two hours later I was back at the car where I changed into clean clothes. And, after a quick detour to explore Rocky Falls, I finally began the journey home.
I had just completed my first solo overnight backpacking trip.
I processed fear, pushed myself past my perceived limits, and was greatly rewarded in the end.
What. a. gift.
To know that I have what it takes to face the obstacles ahead. That I’m smart enough… strong enough… brave enough.
And no matter how anxious I might feel in the moment, all I need to do is remember my beautiful bird spirit…
and then take flight.
That’s where all the gorgeous views are, anyway.
Adventure with Katie 