As a child I had a lot of fears. I had to walk around the swimming pool at least once to check the crystal clear waters for any signs of sharks or other monstrous water creatures. I would always close my eyes when flipping the pages in a picture book about dinosaurs just in case there was a scary image on the next page. I couldn’t sleep in a vacation home in the mountains because I was terrified that Bigfoot would unlock the back door and come eat me in my sleep.
It probably doesn’t surprise you then that I haven’t been camping in three years, even though I have gotten over many of my fears. I know that sharks don’t live in swimming pools and don’t often venture into the shallow waters at the beach, dinosaurs and the Loch Ness Monster won’t be snacking on me anytime soon, and Bigfoot isn’t real. I’m still terrified of bears and sharks, but only because they actually exist.
However, last month my family had a reunion all the way out in Montana. In order to save on air fare, thirteen of us (my family and our cousins) decided to drive the whole way from Pennsylvania to Montana. The first three nights consisted of us sleeping at friends’ and family’s homes in Indiana and Minnesota. But finally the fourth night came around–the night that I was dreading. It was the first of two nights that we were camping.
I thought I was prepared. There were no bears in Theodore Roosevelt National Park so I didn’t have to worry about them. We weren’t camping at the bottom of the ocean so I didn’t have to worry about sharks. Bigfoot isn’t real. I wasn’t going to be afraid of him. We had all of our camping gear and were prepared to rough it for the night.
We pitched our tents, ate our supper, brushed our teeth, and went to bed. My sister and I shared a tent. She brought in her journals and was writing when I first drifted off to sleep. I thought it would be a nice peaceful night with scattered rain showers and a nice dry tent undisturbed by the wild critters that live in the great American wilderness.
I didn’t sleep for long. The crashing thunder and flashing lightning made sure of that. My tent was flapping around and my panicked half awake mind thought that some animal was charging our tent, causing the loud noises and the tent to cave in on us. I thought it could’ve been a bear, but then I remembered there weren’t bears in this park. It could’ve been a bison, a mountain lion, or maybe even Bigfoot my terrified mind thought. Turns out it was nothing more than the wind, scaring me as the top of my tent almost touched my toes under the pressure. Sheets of rain assaulted the “waterproof” sides of the enclosure, causing a cacaphony that assured me I wasn’t falling asleep again anytime soon.
The lightning flashed again, a clap of thunder a half second behind it, sending a bolt of fear through my body. This is how I was going to die. I wasn’t going to go peacefully in my sleep, or even at the hands of one of my greatest fears. Instead mother nature was going to electrocute me out here in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t ready to die.
Panicked, I began to count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder, remembering that it’s one mile away for every second. Counting under my breath I began to relax as the number stretched from one all the way to four. Then panicking all over again as the intervals shortened to two or three seconds, some striking as soon as one second apart. I couldn’t relax, and I was in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t have anywhere to go and I was going to die.
Fear and exhaustion must have caused me to pass out after what seemed like hours because I woke up in the dim light of morning to find the rain finished and the lightning and thunder gone. However, I discovered that our tent was saturated, the floor covered with a puddle of water, soaking through our sleeping pads and sleeping bags. Thankfully, my sister’s journals were alright, and my phone had been securely placed in a pocket on the side of the tent. Pretty much everyone else slept through the whole thing, sparing themselves the fear that had kept me petrified and sleep-deprived.
My fear of Bigfoot was not rekindled that night (thank goodness), but now I have an aversion to camping and a fear of thunderstorms when I’m not safe and secure inside my own home. Good luck catching me outside of my house in the great American wilderness. That one night was enough to satiate any cravings I had for solitude and ruggedness. I will remain where I have consistent cell service, running water, and protection from my greatest fears: whether it be a shark, bear, or thunderstorm.
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