Running river.

Bright starlight.

Gushing waterfall.

Crackling fire.

There’s something undeniably enchanting about the call of the wild, the rush of water against the rocks, and the whispering of leaves in the breeze. For an adventurer such as myself, solo backpacking offers a unique experience for seeking solitude and connection with nature. After a long, semi-stressful work week mixed with a handful of personal frustrations, I needed a break from civilization.

So I ventured into the wilderness alone, deciding to camp along the Chattooga, a wild and scenic river nearby my house. Flowing down from the mountains of North Carolina, the Chattooga gradually collects more and more water from Appalachian rivulets. It is a river runner’s paradise, with lots of whitewater kayaking and rafting during the peak season.

But this early in the year? I managed to have the place to myself.

I navigated the easy 2-mile trail alone, humming quietly to myself as I made my way closer to the river. The distractions of everyday life became non consequential as I fell into the rhythm of my own footsteps. Eventually the roar of the water lulled me into a much-needed moment of introspection.

When I arrived at the river, I was greeted by a waterfall, murmuring steadily as I set up camp on a small sandy area. The signs of spring were everywhere! Foliage was blooming, frogs were out hopping, and birds were singing their evening songs.

There’s nothing quite like being in a pristine natural setting to encourage a deeper appreciation for the natural world.

I built a small fire (50 feet from the river or trail) and enjoyed my dehydrated meal while the sound of cascading water provided me with a surround-sound experience. The multi-sensory nature of the river was a soothing balm to the stresses of the week. I relished the sense of accomplishment and empowerment that comes from camping alone; there’s something so special about finding private moments to rest in the natural world.

As the sun set and the sky darkened, I lay back on a big rock while the fire dwindled. I watched the stars, searching for familiar constellations while looking out for new patterns my eyes could identify. I almost didn’t want to crawl into my tent, hesitant to have even one layer between myself and the big beautiful world that had become my place of rest for the night. Eventually, with sleepy eyes and tired muscles, I curled up in my sleeping bag to the sound of both the river and the falls.

The next morning, I broke camp early and enjoyed a contemplative hike back to my car. As usual, there was a sense of sadness that I had to leave behind a place that had offered so much in the way of comfort, wonder, and a peaceful joy.

Back in the parking lot, I saw a couple getting ready to start their trek down to the river.

“Did you do a sunrise hike?” They asked.

“No,” I replied, “I camped down there.”

“Oh my gosh,” the other hikers responded. “That must have been absolutely incredible.”

And it was. It truly was.