Reflections on my first solo multiday, out-of-state camping trip

Photos and words by Emily Kestel

If anything, I am my mother’s daughter. 

If I tell her, “I’m going camping for a few days by myself next month,” she won’t say, “Alone?! What are you, nuts?” or “You should really go with Jake (my husband), just to be safe.”  

Instead, she’ll reply with, “Sounds like fun! Where ya goin’? Why not go for longer?” 

I grew up in a family where independence was a trait my siblings and I gained – and I would almost dare to say inherited – from the time we could walk. 

My mom is fiercely independent and is the most fearless woman I know. One example: When she was younger, she decided to live in Australia by herself for a year, just because she wanted to. 

She instilled an I-can-do-it-myself mentality in my three younger siblings and me right from the start. 

“You miss out on too much if you require company or assistance,” my mom told me. “I wanted you to feel capable of handling life.” 

We were scraping our plates into the garbage at age 2. 

When we could still count our age on one hand, we’d occasionally find ourselves stuck in the climbing tree in our front yard. 

“Tough,” she’d say. “If you can get up, you can get down.” 

At age 8, I was crossing five lanes of traffic and walking a block up the street from our house by myself to a weekly after-school program. 

My siblings and I have all had our fair share of experiences of going off on our own in our teen years, too. My brother took a six-week solo trip across the country to visit the national parks at age 19. My sister traveled solo to Japan at age 15 and Europe at 19. My other brother joined the Army at 17. 

So anyone who knows me well doesn’t bat an eye when I tell them I’m going camping alone. 

For more than a month, I had been planning a trip up to Lake Superior. I was feeling worn down and overworked. I desperately needed a short break from a reality filled with deadlines, interviews and events where I had to be social. I needed time alone – away from people and away from my daily routine. 

The North Shore of Minnesota and the Apostle Islands in Wisconsin seemed like the perfect spot. 

I reserved the last available campsite at Tettegouche State Park in Silver Bay, Minn., and planned my trip from there. 

I drove the seven hours up there on a Thursday, immediately set up camp, and spent the remaining three hours of daylight exploring the area. I knew I wanted to hike up to the Fantasia Overlook, which has great views of the hilly, wooded coast of Lake Superior. 

It was one of the more brutal hikes I’ve done, but every step was worth it. I only saw a handful of other people on the trail, and I had the lookout spots to myself, which I wasn’t expecting. 

I spent a few minutes soaking up the view before racing the sunset back down to the trailhead. 

Once I got back to my campsite, it was getting dark and cold pretty quickly. For 20 minutes, I tried to start a fire, but the firewood was too wet. 

No worries, I thought, I had prepared for this and had a backup plan. I had plenty of propane tanks for my camp stove, and many different food options that didn’t require a campfire. I settled for a dinner of pasta and garlic toast, and ate by the light of a lantern. Instead of roasting my marshmallows over the fire, I just ate them straight from the bag. 

The next morning, I woke up and could see my breath. I had purposely set an alarm for 6 a.m. so I would have enough time to drive out to Palisade Head and watch the sun come up over the lake. I shivered as I left the comfort of my sleeping bag, and blasting the heat in my car provided a much-appreciated reprieve from the frosty weather.

Once I got to the small parking lot of Palisade Head, I saw I was the only one there. I couldn’t believe my luck – I assumed this would be a popular sunrise-watching spot and thought I would have to fight for a spot. 

I walked the half-mile up the hill in my socks and Chacos while the eastern sky was slowly turning the color of egg yolks. 

I had to defog my camera lens, but I spent the next 45 minutes watching the sun rise above the lake, slowly illuminating the cliffs in a pinkish light. A small stream of fog flowed across the lake. It was one of the most beautiful sunrises I’d ever seen.

After about an hour, I drove back to Tettegouche and hiked the short Shovel Point trail up to more lookouts of the lake. Again, I hardly came across anyone – except for a kind couple from Clarion, Iowa. 

My trip was off to a perfect start. 

I ate a Ziploc omelet for breakfast, packed up my tent and drove to Bayfield, Wis., where I would spend the next two nights. 

This was the only part of the trip I was a little worried about – I wasn’t able to reserve a campsite online; everything was first come, first served. I was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to find a camping spot anywhere.

I arrived at Dalrymple Campground shortly after 1 p.m. and most of the sites were empty. I lucked out by finding a spot right by the lake and quickly set up camp since rain was in the forecast. 

I spent the rest of the day wandering around the idyllic town of Bayfield, walking along the beach and reading in my hammock. 

It rained all night, but I stayed cozy and dry. 

The next morning, I looked at the forecast on my phone and saw there was going to be a break in the rain. I had a few hours to complete the next hike on my to-do list: the Meyers Beach Sea Cave Trail. 

By the time I got out there at 9 a.m., the parking lot only had a few cars in it. I grabbed my hiking poles, shoved my camera and a few snacks in my backpack and started walking. The first sea cave was about 2 miles away. I am often a slow hiker because I take time to pick up leaves, take photos of mushrooms and run my hands over lichen and moss-covered trees. 

But, unbeknownst to them, I was also racing some sea kayakers who had launched about the same time I started walking, and came across them right as I arrived at the first lookout point. 

The sky and the water in the distance were various shades of gray, but the water right below the cliffs was teal. The contrast between the red sand cliffs, the green pine trees and the water was gorgeous. I must’ve taken 150 photos on that hike. 

By the time I finished the 5-mile hike, I was beat. I had giant blisters on my heels that were at risk of bursting at any moment, my shoulders were numb, I was exhausted and it had started sprinkling again.

I drove back to my tent, ate soup for lunch and took a long nap. That evening, I went back into Bayfield for a sunset cruise around the Apostle Islands. I knew there would be no sunset because it was still drizzling and the sky was gray, but I was excited anyway. I love the water, and I love going fast on boats.  

The cruise itself was incredible. A few other brave souls and I sat on the top of the boat where we were subject to the wind and rain. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more alive – all of my senses were in full gear. I was cold and wet, but the air smelled so fresh and everything was so picturesque. I felt sad when the boat docked, because I knew my trip was coming to a close. 

For four days, I was operating on my own schedule. Everything I did was my decision and my responsibility. I could go to bed at 8 p.m. without anyone calling me a grandma. I could eat straight out of the saucepan. No one had to smell me after not showering for four days. I got to choose what speed I walked at and which hikes to go on. 

That’s the beauty of doing things solo. Sure, you find yourself on extra-high alert for bears and you have to be deliberate in who knows – and doesn’t know – where you’re at and that you’re alone. But I can’t think of a more freeing, empowering thing to do than going on a solo trip. 

In the last two years in my role as Fearless editor, I’ve talked with a lot of people about what fearless means to them, so I’ve had a lot of opportunities to reflect on my own definition. 

To me, fearlessness looks like paving your own trail and braving the wilderness. It’s taking a good look at what the world has to offer, and choosing to experience it in its entirety. 

What does fearless mean to you? When was a time that you were fearless? I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories.