By the time this article is published, I’ll be cruising up the Pacific Coast Highway on my way to Yosemite National Park.
The thought of wind blowing through the car while my music is blasting on aux is the only thing getting me through this first round of midterms. Senior year is no joke — but then again, every year comes with its obstacles.
I remember needing some rejuvenation at the halfway mark of every semester of college. Fall break of my freshman year, I went home to the East Coast, a trip which ultimately ended up being more draining than rejuvenating.
So that spring break, I decided to do something different: my first camping trip.
Our goal was to visit the Grand Canyon, Arches National Park, Zion National Park and a friend’s home in Colorado. The route my friends proposed was roughly 1800 miles.
Coming from New England, this distance was hard for me to wrap my head around. Back home, you drive for two hours and visit four different states. Boom! Road trip complete.
I didn’t know how to contribute to planning the trip: I had no idea what gear we needed to check out from the Pitzer Gear Closet or how to book a campsite. As the day of departure approached, I texted my friends incessantly with questions about all aspects of the trip. They assured me that everything would be OK, which I found hard to believe.
The day we were set to leave, I was a nervous wreck. I called my mom to tell her “I love you” before trekking to the parking lot with my gear. As I dropped my bags beside our borrowed Subaru, yet another wave of panic came over me.
“There’s no room in the car.”
“We’ll make room,” my friend said. There were sleeping pads acting as booster seats and shoes hung around head rests. Sure enough though, we did make room and, despite being behind schedule, turned out of the parking lot and onto Claremont Boulevard.
At the end of the road would be yet another first of mine — my first national park, the Grand Canyon.
Before entering the park we stopped to set up camp on dispersed land, land outside of designated campgrounds. As soon as the work was done, I was eager to jump back in the car, though my friends were not.
I didn’t care to sit and do nothing — I was itching to see the park.
After some time we got back in the car and sped to the lookout point where we planned to watch the sunset. Sitting in the passenger seat, I fixated on the snowy pine trees and junipers that rushed past my window. It was then that I saw lights and heard sirens.
“Oh my gosh. I’ve never been pulled over before,” my friend said.
“It’ll be fine,” I responded. Was I reassuring her or myself? “Just get your license out.”
“It’s in the back of the car.”
The officer came to the passenger side and tapped on my window. I rolled it down, flinching at the rush of cold air.
“License and registration, please.”
My friends in the backseat rummaged through our bags, searching for our friend’s wallet.
“Despite the cold air, the world felt warm. “
I hurriedly reached to open the glove box. While trying to appease the officer in time to catch the sunset, I had forgotten about all of our nifty little storage hacks. With the click of the glove box’s latch, a 12 inch cooking knife fell straight into my hand.
“Okay ma’am, slowly hand that to me with the blade facing you.” He placed it on top of the car and said something into his walkie talkie. We found the license and handed it over: “Stay in your car,” he said.
When the ranger came back, he gave us a warning and told us not to keep knives in our glove box. As we drove away, we couldn’t stop laughing at what he must have thought at a young girl accidentally pulling a knife on him.
We made it to the lookout point just in time for sunset. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before — layers of red and orange sedimentary rock rising as far as my eyes could see lit up with a yellow and pink sun. Despite the cold air, the world felt warm.
Obstacles should be expected when you adventure outdoors, but that’s what makes for good stories and worthwhile lessons. Not in spite of, but because of their challenges, trips into the outdoors have taught me courage, trust, problem solving, adaptability and humor.
My friends and I have a saying: “If you don’t plan for failure, you can’t fail.” Don’t get caught up in how you think the trip will go, just accept it as it comes.
Annika White PZ ’24 is an environmental columnist from Southport, Connecticut. She enjoys hammocking, journaling and making playlists on Spotify.
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