Haley Ellis, a recent journalism graduate of Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, is a writer focusing on environmental, travel and feature reporting.
My first solo camping trip last October was supposed to be a big step on a personal quest to embrace the natural world that humanity is blithely destroying. It was both a disaster and a success.
Cerro Alto Campground, nestled in the mountains inland from Morro Bay, had an array of isolated campsites surrounded by oak trees and shrubbery, and I drove to my remote oasis expecting to find peace of mind in the solitude. However, upon arrival, the silence whispered more eerily than peacefully, and paranoia began to seep in.
While chopping summer squash in the early evening, I heard a rustling noise in the brush that definitely wasn’t just the wind. Turning to look, I saw a big four-legged creature and panicked, even calling a ranger for support.
What was this malignant presence spoiling my journey of self-discovery? Two deer resting in a habitat that’s theirs, not mine. Shame on me for freaking out.
For a Gen-Zer about to graduate college, it was both a humiliation and a lesson learned, something that made the whole experience worthwhile. I reflect on this now as a microcosm of humanity’s relationship with nature: We seek out its benefits while poking at its nervous system, then act shocked, shocked when things don’t go according to plan.
And humanity has been doing a lot of poking.
My understanding of nature has grown against the backdrop of climate change and all the chatter about fixing it now. But urgent talk combined with a lack of meaningful action doesn’t exactly calm the nerves. Oil companies knowingly make climate change worse and still make huge profits. Americans have twice elected a president who spreads climate misinformation.
Where big institutions and the American people have failed, I’ve tried to do what I can. At 15 I went vegan. That lasted two weeks. Later, I adopted a pescetarian diet, but that didn’t agree with me physically. As parts of California literally went up in flames, I fell into a cycle of helplessness and climate anxiety.
David Helvarg
I admire – well, envy – those who can personally hold out in the battle to save nature from climate change, whether they adopt a plant-based diet or a zero-waste lifestyle. People like me watch these personal feats of sustainability with an outward sense of awe but an inward feeling of helplessness.
But I still care, as most people do. And I refuse to write another story of climate hopelessness. We have enough of those and need to start enjoying our lives more. And being a GenZer means I have a lot of life in front of me.
So my next attempt at fostering climate awareness is to fully embrace and love nature – and I think I’m onto something here. Nature loves all of us, providing us with the resources we over-extract. It allows us to grow and live, and it will keep giving until there is nothing left.
So I’ve taken up solo camping, and as you can see, the results are mixed.
After my fraught encounter with two harmless deer, I went to sleep in my tent (which was ridden with black mold), feeling a deep sense of shame. I love nature, yet there I was, acting as if I had no business being in it.
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The next morning, I awoke to a bright sky and the wind rustling through the trees. The night had given way to daylight, and the previous day’s shame had given way to pride. I love nature, and there I was, living out the adventure I sought.
When it comes to interacting with nature, many of us wish to care for it, though learning about it takes much more effort. Love is complicated, and so is this love between humans and the rest of nature. The shame I felt for panicking over those harmless deer was real, but we all need to start somewhere.
I see this camping trip as the first of many, and this was my messy start at cultivating a durable relationship with a rapidly changing natural world. And I don’t see a life where I make a difference without putting myself out there to fail. It’s cliché, perhaps, but we need to learn somehow, and learning requires vulnerability.
No, I don’t have a solution to climate change, and I know camping won’t fix anything on its own. But it is still worth trying to find solutions, and we can’t save something without getting to know it first. Besides, a bad first impression is better than never showing up.
