So, My Shein Order Arrived...

Thanks to the feedback on my desperate plea for camping gear recommendations, I—always the picture of preparedness—now possess a perfectly curated list from my personal camping fairy godmother: My Hiking Logbook. So succinct. So practical. And yet... deeply suspicious. Why? Well, behold, the list:

• Tent

• Mattress

• Sleeping bag

• Pillow

• Gas burner

• Pot set

• Headlamp

  
  

Almost exactly what I had in mind, but, since my plan was to keep it super cheap and simple—in case I completely flaked on this whole camping thing, does this mean my fairy godmother has as little faith in me as I do?

Hopefully not. Hopefully, she’s just being like me when people ask what they need to start hiking - supportive but wildly pragmatic. Because my answer is firstly a will. (No, not a last will and testament, you over dramatic souls. Just a sliver of determination.) And secondly good shoes. That's it. Everything else? Well, you'll figure it out as you go along.

Anyway, once the post went live, things escalated very quickly....wham—like a pack of vultures circling a fresh carcass—some of my fellow hikers, who have been badgering me to "just give camping a try," swooped in, instantly messaged me about upcoming camping weekends. I committed. In writing. Publicly. There’s no backing out now. Dammit!!

I’d love to say I was tricked, but no, this disaster is 100% self-inflicted. The moment my fingers hit ‘post,’ I sealed my fate. Now, instead of enjoying my weekends with indoor plumbing and a firm mattress, I’ll be out in the wilderness, embracing the joys of bug bites, suspiciously crunchy meals, and the inevitable existential crisis that comes from realizing you really should have practiced setting up a tent before arriving in the dark.

Anyway.....my parcel arrived.....I was so excited. The receptionist at work, in a stunning display of audacity, called me about the parcel’s size. “Maybe you should take it to your car now, instead of leaving it here until you leave."

she suggested,

Walking to reception, I braced myself. So this is it, then. How exactly am I supposed to lug a monstrosity up a mountain when I go  WILD CAMPING or BACKPACKING. (Yes, you heard me correctly. Because nooooo, I am not starting with “cozy campsites,” okay? I’m not a wimp!? I’m going straight into wild camping and backpacking like a reckless lunatic—well, starting with one night only. Let’s not get too crazy.)

My imagination ran wild. Am I about to hike with a backpack the size of a Kia Picanto? Should I invest in a trolley with off-road suspension? Heavy-duty wheels? Maybe just cut out the middleman and rent an actual pack mule?

Oh, but then! What a beautiful moment of joy and confusion when I actually saw the package. Turns out, this entire list was somehow compacted into something the size of a regular sized camping bag. Just like a nicely compressed bundle of impending adventure.

Naturally, I took a picture. Because HOW did all that fit into this? Some kind of camping wizardry is at play here, and I must study it for future reference.

Obviously, being a responsible old hag about to embark on an ill-advised outdoor adventure, I decided to prepare. Meticulously. Obsessively. Borderline maniacally...as I do.

I tasked my young’un, Salt, with setting up the tent. You know, just to make sure everything was in order. Okay, tent might be a bit optimistic. What I actually have is more of a glorified kiddie playhouse—the kind meant for backyard adventures where the biggest survival challenge is running out of snacks. The kind that assumes you have a house mere steps away should you encounter a mild breeze.

It was at that point that I made a very rational decision: I stopped thinking about it entirely. No further investigation. No upgrades. No panicked shopping sprees. I would deal with it when I got to my rock. I refused to let logic dissuade me.

If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all in. No fancy gear. No cozy luxuries. Just me, my highly questionable tent, and the raw, unforgiving wilderness.

(A.k.a. a supportive group -finger's crossed - of regular campers no more than 50 feet away.)

So yes, this is my introduction to wild camping. No, I’m not chickening out. Yes, I might still need a trolley. I also might not even go. But that's a problem for Future Me. For now, I’ll stand tall, knowing that I have the necessary gear and a dubious amount of confidence to carry me through this wild, unpredictable journey.

So here’s to hiking, to camping, and to doing everything just a little too ambitiously. Let’s see how long this reckless spirit lasts, shall we?