A tale of tripping, slipping, and finally learning my lesson

You ever try to pee in the woods without a light?

It’s humbling. And not in the spiritual, “find yourself in nature” kind of way. I mean tripping over a root, whacking your knee, scaring a possum half to death, and realizing your dignity is now somewhere in a bush behind you kind of humbling.

I used to be the kind of camper who laughed at gear lists. You know the ones: 17 types of lights, three stoves, an inflatable sink. “We’re only going for the weekend,” I’d say. “I’ll be fine.”

Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.

We got to the campsite late. The sun was already tapping out behind the trees, and by the time we finished unpacking the car, we were working by the dim orange glow of the fire. Everything felt like it was going fine….until it wasn’t.

The fire didn’t last. The temperature dropped. The guy who definitely knew how to use the camp stove didn’t. And my flashlight? Somewhere. Maybe under the snacks. Maybe still at home.

So there I was. Cold. Tired. Hungry. And suddenly very aware that I had to go… in the woods… with no light. I tried to use my phone as a flashlight, like we all do when we’re pretending we’re more prepared than we are. It blinked red. Four percent battery. Classic.

That’s when I reached for my headlamp. A rechargeable one I’d tossed in my bag at the last minute—mostly because it looked cool and had a wave sensor, which felt unnecessarily futuristic at the time. I’d never actually used it before, but man when I clicked it on and that bright beam cut through the trees like some kind of forest lightsaber, it was like I’d seen the face of God.

Hands-free, fully charged (thanks to a quick top-off from my solar power bank earlier that day), and not stuck between my teeth like a phone—my headlamp saved that night. And it’s saved a few since. I don’t leave home without it now. In fact, it’s earned a permanent spot in my “essentials” bin—right next to the coffee and duct tape.

Funny thing is, once I started treating lighting like a real part of camping instead of a backup plan, everything else got better too. Like that time I dropped a bag of marshmallows in the dirt because I couldn’t see what I was doing. Or when I accidentally sprayed cooking oil all over my sleeping bag instead of the pan. You’d be amazed how many “oops” moments go away when you can see what you’re doing.

I’ve also started keeping a solar flashlight tucked into the glovebox of my car and one in my tent gear bag. Because the one time I didn’t? Let’s just say it involved a raccoon, a sandwich, and me running barefoot through camp like I was in a low-budget horror movie.

And then there was the “invisible tent line” incident. You know how it goes in the middle of the night bathroom trip, half-asleep, legs still tangled in your sleeping bag, and wham! Face-first into the dirt because someone (definitely not me) forgot to mark the tent lines.

Technically called guy lines, they’re those tensioned cords that keep your tent stable and upright super helpful in wind, but absolutely invisible at night unless you light them up.

These days, we clip a couple of glow sticks to the lines before we crash for the night. Just enough glow to save our shins without turning the campsite into a rave. Trust me—your kneecaps will thank you.

I’ve also learned my lesson about fire. Lighters go missing. Wind exists. Wet hands are a thing. That’s why I always keep waterproof matches in a dry bag in my pack. They're not glamorous, but when the fire starter’s acting up and everyone’s looking at you like it’s your fault they’re cold, you’ll be glad you brought ‘em.

And let’s not forget the little lantern we hang inside the tent. It started as a “this might be nice” add-on, but now it’s a staple. Nothing makes a tent feel like home quite like a soft glow above your head while you kick off your boots and figure out how much trail mix is too much trail mix. (Spoiler: there’s no such thing.)

The truth is, none of us go camping thinking we’ll mess up. But we all do. We forget stuff, we misjudge the daylight, we underestimate how hard it is to slice salami in the dark without losing a finger.

That’s where the right gear comes in not as a badge of honor or proof of expert-level status, but as that quiet, reliable friend who steps in when things get weird. My headlamp? It’s not flashy (pun intended), but it’s dependable. It doesn’t talk back. It doesn’t judge. And it never, ever forgets to show up when the night gets dark and weird.

I still forget stuff sometimes. Still make rookie mistakes. But I don’t fumble through the woods by phone light anymore. I’ve learned that lesson.

And if you're heading out soon? Take this as your friendly nudge. Pack the headlamp. Bring the backup light. Toss in the waterproof matches and give those glowing tent pegs a chance.

Here’s to fewer stubbed toes and better stories.