My first camping experience was when I was 12. I did it alone and was technically trespassing. That didn't occur to me then. Even if it had, I doubt that it would have changed anything.
One July, my parents told me to leave the house for a few days. They needed time alone and I couldn't be there. I lied, saying that I would be at a friend's house, and prepared for an adventure! I rolled a blanket with supplies and lowered it out of my bedroom window so that they wouldn't get suspicious. Backpack loaded, I said goodbye and walked up the hill to my 'friend's' house. As soon as I was out of sight of the kitchen windows, I left the road and cut through the woods, coming up to the side of the house where my blanket was stashed. I hauled ass back into the cover of the woods, feeling like a secret agent.
It took me almost an hour of trekking through the woods to reach my 'campsite'. A tiny, man-made 'cave' on Whiskey Hollow Road that is near a natural spring that locals use for drinking water. During the day people would drive up and fill their containers with the water and then visit the cave or go for a walk through the woods. At night, the road was closed to traffic. Not that that ever stopped the teens from coming to the cave to drink and have sex. I hid my stuff and played in the woods, waiting for night to come and everyone to leave.
Around dusk, I was able to get most of the broken glass out of the cave, start a tiny fire and eat my cheese sandwich. The dark settled in and I listened to the water from the spring and the sounds of the crickets. It was beautiful and just what I had wanted. The outlines of the trees looked equally fanciful and frightening. Part of me was scared, of being alone in the dark and of getting caught. Another part of me was thrilled, that I was actually doing this!
Occasionally, there would be sounds of branches rustling and tiny rocks would drop from the top of the cave's mouth. Each time that happened, I'd click on my flashlight and grip the hammer that I packed. A few minutes would pass and I would calm down and laugh at myself. I spent a LOT of time talking to myself, pretending that I was perfectly fine. It was pretty sad. On top of that, I was waiting for a car to drive up the road and catch me in the cave. If my parents found out, I would never be allowed to leave the house again! I had dirt and gravel ready to cover my fire the moment that I heard a car. As far as I was concerned, this was very clever of me.
Later, when my flames were gone, I heard a car coming up the road. I kicked the gravel over the warmth, shoved everything into my blanket and scrabbled out of the cave and up the hill as the headlights came into view. The truck stopped alongside the road and three people got out. There I was, heart pounding, hands and legs all scraped up from dragging myself up the hill, trying to lie low and not be seen. The three walked up the hill to MY cave while I watched, cussing them out inside my head.
I wrote this earlier today and then decided to take a road trip to Whiskey Hollow. A good third of the top of the cave has crumbled since I'd last been there. Also, there's now a bunch of purple and gold graffiti on the inside walls. Bastards couldn't be content with just leaving their broken bottles...