12 Things I Learnt From 12 Months of Solo Camping

Explorer Francesca set herself the challenge of embarking on a solo adventure every month for an entire year. Now, having successfully completed her goal (congrats!), she’s sharing her field notes.

At the start of each year, I write a list of goals for the next 12 months that’ll challenge me to get out of my comfort zone and ultimately create my own experiences in the outdoors.

After buying a camp setup in 2023, I embarked on my first solo overnight hike on the Central Coast. My gear was horribly wrong and the whole walk was rough going, but I loved it and set out to upgrade the system and embark on a full year of walk-in camps in 2024. All seasons, all weather, one location a month for 12 months – all by myself.

Here’s what I learned while solo overnight hiking once a month for a year.

Read more: How to Plan A DIY Route For Your First Solo Hike

1. How To Push Your Boundaries Both Physically and Mentally

Living with an arthritic leg at 32 comes with painful complications, and overnight hiking is one of the toughest things I’ve voluntarily put myself through. It became a game to see how much I can handle, mentally and physically. Pushing boundaries is a fine art and one that requires a deep personal understanding of your own limitations while being willing to push that envelope further.

Each hike went up in difficulty, distance, and technicality of gear needed. I started with trails close to home and by the coast, as the ocean is a space I’m familiar with. I mostly used the Basin Campground as a gear-testing spot. I gradually found locations and campgrounds in the Blue Mountains and on the Central Coast that took me over longer and harder tracks, locations like Acacia Flat and the Kedumba Valley Track.

As I became more confident being in the bush at night, I began to opt for more remote camps, and in some instances, locations I picked off the map with the hope of finding a place to put my little house for the night.

Last light over the Blue Mountains

Like many things, the key was confidence laced with a little bit of insanity and stubbornness. The key takeaways are that I’m truly capable of anything if I’m willing to put in a few hard yards and a boundary is only a mental blockage waiting for me to overcome it. One step at a time.

Read more: How the Challenges of Solo Adventure Changed My Life

2. Understanding What Self-Motivation Is

Motivation is something that’s hard to find at the best of times, so I don’t understand how I kept finding it over the last 12 months. The energy to continue camping came from pushing the fear aside and allowing fear to become excitement – this became the secret sauce to maintaining motivation. It all started with wanting to see if I could camp through all seasons. Could I get past the anxiety of not always knowing where I was going to be pitching up?

Undertaking these adventures solo was the biggest challenge, especially as I continued through winter. At a certain point my energy faded as the rain came in for a solid four months of subpar weather windows. But I’m incredibly stubborn and will push the limits regardless of how tough it gets.

A good sunset makes it worth it

There have been multiple times where my motivation to sleep in the outdoors was lacking, but the last trip was by far the hardest. Trying to camp in early December is tough going, with work becoming busier and the pressures of the festive period, the last thing I wanted was to make my way to a random cave. Despite how much I enjoy the trips, I was at a point where I wanted to begin winding down. Yet somehow, I made it out one last time for 2024.

Read more: Going Solo? 5 Tips for Adventuring Alone in the Wilderness

3. How Beautiful the Bush Is Across All the Seasons

An unexpected surprise was seeing the whole range of seasons in the bush, from January to December. Australia’s seasons are sometimes considered less visible, yet after spending every month in the bush, I could see the changes clearly.

From wattle to Warratahs, eucalyptus flowers to Jacarandas, the bush comes alive with colour all year.

If you’re not bushwalking during spring you’re doing yourself a disservice. Some trails that really put on a floral show are the Flannel Flower Track that runs behind a residential area on the Central Coast, and the Tallow Beach Trail that leads all the way to Tallow Beach Campground.

In the Blue Mountains, the walk out from Hat Hill and beyond was alive with wattle. The waratahs really showed up during my walk down to Acacia Flat and the Blue Gum Forest, by far some of the biggest blooms I’ve seen with some playing host to five birds at a time harvesting nectar.

Read more: 9 Places to Find Wildflowers Near Sydney (and Around NSW)

4. Being Truly Alone and What That Feels Like in a Busy World

Whether it’s your first time or 50th time, a solo overnight hike is a pretty surreal experience. Things go bump in the night, and as Australian fauna is mostly nocturnal, you can almost guarantee a visit from a few friends. The feeling of being the only human around can be disconcerting for some and peaceful to others.

The only pair of boots around

Over the last 12 months, the ritual of being alone at night became second nature to me. As a very introverted individual, being alone in nature became more of a comfort than a reason to be scared. Feeling my own emotions and tapping into the sounds of the bush was a necessary part of my routine, and as the year went on I craved time in nature as a reset from the chaos of life in a city with constant connection to others.

Read more: The Science Behind the Therapeutic Rhythm of Walking

5. How to Navigate More Than Just Fair Weather

Aside from physical and mental challenges, there’s the environment to consider. That can look like: the track condition, closures, fire risk, snakes, distance, food, water access, and my personal favourite, the weather.

One of the biggest things I learned was how to let go of chasing perfect conditions. For 12 months I chased weather windows, but slowly learned that sometimes the ‘perfect weather’ doesn’t exist, and if I wanted to complete the challenge I’d set myself, that meant not being only a fair weather camper. I had to get down and dirty across all seasons and all weather conditions.

I faced the cold in the Blue Mountains, with some trips plummeting to 2℃ overnight – my synthetic sleeping bag rated to 8℃ was ill-equipped to handle the conditions.

Frosty Blue Mountains morning

I hadn’t packed rain wear, but woke to pouring rain with a two-hour walk ahead of me, in which I became dangerously cold and wet. I learnt to not trust a forecast and be prepared for anything the weather could throw at me – nature doesn’t really care what you want and will humble you very fast if you underestimate it.

I had to think on my feet and come up with solutions to problems that I hadn’t factored into the equation. Like finding nowhere to comfortably pitch my tent and having to use all the guidelines to tie it down, building small rock mounds to keep the tent in place on a ridge line where pegs were impossible to use, using a cloth bandana to filter coffee, and pulling ticks from my neck without tweezers.

Read more: Why My First Solo Overnight Hike Was (Almost) a Disaster

6. Learning to Trust My Instincts as a Solo Camper

The more time I spent alone in the bush the more attuned my senses became. I realised that the squeaking sound is just the branches of the eucalyptus trees rubbing against each other and that the sound of water pushing through boulders sounds vaguely human. Things that once made me uncomfortable become natural soundtracks to my hikes.

Kedumba Valley at night

As I became more comfortable I started to trust my intuition. I noticed little changes in the light, weather, sounds, and general feelings I couldn’t put my finger on at the time – an increase or decrease in wind could very well be a weather change heading my way, a drop in bugs or bird sounds could indicate a larger predator in the area.

The more I tuned in, the more I learned to trust those instincts and follow them in a way that kept me safe.

Read more: How to Stay Safe in the Bush: The Ultimate Hiking Safety Guide

7. Navigating the Guilt of Solo Adventures

While solo adventuring is super important to my own mental health, it also highlighted that my hyper-fixation of completing my goal saw me mistakenly overlook friendships that needed my attention.

Six months into the challenge, I began to feel selfish about my actions and guilty about putting my energy into the goal and not people.

A good reminder of balancing self and others

In particular, one instance when a friend reached out to me while I was heading to the Blue Mountains to complete the Acacia Flat trail.

It was clear at that moment she needed me as a friend, but I wasn’t in a position to assist the way I wanted to. It became clear that I needed to find the balance between completing goals and making time for my loved ones.

8. Learning What Gear Works and What Really Doesn’t

Gear was something I scoffed at in the beginning. I didn’t really understand the importance of having gear that can handle anything and how it allows you to be ready for anything as well.

Hiking with a two person car camping tent that weighed 2kg was probably the worst way to start the challenge. But as time progressed I learned from experience what gear worked, what didn’t, and the importance of lightweight and rainproof gear.

The setup I have now, with the exception of a synthetic sleeping bag, is elite and crushes my pack weight goals. It’s gear I trust to get me through anything and everything. While you can cut corners, quality gear goes a long way for comfort and keeping you out of the elements.

Read more: How Much Should You Spend On Hiking Gear?

Home away from home

My current gear includes:

Tent: Zempire Mono 1
Sleeping Mat: Alton Goods R4.5 Standard mat
Sleeping Bag: Snugpak UK Synthetic Bag

9. How Deeply a Night in Nature Heals and Resets the Body and Mind

The biggest thing I noticed over the course of 12 months was how a solo overnight hike became a vital reset for me after a busy week.

Waking in my humble tent to the sounds of birds at 5:30am became something I seriously looked forward to.

The adventures never got old

Nature is scientifically proven to boost mood and I can confirm that regular overnight hikes across a year significantly improved my health – from resetting my sleep schedule, to connecting with myself after a busy week, processing my thoughts, and learning to trust my gut instincts.

As each camp out approached, I became incessantly excited to spend time alone in nature and relax without the pressure of checking in with anyone. The biggest benefit was taking time out in a way that still challenged me both mentally and physically, while still providing those down time moments, like watching the sun drops behind the ridge or tree line while boiling water on the stove.

Read more: Science is Proving The Healthy Influences of Nature (Now Go Hug That Tree)

The perfect reset

10. Getting Comfortable With My Own Mind

Getting comfortable being alone is one thing but getting comfortable with your own thoughts is something else entirely. I make a big point of not using headphones while I walk. Instead I pay attention to my thoughts and let them pass over me, in a similar way to meditation.

I got to enjoy a few inversions in silent solitude

The more I walk the more my mind clears or I simply drift into thinking about nothing at all. Walking in silence has become something I now need after hours working in an industry that sees me spend all day talking and engaging with others. The silence is a welcome break.

Read more: My Solo Hike for Mental Health Along 330km of the Aus Alps Walking Track

11. The Paradox That Distance From Humans Creates Need for Human Connection

On the flip side, time alone in nature made me realize the importance of connection with others.

While solo adventure has always been something I’m used to, the more magic I witnessed the more I wanted to share it with others – to converse about the sunrise, stars, or sound of dingoes howling through the valley. It made me realise how special friendships are and how magical it is to share our experiences.

Sharing the camping magic in Pindar Cave

There’s a limit to how much I can witness without sharing it before I start to feel a little hollow.

It’s a balance, like anything in life, and while some solo adventure is important to build confidence and trust within myself, it’s equally important to share those experiences. So if you can convince a friend to join you on a camp out in a cave or two then do it – it’ll be good for the both of you.

Read more: Starting a Monthly Hiking Club Helped Me Make Adult Friends

12. Let Fear Be the Reason You Try

It’s easy for fear to get in the way of things you want to do, but if you let it, would you ever do anything at all?

My first solo overnight hike to a location that was most certainly not a campground was terrifying. I texted a friend as the sun was setting while I was walking to the spot, totally freaked out and not sure I could really pursue the goal at all.

I arrived at the location, perched high above the valley in the mountains with a weather window that was too good to pass up. The sun fell behind the ridge as I set up camp and I watched the last of the sunlight illuminate the mountain in front of me.

I pushed on, even when a wild creature chewed my tent pegs at some deep dark hour, even when I had no sleeping mat and a very thin synthetic sleeping bag. I woke to the sky clear as a crystal, with pastel pink and blue hues all the way to the horizon, while the mountains were covered in a blanket of fluffy white clouds.

I also witnessed cloud inversions, which is when the air near the ground is cooler than that higher in the sky. A rare phenomenon that requires certain levels of humidity to occur.

Read more: 5 Things To Be Scared Of When Hiking In Australia (And How To Get Over The Fear)

Not a bad spot for a brew

If I hadn’t pushed past the times I was uncomfortable and scared, I wouldn’t have witnessed this magic and been the first to lay eyes on the bush, waking with the birds, and slowly taking in a cup of humble black coffee, before walking back to civilization.