I hung up the phone and sighed. It was seven in the morning on a crisp January day in Lubbock, Texas, and my big weekend plans had just been ruined. I had my car packed up and ready to leave for a camping trip to Big Bend National Park, and both friends had just called and cancelled. A thought entered my mind: What if you went by yourself?

That's absolutely crazy. You can't do that. You'll get kidnapped or hurt or lost, the rational part of my brain was saying, but the idea had already stuck. After all, my emotional side thought, I've had plenty of camping experience over the years. Don't forget about how much work you put into planning this trip!

And so I went, down unfamiliar roads to the eternally wild west Texas. The landscape changed with every hour, from plains to sand dunes to rolling hills to mountains. When I reached Alpine, I called my mom. "Hey, just wanted to let you know my friends dropped out of the trip so I'm going alone. I should be fine but here's where I'm staying and where I'm hiking just in case," I blurted out before she could get a word in. She was silent for a moment, and I imagined her shaking her head and rubbing her temples. She was familiar with my impulsive nature, but this was one of the biggest stunts I'd pulled to date. She agreed that I was an adult and it was my decision, but asked me to PLEASE tell her before I leave next time, and made me promise to check in with her whenever I had phone service.

         Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, Big Bend was still breathtaking. The brushy desert gave way to massive rock forms, the winding roads hugged the edges of treacherous cliffs. The banks of the Rio Grande river were blanketed by a lush, green forest. The sun began to set, and the sky came alive with strokes of pink and lavender.

         Upon returning to my campsite, I attempted—and failed—to make a campfire. I doused my firewood in lighter fluid, but the flame would die almost immediately. Defeated and hungry, I gave up on my idea of grilled chicken and ate a PB & J. As nighttime fell, I realized just how remote this place was. With no light pollution for miles, you could hardly see your own feet. But soon the clouds parted, revealing a multitude of glittering stars overhead. After stargazing, I piled on the blankets and curled up in my 5-person tent, ready for a good night's sleep after a long day.

I arrived in the park early the next morning, ready to hit the trails. I began at Hot Springs, on the far side of the park. I soon realized that I had made one major mistake: I had worn winter clothes into the desert. I dragged myself back to my car, practically melting, thankful that my next trail was in the mountains. Typical Texas, I thought, two drastically different climates just miles away from each other.

         As I ascended the four-mile-long Lost Mine Trail in the Chisos Mountains, I was thankful that I could go at my own pace—apparently, I was in worse shape than I'd thought. But I eventually made it to the top, and was met with gorgeous vistas of the surrounding mountain range. I was slightly disappointed to find out there was no mine (I guess that's why it was lost).

         My jaw dropped as I drove up to my final destination. Towering over the Rio Grande were massive cliffs, with a narrow gap known as the Santa Elena Canyon. I was nearly overwhelmed with all the beauty I had seen that day.

        On my final morning, I fought with a ruthless 18 mph wind that was trying to turn my tent into a parachute. I drove through the tiny town of Terlingua, reading the historical markers. I was surprised by the rich history of the area, and how well preserved many of the structures were. After grabbing a breakfast burrito, I waved goodbye to the town and park that had captured my heart that weekend. On my five-hour long drive home, I reflected on my experience. I had done something that few people my age would attempt. Though no one had said it out loud, many people had implied that I shouldn’t have gone because being a female put me in more danger. I felt proud to prove that my gender had nothing to do with it. I gained a new sense of independence and confidence in myself. My time in nature also gave me plenty of time alone with my thoughts, something that was rare in my busy college student life. I was able to reflect and pray as much as I wanted over the weekend. I learned to enjoy my own company, something I had not previously been comfortable with. Overall, I don’t regret going—the trip was a valuable learning experience, and an adventure I’ll never forget.