During my time living abroad,
I once spent three nights camping in the Alaskan backcountry.
No signal, no roads — and yes, they say there are bears.
The goal?
I wanted to experience real nature.
Not some hiking trail with signs and snack breaks —
I’m talking wild, untouched land.
So I went to Denali National Park with my friend Atsuhiro.
No campsites. No trails.
You just walk where you want, and pitch your tent wherever the ground looks kind of flat.
Real freedom. Or so I thought.
And yeah, I had Google Maps.
I had a smartphone.
I thought I was ready.
I was not.
Day one: disaster.
It started pouring rain.
We had to cross rivers, hike through soggy tundra for hours.
By the time we set up camp, I was soaked, freezing, and exhausted.
That night, the wind slammed against the tent. Rain was coming in sideways.
And then —
I heard footsteps.
Like…
“shff… shff… shff…”
Circling the tent.
I thought,
“This is it. A bear.”
I grabbed my bear whistle, got into some weird military crawl position,
and got ready to blow.
But then… my legs started shaking.
Uncontrollably.
Then my whole body started shivering —
like a lawn mower on a Sunday morning.
I whispered,
“Atsuhiro, I think I’m dying.”
He crawled into my tent, looked me in the eye and said,
“You okay, man?”
Didn’t wait for an answer.
He just zipped into my sleeping bag,
and started gently patting my chest —
like he was my girlfriend.
Honestly?
I didn’t hate it.
We survived the night.
Next morning, I unzipped the tent, took a deep breath of fresh mountain air —
and immediately said:
“Wait… did we bring a dog?”
The tent reeks.
Like full-on wet dog.
Like three soaking-wet Shiba Inus stuffed into a backpack.
And then I realized:
There were no animals outside.
The animal smell was coming from us.
We went to the Alaskan wilderness hoping to find wildlife.
Turns out —
we became it.
