Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear Bear-Sized Mosquitoes and Unidentified Nocturnal Noises,

You know when you plan a camping trip, and in your head, it’s all sunshine, crackling campfires, and serene lakes? Yeah, that’s not how my recent trip to the Olympic Peninsula went. Spoiler: I survived, but not without losing a little bit of my dignity along the way.

The Setup: Where the Dream Began

So, I decided to treat myself to a camping trip in the Olympic Peninsula, Washington’s beautiful crown jewel of nature. Majestic mountains, lush forests, and crisp, clean air. I imagined myself reconnecting with nature, maybe doing some light hiking, communing with the local wildlife (the safe kind), and just relaxing under the stars. You know, all the Pinterest-worthy camping vibes. My van was prepped, the girls (aka my dog and cat) were excited, and I was ready for some solo time in the wilderness.

Reality, however, had other plans.

Arrival: The Attack of the Giant Mosquitoes

I arrived at my campsite in the late afternoon, and things seemed promising—quiet, peaceful, surrounded by towering trees. I set up camp like a pro (or so I thought) and settled into my little outdoor oasis. That’s when the mosquitoes, roughly the size of small helicopters, decided to descend upon me.

Now, I’ve dealt with bugs before, but this was next level. These creatures didn’t care about bug spray, citronella candles, or my desperate pleas for mercy. It was as if they had been waiting all day for fresh meat to arrive, and I was the all-you-can-eat buffet. I slapped, swatted, and cursed my way through setting up, but every victory was short-lived as ten more mosquitoes took the place of each one I managed to squash.

At one point, I stood there, arms raised to the heavens, shouting, “Why have you forsaken me, nature?!” which I’m sure amused the chipmunks, who were probably laughing at my suffering. I considered packing it in right then and there, but no. I’m a Canadian army vet, a nurse in a prison—I can do this.

Night One: The Sounds of the Wild

After losing a pint of blood to the mosquitoes, I finally got to enjoy the evening. I made dinner, had a glass of wine (or two), and the girls and I settled in for the night. Everything was great—until the noises started.

Have you ever been in the woods, alone, in the dark, and heard a sound you couldn’t identify? Let me tell you, it’s enough to make you rethink all your life choices. I tried to stay calm, convincing myself it was just the wind. Or maybe a raccoon. Or, you know, Bigfoot.

There was this one particular rustling outside the van that had me clutching my flashlight like it was a magic wand that could make bears disappear. My dog, who is supposed to be my fearless protector, didn’t seem bothered at all. She was curled up, snoring away, while I was mentally preparing myself to fight off whatever creature was lurking just outside.

I eventually fell asleep, but not before googling “Can bears open van doors?” (Spoiler: They can.)

Day Two: Nature’s Toilet Paper Challenge

The next morning, after successfully not getting eaten by bears or abducted by Bigfoot, I decided to go for a hike. Now, here’s the thing about hiking: it’s wonderful until you realize that, out in the middle of nowhere, you might have to, uh, take care of business.

Halfway through my hike, nature called—not the “oh wow, what a beautiful view” kind of nature call, but the “oh no, I shouldn’t have had that second cup of campfire coffee” kind. I scurried off-trail like a woman on a mission, scanning for a nice, discreet spot. Finding one was easy enough, but that’s when I realized I had forgotten one critical item: toilet paper.

In a moment of sheer panic, I remembered the age-old survival tactic: leaves. Yes, leaves. Friends, if you’ve never had to make this desperate decision, let me give you some advice—choose wisely. Not all leaves are created equal. Let’s just say the ones I picked weren’t exactly Charmin.

After that little adventure, I returned to camp feeling a bit more humbled by Mother Nature. She’d already sent the mosquitoes, and now she was testing me with… well, you know.

The Real Showdown: Rain vs. Me

Later that day, the skies darkened. I figured, “Okay, a little rain—no big deal.” I’m Canadian. I’ve lived through snowstorms that could swallow a house. I can handle a drizzle.

Except it wasn’t a drizzle. It was more like someone turned on a giant hose directly above my campsite. It poured, relentlessly, for hours. And because I was feeling particularly smart that day, I hadn’t put up my tarp. So there I was, frantically trying to keep my things dry while getting completely soaked in the process. The girls, who are normally adventurous, gave me looks like, “We trusted you. This is how we die.”

By the time the rain let up, my campsite looked like something out of a disaster movie. But did I give up? Nope. I cracked open another bottle of wine and declared it a victory.

A Change of Heart

In between the mosquito swarms, the mysterious nighttime noises, the leaf situation, and the torrential downpour, I did have a moment of clarity. Despite all the chaos, I was actually having a good time. There’s something weirdly satisfying about facing all the little challenges nature throws at you and coming out the other side (relatively) unscathed.

The truth is, camping out in the Olympic Peninsula made me appreciate the beauty of the wilderness, even when it’s trying to kill me. There’s a peace that comes from disconnecting, even when you’re swatting at bugs and dodging rainstorms. And despite the hiccups, there’s nothing quite like sitting by a campfire (or a soggy campsite) with your dog and cat curled up beside you, knowing that you’ve survived another day in the wild.

What’s Next?

After surviving the Olympic Peninsula, I’m feeling pretty invincible. Maybe next time I’ll try camping in a place where the bugs are smaller, the noises less terrifying, and the leaves a little softer. Or maybe I’ll just invest in a bigger tarp and bring a year’s supply of bug spray.

But for now, I’m basking in the glory of having made it through a wild camping trip in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. The girls are happy, the van is still in one piece (mostly), and I’ve got a new appreciation for toilet paper.

Until next time,
Your Bug-Bitten but Victorious Nomadic Nurse