When I hear the unmistakable huffing of a bear close to my tent, I’ve never felt more isolated.

At 21, I ventured solo across Canada for a month.

I explored the Rockies, journeyed by train across the country, and enjoyed kayaking and camping near Vancouver Island.

I fell in love with the nation and its people—but especially with its untamed landscapes. To me, nothing is more stunning than a sunset casting its glow behind the forested mountains of British Columbia. Canada taught me the essence of wilderness—it was the largest, wildest, and most thrilling place I had ever experienced.

Being alone allowed me to fully immerse myself in it all.

********

I find myself lying in my tent, a cozy three-person setup, perched on a rocky bluff at the forest’s edge. Alone in the heart of the Canadian wilderness, the night is alive with sound.

The air is filled with the sounds of small wildlife. Insects buzz, and a nightingale serenades from the trees. In the distance, I can hear the soothing ebb and flow of the waters of the Johnstone Strait, the oceanic channel separating Vancouver Island from the mainland. This wild region is dotted with islands, home only to birds and seals—and a few adventurous humans living off the grid. Dolphins leap alongside boats, while minke whales and orcas breach the choppy waves, vanishing before I can capture them with my camera.

I'm lying alone in my tent, weary from a day of solo hiking, ready to drift into sleep. I need the rest for another day of woodland exploration tomorrow. My eyes flutter shut, then snap open once more.

I can’t pinpoint the source of the noise, but it soon returns: the sound of rocks tumbling on the beach just a short walk from my tent. With no one else around, the unmistakable huffing of a bear rummaging on the shore makes me feel utterly isolated.

I reach for my bear spray, an essential for anyone even thinking of wandering through a Canadian forest, let alone camping solo. I clutch it to my chest, my hands trembling as I realize how flimsy the nylon walls of my tent really are.

The huffing draws nearer. I hear the sound of large paws scraping over the rocks. The beach is just behind me, down a steep incline—easy access for a bear, naturally.

I listen as the heavy footsteps retreat, eventually fading away. It takes an hour before I feel secure enough to set down the bear spray, and another hour passes before I dare to try and sleep again.

I didn't quite manage it.

The next morning, I head to the beach. On the slope, less than 100 yards from my tent, I discover a bear print that’s the size of my head.

********

Upon my arrival, I was aware that Canada was untamed. However, I naively didn’t anticipate just how close that wildness would come.

Hiking and camping solo can be perilous, especially in remote areas where bears and mountain lions roam freely. Yet, there’s something about the terrain, the boreal forests, and the scent of spruce and pine in the Canadian wilderness that instilled a sense of safety in me. I reassured myself that bear attacks are rare, even as I stayed alert with bear spray, a whistle, and essential survival knowledge. Fortunately, I escaped any attacks, despite encountering several bears, orcas, eagles, elk... and even a moose. My time alone in such a wild environment taught me that embracing nature, rather than resisting it, invites acceptance.

I felt a deep sense of acceptance from Canada’s forests and mountains. It truly felt like home.

Available now, Children of the Sun, Beth’s fourth novel, tells the story of a group living off the grid in the heart of the Adirondack Mountains.