I grew up camping with my family. We spent long weekends at Texas state parks, where we’d pitch our giant blue canvas tent, belly flop into the nearest lake, and chase fireflies when the sun went down. As a college student, I camped with friends; when I married, my husband and I began backpacking. Until recently, though, I always slept within hollering distance of someone I knew, in case a bear invaded camp or a storm flattened my tent. Then, as part of what I called my “Year of Adventure” a few years ago, I decided to try solo camping.