Wander Woman

One thing social media rarely shows is what happens after the campfire burns out, the campground empties, and the last bit of daylight disappears behind the trees. That’s when your imagination takes over.

I’ve spent nights parked along beaches, tucked away in quiet state parks, and deep inside national forests. Most evenings end with nothing more than the sounds of crickets and a peaceful night’s sleep, but every now and then, a campground has an atmosphere that simply feels… different. Maybe it’s the isolation. Maybe it’s the darkness, or maybe it’s knowing you’re completely alone for miles. Whatever it is, there have been a few memorable places where I kept one eye open until sunrise.

Honey Hill Recreation Area – South Carolina

Honey Hill wasn’t scary because anything happened. It was scary because of how it felt. The campground is small, quiet, and tucked deep into the Francis Marion National Forest. Once the sun disappeared, so did every reminder of civilization. No nearby towns. No noise. Just darkness.

As I settled into the van that first night, strange sounds echoed through the woods. Branches snapped. Something shuffled through the leaves. Every few minutes another unexplained noise circled my campsite. Were they raccoons? Deer? Wild hogs? Probably. This is the night I remember thinking to myself, “I hate being blind. I’m getting a trail camera so I can always see what’s happening around me.”

When you’re lying alone in a van with only a thin sheet of metal separating you from whatever is outside, “probably” isn’t always enough to help you fall asleep. The forest has a way of making ordinary sounds feel anything but ordinary.

Hawk Recreation Area – West Virginia

West Virginia has some of the most beautiful public lands I’ve ever visited, but beauty and isolation often go hand in hand. Hawk Recreation Area was one of those places. It was peaceful during the day, with towering trees and plenty of room to breathe. At night, however, the campground transformed into a completely different world.

On my last night there, I woke suddenly to what sounded, and felt, like someone trying the passenger-side door of my van. I froze. Every sound stopped. I held my breath and listened. Nothing. To this day, I honestly don’t know what happened. Maybe it was an animal brushing against the van. Maybe the cooling metal shifted at just the wrong moment. Or maybe my half-asleep brain misinterpreted a perfectly normal sound. Whatever caused it, I didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night.

Catfish Lake – North Carolina

Catfish Lake was one of those places that should have felt like paradise. The lake views were incredible, the camping was free, and there wasn’t another person in sight, but getting there meant driving roughly seven miles down a dirt road deep into the forest, farther and farther away from everything familiar. By the time I reached the campsite, I was surrounded by complete wilderness with little to no cell service and no one around for miles.

During the day, the isolation was beautiful. At night, it felt completely different. There was something unsettling about knowing just how far out I was and how difficult it would be to reach anyone if something went wrong. Sitting alone in my van, surrounded by nothing but trees and darkness, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in the opening scene of a horror movie—the part where the audience is already screaming, “Don’t stay there!”

Nothing actually happened, but that almost made it worse. I spent my time there waiting for something bad to happen, listening to every strange noise and wondering what might be moving around somewhere beyond the reach of my flashlight. Catfish Lake was absolutely beautiful, but that kind of beauty comes with a price when you’re completely alone in the middle of nowhere.

Cypress Creek Campground – Florida

Cypress Creek Preserve in Florida was another place where I had the entire campground to myself. During the daylight hours, it was incredibly peaceful. The trees, the quiet, and the feeling of being completely removed from everything made it feel like the kind of place where you could finally breathe. I walked around during the day without a second thought, enjoying the solitude and the beauty of the surrounding woods.

Then darkness fell.

Suddenly, the same campground didn’t feel quite so peaceful. The trees seemed taller, the shadows deeper, and every unfamiliar sound seemed to carry a little farther through the darkness, and then came the thunderstorm.

A downpour rolled in, pounding against the roof of my van while thunder shook the woods around me. Being completely alone in an empty campground during a storm has a way of making you feel very small. I was tucked inside my van listening to the rain, thunder, and occasional noises coming from the woods, wondering what could possibly be moving around out there.

When you’re alone, surrounded by darkness and miles of forest, your imagination has plenty of room to fill in the blanks. Cypress Creek had been peaceful during the day, but by night, with the storm raging around me, it became a completely different place—and one I won’t soon forget.

War Ridge Campground – West Virginia

If you’ve never camped completely alone on top of a mountain, it’s difficult to describe just how dark the night can become. War Ridge was exactly that. When I arrived, I discovered I had the entire campground to myself. Most people dream about having a campground all to themselves. Until they actually do.

Even in the broad daylight, the place had an eerie stillness. Once darkness settled over the mountain, the silence became almost overwhelming. There were no neighboring campers laughing around a fire. No RV generators humming in the distance. No porch lights glowing through the trees. Just me.

Every crack of a branch sounded deliberate. Every gust of wind felt closer than it probably was. Being alone changes the way your brain works. Every “what if” suddenly feels possible. What if someone wandered into camp? What if a bear decided to investigate? What if that noise wasn’t just another deer? Your imagination writes stories far faster than reality ever could.

Sometimes the scariest thing is your own mind. I’ve learned that remote camping isn’t just a test of your gear, it’s a test of your mindset. When you’re traveling alone, there isn’t another person to laugh off the strange noises or reassure you that everything is fine. Every unfamiliar sound becomes your responsibility to investigate, or ignore.

The truth is, almost every strange noise I’ve heard while camping probably had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Wildlife is incredibly active after dark. Trees creak. Acorns fall. Wind can make a forest sound like it’s alive, but knowing that doesn’t always make it less creepy at two o’clock in the morning.

Would I camp at these places again? Probably not Honey Hill, but the others, absolutely. Despite the restless nights and overactive imagination, these remote campgrounds are also some of the most beautiful places I’ve ever experienced. They remind me that true wilderness isn’t always comfortable, and maybe that’s part of the adventure.

Have you ever stayed somewhere that gave you the creeps? I’d love to hear about the campground or place that kept you awake all night. Share your story in the comments, misery loves company!

Video was taken with my new trail cam at Hawk Recreation Area.