Are you ever afraid as you fall asleep?

Jess asked me this in the context of my walk to India, hundreds of nights spent sleeping in places it is forbidden to sleep,

The simple answer is yes, sometimes, but usually no. I spend about half of each year sleeping amongst mountains, forests, deserts etc. Because of that regular and prolonged exposure I would generally say that I am more comfortable falling asleep in the wild than in ’civilisation’. Hearing

I can’t write much more than that about the nights where nothing happens, so below are a few anecdotes, nights I have been afraid. Do not imagine these anecdotes to be representative, I can remember them so vividly precisely because they are rare.

In Croatia, I woke in the middle of the night to the sensation of the earth shaking very gently. Something very big was moving very close to me. A bear. If it was aware of me laying there it didn’t pay me any attention, and I stayed stock still for ten minutes while it moved around, and eventually out of earshot. I slept lightly for the remainder of the night and was glad to put some distance behind me the following morning. Damir later confirmed that there are bears active in that area. That night I was afraid. I lay there thinking of a story I’d read recently about a young runner who was attacked and killed by a bear in Italy.

I had a similar experience many years ago in Australia when I set up my camp a little too close to a river in the far north of Australia during my seven-month cycle around that rock. I was on the phone with Rose when I heard the unmistakable chuffing sound of a crocodile much too close in the darkness. I hung up, grabbed my sleeping matt in one hand, hauled my bike up with the other, and rode a ways back down a rutted track before giving a rather alarmed Rose a call back to reassure her that I hadn’t just been eaten by said crocodile.

There are lesser fears too. Like camping on a high alpine pass only for the wind to pick up to a gale in the middle of the night. Lying awake, bracing the structure of the tent with my body as great waves of wind and rain seem to crash into you. Those nights feel both brutally long, and exhilarating like little else. You picture your little shelter in that landscape, how feeble it looks in the face of natures fury. In your mind you turn over contingencies: what do I need to do first if the tent collapses? What do I save? What do I sacrifice? Which way is the wind coming from? Is there anywhere I can shelter?

Beneath fear lies frustration, and nature offers a menu replete with options for frustration. Rodents chewing through my bag, Mosquitos and sand flies taking their pint of blood, hot nights, cold nights, wild dogs, domestic dogs. But most nights bring neither fear nor event.