This really did happen to me. The year was 2019 and I was just starting out in the camping hobby. I was alone, and I wasn't scared. At all. I should have been.
The people I was supposed to go with ditched and never showed up. So, I decided I would strike out on my own. I left the mountain (Mt. Diablo in Northern California) and went down to the lowland, around the river and foothills.It was a regular campground although it was a little too well used. The website said "here's spot # whatever." So that's where I parked. There were several cars and trucks in the site, and the people were all minding their own business, doing what campers generally do, having a great time.
On the spur next to mine, was a white, dilapidated pickup with a camper shell on the back. The tall kind. The truck itself had last been registered in 1978. I didn't really think much of it. You see that a lot here in this area. Lots of folks live off grid, or in the back country in the desert. It's not unusual.
Anyway, it was almost dark and I was unpacking and busily scurrying around trying to get everything set up so I could start my very first, very own campfire. I had a few hotdogs in my car to eat with a side of guacamole and chips from Del Taco in the last town (Truckee).
This was my actual tent, that I used that day. It was a Liberty Trail 3 giga tent that lasted approximately 8 hours. In other words, it had no brand and I bought it at Walmart. I threw it away and bought an Ozark Trail. That one lasted 4 days.
Finally, I bought a Night Cat tent and it has been love ever since.
From the corner of my eye, I saw that the camper shell seriously tilted to one side as a scruffy looking older man stepped down onto the ground. He was really tall compared to me - perhaps 6'5. He was skinny. He was white. I didn't think much of that either because we have "all kinds" in this area. No one really judges anyone else , least of all me.
He was wearing jeans, and some kind of old t shirt and something like a plaid over shirt. His hair was wispy, scraggly, and grey.
He was standing there, about 20 - 30 feet away. It seemed like it was so fast, and he plopped down in MY chair, next to MY picnic table, in MY campsite. I'm still about 15 feet away and not very threatening to say the least. I'm about 4'11.
So now, I'm thinking "wait a minute - let me process this shit" as Sam Jackson would say. I don't like this at all. Not at all.
"That's a nice hammer you have...." His voice was like MadDog 20/20 mixed with a little boilermaker of Hennessy and Pabst beer, scraping over granite ice cubes.
It's dark. I can barely see anything with my glasses on but my INFJ senses are out in full blazing flame for those with eyes to see, and I'm reading his mind. (It's an INFJ thing). There was no way for me to run fast enough when he reached for the hammer and grabbed it, holding it up for me to see that he had it.
So I did what any normal, middle aged woman with few options would do: I pulled my taser and let off a few sparks. (It was all I had.) He ran to his truck pissing himself the whole way, and yelling that I was an "offender". He was screaming bloody murder.
I was terrified myself, because of myself. I didn't know I could be that cold and calculated, but my knees were knocking together the whole time. I was just surprised at how clear headed I was and how clear my thoughts seemed to be.
A few men heard the commotion and ran over to my site to help me, and to chase the man off. Yelling and obscenties flying in my defense. I was grateful to them. One of them gave me a side-hug and told me to come with them to their camp for awhile, so that his wife could take care of me.
Our villain finally got his truck started and tore out of the campground. The pavement actually cracked in the heat. I called the Sheriff to report that he stole my hammer and menaced me with it.
Deputy Jones was a perfect gentleman and spent over an hour talking with me and calming me down. He told me funny camp stories. But he also told me something chilling: they would never catch the guy because the homeless were being forced into campgrounds and the BLM (wild lands) due to a lack of services for them in the city and most of them were drug-addled.
He stuck around for a long time and helped me finish putting up my tent. I didn't sleep in it that night. I slept in the back of my SUV with the doors firmly locked.
Before I went to sleep, the kind people who came to my help, fed me and gave me lots of decaf tea, to help me rest. They were truly kind.
I will never forget the lesson. And someday, I will be camping with my cat and my new dog. Not only that, but I know now, how to pay it forward. I will always come running to the help of any camper in trouble. We are never alone. We are always surrounded by good people of all kinds.
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