Solo Camp: Stream-Caught Spicy Stew, Sirloin Bliss, and the Viral Struggle
Arriving at the steak and maeuntang campsite, the crisp late-autumn air brushed against my cheeks. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I threw my arms wide and took a deep breath. “Suuuup, haaa—perfect.”
Not a single ant or bird in sight anywhere. Nice. This place is all mine. A satisfied smile spread across my face as I headed to the trunk. “Whoa, this is ideal.” Just knowing there were no other campers around made my heart feel at ease.
I pulled out the camera and tripod from the trunk and set them up in a good spot. Waving at the lens—more naturally than before—I greeted the viewers. “Hey everyone, it's your steady camper here. Today, we're at a campsite in Gyeonggi-do. As you can see, no other campers around, so it's like we've rented the whole place out.”
With the quick intro done, my inner camper instincts started stirring. My chest swelled with excitement now that I was here. I dove right into site setup, efficient as ever. Alright, wind's coming from that direction, so stake the pole here... My mind had already calculated the perfect tarp angle. Fifteen years of experience doesn't lie.
Confidently, I unfurled the tarp skin with one hand. “Hup...!” ...Or tried to. “Urgh... damn it, ugh. When I get back, I'm hitting the gym first thing.” Complaining wouldn't help. My arms weren't magically bulking up right now.
...Fine. If brute force won't cut it, use your head. I caught my breath and checked the wind direction brushing my cheek one more time. Instead of yanking blindly, I'd use the wind pushing the tarp to my advantage. Fifteen years of camping taught me more than just muscle flexing.
I grabbed the string and glanced at the camera. Stuff like this makes me look pro, right? I adjusted my pose so my fingers were clearly visible and slowly started tying the knot. “This totem line hitch can be tricky at first, but once you get it, you can easily adjust line length on tents without stoppers.”
My hands moved from muscle memory, and soon a perfect shelter stood strong against any wind or rain. Next up: the tent. I checked the slope under the tarp for a spot where water wouldn't pool. “Most campsites are prepped, but at natural sites, you gotta watch the tent spot. A slight slope is ideal.”
Skip that and you'll end up digging trenches like me... and getting struck by lightning. ...I kept that to myself. I laid down the groundsheet and mat to block the cold damp earth, then set up the chair and folding table. Now it looked like a proper camping setup. Mmm, not bad. Perfect, even.
House is built. Time for dinner prep. The highlight of camping? A delicious evening meal and campfire, hands down. Smiling with satisfaction, I headed to the gear box in the corner and pulled out the hefty hand axe.
Needs sharpening. I grabbed the whetstone, splashed some water on it. Scraaape, scraaape. The rhythmic sound echoed through the quiet site like ASMR. Lost in the zone, I pushed and pulled the axe over the stone. The cool, sharpening edge eased the tension of camping in this new body.
“There are whetstones suited to each tool. For an axe like this, a rough 1000-grit is fine, but for knives needing a razor edge, finish with 3000-grit.” Hmm, too much info? I could cut it in editing. I hadn't planned to talk much while filming my quiet camp, but my mouth kept running. Ever since becoming a woman, I've noticed I talk to myself more. Didn't expect it on camera, though... Guess I'm relaxing now.
Sharpening done, I gathered some dry branches of decent thickness nearby. With the keen axe, I swung down. Thwack! A crisp crack, and the branch split cleanly in two. Once I had a good pile of firewood, it was time for the main event: meat prep.
Hmm... steak alone feels a bit lacking. The thick cut wasn't quite enough to fill this perfect camping night—maybe 2% short. Then my eyes caught the small stream flowing beside the site. Grinning, I kicked off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants to my knees, and dipped my feet in the icy water.
“Brr, cold!” My body shivered, but this chill was nothing for that. I started flipping over shallow stones. A few duds later, a fat kkeokji fish appeared.
“Gotcha.” I slammed a rock down hard next to it. Thud! Water splashed up. Even with my weakened strength, the vibration stunned it. The slimy wriggle, the frantic flapping in my hand—life's resistance. No hesitation, though. On shore, I bashed its head with the axe poll, then grabbed the filleting knife.
Scrape, scrape. Scaled it, gutted it. Rinsed the blood in the stream, and a clean fish emerged. But I'm a woman camping—shouldn't I act a bit dainty? Nah. I'd seen those videos of female campers fussing dramatically over meat. No way. My vibe is the skilled beauty doing healing camps effortlessly, not cutesy aegyo.
Skill and efficiency—that's all this needed. One kkeokji prepped, thick steak seasoned with salt and pepper. All that was left: grill and boil.
Skilled hands oiled the portable cast-iron pan and laid on the meat. Sizzle! The world's most beautiful sound filled the site. In the other copol, I dumped spicy seasoning and the fish, setting it over the fire. While the steak grilled, steam rose from the pot with a savory, spicy aroma.
Spooning hot broth from the bubbling pot, I blew on it and slurped. The sharp, refreshing heat raced down my throat, sending shivers through me. “Kya—! This hits the spot.” The spicy soup warmed my chilled insides. The fish flesh was chewy and perfect.
Slicing into the star—chuck tenderloin—with care. “Whoa, look at that marbling... melts in your mouth.” A flawless, marbled piece hit my tongue. “Mmmph...! So good...!” Broth sip, steak bite. The spicy soup cut the fatty richness perfectly.
Couldn't hold back—I rummaged in my bag for the mystery green bottle. Pop! Lid off. Filled a paper cup to the brim with soju and downed it in one go. “Kya-ah! This is why we camp.” The sharp alcohol scorched down, searing my gut again. Perfection.
I ignored the camera and went full eating show mode. After a while, the buzz hit. “Hey viewers, have you ever been camping?”
“I was poor growing up. But Dad always took me every weekend. Life was tough, but those times let me feel warmth. He passed from illness soon after I turned adult... But camping like this brings back those memories.”
“Now I love it for itself, but maybe it started as a way to relive Dad...” Oops, booze loosens the tongue. Better wrap it up. With a slurred, tipsy voice, I waved at the camera. “T'night... that's it f'me... sleep well, guys...”
Next morning, late-autumn chill woke me. No hangover, but my body ached. “Groooan...! Ow, so stiff.” Stretched big, stepped out of the tent. Fresh mountain air and deep breaths cleared my foggy head.
Reset the camera, boiled a cup ramen for breakfast. Last chore: the dreaded teardown. Fun nights always end in grueling labor.
“Ha... when will I finish moving all this?” Facing the heaviest gear box. A weight I used to lift easily as a guy. Deep breath, hoist. “Hup...! Urgh... ngh... damn it, gym. Gym time!”
It lifted—just—but my arms shook. Face scrunched, groans escaped. A few steps, drop, catch breath. Repeat until everything was loaded. The camera caught every pathetic moment.
Home, door shut—tension melted. Muscles screamed like jelly molds. No shower, no change—just dove into bed. Woke to dusk outside. ...How long did I sleep? Every bone hurt. This body feels foreign.No. Slapped my cheeks awake.
I'm a camping YouTuber. End with editing. No matter how tired, finish today. Zombie-shuffled to the PC, fired up the software, scanned the timeline. Solid: tarp skills, axe work, fish prep—pro vibes.
But post-soju? Drunk eating show. ...Kinda cringy. Especially the slurred goodbye... Sigh. Couldn't delete, though. Felt like raw honesty might charm.
The real issue: teardown. Frail beauty grimacing, grunting over the box—pitiful and comical. Not my pro image.Edit this out. But my finger froze. Views... need views...
Eyes squeezed shut, shaky hand kept it in. Do I have to go this far...? Crushing self-loathing hit. Didn't even look—added subs, hit upload.
Tossed and turned in shame till sleep took me. Meanwhile, my YouTube channel exploded. The algorithm blessed the vid—it spread everywhere. Clips of a top-actress-level beauty's “Kya—!” over maeuntang and soju shot went viral across communities.
Just like that, without me knowing, my channel's subscribers were skyrocketing.