A Hike in the Woods, Day 5
Day 5, Part 1
The sun came up on the fifth day. I had been holding my arms close about my chest for hours in a feeble attempt to fight off the cold air. The storm from yesterday had moved on and the sun hung bright in the morning sky, but it gave no warmth. I staggered forward a few more paces before falling to my knees. My brain barely registered the pain. We made progress through the night as best we could in the darkness of the woods, neither one of us had even a headlamp to help light the way. We never stopped, never rested, though both of us fell and struggled to get back up more than once. Little Foot was flagging more than I was by the end; for the past hour, her pace was no faster than a crawl. Her head was drooping and lulling to the side, her arms hanging limp. Little Foot’s face did seem to soften with the first light of dawn, as though the sun could hold the terror at bay.
Little Foot slumped down next to me on the trail, I was still on my hands and knees, “We can rest here. I have to stop for a moment. Sorry.” The word “Sorry” escaped her lips in a breathless whisper.
I pushed myself into a sitting posture, using my arms to pull my legs into a tolerable position in front of me. “Don’t be.” I replied. “I’m exhausted too. My ankle feels like it’s on fire, I can’t go on either.”
Instinctively, I reached for my pack, I reached for my few remaining pain killers. But, they were gone. They were miles behind me in the woods somewhere. I sighed and rested my head on the tree to my back.
Little Foot sat down on my right side, leaning her left side into me. “Just a few minutes, okay.” She said, not looking at me. A certain measure of peace had come over her and (by extension me) with the rising sun. Hope had taken a foothold where there was only dread an hour before. I had parked my car at the next trailhead, and we had to be getting close by now. We just had to reach it today. We ended up resting against that gnarled tree for twenty minutes before setting out again. A small measure of resolve restored with the rest. Little Foot became the de facto leader of our two man group; she would set the pace and call our breaks. Both of us kept our heads moving side to side in a sweeping motion as best we could, always trying to peer into the woods as deeply as possible. Straining to see just beyond the last shadow. Both of us would jump and tense at every snapping branch or running deer or crying bird. But, at least, I wasn’t alone.
Our morning moved along in such a fashion. Neither of us had any food, and my stomach began a slight protest. If Little Foot was hungry, she never said it. We were able to drink from a fast moving rain fed stream that ran near the trail. At little past noon, we stopped for our third break of the day. Exhaustion filled my entire body. My right leg visibly shook under the strain of lowering my body to the ground, my left leg extended in front of me so as to not take any of the weight. Little Foot sat (fell) down next to me. Her face was pale and drained. The gash on her forehead had reopened, a trickle of blood was mixing into her eyebrow. Her eyes looked dim with dark circles around them, her face was drawn.
“Just a few minutes, okay?” she said to me.
I replied with a nod. And, with that, she leaned into me in the way we had become familiar. She put more of her weight into me than usual. The hope that had clawed its way into my mind was slipping away. Little Foot very well might die out here, even if we never see that monster again. She seemed so frail, so very close to death already. She fell asleep. “Just a few minutes” she had said, but I knew she needed more sleep than that. Little Foot needed so much more than rest, but that was all I could give her.
I’ll keep watch and let her sleep. She needs rest. Hopefully we can spare an hour. We’ve got to be getting close.
Day 5, Part 2
A whistling crept through the darkness. My eyes blinked heavily as sunlight edged out the darkness. My mind was simultaneously groggy, incoherent, and spinning in terror. Why was I afraid? Why does my entire body ache? Was someone whistling “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay?” My eyes shot wide open as the full weight of my circumstance came crashing down. I could suddenly feel my heart rapidly pounding in my chest. Wincing, I twisted in an attempt to locate the direction of the whistler. Little Foot gently shifted on my shoulder, still peacefully asleep. I shook her shoulder, forgetting about the deep raking gashes on her back. Little Foot’s face sprung to life with equal parts pain and fear.
“We’ve got to go, now!” I said to her in an urgent whisper. “I can hear him, I think he’s getting close.”
Little Foot managed to get to feet and helped me to mine, both of our faces pulling back in pain. With walking stick in hand, we made our way down the trail. The whistling still faintly clinging to the air, always lingering in the background. After a while of walking, Little Foot asked, “How long was I asleep, and why did you let me sleep? I can’t believe you did that.” She finished with a shake of her head.
“You needed rest.” I responded. “I was going to stay awake and let you sleep for an hour or so. But, you needed it. You’ve lost too much blood.” I could feel her disappointment, but I didn’t know what to do about it. “Look at you, you’re pale. You look like death.” And, with that, her face shot toward me with a harsh glare.
“You look like crap too!” Little Foot responded in a slightly higher tone. “Come on. We’ve got to move faster.” And so the pace quickened; I had to work hard to not be left behind.
After a mile or so, the whistling faded away. The sun had firmly settled into the western half of the sky, and it was slipping quickly toward the horizon. Little Foot’s frantic pace had slowed and I had caught back up with my hobbling gate. The trees seemed to be crowding the path again, old trees that seemed to crouch over us and cast deep shadows all around. There was a certain amount of comfort in hearing the whistling, we knew that it was some ways behind us. Now, there was no way to know.
“Back there, when you woke me up,” Little Foot broke the silence. “you said ‘he is getting close.’ What did you mean? Who’s ‘he?’”
“Harry.” I responded without taking my eyes from the trees. “You met Harry on the trail, right?” Little Foot looked confused and shook her head. “He’s the one that chased you out of that campsite. He’s the one that attacked you!”
“No.” She responded. I left the campsite that night because I saw some sort of bear prowling around. Sniffing at our tents. It wandered off behind the shelter and I got out of there. It was that bear that attacked me.” Her voice broke at the end, and she offered no more information.
I let the silence hang in the air, afraid to break it, but I finally offered “Harry has been following me. He’s always going the other direction, but he keeps popping up. That was him humming back there. He was sitting in the shelter when I got up that morning. Idly humming that same song.”
We followed a bend in the trail, which put the sun fully behind the mountain. Dark shadows consumed everything. Night started its slow grip on the mountainside. And that’s when the quiet of the forest was broken by a third human voice. “That’s so nice of you to tell her about me. Though I thought you’d mention that we’re friends, I thought we had truly bonded over the past few days. You trying to offer me hiking advice and all.” He chuckled as he finished. “Be careful of the rocks. Thanks for that tidbit” He chuckled.
Harry had easily overtaken us, and now he was casually sitting in front of us on a log next to the trail. He stood and took a few steps toward us. Little Foot and I had stopped in our tracks. She impulsively reached for my hand, I could feel her trembling. Every hair on my body stood on end. We both took a step back.
“Oh, let’s not do that.” Harry said, “Just sit down.” He gestured to the log he had just left. “Don’t make me chase you, how far could you really get anyway? Plus, I think safety is that way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Night will be here soon. Sit down, we can talk while we wait.”
With her free hand, Little Foot pulled out her small pocket knife, and brandished it toward Harry. The knife looked pathetic as it quaked in her fist. “Just let us go! Leave us alone!” She shouted. Tears had welled in her eyes.
Harry put up his hands in mock surrender as he moved aside. “By all means.” Harry said, now gesturing with a little bow down the trail he was no longer blocking.
We slowly walked past Harry, never taking our eyes off of him. He looked like a coiled spring ready to pounce, but he just stood there in his cruel mock bow. Little Foot and I eyed Harry over our shoulders until we reached the next bend in the trail. He straightened but never moved. He just watched us go, like a cat watches a mouse that it will soon play with. The turn took Harry out of sight, and that’s when the whistling picked back up.
Little Foot and I did our best to run. A pathetic sight. We couldn’t put enough distance between us and Harry. The sun was falling into the west, and there was nothing we could do. Night would be here soon. As evening blended into twilight, a glimmer of hope came to us in the form of a sign post. It read, “Parking lot trail 1.5 miles.”
Day 5, Part 3
The shadows stretched longer until dusk overtook everything. Trees were reaching out and clawing at our faces, roots and rocks grabbed at our feet. The dark woods swallowed us. The moon hung full in the sky casting devilish shadows and teasing pools of sickly pale light. Our shuffling run had slowed as we struggled our way through the dark. I jumped at every noise that came from the blackened forest. Owls cried in the night and deer crashed through the brush. I heard all of it as impending doom. A silence crept about the forest, but still “Sittin on the Dock of the Bay” cascaded around my mind. The silence was worse. It held a tenseness that my body strained against. My ears, my eyes, my nose all strained in search of danger. I was now coaxing Little Foot along. She had become even more pale with the moonlight, and she was drained. We had to stop, we needed to stop, but stopping was death. And so, I pulled her along, stumbling along roots and weakly pushing branches away.
Little Foot collapsed to the ground. “I can’t…I can’t…just go” she said through shallow panting breaths. “Leave me.”
“Get up! I’m not leaving. We’ve got to go!” I pulled up on her arm and she cried out in pain. “We can’t stop.”
I hauled her back to her feet, and she stood slump-shouldered with her head down. I started to lead her down the trail, when Harry’s distant blood curdling scream pierced our ears like daggers. Little Foot lifted her pale face, her eyes locked on to mine, “He’s coming.” Her words should have been a scream, but they came out as an accepted fact.
I found a spurt of new energy. A last push to safety. Surely, my car had to be close by now. My right leg strained to drag my useless left leg into a run, my upper body bearing down on the walking stick for support. Little Foot managed to keep pace. Harry crashed through the woods behind us and a little higher up the mountain. Moonlight pooled on the trail up ahead. Like a divine light, it illuminated a trail junction with a sign post. The downhill path surely leading to the parking lot and to safety. The post was a hundred yards off, one-fifty at most. Burning hot pain shot up my left leg in jolts of agony as I put more and more weight on my left ankle. Little Foot tripped on an unseen root and fell to her hands and knees. “Get up!” I yelled as I pulled mercilessly on her ruined shoulder. “We’re almost there, we can make it!” And, with that, she struggled, for the last time, to her feet.
Harry let out a primal roar. He was closing fast. A crashing noise of crushing bramble and snapping branches exploded from our left. He burst from the forest in front of us, and landed in a pale pool of moonlight. No longer a man, a monster stood in front of us. Red saliva dripped between jagged teeth from his elongated snout. His own blood fell from his mouth to stain thick mats of fur on his chest. Harry stood poised on the balls of his back feet which had transformed into gigantic paws; long nails jutting out and digging into the mud. His eyes, blazing yellow in the moonlight, stared at us in anticipation of the chase. A monstrous werewolf basking in the pale light of the full moon.
Our screams mingled in the air as Little Foot and I clumsily backed away, not daring to look anywhere but at the terror in front of us. I tripped over a hidden root, landing hard on the ground. The werewolf took a single step, its massive paws pushing deep into the mud. Its mouth twisted into a snarl, exposing huge blood stained canines. The stench of carnage and death oozed from that savage muzzle. Once I fell, the beast pounced. In a blur it closed the gap between us. Little Foot, screaming and swearing, was pulling at my shoulders “GET UP! GET UP!” But there was no time, no chance to flee. Little Foot unconsciously took a step back as the monster leapt into the air. Without thought or conscious decision, I brought my walking stick up in front of me. One end buried itself deep into the werewolf’s stomach and the other slammed hard into the ground under my left arm. The werewolf’s terrible muzzle gaping with thick saliva dripping into my face, his eyes popping from their sockets. He hung in the air for a second or a minute (time seemed to have lost all meaning) before the beast came crashing down on top of me. I could hear its ragged and wheezing breaths, the smell of blood swarmed my senses, the werewolf’s sheer bulk crushing my right side. My left hand sunk deep into coarse brown fur as I pushed with whatever strength was still in me. After a moment, Little Foot came to my side and was weakly trying to roll the monster off. Finally, with a last heave and jerking of my own body, I was free.
My walking stick lay broken under the monster, and, without a second thought, that’s where I left it. I scrambled to my feet, primarily balancing on my one good foot, and took in my first deep breath. A new pain filled my body, it exploded in my chest, it erupted in my brain. I doubled over clenching my side. My very lungs seemed to be scraping against my ribs. The weight of the werewolf came down solidly on my chest.
“Com’on” I gasped for breath, “we’ve got to go.” I said to Little Foot.
She put an arm around my shoulder and gave a little push to get me moving down the trail as I gasped for another breath. Without my stick for support, my walk was pathetic; a run was beyond me. But, I limped a hopping, shuffling limp as quickly as I could. “He’s not staying down.” Little Foot said, offering for me to put my left arm over her shoulder. Her face, which she was still not lifting up, visibly curled into a wince. We made it to the sign post before I stole a look behind us. The monster was stirring, trying to force himself back to his feet. His breathing, like mine, was labored and painful. He stooped in a half crouching position, one knee on the ground and both wicked hands clutching his abdomen. Our eyes met, and he let out a low growl that seemed to shake the very ground. The last thing I saw was my broken walking stick discarded in the dirt. Half of it was wet with blood.
We turned down the access trail, my car now only a short walk away. A singular howl, weaker but with no less malice, broke the night air. My back stiffened at that sound, and I could feel my skin tighten. The echo of the howl faded away, but it was replaced with the sound of the werewolf rampaging through the woods. The crashing was slower but more ferocious. What had been a twisted game of cat and mouse, had now become something else. Something truly and purely horrifying.
We trekked on, without hope that we could ever out run the monster. Wounded as he was, the deliberate noise coming from the dark woods was consistently growing closer. Little Foot, still supporting me under my left shoulder, stumbled and fell to her knees. Rocks digging deep into her palms. I looked down at her, my savior, and noticed drops of blood glistening in moonlight as they mingled into the dirt and rocks. She was breathing heavily. I saw her forearms flex and strain to lift her own body, but she didn’t budge. I reached down to help her up, but, as my fingers grazed her torn coat, her strength gave out and she collapsed onto her side. I fell to my knees, never minding the pain, to hold her, to coax her back up. We had to go, there was no time. My hands reached her cheeks, and a wet warmth covered my fingers. Gently I pulled her face out of the dirt to see the new horror. Little Foot’s scalp wound had reopened and blood oozed from it. But now, there was a new wound stretching from her brow to the crook of her lip. Deep tissues hung limply. Though the lids were squeezed shut, her right eye was most likely gone.
“He got me when he fell.” She said in a cold and distant voice. Weariness and shock were all that Little Foot had left.
I cradled her head, weeping. My chest burned with pain as it heaved uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you say something? You supported me this whole time! You should of told me!” I cried. Tears freely falling.
“It wouldn’t change anything.” Little Foot responded. Emotion started to break through her distant stare. “Now go!” She cried. A tear dropped from her eye. “While you have time. GO!” She gave me a weak shove. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” A cold grin touched her lips. I looked down to her clenched hand that held her pitiful pocket knife.
I bent down, pressing my forehead to her’s.
***
I don’t remember much else. I did hear a demon’s howl as I drove away, but I didn’t hear the werewolf attack Little Foot. I didn’t hear her screams. Her cries don’t haunt me every night; especially if I’m outside at night with a full moon looming above.
I made a police report. I was forced back into those cursed woods to show the cop and park ranger the torn remains of Little Foot’s camp. I showed them where the werewolf attacked us. I was even forced to show them where I left Little Foot on the trail. In the end, it was ruled a bear attack. “In these woods” they said “people get attacked by bears more often than you’d think.” And that was it. I assume her family was told some fabricated story about an aggressive bear. I was never told. I was never given any of her personal information, so I couldn’t even try to find the family she left behind. I don’t even know her real name.
As for me, I haven’t been able to get myself back on the trail. I cannot hardly go outside at night. But, on the rare occasion that I have to, I swear I can still hear a soft whistling carried on the wind.
When you plan a fun day for the kids, but it always goes like this….
A Hike in the Woods, Day 4
Before we get started, I wanted to make sure everyone knows that this is a fictional story. I know I left it very vague in the beginning. I let everyone think that this truly happened to me, but we’ve made it the the point that I wanted to make sure nobody thought that anymore. With that said, please enjoy the forth installment of A Hike in the Woods.
Day 4, Part 1
I just found Little Foot’s tent, or what’s left of it to find anyway. Shreds of tent cling to the bark of several nearby trees; larger chunks droop from low hanging branches. Tent poles lay snapped and scattered on the ground, and the blood…it covers all of it.
***
Shortly after writing about my terrifying visit last night, I downed a couple of ibuprofens and broke down camp; leaning on my walking stick as I went. I then hobbled over to my hanging food bag. My eyes burned as I stared unblinkingly into the woods, my ears perked for any miniscule noise. I had the feeling of a dozen lifeless eyes, hidden by the trees, watching my every move. A stick broke to my left, and my head violently twisted in that direction. Then a rustle of leaves to the right brought my head the other way. I could feel my heart pounding and sweat popping from individual pores on my forehead. But when I made it to my food bag, there were no raking claw marks on the nearby trees. No sign of fur in the bark or prints in the softer dirt. Even the fallen leaves in the area seemed immaculate in their normalcy. Whatever came to my tent last night, it did not care about my food that was hung only a short walk away. I pulled my food down and shoved that on top of my sleeping bag. Then, groaning with the effort, I slung on my pack and started off as quickly as I could manage; leaving drag lines in the dirt and leaf litter from my left leg.
My arms burned by the time I made it back to the ridgeline; my walking stick would visibly bow under the weight as I pulled myself up the mountain. Boulders and rock scrambles seemed to grab at my left foot, tugging at every footfall. I noticed that I had slowly stopped peering into the deep woods as the miles passed. I was still very wary of the beast from last night, but it was impossible to maintain that hyper awareness of my surroundings. Instead of swiveling back and forth, my head hung in exhaustion. As the forest thinned with the elevation gained, the sun started to beat down harsher. Sweat dripped from the bridge of my nose, my shirt clung to my chest. I drank greedily from my water bottle until I was down to just half a bottle left. But I made it. I made it back to the ridge, and I nearly collapsed onto a rock for rest. I ate the last of my trail mix and dry-swallowed more pain pills. It felt like I had walked a million miles, but it was probably three, four miles tops. I knew I couldn’t rest long. I had to go soon, but I just needed a minute of rest.
A crashing noise from behind me broke my moment of peace while I was still sitting on the rock I had nearly collapsed upon. The sound of popping twigs, crunching leaves, and sliding earth came from behind me. It was the beast! It had followed me here and finally it would kill me. I could almost feel its heavy breath on my neck, its reek surrounded me. As I twisted my body towards my assailant, I caught sight of light brown fur bounding away towards my left. It was only a deer. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Relief washed over me almost as quickly as terror had crashed into me a moment ago. I was trying to calm my racing heart when the thought hit me; “What had startled the deer?”
I didn’t wait for an answer, I started down the trail again with new found energy. My steps were a little faster, and my left ankle could bear a little more weight than it had been able to a few moments before. Noises from the trail: squirrels playing on overhanging branches, birds taking flight with a mighty flap of their wings, and deer crunching through the brush, I heard it all. My eyes darted from left to right, constantly scanning the forest that surrounded me. The forest itself seemed closer. Trees crowding into the narrowing path, and the branches looming ever lower overhead. It was here that I came upon Little Foot’s camp.
***
Yellow tent fabric hung lazily from a branch about twenty yards off the trail. It looked as though a flag was somberly dancing in the light breeze. I shambled toward it, simultaneously knowing it was Little Foot’s tent and not accepting that it belonged to someone I knew. I could not process the idea that this was real. Tears warmed my cheeks, and I was yelling her name; having completely forgotten about not drawing attention to myself. I hadn’t even made it to the tent when I fell to my knees, jagged rocks sending barely noted pain through my knees.
“Little Foot! Little Foot!” I yelled. All the while, knowing it was useless.
My voice was harsh and my face stung as I sat there hunched with my head in my hands. Sorrow and pain and fear swelled together in the edie of my brain. I had to get up, I had to find my friend. No, I had to run! Strips of tent were scattered on the ground like so much confetti. The strips were limp and wet with drying blood. Saliva still clung to branches reaching toward the horrible scene. Unwittingly, my nostrils flared with the scent of the monster that still settled in the air despite the mild breeze. I found Little Foot’s pack, it was ten yards deeper in the woods as though flung carelessly. One of the shoulder straps was ripped and dangling. Claw marks tore through the face of the bag, as though it was pulled from her back and cast aside. A winding path of crushed and scattered brush led deeper into the woods. Blood smeared indiscriminately on the forest floor, and the occasional tracks of fingers that had clawed deep gouges into the very earth. I didn’t follow the horrible path I found, I couldn’t face what I might find at its end. My ears did prick up at the sound that started to faintly echo around me. I folded my arms around myself to protect against the light breeze that chilled my skin, I felt as though my blood had completely drained from my body. The sound my ears had pricked to was a light and carefree whistle coming from deep within the woods. Moments passed before I could shake myself from terror’s grip. I quickly and quietly made my way back to the trail, only stepping on rocks and bare dirt as often as possible. The unchanging whistle lingered in the air long after I had put more than a mile between me and that haunting noise.
Sweat dripped from my forehead and my breath came in ragged gasps as I slumped down against an old oak. I could still hear phantom whistling echoing inside my head but I couldn’t take another step. I had to rest, again.
I’ve propped myself against a tree, broken and exhausted and weak and completely terrified. But even now, I can sense a will to survive deep inside of my soul. Energy is slowly building back up in my body. I know I have to pull myself back to my feet. I have to put more miles behind me, I have to get to my car and get out. However, I can also feel my heart painfully pounding in my temples, and I can feel my knees tremor. My eyes are darting from tree to tree, trying to peer through the shadows and into the horror held within them. I have to get moving again, I have to go as quickly as I can manage. I just swallowed two more pain pills along with the last bit of my water. Should I even take my pack? I’d travel faster without it. This thought was followed with a look down the trail and then skywards. Gray clouds were building, and a crisp wind blew back my hair. I’ll take my pack, at least my tent will give me shelter if not protection.
Day 4, Part 2
The rain came. A steading soaking rain that is still rapping on my tent walls. The rain started an hour or so after my break. At first, I saw the rain as a blessing, the first good thing in a few days. Before the rain, my throat was dry and burning, and my labored breath brought on a raspy cough. I grabbed my water bottle but it was startlingly light. The bottle was completely empty, and I had no idea when or where I would be able to find water again. My mind was racing with this new problem. My breath quickened as panic further tightened its grip. Just then, the sky opened up and joy came over me.
Looking back on it, I can’t believe I found even a shred of happiness in that moment. Little Foot had died today, that monster was still out there somewhere, and I could die tonight. But, at that moment, I was truly happy. I was staring up at the sky, letting the rain patter on my face and cool my burning muscles. However, the moment was fleeting. The reality of rain set in as the water started to soak into my clothes. The sky was a dark gray and the wind was sharp and brisk. The wind was pushing the clouds at a swift pace, would this be a quickly passing shower or a long soaking rain? In the end, I pulled off my pack to retrieve my rain gear. I had used a thick trash bag as a liner to protect my sleeping bag, tent, and spare clothing in case there was rain; at least that was paying off. I fished around for my raincoat and tugged it on after I had peeled off my soaked and clinging outershirt. Flipping up the hood, and with the moment of joy behind me, I started off again
Slick mud formed where the trail had been dirt. My wet pack pulled on my shoulders, my thighs and (most cruelly) my left ankle burned with the added weight. A sharp pain coursed up my shin with every step; a stabbing pain rang out like warning bells with every slip. Water ran in little rivulets across the trail. No noises came from the woods save the pouring rain; the rain was a roar in my ears as it came down upon my hood. I was now deaf to all else. I tried to quicken my pace, pushing my tired and battered body harder until what had been an ache grew to something more severe. Dim shadows moved amongst the trees, just beyond the point of true and reliable sight allowed with this downpour. Figures danced in and out of sight. I would see something (someone) in the woods on my left only to have it disappear and pop up a moment later on my right. One figure would be keeping pace between the trees and brush, then three or more shadows would catch my other eye. There was no sound, no guttural roar, just the pounding rain. But, in my head, I heard Harry whistling “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.”
In the end, the rain forced me off of the trail. Steel gray clouds still spread themselves across the midafternoon sky. The inside of the tent managed to stay relatively dry during the set up, and now I’m hunkered in here with all of my drenched gear. The campsite itself has a slight downhill slope, and I’ve piled my wet gear on the downward tent wall. I have no hope that any of it will dry out. The only things saved from the rain were my spare change of clothes, and my sleeping bag and pad, having both been stored in the trash bag liner. And now, I have the unzipped sleeping bag pulled tight around my neck and shoulders. I hesitate to confess that I really want to pull the makeshift blanket up and over my head like a child afraid of the boogie-man hiding under the bed.
I ate a dinner of a cold-soaked oatmeal packet, some dried fruit, and two more ibuprofen. I know I should hang my food bag out in the woods, but I’m not going to; not tonight. It’s too much, it’s all too much to ask. The rain has started to ease, what was a roar is now a soft pattering on the tent. A gray blanket still covers an afternoon sky that is slowly becoming darker. I think I’m done for the night, I don’t think I could go out there again today. My legs throb every time I have to adjust my posture. My shoulders hummed and my hand shook while lifting my spoon to eat cold oatmeal. Even my brain is having trouble focusing. Everything feels fuzzy? I’ve started having lapses in my awareness. I’m not sure when I stopped trying to listen to the woods around me, the monster could be right outside my tent and I’m not sure I would even care. It’s going to get me, I just don’t know when.
Day 4, Part 3
I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in my bag, twisting onto one side just to toss onto the other. My ankle has come down in size from a grapefruit to an orange; purple bruising has started to change to a sickly yellow. In general, the ibuprofen is helping a little, but my ankle would still bark every time I twisted a little too carelessly in my sleeping bag. Worse than the constant pain, my brain would not shut off. The rain has gone from a roaring downpour to a soft drizzle, and, with the roaring quieted, my ears have automatically tuned into hearing any outside noises. But the woods have fallen deadly silent. There was no wind rustling the leaves, no animals crunching leaves or breaking twigs, no birds calling in the night. The rain had made everything quiet. The world, it seemed, had stilled, and was now waiting in silent anticipation.Waiting to exhale the breath it was holding.
Sitting up in my sleeping bag, I began to rapidly bounce my right leg. My head involuntarily jerked back and forth as shadows danced at the edge of my vision. I had to get out of this tent before it became my coffin. I pulled on my boots, deciding to not bother tying them, and I hobbled outside.
A deep breath of crisp air filled my lungs. The rain had finally stopped, and the clouds had begun to split apart in the night sky. With an exaggerated exhale, a measure of nervous anticipation left my body. If that monster came back, at least I would be on my feet, not laying helpless in my tent. I paced a small circle around my camp, putting slightly more weight on my left foot. I had purposely left my walking stick where it laid. I was testing my ankle, trying to see how far it could go. My walk was slow and ginger, but my ankle felt a little better (a little more stable) than it had yesterday. Hopefully with another night’s rest, it would improve still more. While walking, I took a mental inventory; my food supply was getting low with only one more full day’s rations left, my water was okay (I had filled my bottles with the streams of rainwater,) and my body could only be considered as “mending” with the most positive of spins. Tomorrow had to be my last day out here, if I made it through the day.
I could feel my energy start to drain away again. I was flagging after only fifteen or twenty minutes of walking unassisted, and it was time to take shelter again in the tent. During my walk I still had not heard a peep from my surroundings, the woods remained silent. I stooped to pull aside the tent flap when a rampaging rush came from deep within the woods. I whirled (instinctively on my right foot) to face my attacker. The crashing was still too far into the night for me to see the source, but I knew what it was. Soon the reek of its blood stained breath would surround me, the sound of its unnatural roar would fill my head, and its fangs and claws and fur would engulf me. Whistling would fill the air and mingle with my screams.
I tensed my body and planted my feet as the crashing grew louder. Warm liquid ran down my leg unnoticed, as the monster was now just beyond the tree line. For a split second I saw its form, pale and gray in the moonlight between the clouds; the monster was smaller than I thought. And then it was on me! But, it didn’t leap upon me; it fell into me. We toppled into the mud, its weight landing on my chest. My hands came up to claw at its eyes, to punch at its nose, to do anything I could to survive. My left hand reached out for my walking stick to use as a club. My right hand reached for its face. I felt my left hand wrap around the stick as my eyes and brain registered what was on top of me.
A woman’s face came into focus. Crusted blood obscured the right side of her face, but her eyes were wide and her pupils were dilated. She stared at me with a wild and uncomprehending gaze for a moment, then she let out a screaming sob that threatened the limits of my hearing. Little Foot lay on top of me crying and yelling. Snot flowed unchecked from her crooked nose, tears streamed down her face; cutting paths through the dried blood. She slowly fell to her hip on my right side and sat hunched in the mud. Her shoulders shook violently, sobbing as she struggled to gain control of herself. I gently lifted her head with the palm of my hand so that our eyes could meet again.
Alive! Little Foot is alive! How is this possible? How could she have survived the gruesome attack I saw at her campsite?
Our eyes met, and I could finally take in her mangled face. Blood had run freely from a deep gash at her hairline above her right eye. Her hair was matted down and slicked with gore. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around her forehead, and it had long since been stained red. Mud and bramble clung in her hair and covered her body. Long and ragged gashes ran the length of the back of her puffer coat. Little Foot’s right sleeve was ripped off at the shoulder seam. Puffer coat and undershirt sleeves were both gone. Claw marks dug deep into the flesh above the elbow and ran through the forearm. Blood still dripped from her right arm, making small pools and mixing with the mud. Despite all of this, despite the torment she had gone through, she was alive.
Little Foot sat clutching her knees to her chest, rocking slowly. She had stopped screaming, she had stopped crying, but she still wouldn’t meet my eyes. Once I had let go of her chin, she had tucked her face between her knees. I lit my stove and quickly made her a packet of instant oatmeal. It was one of the few food items I had left. She refused it. All I could do was sit with her and carefully put an arm around her shoulders. After a while, I started tending to her wounds. My spare shirt turned into bandages and rags. First, I tied a tourniquet around her right bicep. I had to stop the active bleeding. Second, I looked at her shredded back as best I could without removing any clothing. There was no active bleeding, and I was afraid to move things around and reopen any sealed wounds. I decided to leave it alone. Lastly, I started to clean her face. A crimson mask covered half of her face. As I reached to lift her chin from her knees, Little Foot’s hand grabbed my arm, leaving nail impressions in my wrist. “What are you doing?! Stop it! STOP!”
Little Foot staggered to her feet. “What are you doing? We have to go. Now!”
“No.” I said, “We have to take care of you. Sit down before you fall. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You couldn’t possibly make it further like this.”
With that Little Foot stumbled closer. Her bloody hands came up to my cheeks, I could feel the sticky wetness of them, and her unnaturally wild eyes finally met mine. “He’s coming.” She said in a voice that was too soft. “He’s coming, and he’s going to kill you.” Her Voice started to rise. “He’ll kill you, he’ll kill me.” Her voice, nearly a shout. “He will eat you. We have to run!” Her hands fell from my face and our eyes parted. She was now staring in the direction she had come. “He’s out there, and he will kill you! We’ve got to go.” She finished breathlessly.
I understood those wild eyes, that terrified intensity, and I started to shove what I could into my pack.
“Leave it!” Go. Now!”
She stumbled a step or two, as though she were drunk, then she made for the trail. Thankfully she paused at the trail, I’ll never know if she was waiting for me or if she was looking for the monster, and she saw me limping in her wake. “Hurry!” She said, waving her left arm in my direction. I saw terrified impatience and sympathy fight in her eyes as she watched me make it to her side. After I made it to the trail, I was able to quicken my pace a little. And, in this manner, we fled through the night. We didn’t stop until the morning sun was peeking through the brilliant red and yellow leaves of autumn.
A Hike in the Woods, Day 3
Day 3, Part 1
Sleep didn’t come easy last night. There were several distant cries and hooted screams. There were several bumps in the night, each one had my eyes dart open and my mind racing. I guess recounting the dead deer story last night did an unexpected number to my own imagination. At the first hint of the sun breaking into the dawn, I abandoned all thought of sleep and decided to make a cup of coffee. I dug out my small stove and crawled from my tent, still wrapped in my unzipped sleeping bag like a puffy blanket to ward off the morning chill. With a yawn, I lit the stove and put water to boil. Rubbing my sleep crusted eyes, I glanced toward Little Foot’s tent to see if she was rousing. To my surprise, her tent was gone, no sign that it had been there. Any amount of sleep that still clung to me instantly fell away. Did she leave in the middle of night or did she silently break down her tent at the very first light? She must have really wanted to get out of here to risk a night hike. Night hikes are inherently risky. Even the most mundane obstacle, jutting roots or rocks, become dangerous. A lot of wildlife become more active at night, straying closer to human trails that tend to be busier during the day. I can’t help but wonder how much of her decision was because of me, at least because of my story. Other than the deer story, our talks were pleasant and our company cordial. I guess I may never know why she booked it out of here. We’re traveling in the same direction, maybe I’ll meet back up with Little Foot in the next day or so. I really want to find out what happened, what caused her to leave so abruptly.
After sipping my coffee, I decided to investigate Little Foot’s tent site. I wanted to see if anything obvious happened. Nothing looked out of place. There were some scuffled boot prints in the dirt, as though she was hurrying back and forth around the area. The holes left from the tent stakes looked as though the stakes were carelessly jerked out. But all that really means is that she left and she wasn’t careful about it, nothing else. I took a wider walk around the site, not sure what I was looking for or hoping to find. Something did seem a little off. The trees had spots on the trunk that were missing chunks of bark; as though it had been rubbed or raked from the tree. Small tufts of fur clung to jagged bits of bark. At first, I thought this really was something. I thought I found some clue in a terrible mystery. But, if you look close enough, almost every tree in the forest has bits of fur or oddly rubbed areas. I found some hair on a tree near my tent. Animals live out here after all. Who knows when or what kind of animal left that fur behind.
Having concluded my impromptu investigation, I took down my tent and packed my bag. I was about to sling my pack up to my back when I heard a quiet whistling coming from the lean-to down the hill. Hesitantly, I lowered my pack to the ground, not taking my eyes off of the back side of the shelter (I purposely chose a tent site behind the shelter, it felt more private somehow.) The whistling never faltered, never changed beat or pitch. Whoever was in the shelter was softly whistling “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” (a classic by Otis Redding.) My fright took a moment to shift toward curiosity, it truly was a good rendition, and now I was curious to see who was in the lean-to. With eyes still locked on the shelter, I started to creep toward the whistle. Without realizing it, I was walking on the balls of my feet while in a hunched position; trying to walk soundlessly through the fallen sticks and leaf litter. I did not want the whistler to know I was coming toward them. I have know idea what I was thinking, trying to sneak up on someone as though I’m some kind of master woodsman. About eight feet into my creep, I stepped squarely through a largish stick, creating a loud snapping sound.
“I know you’re back there.” the voice called. “You’ve been back there for a while, have you finally gotten your tent packed up? Stop creeping about, and come on over. Come say hi to a friend.”
It was Harry! He had, for some reason, backtracked to Hikers’ Nest #3, getting here in the small hours of the morning. After a few minutes of greeting and catching up, I asked if there was another tent set up when he got here.
“Sure. Right over there,” Harry pointed to Little Foot’s site, “but she left not too long after I settled in the lean-to. Not really sure why she jetted in the night. It was kinda weird if you ask me.”
That answered when Little Foot left but not why. Hopefully I’ll see her again so I can ask. Harry and I talked for a minute or two longer before he got to his feet, boots already in place and tied (as though he slept in them,) and made his way down the trail. He again headed in the opposite direction that I would be going. Harry still had no pack, and he left with only the same thread bare flannel shirt with that one water bottle slung over his shoulder, and stained khaki hiking pants torn off at the bottom. What a weird and cool guy.
Day 3, Part 2
I didn’t put in a ton of miles today, maybe only six or seven. For reference, I had been putting in ten to fifteen miles before today. My hike started off well. My boots hit the path shortly after Harry left, I actually caught a quick glimpse of him going around a bend in the trail, whistling as he went. From Hikers’ Nest #3, I continued in a general southwest direction, the trail meandering its merry way to the western side of the mountain. But, as the trail made it to the western face, it started a fairly dramatic descent from the ridgeline. I plunged back into a thick old growth forest from the more sparse offerings of the mountain top. The constant downhill put a strain on my lower legs that I had not experienced. Until now the trail had mostly been an uphill push that transitioned to rolling hills. With the quick change in the trail also came a change in the substrate on the path. Boulders and large rocks became pebbles and gravel. Worse yet, the pebbles would slide underfoot. Each step becoming more and more treacherous. I’m not sure the elevation lost in that first mile, but it was considerable. In the beginning I was relieved, excited even. Walking downhill was so much easier than climbing up. But as the trail continued with a steep descent, I learned my folly. By ten in the morning the trail taught me to detest downhills, my thighs were burning, my knees were shaking with the strain of constantly catching my body weight plus a twenty pound pack, my feet would land only to slide under me. And that’s when I injured myself.
I took tired steps, leaning backwards to keep a semblance of a center of gravity so that my bodyweight didn’t send me cascading down the mountain. I took a step with my right foot as my left foot landed on loose rocks that began to slide under foot. This caused my entire body to lean wildly to the left, and my right leg to swing around in an attempt to compensate for my loss of balance. After a half spin with my arms flung out wide, I came crashing down. My body fell with considerable torque and mass on my left ankle. I could have sworn there was an audible snap as I landed. A sick nauseated feeling washed over me, there was no immediate pain, only shock and terror. I wanted to vomit, I needed to vomit. As a natural instinct, I curled into a fetal position holding my left ankle to protect it from any unseen threat. But, the damage was already done. In the back of my mind, I noted that the swelling had started to settle in; my hiking boot would soon be tight against my ankle. After riding the latest wave of nausea, I worked up the courage to look at my damaged ankle. Using my left elbow, I pushed myself into a seated position. My right leg on the ground, bent gently at the knee to support my weight, while I coddled my left, I started to gingerly pull up my left pant leg. As the nausea ebbed away, pain started to creep ever deeper, ever more a focal point until it became my primary thought. And the pain was fierce. It was a sharp, bright, hot pain; it was a stabbing pain that demanded all your thought and all your attention. I pulled my pant leg up and wedged it above my calf, then I started untying my boot. The pressure inside my boot was intense, but I didn’t want to take my shoe off for fear of not being able to put it back on. Instead, I loosened the laces to relieve the pressure as best I could. My ankle itself was bruised and swollen, my sock left deep indentations where it had compressed the skin.
I felt and prodded my ankle as best I could, and nothing seemed broken, (there were no bones glaringly out of place,) my ankle just felt very damaged. Oh my God, the relief I felt running through my entire body when I decided (and it was really just me “deciding”) my ankle was in fact not broken was amazing. The pain was still there, it was still front and center, but it seemed to loosen its grip a little. I had a small light in the darkness of my mind. If my ankle was only sprained or strained or whatever, I could still make it out. I could make it to safety. I sat in the dirt for a few more minutes to gather some strength and courage before I heaved myself upwards and got my good leg under me. Then came the next test. I started toe-touching my left leg, trying to find the weight limit that it could bear. Unsurprisingly, my left leg could not take much of my weight, but it wasn’t completely useless. I managed to hobble over to my pack. It had flown off my back during the fall. Inside the bag, I found my medicine pouch and took three ibuprofen to help with the pain and reduce the swelling. I counted the rest of the pills and made a plan to ration them through the coming days. I then slid back down to the ground, leaning against a large and smooth tree trunk. Thirty minutes of rest to let the ibuprofen start its job. All the while, hoping that another hiker would walk by and help me. My phone had no reception, it hadn’t for the majority of the hike. I was deep in the Virginian woods, on a trail that was not very popular. In the end, I knew walking out was really my only option. After thirty minutes and without another person coming around, I figured it was time to start walking again. I pulled myself up, the pain had lessened by a fraction in the past half-hour. It took me a few minutes of searching through the underbrush to find a suitably sturdy walking stick. It was a sad excuse for a crutch, but it would have to do. I took a single step with my right foot, my left foot bent at the knee with the toe of my boot barely tapping the dirt, and my left arm supporting my weight through the walking stick. I started off.
The going was slow, painfully slow (pun intended.) Luckily, the trail evened out, ending the incessant downhill, and even reverting back to rolling hills. But, this didn’t last. Soon I was climbing back up to the ridgeline. This time, with only one good leg to carry me. Needless to say, I didn’t make it far. About a mile into the climb (the climb itself was actually somewhat more gentle compared to the first day) I started flagging. I had to find a campsite to bunker down for the night. The spot I finally settled on was not ideal, but it would suffice. Usually I like to go at least twenty yards off trail, but I ended up on twentyish feet instead. I also broke one of the cardinal rules of camping; after struggling to set up my tent, I couldn’t muster the energy for a hike downwind to cook and eat dinner. Instead I ate dinner slumped awkwardly next to a tree not seven feet from my tent. All that food smell will surely linger over my tent all night. I did force myself to hang my food bag a ways downwind from camp, but even that probably wasn’t more than thirty feet.
I just now took two more ibuprofen, recounting the pills to reestablish my rationing plan. The sun isn’t even set, but this is where I’ll have to stay for the rest of the night. I can’t manage another step, much less another mile. Hopefully my ankle progresses some tonight, and the inflammation goes down. I’ve got a good distance still to go before I make it to the trailhead where I left my car. Emily isn’t expecting me home for another two days, but I told her the hike could take as long as a week. My food supply is starting to dwindle. I can’t have too many more days where I make this little progress.
Day 3, Part 3 (I think)
It’s dark outside. I don’t actually know what time it is, but it’s been dark for a while. I woke up to a loud sniffing sound outside my tent, followed by a low guttural growl. It was deep and rumbling. Soft but careless footfalls padded their way around my tent, the snapping of sticks and crunching of leaves marked its slow journey around my tent. A journey punctuated by the beast sniffing the air; taking in the scent of its terrified prey. I didn’t dare turn on my headlamp. Panicked as I was, I knew not to bring any more attention to myself, and a beam of light shaking inside the tent would be the worst thing I could do. I sat up, my sleeping bag falling forgotten around my waist. A cold sweat beaded to trickle down my brow. The pain and throb of my ankle momentarily gone. Only this new threat existed in my world. I could feel my skin tighten like needle pricks covering my body. More sniffing, followed by a deep and distinctly canine throaty grumble. The body of the beast leaned into the right side of my tent, showing the imprint of fur as it grazed past. The moon, full and bright in a cloudless night sky, cast distorted shadows against my tent’s walls. I could make out the silhouette of tree branches high above me, then a massive shape passed over, blocking out all definition. It did not linger. For less than a second the beast blocked out the moon light, as though it stood up, looming over me. In that moment I could hear its wet breath, ragged with an excited rage. Saliva dripped from its maw to slowly roll down the tent’s wall, and a reek flooded in. An unnaturally thick smell of wood and rot and blood and death fell heavy upon me.
As quickly as the shadow came, it was gone, leaving only the shadows of the moonlit tree branches dancing on a light breeze.The smell was slowly replaced by the natural odor of the outdoors. A breathless moment passed, then another. I didn’t dare make a sound, but I did finally take in a silent gasp of air. It felt like a lifetime, minutes creeping by like years; frozen in fear and staring straight ahead while I waited for the impending attack. The beast was still in the woods, sitting and waiting. I was expecting my tent to be torn around me, and then I would see death as it fell upon me. My heart was pounding, I was sure the animal, the monster, outside my tent could hear it and know that I was afraid. Sweat slicked my hair and ran in beads down my body. But no attack came. No death bared its grotesque fangs.
It has been at least an hour since I woke up expecting to die. I heard the monster once more, deeper in the woods giving another haunting growl. I could have sworn I also heard a faint whistle from the same general direction, but it must have been an early morning bird singing from a high branch. I didn’t even try to sleep, I knew it would be futile. I may never sleep again. As I write, the sun is starting to light the morning sky. A red sky. It’s officially day four. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here. My phone has no reception. I know I won’t be able to walk very far again today (the pain in my ankle has come back in full force.) And now I know there’s some terrible beast out here. It’s close, and there is nothing I can do. I don’t know how I’m still alive this morning. I don’t know how I’m going to make it another night.
A Hike in the Woods, Day 2
Day 2, Part 1
I’m sitting by my tiny crackling fire, watching small wisps of smoke dance into the morning air, and I’ve decided to jot down a few thoughts before I head out for the day. That noise never came back, thank God. I hope I just imagined it, or I made it so much bigger than it really was. I stayed awake and alert for probably an hour before I truly started to come back down, before I started to feel some semblance of calm. I’m going to put that one weird incident behind me, and I’m going to focus on what actually did happen. It got chilly last night. It wasn’t cold or uncomfortably chilly, it was perfect. I was afraid that the nights would still be too warm for me to sleep, but the mountain air did not disappoint. The weather started cooling down as I was writing before going to sleep, and the temperature continued to drop throughout the night. I felt the cool air around me, reaching for me, but it never penetrated my cocoon of sleeping bag and pad. Before I left for the hike, I was afraid that I would not sleep well on this trip, but the mixture of my exhaustion from the climb, the perfectly chilled night air, and the warmth of my bedding allowed me to sleep like a rock after I finally calmed down. This morning I had my sleeping bag unzipped and draped snuggly around me as I gathered twigs and kindling. I know I should have used my stove to make coffee, but a small fire sounded more charming, more natural. A small fire just felt right. Slipping on some camp shoes (one of the things I decided to haul around was a pair of flip flops, not much weight but my feet can breathe and I can walk around without having to wear socks and boots all the time) I gathered a small amount of twigs and sticks to start a fire. Within a few minutes I had boiled water to make my first cup of instant coffee. And here I am now, hunched over a steaming cup, the bitter sweet aroma of coffee is only surpassed by its taste dancing on my tongue. With every sip of the heavenly black liquid, I feel my resolve for the day strengthen.
I had no intention of setting up camp on the east side of the mountain, though I guess that’s where the trail took me, but there is a great benefit to waking up facing east. I watched the sky go from an early morning blue to hues of purple that bled into red, and red becoming several shades of pinks and oranges and yellows. The sky itself is spotted with more cloud cover this morning, which only amplifies its raw beauty.
I’m about to break down camp, I’ve already shrugged off my makeshift coat and stuffed it into the bottom of my backpack. On top of the sleeping bag sits my food bag, which I collected when I was gathering wood for the fire. Collecting my food bag was a little unnerving. I was very cautious and aware the whole time I walked to it. I wasn’t sure what I would find there after last night. Even with a slower pace, my walk to the food bag was much shorter than I thought it would be. From now on, I’ll have to be more careful about hanging it farther from camp. Once there, I looked around the area for any signs of disturbance. In truth, I was of two minds; on one hand I did not want to see anything out of the ordinary. I didn’t want to see the leaves kicked up and scattered, or claw marks in the trees nearby. I didn’t want to see any evidence that the nightmarish shriek from last night might have been this close to my camp. But also, I’m fine, I’m alive and I’m safe. So, it would be kind of cool to see some evidence of Bigfoot, or some other unknown monster that could have produced that unnatural noise (at worst it was a bear, but, knowing me, it was probably a bird.) In the end, I didn’t really see anything of note. Some leaves were pushed around, which I probably did while hanging the bag, but nothing else.
Anyway, my coffee is drunk, my little fire has burned to smoldering embers that will soon become a pile of ash to be scattered into the dirt and wind. My bag is repacked and I’m ready to set out on my second day. I do feel refreshed and energized. My legs feel capable of several miles today and I’m ready for the challenge. Here’s to another ten to fifteen more miles down the trail.
Day 2, Part 2
I guess I’m going to write all my posts during my meals on this trip. The hike today has been a lot smoother than yesterday. No close calls with my ankle, no stubbing my toe on protruding roots, and no two mile vertical climbs. The trail has continued today much the same as it had ended last night, with rolling hills and only moderate elevation change. Large boulders have become common, with rock formations dotting the landscape all around me. One tree in particular has grown within a deep crack in a boulder. The tree’s roots are now wrapping over and around this huge rock, slowly tearing it apart. I have not seen any wildlife so far today except the occasional bird chirping on a branch or taking to wing high above me. I can’t help but wonder if they too heard the ungodly cry last night, and simply fled the area. Better to leave the area than to risk sticking around I guess. I just finished an early lunch (It’s just now turning eleven o’clock) which consisted of freeze dried fruit, a protein bar, and another handful of nuts. It was not my favorite meal ever, but it was good enough. I’m surprisingly not as ravenous as I thought I’d be on this trip. My meals have been modest compared to what I eat on an average day at home. Compared to the amount of work I’m doing, the amount of walking, I figured I would be eating all the time. That will most likely change after I burn a few pounds of excess weight I’m carrying. The one thing I did notice was that even though the meal wasn’t wonderful, I did savor every bit of it. Every salty and sweet morsel that touched my lips was welcomed. I find that at home I tend to eat well beyond the point of enjoying my food. Though I’ve been somewhat frugal with my food, I cannot say the same about my water. From the moment I put on my twenty plus pound pack, I’ve been sweating. My shirt is drenched, the bandana I’m wearing is sopping, and by the end of the day my socks are soaked. I’ve had to ration my water again, it’s getting low. Luckily, a fellow hiker I just met while eating lunch told me about a stream only a mile or so down the trail. “Fresh, clear, and cool” is what he said, and I can’t wait to get there.
He was a really lovely guy, this person I passed at lunch. We didn’t actually pass each other, we sat together for a good thirty minutes while I ate. Come to think of it; he didn’t actually eat, he just sat there and talked while I ate. I’m excited that I made a trail friend. Talking to people, for me, is usually a no go. At best I’ll say “hi” as I pass someone on the trail. So, for me to actually converse to somebody I met out here is out of character. My trail friend’s name was Harry. I was a bit too nervous to ask if “Harry” was his actual name or his trail name. People on the trail tend to be given unique names when they hang around the hiking community for long enough. On previous hikes I’ve met Caveman, Neon, and Trip. But, Harry was too close to an actual name for me to know if it was his true name. Personally, I don’t have a trail name. So, when he asked my name, I could only give him my actual name. If Harry was his trail name, it fit him. He was one of the few people blessed with both a gorgeous head of hair and a beard that would make ZZ Top take notice. Harry’s mahogany hair fell in gentle curls to his shoulders which, along with his mountain man beard, framed a kind looking face notched with smile lines around his mouth and eyes.
We sat and talked about the trail, about our hikes so far (we were headed in opposite directions,) and we told each other what to expect for the rest of the hike today. He told me about some water when he noticed mine was getting low and I told him about the rock scramble descent that he was going to run into just before evening. “You might want to make camp before the rock scrambles so that you aren’t trying it in the dark. There’s actually a pretty nice spot to camp right before you start heading down” I suggested.
But he didn’t seem too worried. He didn’t seem to lack confidence or comfort out here in the woods. After everything else was discussed, I brought up the guttural roar, the unnatural scream that I heard breaking the night stillness. To this, he merely titled his head toward the sky as though trying to remember any such thing. After a moment of contemplation, he gave a wave of his hand, he said “Sorry, I didn’t hear anything like that last night. I must have been too far away.” And, after a moment’s more thought, “It was probably an owl screeching that you heard. I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure it was nothing.”
Soon after that, he stood, said his goodbyes and headed off down the trail. It’s kind of sad that the trail will bring people into your life for such a short amount of time. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever see Harry again. We’re on the same path, but our paths go in different directions. Hopefully he makes it to where he’s going. I watched him walk easy down the trail, and that’s when the oddity hit me. He had no pack, he only carried a water bottle which was tied to a small rope that he wore like a sash over his right shoulder. Surely this must be a day hike for him, but he had the feel for a person that’s been out here for days if not longer.
Day 2, Part 3
I saw something very unsettling shortly after lunch. Luckily, I was only an hour or so into the post lunch hike (and I was trying to reflect some of Harry’s enviable confidence) when I came across that gruesome scene. Had I come across it this evening, when I was closer to making camp, I’m sure I would not have stopped. I would definitely still be walking, or more likely running, to put in as much distance as possible. In the noon sun that dappled the ground, I was much more comfortable and rational in understanding what I saw, and grasping the inevitableness of nature and death. In the twilight of the fading sun, my mind would have had a much easier time running wild and creating some horror story. But, I feel safe with the distance I made, and really it is a natural part of life. Plus, Harry gave me a peace of mind about the screech from last night. It probably was just an owl and nothing to worry about. So, I’ll save that crazy bit of story for the end of my writing tonight.
I’m writing this from the comfort of my sleeping bag, with the help of my head lamp illuminating the dark. I spent the evening and into the night sitting around a nice cozy fire. The small blaze grew into a proper campfire. Flames leapt and shifted in a mesmerizing dance sending sparks into a sky that changed from reds and pinks to a dark purple, and finally a deep black pricked in several places by bright dots of light. It truly is amazing how bright the stars become and how many of them you can see in the vast sky when you are up here. When you are this far from civilization.
I made another trail friend this evening. As dusk settled in and the sky, I came upon a hikers’ shelter. These shelters are dotted here and there in Appalachia to give the weary walker a bit of added shelter. Most of these places come with a glorified lean-to covering a wooden platform wide enough to accommodate four to six sleeping bags (depending on how cozy everyone is comfortable getting,) several flat spots for tents, a fire pit, a bear pole, and, if you are lucky, a woodsman latrine. This latrine is not much more than four walls and a hole in the ground with wood shavings to throw over your waste. But, you do get walls for that illusion of privacy; so, that’s a win. The name of this particular shelter was “Hikers Nest #3,” implying there’s at least two more fairly close by. This shelter had the added bonus of a stream. My love of streams grows ever more on this trip.
I picked a flat tent site a good distance away from the actual shelter. The shelter itself is probably fine, but I can’t help imagining all sorts of rodents and bugs have also found a good home in a permanent structure like that lean-to. I was a few minutes into putting up my tent when I caught sight of someone sitting by the fire pit. Low and behold, a fellow hiker. Only the second one I’ve seen in two days. I was glad to not be alone tonight. I mean, we’ll be in separate tents but there will still be a small sense of community. After setting up camp, I made my way to the fire pit. My fellow camper had gathered kindling, sticks, and branches; enough to have a true fire, and she was about to set it alight. I greeted her as I approached the pit, not wanting to startle her. “Evening.” she called without turning from her task. I sat a few logs removed from the log directly behind her and waited as she finished feeding the fledgling fire. She straightened from a crouched position and swiftly moved to a stretching posture with her fists pressing hard into her pink puffer coat to massage her lower back. That’s a move I know all too well after crouching for a while. Once she had finished her stretch, she came back to a comfortable standing position and our eyes met in a warm greeting. She stayed standing near her growing fire, carving bits of tinder from a branch with her pocket knife, and brushing her hands off on her charcoal pants every time she added twigs to the growing flames.
“It’s good to see another face.” I said, feeling awkward as it came out of my mouth.
“Sure is,” She replied. “I won’t mind some company.” After a pause, she added, “How’s your hike going?”
And with that, our conversation came to life. I learned that her name was Little Foot, which was a bit easier to deduce as a trail name. Once she shared her name, I did what I’m sure everyone else does. I looked at her shoes. Her feet looked average sized to me. She saw my gaze shift downwards (or she expected as much out of experience) and began to laugh.
“I was named after Little Foot in The Land Before Time.” she told me.
As it turns out, Little Foot has a habit of, at some point in a trip, telling just about every hiking buddy she’s ever had that they are, “Going the wrong way.” I also learned that Little Foot is a fifty-something year young woman from Pennsylvania, who has been out in the woods for four days, having taken two different spurs to arrive at this shelter. She then talked about her child, which we connected on, having three kids myself, but I’ll exclude those details. Seems to invasion of privacy-ish to me. I told her about my first two days of hiking, and about meeting Harry, whom she did not have the luck of meeting. Finally, and out of some need for comradery, I asked her about last night’s terrible noise. At this point, I’m hoping someone else heard that yell. I’m starting to feel a little paranoid that I’m the only one who heard it.
“I did hear something odd last night,” Little Foot said, “but, it was kinda far off. I didn’t recognize what it was, but I also didn’t think it was overly alarming. I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear, but I hope it helps.”
She had noticed that I was getting a little on edge after bringing it up, Little Foot wanted to calm my nerves. After a few moments pause, I told her about the unsettling thing I saw on the trail. With twilight sinking in and my unease (or imagination) slowly taking hold, I told her about the dead body.
After saying goodbye to Harry, I took to the trail, which had become more rocky. Large worn rocks like nature’s own paving stones led up a strong incline. Old trees, twisted from pushing up and around and through large boulders, grew on both sides of the trail. With the old trees, came more undergrowth. Less and less trees grew the farther I climbed. The trail also became rockier, with crags jutting out to narrow the trail. By this point, the trees had fallen away and the underbrush could hardly hold on. I scrambled between two “V” shaped boulders onto a small rocky landing. I had made it to the peak of the mountain. A rock face tenish feet tall stood to my right, the actual peak I suppose, but this was good enough for me. I had no desire to face my fear of heights and climb the extra ten feet to the true top.Sitting near the edge (I didn’t dare dangle my feet off the cliff face,) I took a few minutes rest.The view was amazing, and I basked in my own perceived glory having made it to the top. The trail curved to the right, around the true peak, and started a descent. The path here was slippery with loose pebbles but not too tricky, and, after a couple hundred yards, I came upon the stream exactly where Harry had told me it would be.
Like the one before, I could easily step over this stream, it wasn’t wider than a foot, and I’m sure it’d be dried up except for the decent amount of rain we had recently gotten. Unlike the other stream, however, this one was significantly muddier. It wasn’t the “fresh, clear, and cool” water Harry had promised. I considered straining the water through my bandana and let the water filter do the rest; but, in the end, I decided to head off trail to find clearer water upstream. Within twenty feet, I started to hear a soft droning. With each step it grew louder and unmistakable. It was the buzzing of flies. Dozens of flies. Not forty feet from the trail and next to the little stream lay a dead deer. This by itself is unpleasant but not exactly unusual. Animals die, carnivores kill and eat other animals to survive, it’s an unavoidable part of life. What was so unsettling was that this deer had been freshly killed. Its body showed neither sign of bloat nor was there a distinct smell of death. Entrails lay spilt on the ground, chunks of the deers hide were gone (eaten I’m sure,) and wicked raking claw marks cut deeply down the back. It looked as though the deer was leapt upon or somehow attacked from above. The most bizarre part was there simply was no head. The neck ended in a ruined stump with a single vertebrae protruding from eviscerated flesh. The deer had been violently decapitated during the attack or shortly there after.
I took a wide berth around the headless body, unable to take my eye off the gruesome scene. I had to swat and wave away flies that flew into my eyes, drawn there by fresh moisture. Ten feet upstream, I stumbled over the poor animal’s head. Unrealizing I was even doing so, I stared at the head in disgust for a moment, trying to take in and understand what I was seeing. The deer’s eyes were bulging from their sockets, its mouth hung open in a silent scream.
In the end, I managed to find some clear water far upstream beyond that horrible site. I filled my water bottles and quickly made my way back to the trail, taking the other side of that pitiful stream.
“Not sure I’m going to sleep tonight, after that.” Little Foot said in response to my story. “Thanks for that.”
I didn’t know how to respond and we both sat quietly in our own thoughts for a while. Little Foot turned her attention to a stick she was whittling. The full moon shone down amongst the bright pins of stars as we let the silence take us for a minute. We did finally manage to make light conversation for a while before turning in for bed, but mostly we just stared into the fire. We’re both headed in the same direction tomorrow, and agreed to walk the trail together. I’ll be happy to have some company for a while longer.
A hike in the Woods
Hey, this is Tony. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything for the blog. I’ve been in a creative rut for a long time, but I’ve finally broken through my writer’s block. I’ve recently written a story about a hike. the hike takes place over five days. I’ll publish one day per week for the next five weeks. Please let me know what you think, I would love some feed back. Pleas enjoy.
A Hike in the Woods
I’m leaving society behind tomorrow, and I’m so excited. I’ve been planning and preparing for this trip for months. I’ve gone on several hikes to get my trail legs back under me, and, man, do my legs burn more than they should after I’ve finished the hike. I’m a little afraid that, at thirty-eight years old, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. But, I can’t wait to try. I can’t wait to get out into the majesty of nature. To wander paths, splash through streams, and to gaze out at the world from mountain cliffs. I found the perfect hike. It’s a mountain hike about two hours from my Virginia home. The trail is a little more “off the beaten path” (excuse the pun.) The section I’m hiking is a little under sixty miles long, and I hope to do it in five days. It’s mostly a mountain ridge hike; so, once I make it up the mountain, I’ll probably be good to go. An average of twelve to fifteen miles a day doesn’t sound that hard. I’m going to leave my car at the farther trailhead, and I’ll have Emily, my wife, drop me off at the beginning trailhead. That way I can just drive myself home. I’ve read that cell reception in that area is very unreliable, and I don’t want to depend on getting a call out for pick up.
I’ll be leaving Emily and my kids behind. Originally, we were going to leave the kids with grandma while Emily and I took on this adventure together. It was going to be a bonding experience. Something to strengthen our marriage that has been pulled a little thin with three kids. It’s hard to make time to be together, much less quality time. This hike was going to be that quality time. But, life didn’t work out. So now it’ll be a solo trip. Honestly, I’m a bit nervous about going alone. There’s a certain amount of healthy fear everyone should have about being alone deep in the mountains. A measure of nervous energy is warranted. But, I will be getting some much needed “me time,” and that’s something that doesn’t come around much. So yeah, I’m nervous but excited.
As for prep, I think I have everything I need. I have a dusty two-man tent that hasn’t been pulled out in several years. When we were younger, Emily and I used this tent all the time. Camping was a favorite pastime, but, I don’t think I’ve even set the thing up in at least five years. I have a standard sleeping bag; I’m not too concerned about it being too cold, it’s still early autumn. I’m bringing an old stove with a small fuel canister, and (most importantly) I bought a food bag specifically for this trip to hang in a tree at night to keep my food safe from bears and other wildlife. My mother-in-law tried to give me some pepper spray “Just for emergencies,” but I think I’m going to leave it behind. If I get attacked out there, a pissed off bear will kill me just as easily as a regular bear. Really, what’s the odds of actually getting attacked by a bear?
Day 1
Today was a lot more difficult than anticipated. I mean, I knew the hike would be tough but this is harder than I expected. My thighs were screaming after the first major cluster of switchbacks. But, I still managed a solid ten miles before making camp. And, I was glad to put up my tent and just rest. I can feel my muscles already cramping and squeezing from the effort of this first day. I thought I had done a lot of training for this hike. I’ve been exercising more, I’ve been trying to drop some weight, and I’ve gone on some practice hikes with a weighted pack, but I’m not as prepared as I had hoped. The hike itself was beautiful. I started out a little after 10 in the morning. The autumn air was still slightly cool with the sun peek-a-booing from behind white puffy clouds. I gave my wife a kiss goodbye, slung my pack onto my shoulders, and started up a gentle incline into a thicket of new growth maples and fledgling oaks reaching for the sky through a thick undergrowth of brush and brambles (I’m guessing at the trees.) The trees at this elevation were still in the beginning stages of their fall change. Clusters of yellow and orange leaves mingled with the green leaves that were still clinging on to a summer that had recently passed. Squirrels scrambled up small trunks and lept from finger-like branches as they chased after nuts to store for the coming winter. The forest hummed with energy and life. Birds called from various branches, small animals dashed around in the underbrush. It was all very much what I hoped it would be.
Within a mile or so the forest started transitioning to older trees, weathered trees. Knobby trunks holding thick branches that have withstood the more brutal tests of nature. Those branches arched out in all directions. Some of them hang low as though they were intentionally blocking part of the trail. Summer had lost all hold it had on the trees by this point. The broad leaves were all deep reds and bright yellows. I saw two different hawks soaring above the trees, gliding effortlessly on the morning breeze. Their calls temporarily brought a hush over everything. Direct sunlight, which had shown in large warm patches, became more and more scarce. The Appalachian “Green Canopy,” which was now bright with harvest colors, had fully set in by mile three.
A swift stream cascading over stones made a churning sound to my right for the beginning part of my hike. The trail formed its path by mimicking the stream. Each bend or curve in the stream equated to a softer bend in the trail. The stream would occasionally fall five or six feet (or, in my point of view, the stream would rise by that amount,) and, in response, the trail would climb by eight to ten feet. Greedily, I drank water, filtered from that stream. I ate my first meal of the trail, a packet of tuna fish and a handful of nuts, with my feet cooling in the picturesque waters. That meal tasted better than the finest meal from a five star restaurant. And, it was in that stream that I refilled my water bottles and readied myself for the climb to the ridge line.
Two miles of switchbacks and rock scrambles, all while my pack weighed heavier on my shoulders with every step…with each foot of distance I gained, I also felt like I gained a foot in elevation. I thought I had put a lot of consideration into what I would bring and how it would affect my pack weight. I hemmed and hawed over what to bring and what was necessary. But, once the essentials were packed and I added my food, water, and fuel; my pack weighed a hefty twenty-seven pounds, which was more than I expected. I ended up shaving off an additional pound.
I did end up twisting my left ankle in one of the rock scrambles. There was an audible “pop” and a moment of stomach churning panic. I shrugged off my pack and gingerly wobbled around in broad circles for a few minutes, testing and pushing my stinging ankle. I thought about the absurdity of me trying to hop, crawl, and limp my way back down the rocks to the trail head. Luckily, it turned out to be only a minor ankle twist and I was able to walk it off. I guess if “walking it off” didn’t cure it, I would have rubbed some dirt on it? (Those are the two steps of first aid as taught to me in youth sports.) That slight twist did make me realize how alone I was, how vulnerable. If I were to need help, what if I had broken my ankle and not merely twisted it, I’m not sure where the help would come from.
The switchbacks and rocky crag scrambles slowly gave way to cliffs that looked out onto a calm and peaceful world. Far off mountains, tinted blue with the distance, formed the other half of the wall that created this lush green valley far below me. A carpet of yellow and red autumn leaves stretched into the distance, the small brook that I had drunk from earlier joined with other streams to form a river that cut through the valley. The sun shone directly overhead, wrapping me in warmth. The majesty seemed to hold me with an invisible hand. I almost felt forced to stop and admire. But, for all its beauty, I also knew that it was a world that did not know (and did not care) that I walked upon it. I felt small, insignificant in that moment, looking at the raw beauty of nature.
I climbed onto the ridgeline by about two o’clock, and I plopped down on the rocky cliffs for a good forty-five minutes. I drank deeply from my water and munched on a handful of dried fruit. Rubbing the sweat from my brow, I gathered myself and my pack to move on. I had plenty more miles to go before setting up camp. I had finally made it to the ridge, and, once there, the trail flattened out a good bit. It was still mostly shaded by the canopy overhead, but patches of sunlight were more frequent. The trees at this elevation were thicker still. Old growth unspoiled by the encroachment of mankind. I would see the occasional deer as it would leap away from me, making surprisingly little noise as they went through the leaf litter. The trail on the ridge would rise and fall in a gentle motion. It was much more like the waves of a calm ocean. The lightly sweet smell of earthy decay filled the air. Thick humus with various ferns and mosses covered the forest floor; even spilling into the trail itself. This section of the trail was easier compared to what had come before. But, I still had to keep a keen eye out for the random tree root that would reach across the path, or the rock that would jut out from the ground (I did stub my toe a time or two when my mind would wander.)
After a while, my throat began to feel dry and I crarved a sip of water, but my bottles were getting low. Slowly, a mild panic started to settle into my mind as I failed to find a stream. The thought, “What if I can’t find any water?” played on a loop; only broken by “Why didn’t you bring a third bottle?” My mind started to race, my heart thudded as fast as it had on the mountain climb. It was a true challenge to not give into panic. My first minor scare on the trail only lasted less than an hour before I came across a trickling stream of mountain runoff. The stream was shallow but fast moving, and I was able to fill my bottles back up.
About two-hundred yards from that little stream, I found a nice little spot off the trail and decided to settle down for the night. I struggled through the tent set up more than I would like to admit, and then I dug out my stove and some food for dinner. The wind was generally at my back, so I walked on from camp a little ways to cook my dinner, a freeze-dried hiker’s meal. I thought that meal would be just as heavenly as my lunch had been, but it wasn’t. I ate it more out of necessity. I think I was just too tired to truly enjoy it. From there I made a right angled turn into the woods to hang my food bag (I somehow managed that feat on my first attempt), and then I trekked back to my tent and sleeping bag. I cooked dinner and hung my food bag downwind of camp so that any smells would not bring animals to my tent. The last thing I want while I’m out here is a run in with a bear or some other wildlife.
That’s enough poetic musings about my walk. Ten or so miles down and a bunch more to go. Right now, I’m just glad I found a fairly flat and rockless place to make camp. I really didn’t want to try and sleep while a root or rock stabbed into my back. I thought about hammock camping instead of using a tent, but my irrational brain decided that a tent provided more security. By the looks of this spot, several people have stayed here before. This campsite has a well worn feel to it. I just hope the wild life also sees this as a well worn human site. I’ve heard some loud rustlings in the woods that seem a little too close for comfort. I’m telling myself that even squirrels can sound loud in the still evening air, but my mind is already pushing against that idea. Those noises are surely too loud to be something so small. But, enough gloom and paranoia. The autumn air is starting to get crisp as the sun sets behind the mountain peak to my back. I thought of climbing to the top of the mountain to watch the sunset, but my legs protested. Surely there will be many more nights to watch the sun go down and splash reds and pinks across the sky.
Day 1, Part 2
HOLY CRAP!! I’m just now coming down from the most terrifying thing I think I’ve ever heard. The scream or roar that woke me up was deep and guttural, primal and painful. But, mostly it sounds like it came from right outside my tent. I’m still shaking, and I can hardly control my fingers to write. My skin is clammy with sweat, my body is charged with adrenaline, and I can’t stop rocking. The sun had truly set and the sky turned a deep shade of purple. The full moon cast odd shadows around my tent. I decided to call it a night and I settled into my sleeping bag. I could feel sleep slowly pulling me down deeper and deeper, when I heard a cry, or a screech, or a roar break the night.
I’m writing this to get it out of my head. If I put it down into writing, I hope I can make sense of it. I hope I can rationalize it. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ve never heard a noise like that… it was chilling and now my heart is pounding, my eyes are burning but I can’t even force a blink. I don’t know what to do. I should stay in my tent, right? I have to stay put, I’m safer in my little hole than I would be out there, out in the open. Oh my God, I don’t know what to do, I just hope the sun rises soon, and I can put this behind me. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to forget about that terrible sound.