We've Never Done This Before

I read somewhere that when parking on the side-of-nowhere for a “hike-through”, you should write a note in case you do not return. So I wrote our potential death note and placed it on the dashboard. We’ve never done this before, which was apparent by our lack of grace once the tall hiking backpacks were in place. I took one step and almost fell over. Prior to the trip, I had diligently stalked REI, conversing with staff and collecting data on how to accomplish our first “hike-through”. We had maps. We had freeze-dried food. We had tools to accomplish the feat. What we didn’t have was experience or weapons.

That’s Not A Squirrel

As we placed our feet on the narrow path and headed into the mountain, we were surrounded by beauty. I stopped frequently to observe orange salamanders, tall trees, interesting rocks, and a variety of birds. Though our collective weight was about the size of a Great Dane, I was encouraged and confident while walking the winding mountainside trail. There was not a person in sight, a fact that became discomforting as the sun started to set. The trail quickly tapered off the side of the mountain, so there was no way to pitch a tent without being directly in the trail itself. The goal was to reach the first “campsite” along a trail that spanned a mountain range and an entire weekend. If you are like me, when you hear the word “campsite”, you think of a group of people and their tents evenly spread out with some organic-type bathroom experience. This visual kept me going with an “it’ll be OK!” attitude. Until we heard a rustle. This rustle sounded just like the rustle a squirrel would make in the leaves. However, when we looked toward the rustle, a squirrel was not the culprit. Instead, there was a large black bear traipsing downhill towards us, just a stone's throw away. While some are ecstatic to see a bear in its natural habitat, that same population may feel differently when those hundreds of pounds contained in fur is coming at you.

We quickly maneuvered in the opposite direction, shouting lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody because it was the first thing that popped into my head. We were terrified. I felt as if Freddie Kruger popped out from behind a tree with his razor nails ready to attack. Do we go back? Do we go home? Will we turn around and become faceless by way of bear claw? (Also, how rude of the bear to not announce its presence before entering our personal hiking bubble.) We determined in our shaking shock that our fear would only increase walking back to the car in the pitch black of night. We were also asinine and irrational, arguing as anyone in panic would. We slowly turned around, stood for a long minute to survey our uncertain future, and continued on toward our goal.

Not All Campsites Are Equal

The trail gave way to a flat circular area surrounded by trees. With disdain, I concluded that we had reached the not-a-camp campsite. No people. No bathroom. No peace. Fortunately, we had practiced setting up a tent before the excursion. Unfortunately, it was too wet for a fire. We adjusted our headlamps and cautiously prepared ourselves for the next step: hanging the bear bag. We walked into the dark forest holding all the ingredients for death. After arguing over which branch to hang it on, we used a large stick to hoist it high (keeping the stick for the morning retrieval) and then we ran back to our tent. At this point, all of my optimism had faded, as fear had decided to camp in our tent with us. Decidedly, we were going to wake up and head home, instead of continuing on deeper into the woods.

Nature Sounds from Tinder

As we attempted to sleep, we began to hear people. My extroverted friend sat up with rejuvenated energy at the thought of company. I buried myself in my sleeping bag as my calculations depicted that the faster I fell asleep the sooner I could leave. The only comfort this couple brought (in my mind) was in the form of a four-legged dog, which I had hoped would bark at a bear, thus removing the element of surprise that the last bear so kindly bestowed. I used my cell phone to play white noise and avoided the energy it would take to meet strangers after surviving what felt like a near-death experience. Then my cell phone died, and I laid there listening to their conversations. I learned from my passive engagement that this couple was on a tinder date, which seemed cute until their version of a date generated the second round of unexpected ‘nature sounds’ from their not-so-distant tent. As my friend fell fast asleep with her charged cell phone in hand, I tried to shove my fingers in my ears as far as possible to drown out the X-rated audible details.

Could it Get Worse? Yes.

At some point, morning happened. With morning came the gathered belongings held within the bear bag and the most disgusting bag of eggs I have ever eaten. Eyeing the couple with a very fake smile, I did my best to ration my interactions with them after feeling like an awkward and uninvited guest to their late-night party. I was exhausted, hungry, and very devoted to arriving in-site of my car. My friend, however, was more motivated than ever to reach the first summit instead of returning to the car immediately. I begrudgingly followed. As we continued to ascend the mountain with sore legs from the day before, I felt a slip in my shoe. As if things could not get worse, the sole of my borrowed hiking boot fell off. As in holding-the-entire-black-base-of-the-shoe in my hand. There were two choices here: deliriously laugh or give in to the tears I had been holding back since the day before. My friend continued on oblivious to this situation, eventually turning around to find me sitting with my sole bearing my soul in tears. Luckily, I had Tevas strapped to my backpack. This scene compelled her to grant me my wish and descend the mountain to the car.

Upon descent, I found a hiking stick to help with the ambiance of hiking socks and sandals (I might as well own the situation, right?). Just when I thought joy was nigh, a third nature sound corrupted me. A buzz that quickly turned into a yell. A yell from my mouth as I was stung in the leg by a bee. Every ounce of me was done with this adventure. Each step culminated in pain until we reached the most beautiful 13-year-old Toyota Rav4 I had ever seen. This time my tears were that of relief. I did not think my car could hold so much power. Before getting into the car I resolved to use my water filtration stick in a nearby creek so as not to rob myself of a positive experience that could make me feel nature-competent. As we drove away, my friend had one last request: to drive into the nearby hipster town that “everyone loves” so that she could experience it (tactfully pointing out that I owed her for changing course when pursuing the summit). I complied, but with a very different plan. She grabbed a salad from somewhere and shopped. I headed straight to Mellow Mushroom, ate an entire large pizza, then slept in the back seat of my car with full assurance that I was safe from all of the sounds of nature.