Mike, my 12 year old son, blindsided me one day when he
asked if we could go camping. I nearly spit out my lukewarm
coffee in surprise. This was coming from the same
kid who complained about the sun's brightness at soccer
practice and whined about mosquitoes at night.
So when he suddenly expressed interest in camping, I couldn't
help but chuckle. It was such a far cry from his
usual pastime of being glued to anything with a screen.
We were hanging out by my truck one morning, talking about
school, when Mike first mentioned camping.
He nudged a Pebble along the dry Rd. his gaze fixed on the
ground. Hey, Dad, he began hesitantly.
Think we could go camping sometime?
I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.
Apparently Mike's friend Dan had been endlessly bragging about a
camping trip he went on with his dad, making the great outdoors
suddenly irresistible to my screen obsessed son.
Camping, huh? I said, trying to contain my
excitement. Sounds great, but you know it's
not all fireflies and s'mores. There's bugs, for one thing.
Lots of em. Mike grimaced, his enthusiasm
briefly dimming. Yeah, I know, He mumbled,
kicking at the dirt with his sneakers.
I gave him a playful nudge. If the weather holds, maybe we
can just find a good spot by the lake next weekend.
Just you and me. You up for it?
Yeah, Mike said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
His response to the lake idea didn't seem genuine.
A subtle shrug and a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes
revealed his desire for a more immersive experience, one that
involved tents, campfires, and a genuine escape into nature.
Merely visiting the lake wouldn't cut it.
Only a true camping trip would satisfy him.
Truth be told, I hadn't been camping in years.
Fond memories of childhood fishing trips and backyard camp
outs with my own dad felt like a lifetime ago.
Work had a way of taking over, and lately it had been consuming
more than its fair share. But after listening to Mike's
retelling of Dan's camping trip story, it had stirred something
in me. A friendly rivalry.
I was suddenly determined to one up Dan and his dad to make sure
my boy had the camping trip of a lifetime.
A grin spread wide across my face as I promised Mike.
Yeah, you know what, Mike? We're going to go camping and
it's going to be the best camping trip ever.
As soon as I can take a break from work, we'll go.
Mike's excitement was contagious.
He jumped up and down with joy and I couldn't help but laugh.
It hit me then that I probably should have introduced him to
camping sooner. Thank you, dad.
He shouted, his voice ringing with gratitude.
Thank you, dad, thank you. I gently placed a hand on his
shoulder. All right, champ, let's simmer
down a bit. I chuckled.
Head inside and get started on your homework, we don't want mom
holding this over our heads. I added with a wink.
Mike nodded eagerly and practically skipped into the
house, leaving me with a warm sense of fatherly pride.
The weeks flew by and I finally managed to snag some time off
work. In the evenings, I'd pore over
articles and videos on wilderness survival and the
delicate art of S'more making. My childhood camping memories
were more fuzzy nostalgia than concrete know how, and I
couldn't let my lack of experience show.
Not in front of Mike, and certainly not in front of that
Dan. Meanwhile, my ever supportive
wife Sarah decided to forego the mosquitoes and campfire smoke
for the comfort of our home. She said it was girl time with a
good book and a long bath, but I couldn't help but sense a hint
of amusement in her eyes. Traitor.
I jokingly tease, reminding her of our grand mission to outshine
Dan and his dad's camping trip. She'd just laugh and say go
conquer the wilderness honey, I'll be here holding down the
Fort. It was true that Sarah wasn't
exactly an outdoors enthusiast. She enjoyed a leisurely stroll
in the park, but multi day camping trips weren't her cup of
tea. Still, I knew she secretly loved
seeing Mike and me bond and deep down I hoped this man versus
wild adventure might reignite my own forgotten love for the
outdoors. My mission?
Mastering the art of building a fire that wouldn't leave us all
choking on smoke, identifying constellations for Mike, hoping
I wouldn't mix up Orion with the Big Dipper, and maybe even
catching a fish or two. Although, based on my past
fishing experiences, that might be the biggest challenge of all.
It was time to put my crash course in wilderness survival to
the test and create an unforgettable camping trip for
M1 that even Dan and his dad couldn't top.
At last, the weekend we've been waiting for arrived.
That Friday, as I picked Mike up from school, excitement buzzed
through the car as we pulled into the driveway.
The moment we stepped through the front door, Mike's eyes
widened in amazement at the sight of the camping gear I had
meticulously, Or so I thought, laid out for him.
Like a treasure trove for an intrepid explorer, The living
room had transformed into a chaotic staging ground for our
trip. A giant green tent bag rested at
his feet while two mismatched sleeping bags, 1A vivid orange,
the other in subdued camouflage, leaned precariously against the
table. Beside two overstuffed
backpacks, I'd proudly displayed a bounty of rations, mostly
marshmallows, chocolate bars, and enough instant ramen to feed
a small army ready to conquer the wild with me.
I asked. Mike didn't disappoint.
His eyes sparkled with an unspoken thrill that seemed to
shout, I can't wait to tell Dan I went camping too.
With the car packed to the brim and threatening to keel over at
any sharp turn, Sarah pulled me aside just before we left.
Her usually bright and playful eyes held a seriousness that cut
through my usual humor. Please be careful out there.
She said, her voice tinged with worry.
I knew this wasn't the moment for jokes.
Squeezing her hand, I gave her a reassuring nod.
We'll be fine. I promised, hoping my confident
smile would hide any lingering anxieties about my own lack of
camping expertise. Mike and I settled into the car,
the engine rumbling with the promise of adventure.
Determined to make Dan and his dad's Crystal Lake camping trip
look like a backyard picnic, I'd scoured maps and forums for the
perfect spot. Mike had mentioned that Dan and
his father had gone camping at the Crystal Lake campgrounds,
conveniently close to our town. Crystal Lake?
I teased, as if it were the last place any self respecting
outdoorsman would pitch a tent. We're going somewhere way
better, I added with a wink. Our destination was Whisperwood
Forest, a hidden camping ground three hours N As the miles
stretched before us, Mike peppered me with questions, his
enthusiasm keeping the energy high.
Are there bears in Whisperwood? He asked, eyes wide with a mix
of fear and excitement. Maybe.
I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though a flicker of
unease ran through me. The forums did mention some
black bear sightings, but that's why we have all this camping
gear, right? To be prepared for anything.
Mike's questions ranged from the practical, will there be a
bathroom, to the fantastical, Do you think we'll see Bigfoot?
By the time the landscape outside our window blurred into
a patchwork of greens and Browns, his voice had grown
hoarse and a peaceful silence settled over the car.
We veered off the main road, following the rhythm of a narrow
dirt path snaking through the dense forest.
Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy overhead,
casting long, dancing shadows on the dusty track.
The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of damp Moss and
decaying leaves, punctuated by the occasional chirp of an
unseen bird. With every bend and dip, the car
swayed alongside us, its tires crunching on loose gravel.
I caught a glimpse of Mike in the rear view mirror, his head
bobbing with every bump, his eyes wide with anticipation and
fixed on the passing scenery. After about 20 minutes, we
emerged into a small clearing, the sudden brightness of
unfiltered sunlight momentarily blinding me.
As my eyes adjusted, I took in the scene.
The clearing was modest in size, about the size of a tennis
court. In its center stood a gnarled
oak, its branches reaching out like skeletal arms, and eerie
silence enveloped the area, interrupted only by the rustle
of leaves in the still air. I brought the car to a gentle
stop, the engine sighing softly as it died.
Mike's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked over
at me. Ready.
I asked, my voice echoing in the sudden stillness.
His nod was eager and swift. As I stepped out, my joints
popped like distant firecrackers.
I retrieved our backpacks from the trunk and hoisted the tent
onto my shoulder, it's weight familiar and grounding.
I let Mike take the lead as we scouted for a camping spot.
I knew it was important for him to feel like the captain of our
adventure, the leader of our expedition.
Watching his determined strides and furrowed brow as he surveyed
the land like a seasoned explorer was hilarious.
Eventually, we found a suitable spot, or rather, my son did,
tucked away from the car and hidden by thick underbrush.
Sunlight danced through the leaves, casting dappled patterns
on a carpet of Moss and ferns. Nearby, a crystal clear stream
burbled, its melody harmonizing with the chirping Symphony of
unseen insects. It was a secluded paradise, the
perfect refuge for me and my son, nestled away from the world
within the forest's embrace. With a proud grin, Mike declared
our campsite found. While he scampered off to
explore the nearby stream, I tackled the seemingly
straightforward task of pitching the tent.
However, the instructions were akin to cryptic hieroglyphs
filled with diagrams resembling abstract art and terminology
that would challenge even a seasoned scholar. 20 minutes
later, after much head scratching and muttered curses,
the tent stood, albeit with a noticeable lean to one side.
Behold. I announced, trying to hide the
beads of sweat gathering on my forehead.
Mike, ever the diplomat, simply grinned.
Coolest tent ever, dad. As we unrolled our sleeping bags
inside the tent, I sent Mike on a mission to gather sticks for
our fire. He scampered off into the
undergrowth while I patrolled the edge of the woods,
collecting stray logs to bolster our firewood stash.
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a figure peeking
from behind a tree, but dismissed it as a trick of the
fading light. Igniting a fire often portrayed
in movies with a single dramatic swipe of a Flint turned into a
comedic ballet of fumble matches and stubborn kindling.
My attempts at channelling my inner caveman were met with
sputtering defiance from the damp sticks.
After 20 minutes of frustration, I surrendered to the ease of
modern technology and pulled a lighter from my backpack.
As if sensing my defeat, the fire roared to life with a
satisfying crackle. I called Mike back, and together
we roasted marshmallows under the shifting hues of the evening
sky. As the sun began its slow
descent, painting the sky with fiery shades of orange and red,
we shared stories and laughter, leaving behind the worries of
city life for the simple joy of being together in the wild.
As the clock neared 9:00 PM, exhaustion settled over us like
a warm blanket. Mike, his eyelids drooping like
weighted curtains, readily agreed it was bedtime.
I subdued the fire with a few nudges from my boot, but instead
of fading completely, the embers seem to pulse with an unnatural
inner light, casting dancing shadows across the forest floor.
The usual night time sounds of crickets and rustling leaves
took on an unsettling tone. A distant howl pierced the
silence, long and mournful, similar to an owl's call, yet
somehow different from any I'd heard before.
A chill ran down my spine, prompting me to pull Mike closer
and tuck him snugly into his sleeping bag.
Just an owl, champ. I reassured him, trying to sound
confident despite my unease. My voice echoed strangely inside
the tent, adding to the eerie atmosphere, but Mike, already
drifting off to sleep, remained unfazed.
Before I knew it, my eyes had closed and I drifted off.
It felt like no time had passed before a soft nudge at my
shoulder stirred me awake. Squinting in the dark, I made
out Mike sitting bolt upright, looking at me.
What's wrong? I mumbled, my voice heavy with
sleep. He whispered, his voice
trembling. There's something outside, half
asleep. I assured him it was probably
just a squirrel or a similar creature, and encouraged him to
try and sleep. I turned onto my side, seeking
the comforting embrace of sleep once more.
But before it could claim me again, I heard it.
A sequence of sounds distinct from the forest's usual
Symphony. Footsteps.
Deliberate and measured footsteps circled our tent.
These weren't the light steps of a deer or the clumsy thudding of
a bear. There was no natural rhythm to
them, no telltale snap of a twig.
They were silent, calculated movements. 2 steps, a pause.
Two more steps, a pause, as if whatever lurked outside was
deliberately trying to be quiet. 2 minutes stretched into an
eternity before the pattern resumed. 2 deliberate steps, a
pause, and then two more steps. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I
propped myself up. A glance at Mike confirmed he
was still awake, his eyes wide with terror.
In a hushed tone, I promised to investigate.
He gave a small nod, and with a deep breath, I inched forward,
my hand trembling as I unzip the tent just a crack.
Peering through the gap, I found the darkness outside
impenetrable, the only light source being the faint embers of
our extinguished campfire. Squinting, I strained to see
beyond the flickering red glow. For a heart stopping moment, I
thought I saw a figure near the tree line, a subtle shift in the
shadows that seemed to move on silent feet.
But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving me questioning
my tired sanity. Turning back to Mike, I forced a
reassuring smile. Everything's OK, champ, go back
to sleep. Whatever lurked outside wasn't
any creature I recognized, and it showed no signs of leaving.
As we settled back into our sleeping bags, a sudden noise
shattered the silence, jolting me awake.
It wasn't the familiar rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an
owl. This was a sharp crack, a deep
resonance snap of a fallen branch, weighty and too close
for comfort. A cold sweat instantly coated my
skin. Whatever had caused that sound
was heavy. Quietly, I rose from my sleeping
bag, the tent floor feeling small and exposed beneath me.
Retrieving my flashlight, I unzip the tent fully with
deliberate care. The chilly night air rushed in,
stealing my breath momentarily. With trembling hands, I switched
on the flashlight and swept its beam across the surrounding
woods. The once familiar trees now
loomed ominously in the darkness.
Shadows danced and twisted in the flickering light, playing
tricks on my already rattled mind.
I scan the forest floor for any sign of the creature, a
footprint, a snapped twig, but found nothing.
Yet. Just beyond the flashlights
reach, a glimmer caught my eye, a subtle movement, a flash of
reflection. I focused the beam in that
direction, my heart pounding, but saw only the swaying
branches of a nearby pine. Convinced the source of the
noise was ahead of me, I had turned away from the tent.
However, the sound of leaves crunching behind me shattered
that assumption. Whirling around, I aimed the
flashlight toward the tent, partially illuminating my son,
who sat upright with a confused expression.
Whatever had made the noise remained out of sight.
I had almost convinced myself it was merely a curious animal
nosing around behind our tent. Just as I was about to dismiss
the fear and retreat into the safety of the tent, ready to
label the sounds as harmless, the source of the noise revealed
itself a moment that stretched my sanity thin.
It stood up from behind the opposite end of the tent where
it had been hiding it, or me. Standing over the tent,
partially bathed in the weak glow of my flashlight.
It defied all logic and reason. Even as I stared directly at it,
my mind struggled to accept what my eyes were seeing.
It wasn't an animal as I had initially assumed.
It was me. I found myself locked in a gaze
with myself. It had my face, but it wasn't
me. Its limbs extended from
misaligned joints at the shoulders, longer and more
spindly than mine. Though humanoid in shape, its
proportions were wrong, its limbs extending at unnatural
angles. Clad in tattered clothes akin to
my camping attire, its body seemed like a grotesque mirror
image of my own. The most unsettling part was its
face. It mirrored mine in almost every
detail, save for the eyes. Voids of absolute blackness in
place of my familiar brown eyes. When caught in the beam of my
flashlight, those eyes revealed twin specks of light within the
darkness, staring back at me with an unnerving intensity.
A single glance revealed its formidable strength, far
surpassing my own. Its arms, thick with sinewy
muscle, bore the unmistakable markings of a life lived in the
wilderness. These were not the sculpted
muscles of a gym goer, but the rugged strength forged by the
trials of nature itself. Mountains climbed, rivers
crossed, battles waged against the elements as its mouth
contorted grotesquely across its face, the skin splitting like
parched earth. A wet tearing filled the night
air, an agonizing sound that sent a Primal Scream echoing
through my mind. The chill of the night was now a
distant memory, replaced by a fear so profound it threatened
to immobilize me. Suddenly, a voice pierced the
silence. A small, vulnerable voice
belonging to Mike, calling out from within the tent, asking if
I could see anything. At the sound of his voice, the
creature's attention shifted sharply toward the tent.
It leaned in, drawn by Mike's innocence.
It's already unnaturally wide mouth stretched further, the
lower jaw unhinging to an impossible length, revealing a
menacing row of needle like teeth.
The thing raised its elongated arm, which moved unnervingly
stiff and jerky, like the movements of someone who hadn't
felt flesh beneath their fingertips for years.
I could see each joint crackle and pop as it extended its arm.
I was confused as to what it was doing, but then realization hit
me. Instinct took over.
I plunged my hands into the tent, grabbing Mike and yanked
him out with all my strength. Yanking him from the tent, we
stumbled out the ground, a sickening blur beneath my feet.
We landed in a heap, the sound of ripping fabric filling the
air as the creature tore through the tent like a child ripping
through tissue paper. The metallic Tang of blood,
sharp and acrid, filled my nostrils.
I covered Mike's mouth with my hand, feeling his tears against
my skin. We lay there in silence,
watching the thing eviscerate our tent.
Amidst the chaos, my bag was flung towards us.
Recognizing it, I rummaged through it until my fingers
closed around the car keys. Leaning close to Mike, I told
him when I gave the signal I wanted him to run for the car.
In the tense silence that followed the creature's assault,
a distant noise momentarily captured its attention.
Seizing the opportunity, I whispered to Mike.
Run. We sprang up and bolted towards
the car, the creatures piercing shriek chasing us from behind.
My lungs burned, my legs screamed in protest, but I
pushed on, fueled by a primal urge to protect my son.
Reaching the car, I fumble with the keys, the creatures rasping
breaths hot on my neck. With a satisfying click, the
door unlocked. We tumbled inside, slamming the
doors shut just as the creature lunged forward, its fingers
scraping against the metal. With trembling hands, I turned
the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
In the dim light, I could see the creature standing mere
inches from the car, it's grotesque smile contorted in
what seemed to be frustration. With a surge of adrenaline, I
shifted into reverse, then spun the car around, tires churning
the earth as we speed down the trail.
We didn't stop until we got home.
Throughout the drive, Mike remained silent, his soft sobs a
stark contrast to my own stifled emotions.
That night marked the end of our camping trips.
It doesn't look like I'll be beating Dan and his dad's
camping trip anytime soon. This is a story about 3 spooky
instances that happened during one trip.
It's long, but I think it's worth it.
My buddy and I still talk about it to this day.
So my friend and I took off on an early season trail run
through the Mount Margaret Backcountry.
The route was a big thirty mile loop.
It started out nice, but once we got up to the passes it was
obvious we had bitten off more than we could chew.
Tons of snow. My friend is not very
comfortable on steep snow, but we stayed optimistic that the
other side of the next pass would be better.
We moved slowly and did this all day.
It did not get better. Finally we got to the final pass
which was a moment of truth. It was steep, and if it was too
snowy, it would probably mean backtracking, which would mean a
night out. At this point.
I remember hummingbirds buzzing all over the trees around us,
which I took as a positive message from the universe.
For those that don't really trail run, I'll break it down
like this. It's like hiking, except you
complete the entire trip at a jog.
The intensity is much higher. We carried a single small pack
with basic supplies along with a camelback water pouch.
Because of the nature of movement, trail runners
typically don't bring a lot with them.
We were packed minimally and wearing only what we needed to
stay warm. Now, I told you we went out too
early. Trail running in the snow is OK.
It means you can't get lost because of the backtracking.
That being said, it's almost 100% harder than normal trail
running. We were past the point of defeat
when all of this started to get weird.
We crested the pass as the sun started to get low in the sky.
Light started to fade as we entered the valley in the final
10 miles. Throughout this time, my friend
had been talking about true crime podcasts, joking about all
the places to hide A body out here.
We were crashing through the overgrown trail, probably the
1st through it for a year, when a brown tarp caught our eyes
through the brush. We paused and looked at one
another like that's about the size of a body.
We approached and we were both physically and emotionally
exhausted after the day, saying to ourselves, well we've got to
figure out what this is now. So we prodded it with a trekking
pole and found that it was firm. We moved the tarp a bit and
caught a glance of a red stained fabric.
We both went still. I've got major chills now.
We moved the tarp back and found this big old sleeping bag with
red interior fabric. We both laughed and then kept
moving still. As we kept moving back toward
the parking lot, I couldn't shake the feeling.
Why would someone hide A sleeping bag like that?
We finally reached the trailhead in my friend's car.
It was dark. We were completely exhausted and
half delirious. It was an empty lot except for
one other car at the far end. That didn't make sense.
We had seen one other hiker on the trail far off in the
distance. He looked pretty normal.
He had your regular hiking pack and gear.
As we were getting into his car though we heard a woman call out
from the other car saying hello help, do you know what kind of
bugs are out here? My friend said let's just get
out of here man. But I found myself steering over
and found this lady sitting in her over packed car with the
door open. She was like there's this big
bug on my neck I don't know what it is it's freaking me out.
She was pointing to it but there was no bug.
I told her lady I don't see anything, there's nothing there,
but she said no, come closer. My friend from behind me said
don't do that dude, he's got no filter.
He's saying it loud enough that both of us can hear him.
I told her I'd take it off if I were you, sorry I can't really
help you with that. Then turned back and got in my
buddy's car. He's looking at me like I'm
crazy and honestly I had no idea why I went over there.
I think part of me wanted answers after finding that
abandoned sleeping bag. A woman unfamiliar with the
area, covered in bugs vaguely fit the description of our
phantom sleeping bag owner. Who else could it be?
We didn't really discuss it any further, we just took off.
We were both depleted, rattled, and ready to get the hell out of
dodge. I felt pretty bad about bringing
him along to begin with, but I felt even worse now that things
were kind of taking a creepy turn.
We just turned on some music and chatted about other stuff going
on in our lives. Around 5 minutes down the road
my friend's flat tire light comes on and we just look at
each other like Oh no, there's no way this is happening.
Fortunately he had a little pump to plug into his lighter port.
We took a guess at which tire was losing air and sat in a
silent pitch black, glancing back up the road nervously and
waiting for the pump to work. It must have been half an hour
when we realized we got the wrong tire.
The one we picked was low but wasn't losing air.
It was the one in the back on the opposite side, slowly
deflating and bringing the back end toward the ground.
We had just noticed it before, it was completely out of air.
Great, now we're really stuck for a while.
We got the pump moved and situated.
Watch the slow, tedious process once again.
Overhead, the stars started to fade in favor of a shadowy
overcast. It was already freezing, but the
cloud cover and potential moisture just simply weren't
prepared for it. My friend was asking if it would
rain or snow and I said no. I checked the forecast every day
for a week. This weekend was supposed to be
clear. Just as I'm having that thought,
the first few flakes of snow drifted out of the sky and
landed right on my face. It was beyond demoralizing to
see. My buddy's car was a little 2
wheel drive SUV. It worked well enough on dirt
roads and mild terrain, just that kind of stuff.
It definitely wasn't built to pull us out of a few inches of
snow, and the pump still had at least an hour left to go.
We were getting ready to settle in for the long haul, bundled up
in the front seat, the heater going on full blast, and we hear
something. We both turned 1, legging the
car and one looking down the road we just come from.
It almost sounded like a cough, and now we could hear footsteps
along that muddy Rd. That schluck schluck schluck
sound of someone in sneakers walking through the muck.
Hello help, these bugs are everywhere.
It had to be that same tweaked out woman from the trailhead.
It was definitely possible. We'd only made it a mile from
where we left her. Why she left her car behind was
completely beyond us. She had to be on drugs or just
crazy to some degree. We also figured that she was
living in her car. These were just quick deductions
that we made after our encounter.
Things we didn't think were important.
Now all we could say was who the hell is this lady?
We did the only thing that we could do.
We got back in the car and locked the doors.
The plug in for the pump snaked through the window that we had
partially opened. This way we could keep as much
warmth as possible inside the car.
Now it was a double win. We had a little security from
this lady out in the street. We didn't see her at first, but
after a minute or two she came wandering out of the darkness.
She walked right by the car, still talking to herself and
looking in every direction. She was so out of it she didn't
even realize she passed us. The car was on so the lighter
port would work. It was just so crazy that we
both even had to stifle a laugh. Another second or two later and
she was gone. It was unbelievable.
I couldn't believe our luck. We went back to talking in a
whisper. I leaned my seat back and
started to zone out as the late hour and lack of energy were
starting to shut me down completely.
My buddy and I just kept talking about whatever, and as he spoke,
his voice kind of trailed off into silence.
I started to speak when I heard it too.
Those muddy footsteps on the road.
The only problem is, they were coming from behind us, from
where the lady originally came from.
We expected them to be coming further up the road because
that's where she walked to. Had she circled around, maybe
there was an offshoot trail that would double her back to us.
But whatever the case, we shrank into our seats and waited for
whatever or whoever it was. Suddenly our car was lit up by a
flashlight. We didn't see anyone walk by.
There was just a sudden beam of light cutting down the road.
There was a man carrying some stuff and when he saw our car,
he started to slow down. He was totally shadowed so I
couldn't really make out any details besides his backpack.
My buddy could though. He leaned over and whispered.
It was the hiker that we saw earlier.
This guy picked up his pace again and came sprinting over to
the car. He looked in the back and then
in the front. He had his hands pressed up
against the glass with his flashlight shining through.
I'll never forget that big creepy grin that he gave when he
saw us. His eyes lit up, his lips peeled
back, and the worst teeth you could imagine were shown chipped
and rotting right out of this guy's head.
Hey, I'm looking for my girlfriend.
He shouted through the glass. And I mean shouted.
This guy was high as a kite and didn't realize we were only
separated by a bit of glass. He was yelling like there was a
country mile between us. Thank God my buddy picked up the
dialogue. He was way more scared than I
was because this weirdo was on his side of the car.
He was really close. My friend started talking to buy
some time. The first thing that came out of
his mouth was that she went walking down the road.
By which way? The guy asked.
We both pointed down the way she went, literally the only way she
could have gone. He nodded and looked around, but
didn't move, didn't even budge an inch.
He kept the conversation going, telling us that he stopped out
here so he could do a day hike, she wasn't much for outdoors and
wanted to stay in the car. He said they had a dog with
them, but neither myself nor my buddy ever saw one, not even in
the back of their dumpy car. The guy went on and on, telling
us he'd had a stroke of bad luck lately, hadn't found much in the
way of work or a place to stay. He went on and on with what I
would consider his whole life story, in various stages of
yelling, speaking with his hand. So he was banging on the glass
for emphasis, at least, starting to scare the daylights out of
both of us. That's when he looked down and
saw our air pump and through the window.
His eyes sort of rolled in his head and his entire demeanor
shifted like he forgot that he was talking to us.
He asked if we were having car trouble, to which we replied
it's just a leak, it's almost fixed.
He said no problem, I'm a big car guy.
Then he asked if we'd seen his girlfriend, she should be
somewhere around here. My buddy and I shared a look
like Oh my God, you've got to be kidding me.
The guy started messing around with the pump saying he'd make
it work better. My buddy and I were almost in
hysterics at this point, thinking we'd have to open up
the door and confront this guy before he broke our only way out
of the situation. And just as we were getting
ready to do just that, we heard a crazy blood curdling scream
ripped through the air. The snow was starting to ramp
up, and now something was screaming bloody murder out in
the darkness. The weird guy at our back tire
stood up and looked around, then started booking it in the
direction of his girlfriend, yelling her name as he went.
My friend and I sat in total silence for the next 45 minutes
until we felt like the tire was aired up enough to drive on.
The whole time we were looking in every direction, expecting
one or both of these psychos to come screaming out of the trees.
Thankfully, neither of them did. We loaded up the pump and hit
the road sometime around 9 PMA full.
Three hours later than I wanted. We saw them one last time right
before we got off that dirt Rd. They were standing before a
thicket of trees, either holding hands or pushing each other, we
couldn't really tell. All we could see was their arms
were stretched toward one another.
Just as we hit the pavement and started to slog back to town, we
heard them both start screaming their heads off.
By far the scariest hike of my life.
And to those crank bug weirdos, I don't ever want to see you
again. I was hiking in the Issaquah
foothills a couple of winters back on a weekday.
The Issaquah Alps see a lot of traffic year round, but on this
particular gloomy day during working hours, there weren't a
lot of people on those trails. This is exactly what I was
looking for, pure isolation in the beautiful Backcountry.
My hike involved connecting two neighboring parks separated by a
road. Once you exit the first park,
you cross the road over to the second parks parking area and
trailhead. When I reached the parking area,
I noted a few cars in the lot and started my way up the trail.
I hadn't gotten far when I heard a guy start calling out from
behind me. Hey, hey, excuse me.
He was trying to get my attention, but in typical
Seattleite fashion, I had no interest in talking to strangers
and just decided to pretend I didn't hear him, hoping he would
go away. He didn't go away though.
He proceeded to follow me up the trail and kept yelling.
Hey, hey Sir. I probably could have lost the
guy, but it felt just kind of silly to run away for no real
reason. So he picked up his pace to a
jog and got closer. I stopped, turned around and
said something like yeah what, what's up?
He stopped at a distance from me where he didn't really need to
yell but had to speak loudly to hear one another.
Not a normal conversation distance for me though.
This was OK because I mentioned this whole interaction was
pretty annoying. I got out here to be alone with
nature, not to get harassed just outside the parking lot.
Were you just taking pictures of my car?
He asked. I was taken aback by his
question since I had no idea who this guy was.
What? I asked him.
I saw you, you were taking pictures of my car, he went on.
In my mind, I made the connection.
He must have been parked in the lot below, hanging out in his
car. I had my phone out earlier when
I was in the parking area consulting the trail map and I
guess he thought I was taking photos, so I explained to him
that I was just looking at my map and he seemed to be
satisfied with that answer. He then paused for a moment,
looked down as if he was in contemplation, then looked back
up at me and asked. Have you been following me?
My heart started to beat a little faster now.
Something was off about this guy.
This made no sense whatsoever as he was in fact currently
following me. It was also at this moment where
my confusion turned to tension as I realized this person was
not mentally well. The way he asked me this
question was super intense and accusatory.
It made me feel for a moment that I might need to defend
myself against this guy. So I did my best to defuse the
situation, explaining in a non threatening way that I was
simply out on a hike. I don't even know who you are.
This also seemed to satisfy him and settle him down.
He goes on a little bit of a tangent and tells me how someone
had been harassing him on Facebook.
He didn't know who it was, I don't really remember all the
details, but I think that was the gist of it.
I didn't have much to say and he ended up just saying well don't
take pictures of people's cars before turning around and
heading back down the trail. I watched him make his own
descent before turning back to my own adventure.
The rest of the day passed as relatively normal.
I saw some cool critters, snapped a few pictures, and just
did the general outdoor thing. By noon I'd put some miles
behind me and lost sight of any other hiker.
I broke a small camp for a little rest and recharge, and
had lunch just before pushing onward for another hour or so.
After a bit, the cold started to get to me.
The wind was cutting through my jacket, my hands were starting
to fail, and the sun was perfect for a downhill climb.
At this point it's clear navigation.
The trail is mostly exposed through the snow and it's
covered from the shade. My boot prints clearly marked
the path. When I reached my spot for
lunch, I considered stopping for a second time but decided
against it. I just wanted to get back to my
car. As I'm moving through the little
camp, something catches my eye. My track marks where I'd come
from, where I stopped, and where I went.
But there seems to be a different set of tracks cutting
through the area. And sure enough, after a little
more inspection, it is a second set of tracks, boot prints a
little bigger than mine. They came up the slope, loitered
in the camp, and then wandered back the same way that I went
earlier. Spooky, but not the strangest
thing. I guess.
It is a local outdoor area, a well trafficked trail system,
all the stuff that attracts day Packers.
The strangest part was I didn't encounter this person on my way
back down the trail and by the direction of their tracks.
They were on the same trail that I was using.
I should have crossed paths with them at some point on my return
journey. I pushed on down the mountain
where the tracks just got weirder and weirder.
It looked like they walked up and down the trail multiple
times as the boot prints faced both directions.
I tightened up my pack straps, my belt, and everything that
might bang around just in case I needed to run.
My mind naturally went back to that stranger who'd followed me
up the path that morning. I reached a part of the trail
that overlooked a very long stretch of the valley ahead.
I could see close to a mile of the path laid out before me,
switching back every now and again with pockets of trees and
snow melt here and there. Everything looked bright and
muted at the same time. I took in the view for a few
more seconds and that's when I saw him.
There was a man way off down the hill, close to 1/2 mile by my
guess. He was hard to see at first,
just standing still among some trees.
He was looking up at me, or at least in the direction of the
hilltop. As we're looking at each other,
I see him slowly slink into some bushes and hide himself along
the path. What the hell is going on?
I was relatively chilled out, but in the blink of an eye my
heart was racing and a cold sweat was pouring down my face.
Even with the distance, it looked like that weirdo that
accosted me earlier. The simple clothing, the lack of
gear, the pullover sweater instead of a real jacket.
I mean, who else could it be? More pressing though, was how
the hell was I going to get back to my truck?
I looked around the terrain and shrugged.
The only option was this trail system.
The snow and mud made everything off the pathway too treacherous.
If I had to run, he'd catch me quickly through the wilderness.
I took a deep breath and continued down the mountainside.
Not many will agree with this, but I don't carry much in the
way of self-defense when I'm out in the wilderness.
No walking poles, no bear spray, and definitely not a gun.
I've hiked my whole life and never had needed to use anything
of that sort. What I do carry though is a
medium sized fixed blade hunting knife.
I consider it a tool above all else, but obviously it's a
reliable means of security. I unclasped the sheath strap so
I could pull it out quickly if I needed to.
Nothing happened for quite some time.
I walked on, did my best to enjoy the dwindling views, all
while keeping an eye out for wherever this guy could be.
I navigated the entire valley, including the tree line that I
saw him near, but there wasn't any sign of him.
This gave me a little confidence and helped me keep going.
I even braved a few shortcuts through brambles where I could
shave off a few steps. There's one part of the trail
where it weaves through a small boulder field.
It's nothing crazy, but there is one brief scramble between some
rocks. As I'm making my way through the
stonework, I hear this sound behind me.
Not any sound from the natural world, but something you could
hear in the city or a suburban area.
The unmistakable shutter click of a camera.
I stopped, hands extended before me on the boulder face as I
shuffled along. I slowly turned and looked
behind me, but there was no one there.
I kept looking and finally up in the stones I saw him.
It was that weirdo from earlier. Just as I thought, he had his
phone out with the camera pointed at me.
He's got this creepy look on his face, dead shark eyes, no
emotion, 1/2 snarl on his lips. Not very nice is it?
He called down to me. I don't know why, but something
boiled up inside me and I would compare it to rage, being
followed, stalked, and now having photos taken of me.
I didn't like being made to feel victimized when I hadn't done
anything wrong to this guy. He climbed down slowly while
snapping a picture of me every few feet.
Finally, I asked this guy what his problem was.
You've been following me and I'm going to figure out why.
He screamed at me. By this point, I had enough.
I explained that I didn't know him, I'd never met him, and I
would never waste my time following him.
I then went into explicit detail that I was ahead of him,
therefore couldn't be following anyone.
The guy just continued to shake his head, argue with me, and
snap random pictures. By this point he made it down
the trail but was still 25 feet from me.
The argument continued to escalate until he finally picked
up a rock and hurled it at me. It didn't hit me, but it was
fist sized so it came pretty close.
I could tell by his facial expression that he liked the
results, so he started to pick up a second stone.
As he did that, I pulled out my hunting knife from my belt and
started charging back down the path toward him.
The sun hit the steel and the guy's entire expression changed.
Now it was me who liked the result of my actions.
At this point, I just started hurling threats back at him.
I said this was perfect, being so far out here, no cops, no one
to see what was about to happen. This obviously scared the hell
out of him. He started backing away, hands
up, saying all right, all right, all right, over and over again.
He started huffing it back up the mountain, saying all kinds
of crazy stuff, like how I better not follow him anymore or
he'll call the police. I waited, watched him trundle up
the hillside before turning back to my own journey.
I didn't have any more issues after that, and never saw that
guy again. More to the wise though, in
order to communicate with crazy, you got to talk crazy.
Having encountered many bears, coyotes, and mountain goats in
the wilderness, this was the only moment, although brief,
that I felt threatened on the presence of those trails.
This was more of a Bush walk, but when I was a teenager.
I live near a very long Creek trail and empty Bush land.
Beautiful place, very hilly and mountainous area with rainbow
lorikeets and a dam nearby. My friend and I headed to the
Creek after school because I wanted to show her a bat colony
near that trail. I don't remember if I turned
left when we had to turn right, or if we turned right when we
should have turned left, but either way we never found that
colony. This was well before
smartphones, so we just followed the Creek aimlessly for a couple
of hours, hoping it would end somewhere familiar.
It might also be important to note that we're both female.
It was getting dark when we first saw it, a flash of red in
the bushes. We have Rosella's out here, but
she swore that it wasn't a bird. We heard rustling now and again,
which made us walk faster. It was tough to move fast on
that terrain though, because the slope along the Creek was
getting steeper. Embedded in the Creek bed were
sometimes these huge concrete cylinders, big enough to stand
inside. Some of them had water flowing
through them and some didn't. Soon after she saw that red
flash, we spotted something on the other side of the Creek.
It was one of those big concrete cylinders, but there was
something inside. At first we thought it was
garbage, but it was a home. We could make out the blankets,
a shopping trolley full of miscellaneous items, and
newspaper or magazine cutouts hanging on the concrete walls,
mostly of girls. We came to a stop and just
stared inside that little shelter.
I remember having this sinking feeling in my stomach, like I
was seeing something no one was supposed to see, So suddenly we
were aware of a dirty smell in the air, like body odor and the
fading sunset behind us. Just as I'm getting ready to
speak, my friend grabs my wrist and jerks my arm.
She's pointing to the tunnel where a red light has come out
of. We watch in horror as it slowly
moves outward from the tunnel, and as it does, we can make out
the silhouette of a person hobbling in the cylinder.
They're holding a small hand light of some kind, a key chain
clicker with a red bulb, long stringy hair, oversized clothes,
and the creepy way that they shuffled along had us all but
petrified. When they got to the edge of
that cylinder, the person stopped and pointed the light
right at us. It didn't reach us, but it
showed that they knew we were there.
We started to take a couple of steps down the trail when
another light came to life, this one above the cylinder and in
the tree line, a third one followed down by the edge of the
Creek. The two new ones started to
converge towards the light in the tunnel.
One of them, I think the man in the tunnel, called out and asked
what we were doing. We replied back with nothing,
just exploring the waterways and looking for bat hollows.
We really needed to get home and the hour just got away from us.
We heard snickering, then muted footsteps.
The trickling of the Creek made everything sound further away
than it really was. It also helped to carry the
noises away. I briefly wondered how long
these sickos had heard us coming down the trail.
There's a load of bats right back in here, the guy in the
tunnel said. He was waving us toward him in
the dim light. My friend and I were still
taking small steps back the way we came back toward home.
We said no thank you. We had to get home before our
parents called the police. That only brought on more
snickering. I started to feel
claustrophobic, even though there was a Creek between us.
The man in the tunnel went on to say that there was no police
presence out here, that we were much further from town than we
originally thought. That's all we needed to hear.
My friend leaned over and whispered something like we
needed to run and we need to do it now since it was dark.
I snatched up her hand and tore off for home.
Just as we started sprinting, all those men started hooting
and hollering, telling us not to go.
They'll show us the quickest way back when I decided to look back
just in case, I did see another light come to life.
This one was on our side of the Creek where we were just
standing. Just as my lungs were starting
to burn from the sudden motion, I saw the red light start
chasing after us. It took me a second to realize
that I'm not running anymore, but also screaming at the top of
my lungs. So is my friend.
We're running like lightning, pumping so fast it almost
doesn't feel real. The screaming has cut off our
airflow. We can't maintain the speed that
we're at. Meanwhile, we can hear the creep
behind us mimicking our screams, shining his red light back and
forth. The illumination is proof that
he's gaining on us. A little bend comes up in the
road and I consider bustling through the bushes rather than
losing speed on the turn. It doesn't matter though, we
aren't fast enough. All of a sudden I feel a jerk
behind me as the guy snatches up my friend by her other wrist.
We both start to stop screaming, now even louder, when we feel a
big pair of hands collide with our backs and throw us into the
dirt. We hit the ground hard, knocking
the wind out of us and everything.
We both gave up at that point and assumed we were dead.
Nothing happened though. We laid there listening to the
pounding footfalls of someone running away.
As they faded, we looked up from the dirt to see only darkness.
The shock of being attacked started to fade and being all
alone, all we could do was cry. We crawled to our feet and
dusted one another off, then started jogging down the trail
again. We didn't say anything to one
another, but saved our breath instead.
We didn't want a chance being heard anymore.
There was rustling behind us now and then, which could have been
anything I guess. Plenty of wildlife in that area
of the bushland. It was maybe 30 minutes to an
hour later when we saw a wire fencing.
We followed it to some kind of garbage yard in an industrial
area. It turned out that we were a
three and a half hour walk from our original starting point.
I'm still not 100% sure what happened that day other than the
fact that my friend was grounded for a month.
We told our parents about what happened, which they blew a
gasket. As expected.
They alerted the authorities who explained to us that there were
undesirables that lived far up that waterway.
There was nothing they could really do about it.
To this day, I don't go hiking without a good sense of where I
am first. I will say I'm 100% in favor of
sending teen girls out into the wilderness.
This trip, as disturbing as it was, was the end of my childhood
and the beginning of my young adulthood.
I think all women should be given a chance to take real
risks and make serious decisions.
I was at a similar camp in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.
We were a group of 10 girls, ages 13 to 14.
We had two counselors who were ages 18 and 19.
This trip was supposed to be a 14 day cross country hiking trip
deep into the backwoods. We had a couple of stashes of
water that had been dropped along our route, but otherwise
everything we needed was on our backs.
About 10 days into our hike, we were looking forward to a
legendary aspect of this trip which older campers had told us
about. We would spend a day alone in
the woods on a solo. This was a cool all day
excursion where in the counselors dumped each camper
into an isolated area for 10 hours or so.
We'd have to fend for ourselves. We were all very excited at the
prospect of being truly self-sufficient for a little
while. I went into my solo with my full
kit, including a tent with the exception of cooking supplies.
My counselor hiked out with me to a sandy bank overlooking a
pond. Gave me a high 5 and told me
she'd be back to collect me around 6:00 PM for dinner.
I had a small journal and some embroidery to entertain myself
with. After days and days of hard
marches across sandy and uneven terrain, and about a billion
giggly conversations with the other girls, I really actually
looked forward to some rest and some quiet.
I wrote a few letters to friends and family back home, even
jotted down a little poem about the nature around me.
I remember eventually getting bored and deciding to take a
nap. When I woke up, it was late
afternoon. I was surprised that my
counselor hadn't already come back to get me.
Within an hour, I started to get really worried.
It was getting dark, and once it got dark in an era before GPSI
knew that my counselors might not find me.
It was also getting colder now that the sun was gone.
I hadn't collected any firewood or dug a fire pit.
I was caught with my pants down and it was too late to do
anything about it. I opened up my pack and looked
at my supplies. I didn't have enough water, so I
had to deal with that first, filling my flask with pond water
and dropping in some emergency iodine tablets to clean it.
I did have enough calories in the form of trail mix, which was
nice. I had limited matches, so I
decided to conserve those. I pitched my tent, changed into
my warmer clothes, and then, wearing my headlamp and parka, I
bundled myself up in my tent. I had a disgusting but
satisfying meal of iodized pond water and trail mix.
Then I poured over the map of my location.
I was very, very acutely aware of the fact that I was a 14 year
old girl with limited orienting experience who just might need
to start a solo hike out of Michigan's backwoods at first
light in the morning. Then I heard something outside
my tent. Instinctually, I killed my
flashlight and held my breath, listening for it once more.
It sounded like footsteps along the shore of the pond below
camp. The shore was cropped up with
rocks and shells, so anything moving down there would be
pretty loud. After a minute or two, I heard
it again, crunching footfalls. My fear dissipated, though, as I
realized it was my camp counselor.
She'd overshot my camp and wandered toward the pond.
I unzipped my tent and stepped out into the chilly mountain
air. A big bright moon welcomed me,
casting shadows all throughout the wilderness.
There was no sign of anyone though, not in the trees or near
the pond. That's when something exploded
down by the pond in front of me was so loud that I couldn't even
process it. But after a second, I realized
that it was a gunshot. I could see the water spray
shooting up into the air from the impact of the bullet.
My ears were ringing, my heart was pounding so hard I thought I
was going to pass out. There was someone out here
shooting a gun in the pond. I didn't fully understand the
gravity of the situation, but I knew this was dangerous and I
was unequipped to handle it. Before I could start to come up
with some kind of plan, another gun blast exploded in front of
me. This time I could see the flash
from the barrel and the person holding the gun.
They were standing on a stump just outside the water.
Regretting my decision to leave my tent, I climbed back inside
and zipped it up as quietly as I could.
I scooted into the back corner and tried to make myself as
small as possible. Soon I could hear talking what
sounded like two men muttering down by the water.
It occurred to me the only reason they didn't know I was
there was because I didn't make a campfire.
My decision to save my matches might have saved my life that
night. I heard them laughing, talking,
then laughing again. It sounded like they were
getting closer, perhaps climbing the Cove up to the campsite.
The shale gave way to soil and I could almost feel their steps
shaking through the earth. Once they got to the top, I
could hear them clearly now. They loaded up the gun and fired
a couple more times into the water below.
I could see the muzzle flash from inside my tent.
Their long silhouettes passed against it.
After they emptied the gun, they started climbing back down to
the pond shore. I had no idea where these guys
could have come from. Maybe there was a dispersed
camping area on the other side of the valley and that path LED
back to the pond. Next I heard a woman holler,
kind of yell, then a loud splash in the water.
I could hear treading and splashing and swimming around.
The guys whistled and shouted some vague encouragement.
I turtled up the best I could and tried not to lose it as it
only got weirder from there. There was a distant conversation
between the three, the sound of the swimming and then the sound
of what I could only describe as a Stampede.
There wasn't any commotion near me or my tent, but I could hear
the Thunder of their hooves. I didn't know if it was cattle
or horses, all I do know was that it was deafening.
Next came more gunfire. 10 or 15 bright flashy discharges
exploded. I could almost hear drums or
whooping of some kind, but with the other sounds mixed in it was
hard to tell. My ears were ringing so bad that
I covered them with my hands. Then it was all over.
The Stampede, the hollering, the gunfire.
It just vanished. I got up from where I was laying
and waited for something else to happen.
All I could hear was the same hush talking from before down by
the water. The voices sounded a little
different this time though, but soon they were gone too.
Next thing I knew, I passed out of my sleeping bag from the
adrenaline dump. Luckily, shortly after the 1st
morning light, I woke up to my counselor, Sarah calling my
name. I jumped out of my tent and ran
into her powerful bear hug. I'd never been happier to see
another person. She told me that another one of
the campers had injured herself seriously, cutting herself
deeply on a sharp rock. Both counselors had to carry her
back to camp. Sarah had then needed to hike
out a certain amount of miles to radio for backup.
While the other counselor stayed with the injured camper.
By the time they'd handled the situation, it was nearly dark.
They'd managed to collect most of the campers, but I've been
too far away from the camp to reach me safely.
They knew I was well equipped and not of a nervous
temperament. I was one of the campers they
decided to leave at their solo camps overnight.
When I told her what had happened to me, her eyes bulged
out of her head. She asked me to clarify what I
was saying, to which I did, and she began apologizing profusely.
This probably came from a sense of guilt and worry, but also
because she could lose her job. I'm sure.
She said they didn't hear anything like what I described
during the night and they were only 3/4 of a mile away.
Surely they would have heard all that gunfire.
The injured girl ended up being just fine and even told she
developed an extremely cool scar from that incident.
All I can really say about my incident is that I'm really glad
I didn't have to hike out alone, but also quite proud that I kept
my composure and did what I needed to do to stay safe while
alone in the woods. Whoever was out there may have
meant me no harm and simply just didn't even know I was there.
That Stampede was a whole other experience that I just chalked
up to some kind of natural phenomenon.
There are plenty of animals in the woods, and the repeated
discharge of a gun like that might be enough to get them all
moving. Whatever the case, I came out of
it alive and well, if not a little braver for it.
I went with my brother and mother on a hiking trip from
Poland to Russia. The first few days were pretty
great with some minor clashes with bad weather.
As we arrived at the Russian border, we needed to take a bus
to cross it because no pedestrians are allowed to cross
the border without a vehicle. After a bit of a hassle, we
started out on our day on the Russian side of the border with
our planned route in mind and a much shorter time frame to get
it done. Thanks to some visa problems and
other passengers in our bus, we walked over to the main road
that crossed the oblast that we hiked through at a small
village. Our mother had the brilliant
idea to give my brother all the money she withdrew when we
arrived. In the most blatant, obvious
way. She handed him this money in
Plainview of a cluster of Russian soldiers who had a
reputation for swindling travellers in outlier villages.
One of the soldiers happened to be questioning my brother about
his visa. While this happened, the
soldier, who was probably as confused as my brother and I
were, started to interrogate us a bit harsher than before.
In this more serious tone, he asked about more concrete data
and details of our visa. All of this was cleared,
thankfully, and we got to continue our hike.
Still, I won't forget looking behind me and seeing that same
cluster of soldiers watching us out of town.
They were smoking cigarettes under a light drizzle of rain.
None of them looked pleased to see us go, especially now that
they knew we were traveling with large sums of cash.
Guard work doesn't pay well unless you jam up the people
passing through for whatever valuables they might have.
As we continued on, we had to go off the Main Street, which had
no footpath but a huge shoulder that was pretty convenient to
walk on. We reached our overnight stay.
The road got gradually smaller as we followed it, finally
turning into a small mud path before the first few houses of
another village. At a field which we had to
follow, we were greeted by some farmers that were currently on a
break from harvesting. They asked us where we were
going and told us with gestures of swimming hands that
continuing this path might not be the best idea.
We, in hindsight, sadly did not care because there were no
rivers or other sources of water that could stop us.
As we continued our journey, the vegetation around us grew more
and more the further we went. The supposed Rd. that we were on
suddenly turned into an overgrown path, which we had
lost for a short amount of time because it basically wasn't
really a path anymore. We followed the knee high
meadows next to it for a few 100 meters until we finally realized
that the forest next to us was indeed the path.
It was more overgrown than the forest in Poland, or the rest of
Europe for that matter. As we continued along this
forgotten alleyway, the vegetation switched from dry
Underwood to six foot tall stinging nettle.
I wore jeans because whereas it might be heavier, it's much
safer for this exact reason. My brother and mother were
wearing shorts and sleeveless shirts, totally unprepared for
such an encounter. Worse yet, I did a double take
at the tall grass and thought I saw a face in the plants.
It was a woman, dirty, wrapped in cloth to protect from the
nettle. Once we made eye contact, she
disappeared deeper into the thicket.
Now that I inspected it, the stinging nettle was really only
one lane. It surrounded the trees to the
brush further back. I called out for the others to
watch themselves. There were vagrants living in
the forest. It isn't uncommon to be robbed
blind on a cross country backpacking trip.
We tightened up our belongings and walked in spinning circles
to keep an eye on every angle. They followed us for a mile or
two but never gained on any of our stuff.
We had to admit, hanging around in those stinging nettles was a
perfect idea for a bandit. If you could protect yourself
from the acid rash, you were damn near invincible as nothing
could chase you through such overgrowth.
We had only lucked out because I had just happened to see that
woman before they could jump us. We did not turn around because
it was the only Rd. that led directly out of the village for
our stay. We continued on for another 10
kilometers until we reached the road that crossed our Nettle
path. After we saw the street, I
opened up our street map. This is normally my trustworthy
source to find a good hiking trail if no printed maps of the
region are available. It said that the road should
significantly improve over the next kilometer or two.
It definitely did not. The Underwood went from mildly
annoying to actively troubling us two times.
On our path we had to cross small streams.
There were bridges, but sadly they were torn down a few years
prior to us hiking out there. So we had to climb down the
embankment, walk through 8 foot tall plants at the bottom, and
cross a really small yet inconvenient stream just to get
to the other side where we had to climb up to our path yet
again. This part was a little scary
because we had to potentially offload some of our equipment to
climb down. We could still see some of the
highway bandits lingering along the tree line.
Anytime we said anything on the ground, they came strolling over
like it was their property. It was kind of mind boggling to
watch them. The moment we snatched our
things off the ground, they would spin around and March
right back into the trees. At some point a few hours
shortly before sunset, the road finally turned into a walkable
path again. My brother found a coin from
1920 right in the middle of the trail.
This made it clear that there weren't many users of this road,
and also told us that the vagrants weren't likely to
follow us anymore since there was just money lying around.
We were only two kilometers away from a much more trafficked
roadway when we hit this fence, a very high one.
It not only crossed the path but seemed to run in both directions
for as far as we could see. There was a sign that said it
was an enclosed deer habitat and travel would not be possible in
this direction. We took the only option that we
had started walking around the fenced area, hoping it would
lead us around to where we could pick up our trail again.
We were worried the fencing would lead us out of the Russian
border though as we had only really walked a few kilometers.
There was a forest ahead, and soon the fence LED us straight
into it. The little path that we followed
along the fence quickly turned into nothing.
We did encounter spurts of walkways where the fence had
needed a little maintenance in the past, but beyond that it was
bushwhacking. Our luck continued to get worse
as that fence suddenly LED us right into a river.
Then it followed it for the better part of a kilometer.
We had to cling to the fencing and plant materials too, just to
stop ourselves from falling into the water.
Our hands were absolutely ruined by the end of it.
As the fence turned away from the river and the shrubs, the
trees got denser and denser until we could not walk directly
next to the fence anymore, but along the free spots in between
the trees. At this time it was night
already. My brother was leading us with a
flashlight through the thicket, only a few meters per minute.
After enough stress and time spent along this fence, we
finally were fed up and decided that illegally crossing that
deer enclosure was safer than walking through this forest for
who knows how long. We let my brother climb over the
fence, then gave him all of our backpacks.
Then he and my mother climbed over it as well.
After a small check of ourselves, we realized that we'd
somehow lost some minor things in the forest, like a plastic
water bottle and a rain Cape. We were fine.
Besides some nettle stings and just pure exhaustion, the walk
along that deer enclosure was a leisure, especially because the
full thing had an interior Rd. system that was way easier to
get access to. We silently followed the path to
the farmer's house, which we definitely did not want to
disturb. At that time, we were just some
random hiking trespassers on our way to accommodations on the
other side of the property. It didn't matter though.
The farmer caught sight of us moving between fields and we
heard him start hollering for us to leave.
We answered kindly, saying that we were just hiking through to
the next town and would leave immediately.
This wasn't good enough though, because the next thing we hear
is the report of a rifle and the bullet whistling through the
crops. This crazy Russian farmer was
shooting into his own plants, so our only option was to run.
He fired a few more times, but the growth was so dense he
didn't have an idea of where to aim.
We left him behind at the cost of all of our energy.
As we followed the road. We finally reached that village
and searched for our guest house in its respective neighborhood.
As you can guess from our prior luck, it wasn't there.
The guest house itself wasn't a fraud, but somehow it was miss
advertised as the wrong address. The real place was 12 kilometers
across town. Normally that wouldn't really be
a deal breaker, but at this point with our trip and all the
exhaustion, we just called it a day and bowed out.
We walked to a small train station that luckily had a small
waiting cabin next to pure nothingness.
We tried to sleep there until the next day when the first
train would arrive to skip at least that last 40 kilometers
and get directly to the Township.
After the stinging nettle, the long distance, the thieves, the
Border Patrol, and the shooting farmer, we were desperate for
everything to just be over. All of that struggle and we
didn't even make it. We were fortunate though.
We didn't get kidnapped, robbed or murdered by any locals.
I'm proud of my brother, who was able to hold up such a distance
with a swollen knee from a prior incident, as well as my mother
who already proved that she could hike 700 kilometers upward
in one tour. It was an eye opening
experience, the kind that tells you what kind of person you are,
but I definitely wouldn't recommend it to anyone.