Our theme for the month of October is “haunt.”
For me, it starts at about 4pm: the dread, the quickening beats of a heart ready to run, the dilated pupils straining to catch the almost imperceptibly fading daylight. While I have loved telling the stories of the backpacking adventures that Bria and I have shared over the last few years, this part (the fear) has been mostly neglected. But here, in the haunted, foggy month of October, I’ll share a bit more.
On the second night of this most recent trip, we finished eating our dinner of fajita rice and chicken around 6pm, did dishes in the creek, and sat down to observe the dimming light around our campsite. For me, this hour before sunset is one of the worst. Like waiting for war to come, you sit in silent apprehension, willing the sun to lend its cheerful comfort for just a few more hours. But no man can stop its course or stay the coming night, and at 7:12, the light was lost.
We laid in the tent and watched a movie on my phone, which brought some welcome cheer to the quiet, but eventually the movie ended and my struggle for sleep began. I laid awake for more than an hour, jumping at every raindrop and falling leaf. Finally, just as I was beginning to doze, we heard angry barks and howls that could be only one thing in the wilds of Pennsylvania. Coyotes. Close.
I sat up and reached for the bear spray and my headlamp, both stowed in the mesh pocket by my head. Bria sat up beside me and we strained all four ears for a sense of the pack’s closeness to our tent. I pictured them silently circling, their yellow eyes and bared teeth ready to make quick work of the nylon between us. No amount of rationality could have slowed my heart or calmed my mind. I knew they eat rabbits and mice. I knew they are terrified of people. I also knew that we were in their woods, and home field advantage counts for a lot out there. Finally, their howls faded as they chased some poor prey into the night.
We slept restlessly for a few hours, occasionally hearing the dueling cries of two Barred Owls with whom we were sharing the clearing. This is one of those things that sounds very nice, to hear the haunting calls of owls, but I would encourage you to do a quick search for Barred Owl calls before solidifying your idyllic vision. These large birds are incredibly loud and can sound alternately like a howling wolf and a screaming woman, neither of which is comforting in the middle of the night.
Around 3am we heard our coyotes again. Maybe they had a den near the creek. We sat up, listening, feeling absolutely naked and small. After a few minutes they went quiet again, and I decided to risk a trip outside to use the bathroom. Donning my headlamp, I unzipped the rain fly and stepped into the darkness. As I did a quick sweep of the clearing, my headlight caught a pair of glowing eyes on the edge of the clearing, and my breath caught in my throat. This, surely, was a terror of the night.
When I turned up the light however, I was relieved to see a doe, quietly grazing, curious but not bothered by my presence. Her calm was some small comfort—if the deer wasn’t afraid of the coyotes, I figured I shouldn’t be either. I got back into the tent beside Bria and slept (mostly) soundly until dawn.
When I woke at 6:30 to the new sun, I laughed with euphoria and (very annoyingly I’m sure) poked Bria awake just to tell her that we had survived the night. I could hardly wait to climb out of the tent and make breakfast, just so glad to be free to explore without fear. As we ate our oatmeal and sipped instant coffee, I began to realize that, at least for me, the challenge of backpacking isn’t carrying pounds of food and water and clothing on my back over many miles of rugged terrain. The challenge of backpacking is mastering my fear enough to sleep in the dark, with the noises of the night, waiting patiently for the relief of dawn.
It’s easy to wonder why someone would spend their precious vacation time in this way, and admittedly, I sometimes struggle to answer that question, especially in those anxious evenings as I imagine a warm house with bright lights. Maybe it’s my inexplicable draw to “Type II Fun”. Maybe it’s the pride of telling friends and coworkers about our adventures. Or maybe it’s that when you wake up after a night like that, the morning feels so fresh and beautiful that you float in gratitude for something as ubiquitous and unappreciated as daylight. Maybe it’s that for the rest of the day, the world feels charged with wonder.
As we hiked up and away from the low-lying creekside campsite through mist swirling at the base of jewel-damp White Pines, gratitude for the breadth and mystery of the world grew in my heart. For the rest of the day we took every opportunity to stoop over sunset orange salamanders, studying their spread toes and perfect golden spots. We laughed at funny looking mushrooms growing in odd places, and I thought silently about how wonderful it is that God is creative and playful enough to imagine a world with mushrooms.
And that night, when the sun started to slip away once again, I marveled at the way black cherry logs can burn hot for hours with just a little tending. I was grateful for the comfort of flames, and the smell of woodsmoke, and a body that was tired enough to sleep despite the fear, despite the coyotes howling through the night.
Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.
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I hate that dreadful feeling of not being able to fall asleep and being freaked out by hearing things outside your tent… you captured this suspense beautifully. Made me actually miss camping!
What a wonderfully descriptive story. I felt like I was in that tent with you and your sister and with the chills and willies racing through me. How beautiful that you and Bria are able to share such wonderful experiences together. Cherish these memories and look forward to many more together!
You are both very brave!