Bonfire stories
I adventure for so many reasons. I rock climb to challenge my fear of heights. I run trails because I used to hate running and I run ultras because I thought that I couldn't. I hike for the clarity the quiet forest offers in my oft too busy mind. I backpack alone for some combination of all of these reasons.
I like to challenge the expectation that a girl can't backpack by herself. Some people cite the physical challenges, carrying "all that weight" on my back for 8-10 miles a day. Others worry about dangerous animals. Still others have wonder why I don't fear being alone in the woods, always with some allusion that a girl alone in the woods can turn an otherwise normal man into a monster.
I recently shared my logic with my little sister who wondered, enviously to her credit, how I did it. I told her that I believed most "bad people" are opportunists who aren't going to follow me through five miles of muck and elevationclimb with ill intentions. It just wouldn't be worth it. As for the physical challenges, most of us can do most things if we just refuse to give up (or can't). Ever been 7 miles into a 10 mile loop and wanted to quit? It's literally impossible unless you just don't care about getting home. Ever. You keep walking and you'll make it. As for the animals, I ALWAYS tell people that I firmly believe they're just as scared of me as I might be of them and most of us will never know the creatures that prowl when we aren't paying close enough attention, which is always.
That's true until you find yourself breaking trail through a foot and a half of new fallen snow. Snow provides an incredibly, maybe frighteningly, accurate litmus test of the animals nearby. I spent the night at Mirror Lake campsite 1 in the Porcupine Mountains of Michigan's Upper Penninsula. I've camped in the snow, even backpacked in the cold Wisconsin winter. Though I have a little experience, I've never hiked, with a pack, through that much snow in an unspoiled environment. In the Porkies, you can go days at a time without seeing another soul. In that snow, I would have been shocked to run into anyone.
And I didn't. I did come across evidence of lots of wildlife. I saw a few deer, lots of red squirrels, tons of bird and one teeny tiny field mouse. Though I was excited by each encounter, nothing was more exciting than the tracks! I found additional tracks for each of the animals I saw, except for the mouse. They're just too little to break through the snow. Imagine my surprise when I came across a canine track that meandered off into the woods from near the trail I was on! I don't know whether he was a coyote or a wolf, but THAT was cool.
Less cool was the moment I never thought I'd experience. A bear!! My first bear encounter. The one I've told people would never happen! (I saw a bear last Fall in Glacier National Park, but he was probably a half mile away and so far down the mountain that there was no danger.).
I was trekking through a river that is usually the North Mirror Lake Trail, a stick in each hand to help with balance when tiptoeing across logs and rocks to avoid soaking my already cold feet. As "brave" as I am, I'm still hyper aware of my humanity when out in the woods alone. I stop often to listen and watch. Sometimes I can locate a woodpecker in a tree if I'm quiet and alert enough. Often, when I'm still, I see little things, a leaf falling from a tree, an animal track, a teeny tiny field mouse. Sometimes I hear things that aren't there.
So, when I first heard the huffing, I just stopped and listened. I couldn't place the noise, but I knew it sounded out of place. It wasn't part of the forest song I had already grown accustomed to. When I had stood good and still, my ears adjusted and when I didn't hear the sound again, I began to move. Almost immediately, I heard a deep growl. That sound! I'm not sure I can describe it. It sounded like it came from the very depths of the chest of a beast. Bear.
I've done a lot of reading about bears in the wild. I want to know about them as a species, both because I find them fascinating and to best be prepared if I were to ever encounter one in the wild, which to recap, I was sure would never happen!! I've learned their mannerisms, their warnings, how to discourage them from approaching you and, worst case scenario in the case of the black bear, of which there are some 15,000-19,000 living in the Michigan UP, how to defend against an attack.
Information is really useful, when your mind can process it. But in that moment, I was terrified like I've never been terrified in the wild before. I have had moments where I was sure I heard something spooky or that alerted danger. I've been on the verge of falling into various depths of water, usually ice cold, with a 30 pound pack on my back. I've fallen to the ground with said heavy pack. I've suffered dehydration bad enough to make me vomit. I've been scared. I have never been scared like I was scared when a bear sounded within striking distance and mad. Mad at ME!
So I blathered. Seriously. Black bears don't really like humans. In fact, it's why you rarely see them. They've got a great sense of smell and a good sense of propriety. They don't want to run into you any more than you want to run into them. In fact, I don't think this guy wanted to run into me. I think I startled him coming down the trail. I thought I had been sufficiently loud. After all, it's virtually impossible to stomp through snow and splash through river trails quietly.
So, I got a little louder. Had anyone been around, it would have made for a good laugh. I very sternly told "Mr. Bear," in my "I'm not scared, you're scared" voice that he wanted nothing to do with me. He didn't want to come meet me and though I was sure he was exceptional, I didn't really want to meet him. After that introduction, scanning the dense forest around me for my bear and seeing none, I kept talking. I told him how I'd love to have a picture, but I was too scared to move enough to pull out my camera, so he needn't worry if he was camera shy. I wasn't planning on any photographic evidence.
Though it felt like an eternity, I stood still and talked for 3 or 4 minutes. The last thing I wanted to do was startle him or further antagonize him because, to me, growling means business. I warned him I planned to start moving again. Though I never saw him, I was certain he was west of me and probably not on the trail, which ran north-south. Because I didn't know where he was, I couldn't back away slowly. So, I just walked. I went slowly at first. Really, freaking slowly. My ears were so attuned that my pounding heart sounded like pounding paws for a moment. Then nothing. Not a sign or sound of Mr. Bear after that.
As I continued walking, I started questioning if that was real. It seemed so unlikely and I hadn't seen anything. How often, I reasoned, had my ears played tricks on me? And then I saw it. About a quarter mile up the trail, and dead center was a bear track.
I backpack for the challenge and the effort and the beautiful pictures and the solitude. But maybe more than any of that, I backpack to enjoy coming home to a comfortable bed, non-freeze-dried food, toasty, dry socks and a great story to tell around a bonfire that didn't take me 45 minutes to start.
I like to challenge the expectation that a girl can't backpack by herself. Some people cite the physical challenges, carrying "all that weight" on my back for 8-10 miles a day. Others worry about dangerous animals. Still others have wonder why I don't fear being alone in the woods, always with some allusion that a girl alone in the woods can turn an otherwise normal man into a monster.
I recently shared my logic with my little sister who wondered, enviously to her credit, how I did it. I told her that I believed most "bad people" are opportunists who aren't going to follow me through five miles of muck and elevationclimb with ill intentions. It just wouldn't be worth it. As for the physical challenges, most of us can do most things if we just refuse to give up (or can't). Ever been 7 miles into a 10 mile loop and wanted to quit? It's literally impossible unless you just don't care about getting home. Ever. You keep walking and you'll make it. As for the animals, I ALWAYS tell people that I firmly believe they're just as scared of me as I might be of them and most of us will never know the creatures that prowl when we aren't paying close enough attention, which is always.
That's true until you find yourself breaking trail through a foot and a half of new fallen snow. Snow provides an incredibly, maybe frighteningly, accurate litmus test of the animals nearby. I spent the night at Mirror Lake campsite 1 in the Porcupine Mountains of Michigan's Upper Penninsula. I've camped in the snow, even backpacked in the cold Wisconsin winter. Though I have a little experience, I've never hiked, with a pack, through that much snow in an unspoiled environment. In the Porkies, you can go days at a time without seeing another soul. In that snow, I would have been shocked to run into anyone.
And I didn't. I did come across evidence of lots of wildlife. I saw a few deer, lots of red squirrels, tons of bird and one teeny tiny field mouse. Though I was excited by each encounter, nothing was more exciting than the tracks! I found additional tracks for each of the animals I saw, except for the mouse. They're just too little to break through the snow. Imagine my surprise when I came across a canine track that meandered off into the woods from near the trail I was on! I don't know whether he was a coyote or a wolf, but THAT was cool.
Less cool was the moment I never thought I'd experience. A bear!! My first bear encounter. The one I've told people would never happen! (I saw a bear last Fall in Glacier National Park, but he was probably a half mile away and so far down the mountain that there was no danger.).
I was trekking through a river that is usually the North Mirror Lake Trail, a stick in each hand to help with balance when tiptoeing across logs and rocks to avoid soaking my already cold feet. As "brave" as I am, I'm still hyper aware of my humanity when out in the woods alone. I stop often to listen and watch. Sometimes I can locate a woodpecker in a tree if I'm quiet and alert enough. Often, when I'm still, I see little things, a leaf falling from a tree, an animal track, a teeny tiny field mouse. Sometimes I hear things that aren't there.
So, when I first heard the huffing, I just stopped and listened. I couldn't place the noise, but I knew it sounded out of place. It wasn't part of the forest song I had already grown accustomed to. When I had stood good and still, my ears adjusted and when I didn't hear the sound again, I began to move. Almost immediately, I heard a deep growl. That sound! I'm not sure I can describe it. It sounded like it came from the very depths of the chest of a beast. Bear.
I've done a lot of reading about bears in the wild. I want to know about them as a species, both because I find them fascinating and to best be prepared if I were to ever encounter one in the wild, which to recap, I was sure would never happen!! I've learned their mannerisms, their warnings, how to discourage them from approaching you and, worst case scenario in the case of the black bear, of which there are some 15,000-19,000 living in the Michigan UP, how to defend against an attack.
Information is really useful, when your mind can process it. But in that moment, I was terrified like I've never been terrified in the wild before. I have had moments where I was sure I heard something spooky or that alerted danger. I've been on the verge of falling into various depths of water, usually ice cold, with a 30 pound pack on my back. I've fallen to the ground with said heavy pack. I've suffered dehydration bad enough to make me vomit. I've been scared. I have never been scared like I was scared when a bear sounded within striking distance and mad. Mad at ME!
So I blathered. Seriously. Black bears don't really like humans. In fact, it's why you rarely see them. They've got a great sense of smell and a good sense of propriety. They don't want to run into you any more than you want to run into them. In fact, I don't think this guy wanted to run into me. I think I startled him coming down the trail. I thought I had been sufficiently loud. After all, it's virtually impossible to stomp through snow and splash through river trails quietly.
So, I got a little louder. Had anyone been around, it would have made for a good laugh. I very sternly told "Mr. Bear," in my "I'm not scared, you're scared" voice that he wanted nothing to do with me. He didn't want to come meet me and though I was sure he was exceptional, I didn't really want to meet him. After that introduction, scanning the dense forest around me for my bear and seeing none, I kept talking. I told him how I'd love to have a picture, but I was too scared to move enough to pull out my camera, so he needn't worry if he was camera shy. I wasn't planning on any photographic evidence.
Though it felt like an eternity, I stood still and talked for 3 or 4 minutes. The last thing I wanted to do was startle him or further antagonize him because, to me, growling means business. I warned him I planned to start moving again. Though I never saw him, I was certain he was west of me and probably not on the trail, which ran north-south. Because I didn't know where he was, I couldn't back away slowly. So, I just walked. I went slowly at first. Really, freaking slowly. My ears were so attuned that my pounding heart sounded like pounding paws for a moment. Then nothing. Not a sign or sound of Mr. Bear after that.
As I continued walking, I started questioning if that was real. It seemed so unlikely and I hadn't seen anything. How often, I reasoned, had my ears played tricks on me? And then I saw it. About a quarter mile up the trail, and dead center was a bear track.
I backpack for the challenge and the effort and the beautiful pictures and the solitude. But maybe more than any of that, I backpack to enjoy coming home to a comfortable bed, non-freeze-dried food, toasty, dry socks and a great story to tell around a bonfire that didn't take me 45 minutes to start.
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