Everything's Gonna Be OK

Crepuscular – referring to animals primarily active during twilight, dawn and dusk.

i call them bear eyes, but really it’s the bear hour.  there is a certain time of night when dusk blurs to dark. what’s left of the light makes the whole forest come alive.  every tree, stump, rock and log threatens like a bear.  they all seem close, huge, and menacing.  its not a good time to get to your campsite.  especially not after you’ve read the “active bear” sign at the trail head and talked to the ranger about bear activity.  i was spooked.

the first thing i stumble onto is a skull.  it’s late and adam and i are ready for sleep.  but there is a skull lying in the middle of the only flat spot we can find.  after that, we look up to find two pair of socks hanging in a tree. now there are lots of things to misplace on a backpacking trip.  i’ve lost a head net and adam has lost a spoon, but socks don’t get stuffed back into your backpack.  it’d be hard to walk away from a campsite without remembering to put socks on.  and as we stand there befuddled, that’s when we notice the smell.  we smell the ocean, but rotten, but salty, and earthy, but dead.

i forgot to mention that sight is not the only sense involved during the bear hour.  the woods make noises. rivers make noises.  trees creak and rapids gurgle.  during that bear hour as dusk turns to night, every sound is a stalking bear.  so adam and i pull out our headlamps to look around.  we’re no longer trying to find a place to camp as much as we’re trying to find the source of that smell.  we follow the smell and as it gets stronger, we see it.  it looks like a liver.  or a stomach.  it definitely seems like an internal organ and the smell is overpowering.

so we are standing in our campsite.  there have been bear reports around this lake.  we’ve seen a skull and two pair of mystery socks, there is a terrible smell and we’re looking at something red, wet, and smeared.  when we look into the woods around us, all we see are bears.  and when we listen to the creek we’re supposed to be camping next to, all we can hear are bears fast approaching.  there are nervous laughs.  we talk loudly and while we both know we are trying to alert the lurking bears, we try to act calm.  we put together conspiracy theories that link the skull to the owner of the missing socks and half-gobbled internal organs.  it’s night time and we’re close to hiking on.

and then i see another red smeared mark that’s not so wet.  and another one that’s not so smeared or so wet. the nervous laughs gain confidence.  we realize we’ve been looking at rotting mushrooms.  huge platter sized red mushrooms that we’ve seen in the woods for weeks.  their rotting mess accounts for the smell too.  then, all of our conspiracy theories start to vanish.  i’m sure the skull was picked up by a hiker.  at some point they learned they couldn’t leave the park with the skull and left it at the camp site.  my only way to account for leaving socks at a campsite is that they smelled so hideous that some hiker wanted nothing more to do with them.

i flip the skull out of our way.  we both start putting up our tents, but we’re still unsure.  both thinking “well, he’s putting his tent up, so i should put my tent up, i guess we’re staying, yeah, it was probably nothing.”  and then its done.  camp is set.  our sleeping bags are rolled out under our tarp tents.  our food is hung and the rest of our lives are neatly ordered into our respective tents.  we both sleep with our backpacks under our feet.  its like propping your feet up on the coffee table while you watch tv, but without the couch, the table, or the tv. everything is ready for that long deserved sleep, but neither of us get in our tent.  we stand around, wondering to ourselves, “are we really doing this?  camping here?”

we sit and talk.  we stare into the night sky.  we wish we knew more constellations and start to make up names for our own.  and then we see a shooting star.  we’re both quiet.  again, we don’t admit it, but we both take time to wish for safety, to wish for a quiet bear-less evening.  and our talk eases and goes less serious. and we see another.  and this time the tail is red and greenish.  and at this point, i can’t speak for adam, but i wished again. same wish as before, but just for good measure.  and finally we both watch one more star go shooting by.  and it seems the natural point.  we marvel at how lucky we are to see such beautiful stars.  we make plans to watch for them every night.  we laugh at our mistakes and our hair-brained theories and our laughs are genuine and strong, kind of.  we say our goodnights and sleep-wells and both crawl into our tents.

and again, i can’t speak for adam.  but i slept with my knife in hand that night.  the blade wasn’t drawn, and i’m not sure what i planned to do with a puny little river knife anyway.  but i went to bed still unsteady.  maybe my nerves were still a little shot.  maybe my adrenaline wasn’t draining out as quickly as i’d hoped. maybe i didn’t trust wishing on shooting stars as much as i’d like to.

but really…  in the end…  i think i’ll always be a little scared of the dark.

kevin slowboat blackwell.

cdt 2009.