This isn’t my first rodeo. I was suited up like the Michelin Man. I had three layers of jacket, heavy boots, insulated overalls, fur bomber’s hat, choppers, etc… (Choppers are a variety of mitten that’s well suited to stupidly cold weather.) My pockets were crammed survival shit; two flashlights, matches, SpotX etc… Just as I left I realized the SpotX (which I thought I’d charged) had a dead battery. No worries. I had cell phone reception, wasn’t going far, and Mrs. Curmudgeon was literally waiting for me in an idling car.
I hiked away from the car but immediately slowed to a crawl. I was exhausted. And for no good reason! My bum ankle was making me limp. The dog (on a leash) was dragging my ass around. It was tough walking and everything was going wrong in small but disturbing ways.
Stumbling on a bum ankle in -10 degrees is nothing like zipping along with my dirt bike. Covering even the shortest distance took forever.
At least the dog was having a blast. There were deer tracks everywhere.
Eventually I decided I must be on the wrong trail. It was a big wide trail but there was no sign of ATV, hiker, or snowmobile. No sign of humans at all. I assume it’s a snowmobile highway when the snow’s deep but that’s not the case yet.
I veered west, took an adjunct trail, and popped out on the plowed road only ½ mile from the car. I could see the headlights. Uncharacteristically, I used the cell phone to ask Mrs. Curmudgeon to come get me rather than my usual habit of hiking all the way back. I felt like I’d hiked all day instead of just a few minutes.
In the warm car, I directed us down more roads. Left, right, straight, etc… It was all pretty well plowed. I found another trail crossing. Maybe this was the correct one? Presumably, I’d started on the wrong one just a few miles away.
I stepped out again. This time the dog was less eager. It was brutally cold. The dim January afternoon was fading to dim January dusk.
I trudged out into the trees; trying to compare the winter wonderland before my eyes to the campsite I’d found by dirtbike in 80 degree warmer temperatures. This section of forest was dead silent. No deer tracks. No rabbits. No birds flitting about. The sun’s true location was hidden in a cloudy sky but it was nearly sunset. As the general diffuse light faded, the temperature seemed to be dropping like a rock.
Like I said, this isn’t my first rodeo. I know all about woodcraft and caution. Every ten yards or so I’d stop and assess the situation. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was moving so slow but I acknowledged it. I had a mental checklist of the thousand things that could or had gone wrong. Nothing was going swimmingly but I wasn’t doomed yet. Nothing was out of my league… yet. However, I was disappointed in my weakness.
The campsite I sought is not hidden, nor is it far from the maintained road, but it eluded me. I found it hard to judge distance comparing a slow winter trudge, bootstep by increasingly heavy bootstep… to my zippy little dirtbike. I estimated I’d need to hike out ½ mile and return an equal distance; probably much less. Every time I stopped to rest it seemed like I’d only need a few hundred yards before I’d be right where I wanted. The hike wasn’t long. It should be easy peasy!
The campsite didn’t appear. I kept feeling like it was just around the next bend in the trail.
The sun had set. Most people are scared shitless to be alone in the dark. I’m not. I’ve hiked in the dark plenty of times. In the winter, when the snow is bright white and you’re on simple terrain, you can hike all night provided there’s the slightest hint of moonlight.
“The moon on the crest of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.” I quoted to my dog, who was starting to look concerned.
When I say “my dog” I really mean my wife’s dog. It’s a Great Pyrenees. She’s genetically built from the ground up to be a sheepherder’s guardian dog. Great Pyrenees don’t herd sheep, they kill predators. That’s literally their whole purpose. They’ll gladly take on a pack of wolves. They gleefully turn coyotes into chew toys. They’ll square off with a grizzly if they need to.
Yet genetics is only one part of the equation. There’s the matter of temperament. Our last dog (same breed) bonded with me. Like me, it was gruff and standoffish and walked around with an air of “get off my lawn”. It tolerated kids but wasn’t cuddly. It was very protective. Plumbers and electricians never went anywhere without me there to assure the dog they were allowed. The UPS truck was on it’s best behavior at our house. My dog was fiercely protective. It would have taken on a dragon if it thought I was threatened. For that matter, anyone who messed with my dog would personally experience retribution worse than that of John Wick. We were a good set. I miss my dog.
My wife’s dog is the absolute opposite and perfect for her. It’s a big white fluffy ball of love that likes belly scratches and car rides. She (the dog) is cuddly and sweet and lovable and an absolute joy. She’s the absolute perfect companion for my sweet lovely wife. One effect of this is that the dog is not a forest lurker like me. My wife’s sweet, fluffy, cuddly, pup is literally afraid of the dark. Dumbass that I am, I’d brought the dog into a dark foreboding forest.
The dog was looking at me as if I needed an intervention. “This has gone on quite enough! Return me to the warm car and give me a nice treat. This cold weather is hard on my toes and my fur is all covered snow; which is your fault. I’ve enjoyed our walk but you’re nuts. It’s time to go home!”
There was the slightest hint of a rustling in the trees. Almost certainly a deer, though I’d seen no tracks. It could be anything from a porcupine to a yeti.
The forest suddenly seemed “wolfy”. Make of that assessment what you will. I’m not afraid of wolves, but I’m not stupid about it. I wasn’t sure if my dog was protection against them or bait to bring them in. If anything happens to my wife’s beloved dog I’ll be in deep shit! Nor was I armed. Most of the time I’m the biggest bad ass in the forest. Top of the food chain. The absolute definition of the thing that shit that goes bump in the night runs away from! This night was different. I was not at peak performance. I was exhausted and limping and had the constitution of a butterfly.
I waited a minute or two in case my second wind came back. It didn’t. I felt ever so close to that campsite but the goal no longer mattered. I hiked back out. Slowly, deliberately, carefully. I could see well enough. It never occurred to me to use either of the flashlights I was carrying. No need. But I moved slow. My ankle was gimpy and it wouldn’t do to twist it worse.
Back at the car, the dog gleefully dove in the open door. It immediately fell asleep in the car’s heat. I complained that I was unrealistically winded and slumped in the seat as if I’d been in the forest for weeks instead of hours.
I’m convinced I was no more than 50 or 100 yards from the campsite. Sometimes 50 yards is too far. You gotta’ know that truth and make the right call when the time comes.
Epilogue:
The next day I was completely laid out. My hamstring had not gotten better with exercise as I’d hoped. It got much worse! My tooth was worse too.
A day later, I went to a dentist appointment only to have the dentist cancel on me! That pissed me right off.
The next day a different dentist said my teeth were fine. He said I’d misdiagnosed a sinus infection as tooth related. A few hours later a doctor concurred and set me up with antibiotics.
When meeting with the doctor she said “one of the symptoms is extreme lack of energy, how’d you miss that?” I related the story of a short hike that wore me out. She shook her head as if to say “it’s amazing guys like you survive”. She and the dog could probably trade stories about the hike.
I’m recuperating now. I think I won’t go hiking for a while. So, how was your weekend?
A.C.
