Night Sounds

 

The ride up the Thruway had been quick, driving through the night and arriving at Indian Lake in the early hours of Tuesday morning. As I hiked down the trail, I met friends bugging out after the long Labor Day weekend. They wished me well but offered their unsolicited opinion that wilderness camping alone was not a good idea. I reassured them that I would be careful. The hike down from the parking area to the lake was about two miles of rough trail and was quite remote, except on weekends.

 Upon arrival at the lake and after picking a tent site, I went right to work setting up the tent, then building up a fire pit and canvassing for wood. By the time I started to get fatigued most of the days’ work was done. Now I could enjoy the beauty of Indian Lake with its serene beautiful landscape and placid waters. I pulled my tree stump up to the fireplace to sit and lit the kindling that I had collected, starting to build the fire for cooking and the evening’s relaxation. Late afternoon slowly turned into dusk. The progression to larger sticks evolved to branches, then small limbs and finally to logs, above which I rested my grill on the rocks of the fire pit stuffing tinfoil wrapped potatoes into the red hot embers and placing a steak on the perimeter of the now blazing fire. The logs whistled and sputtered releasing trapped gases in the wood while the steak sizzled on the perimeter of the blazing inferno. Now and then little explosions occurred as logs shifted and settled, making themselves comfortable. An occasional spark shot up to the heavens and extinguished itself, as if Mother Nature were putting on a firework show. Geese could be heard honking overhead while maintaining their curious V-formation, a method copied by professional cyclists to save energy while riding in the slip-stream of the strongest rider. Each goose offered his opinion on which direction to head on their sojourn south. Fireflies occasionally lit up while bees whizzed by attracted to my steak sauce, buzzing around its sweet scent. Leaves crackled underfoot as chipmunks and squirrels scampered through the woods questioning why a human was still here so long past checkout time after the long weekend.

 My potatoes were retrieved from the glowing embers, happy to be out of the inferno and were reunited with the steak in my mess kit for as fine a dining experience as one could expect under the rustic circumstances. After dinner I put on a pot of water to boil, shoveling in a liberal amount of hot cocoa, heavy cream and a bottle of Grand Mariner. The result was a wonderful potion which I enjoyed immensely as I watched the stars turn on in the night sky, uninhibited by the light pollution and smog of city life. Red, blue and white diamonds twinkled and winked at me on the black background as the translucent Milky Way weaved through this display. The night closed around my campfire and I could hear a coyote wailing its nightly roll-call to make sure all members of their troupe were safe and well. An owl hooted in the trees above.

 The night grew still as many animals settled in when suddenly I heard footsteps off to my right side, then they stopped. Something or someone was observing me, probably attracted by the light of the fire or the smell of the cooking. A few minutes later the steps could be heard in front and to my right then to my left and then they stopped again. Something or someone was circling my campsite.

 The imagination can be a wonderful companion providing entertainment in uneventful times, but in this case, it was a curse, as all sorts of curiosity beasts revealed themselves in my mind’s eye hovering outside in the pitch black darkness. After a while the liqueur and hot cocoa took its effect and I forgot the footsteps of the black bear, bobcat, mountain lion or whatever was out there. By chance I happened to look down at my scuffed up boots and there I found my innocuous predator, a small skunk which had nestled itself between my foot and the hot stones of the pit to share the heat of the fireplace. I was relieved at its identity but careful not to make any sudden movements and receive a dose of its questionable perfume, never to be confused with Chanel Number Five. After a long while I glanced down again to look at my companion but it had vanished. It had been a long day having driven through the previous night along with all of the day’s activities, so I turned in to my tent curling up, not unlike the skunk for a well-deserved rest.

 

Jim

March 2021