Stealth Site to Camp Toxaway
I had been sleeping soundly for several hours when I slowly realized that my husband was waking up. I heard the rustle of his sleeping bag and then the sound of the tent opening. Still sunken in my sleeping bag, I assumed he was getting up to pee and didn’t think about it.
Then there was a strange clicking sound that my brain finally registered as the clicking of trekking poles. What the hell is he doing?
Then he clapped his hands and yelled, «HEY BEAR! GET AWAY BEAR!»
There was the rustle of something heavy on the dry leaves and a deep, discontented «Ha-wow!»
«HEY BEAR!» He screamed again and hit his posts.
The bear snorted again.
Then, from the other side of camp and slightly above us, another bear snorted!
For a moment (it was probably just a breath, but it felt longer), the two bears snorted and barked at each other, with us in the middle. My husband continued banging on the poles and then stuck his head inside the tent where I was sitting, paralyzed with indecision. What do I have to do? Should I put on my shoes and go help defend the camp? Should I start packing our things?
«I don’t really know what to do,» I said, bewildered.
“Get up, we’re leaving!”
I had never in my life packed up camp as quickly as we did that night.
«The one was near our food spot. I don’t think he’s tried to get it yet. But I don’t know where the other bear went,» my husband said as he knocked down the tent poles and I stuffed the tarp into the front pocket of my backpack.
Our bag of food was where we had hung it, seemingly untouched. We took it down, stowed it safely in our backpack and started walking. Fortunately, this section of the trail must have been an old logging road, wide and gently graded, although carpeted with fallen leaves. It was relatively easy, allowing us to hit the posts as we went. I highly doubted the bears were following us, but the thick darkness was disconcerting in our heightened state.
“I understand why you hate night walks so much,” my husband commented.
I hate night walks.
We hiked this trail in late November, knowing that at some point we would have to hike in the dark. I’ve hiked at night on several previous backpacking trips, but I really, really, don’t like it. I don’t understand the love of some backpackers for walking in the dark by the hazy light of a headlamp. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Appalachian Mountains and although I don’t consider myself supersticious, I am a little sticious.
I have a healthy respect for the things that could go crash in the night. I don’t want to bother them and I don’t want them to bother me. Lying in the tent, I can ignore the rustling in the undergrowth and rationalize it away like a raccoon, a fox, or a curious deer. As you flee down the mountain from the bears, it becomes harder to see that strange shadow like a half-fallen tree rather than a skeletal specter emerging from the darkness.
And then the lights went out.
My headlight went out again. After the first night, I made sure my headlamp was fully charged. I was furious! There was absolutely no reason for it to blink on and off. We continued walking in the light of my husband’s headlamp until it began to flash as well. We paused and removed our batteries, then continued, holding our headlamps like flashlights as they charged.
“None of these should have died so soon,” my husband commented. «We’ll get rid of them as soon as we get home.»
Little by little, I realized that the path was no longer descending and I saw the reflection of the water to my right. The trail became flat and soon the roar of a river filled our ears. We cautiously cross a suspension bridge.
«I think we’re close to Toxaway,» I said.
I took out my phone and checked our position on FarOut. We had crossed the Toxaway River. Then, in the light of our renewed headlights, I caught the reflection of a silver tent fly and breathed a sigh of relief. We arrived at Toxaway Campground, where there seemed to be plenty of other hikers to help chase off more bears.
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