Mile 383. I am alone.

I’ve hiked the majority of my 400 miles in solitude.  I enjoy the space to quiet my mind, to reflect, to play with word combinations and turn of phrase.   I enjoy the freedom to push pace or to slow down.   I enjoy the challenge of capturing mood through a lens.

When it comes to camping, though, I need my people.   While I have my camping routine down, I still have much to learn before I am comfortable being entirely on my own.   And - honestly - even if I did have all the skills, I’m not sure I even would want to be entirely on my own.  A strong, vibrant community is a source of strength and comfort for me.

—-

I arrive at my shelter early.    Even though the sky is robin egg blue, warnings of severe thunderstorms and strong winds advise to shelter for the evening.  

I set up my sleep area with plenty of space for the inevitable running in from the rain.   I’ve been that person, soaked and hopeful.   It’s my privilege to pay it forward. 

I wait.   No one runs in.    I wait.   It’s getting late.   I wait….

No one comes.

I’m alone.

Blink, blink.

It’s now pitch black.   And I am alone.

The storms come.   I hunker into my bag:  this thunderstorm will be safer when the bag is entirely over my head, I decide.    Overhead on the tin roof, I hear sheets of rain - wave after wave as if someone is bailing out a flood directly onto my head.   I hear angry clashes of lighting.   I hear wind howling and trees creek with strain of wet on their leaves.

The rains slow.   Then stop.   The faucet turns off.   And there’s silence.    Too much silence.

In the valley below, a choir of coyotes welcome the moon.  Their song is mesmerizing.  And sad.  I’m jealous that they have each other.  

“Crack!”   Something startles close by.   “Crack!”   There it is again - is it a gun?   “Eeeee-rrrrrrrrrrrrrr boommmmmmm!!”   It's a tree.   A big one.   Once upright, it’s now horizontal.    The earth reverberates.  And after a brief pause, the coyote song starts up once again.

Something scratches the shelter floor.   Scratch, scratch.   Scratch.  Scra-scra-scra-scra-scratch.

“Alright that’s enough!”   I belt with authority, as I bolt up to assume my power pose.   “Go on.   Get out of here.    You’re not welcome here.”

My heart pounds.   I look at my watch.   It’s only 11:20pm.   

I put in my ear plugs and hunker back down into my bag.    It’s going to be a long night.