A Hike in the Woods

10/12/2001

Snap! Crunch! Oomph! God dammit! I heard as I lay close the earth. Hugging it like a newborn baby clings to its mother. I can’t breathe, the early morning frigid air will give me away. Stay low, stay quite, stay smart, and I will stay alive, I tell myself.

My ears strain to hear every twig that is broken and every leaf that is overturned. I listen for what seems to be an eternity – I hear only an eerie silence. The stillness of two unseen warriors waiting; echoes through the chambers of my mind. I know that one of us may not survive the day.

I’ve got to breathe. My lungs hunger for life as they burn to expel the used breath. Air escapes from my nostrils in moist tendrils of steam. On any other day this would be beautiful, but today it could be my death. These tendrils rise as large signs, saying, “Here he is!” As the mist of escaped air rises and begins to dissipate, I pray that I will see home tonight. Please don’t let him see it.

Wait! Was that him or an acorn falling for a tree? An acorn – I think. Is he still there? I detect a faint trace of his sweat-ridden body on the morning breeze. I look for his breath in the cool October morning air. He must have moved on. Rising slowly from my hidden shelter, I scan my surroundings. These woods, once a place of peace and tranquility, are a battlefield with two savages struggling for supremacy. If I can retrace my steps and make it over the ridge, I should elude my nemesis.

Crack-Boom! Echoes the rifle, as the bullet splinters the tree beside me. My heart skips a beat and then momentarily stops. With no weapons, I have no choice but to run, weaving through the densely populated forest. No trees offer protection. The feral beast is behind me, chasing me. Occasionally, he fires a shot. So far, I have been lucky.

Fear makes me run like the wind, I have outdistanced him for the moment. I must move on. Cresting the ridge, I see him on all fours like an animal. If I can make it down the hill and to the north, I should lose him. It is a high-stakes game between two skillful players. Crack-Boom! Repeats the rifle, reminding me that he is still there and still coming. Charging and stumbling down the knoll, I veer to the north. I need to make the dense patch of pines before he reaches the top of knoll. I must push on, heart racing and muscles aching.

Pouring myself through the pines trees, I have a moment to catch my breath. Why is this happening again? How did I get here? I must continue. My mind drifts back to when Ernie and I started our hike. Where was Ernie? What started as a hike from Eustis to Rangeley has turned into this fight for survival. Ernie and I had been on the southwest trail for twenty minutes when the shooting had started. The crack-boom of rifles cut through the morning air. At first we were frozen, the realization of fear penetrated our minds. As Ernie and I searched for the source of gunfire, as small yellow birch tree shattered in time with around shot from the rifle. Our natural instinct for flight was triggered and without logic or reason Ernie and I ran. Ernie immediately headed north on the southwest trail and began racing for home. I found shelter behind a fallen pine tree. I witnessed two of the three men pursuing Ernie and then decided to take my chances and head southwest. I could lose this assailant in the deep woods of Rangeley, if I could reach them. I found myself wondering if Ernie made it home. Hell, would I make it home?

As the noonday sun peaked, I need water. I can’t go on without water! Slightly changing directions, I head northeast. If memory serves me well, there should be a clearing on the other side of these pine trees. That opening will allow me to make Sandy River in good time. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I count in my head, four shots far to the north. There was enough time! I can easily make Sandy River. I can use the river to hide my tracks and quench my thirst. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! …. BOOM! Eight shots. I hope that Ernie made it. Behind the up-ended roots of a pine tree, I search the woods for the savage that is chasing me. Where is he? Where the hell is he?

Urging my sweat drenched and tired body forward, I reach the clearing, coated with the fallen leaves of the white birch trees. These trees offer no defense. I lie motionless at the clearing’s edge, wondering if he can see me. I know he is out there, but where? Damn falling leaves! Casting a sound of muffled footsteps, the falling leaves create the illusion of being stalked through the woods. The coast appears clear. Surging forward at a dead run, hoping and praying that I make it. Three hundred yards left. Legs turning, heart pounding and lungs burning; another hundred yards to go. Fifty yards. Twenty-five yards. Fifty feet. I made it!

Turning to see my success, I freeze in terror. He is at the edge of the clearing, panting for breath. He raises his gun. We are looking eye to eye through the scope of his rifle. “Please don’t pull that trigger”, I want to cry. Slowly, I back away from him. I plummet down the hill towards the river. I am not going to shake him. He is crafty, he is ferocious, and he is still coming. If I can it make to sunset, I will be free. The darkness will protect me. The sun is falling and smiling at the wildness of these woods.

I reach Sandy River and plunge in without a thought to the icy temperature of the early fall waters. Up to my chest in water, I bend down to quench my thirst. How I long for home! The cold-water flows over my tongue, down my throat, and into my stomach, replenishing my empty determination. Using the river, I wade upstream, still heading northeast. The river hides the tracks that someone of my size would make. “Take that, you animal!” I think, while looking for a place to head back into the woods. Spying a large outcropping of rock, I race forward like a crazed lunatic. Nimbly, I climb out of the frosty waters, thanks to the stone staircase. As I enter the darkening woods, I hear a loud splash as my pursuer falls into the water of Sandy River. Growling and grunting like a wild bear in captivity, he continues after me. Holding his rifle above his head with both hands, he tries to move against the strong current of the river.

Time is running out, and the end is near. He makes slow progress through the dense, chest high fir trees, the savage’s gun accidentally fires, and I am off like a lightening bolt racing the earth. His growling fades as I put more distance between us. I have to make it home. It’s getting dark, and Ernie and I should have been home a few hours ago. The sun has almost finished its goodbyes to the day. I can almost taste freedom. This beast can’t follow me into these in woods under the shadow of the night.

I break free of the last stands of fir trees and enter a lightly wooded knoll. Once past this hill, there is a clearing where many people park their trucks when hiking these woods. At a frantic pace - I want to be out of these woods - I head for the crest. Darkness creeps around me like a hunter waiting for a clear shot. At the summit, I stop dead in my tracks. There is Ernie lying in the back of a dirty red truck. His large body fills the truck to its capacity. His once majestic head and antlers lie motionless on the tailgate of the truck. Eyes wide open and purple tongue protruding from his opened mouth. His dewlap lies soaking in his own blood. Two overweight hunters swigging Miller Lite take pictures of the dead moose and of each other. Basking in their glory, the third hunter finally joins his pack of wolves. Shouts of congratulations and celebration echo through the night woods as my hunter puts his gun next to the truck and open a can of beer. He tilts his head to the night sky as he drinks a gratuitous swallow.

My friend’s dead eyes stare at me, screaming at me to run! Ernie and I will never walk these woods again. We will never rut for females under there protective covers. I can’t run. I am frozen with loss. All I can do is lift my head to the rising moon and call out Ernie’s name. MMMMMOOOOOOoooooooHHHHHooooo!