Alone in the Woods

I’ve done a lot of hiking in my life covering hundreds if not thousands of miles of trails in many states and several countries. On these hikes, I have seen spectacular natural wonders, animals, and beautiful wildflowers. I’ve also seen other people, lots of them, and what people do in the woods when they think they’re alone is quite a fascinating study.

The first time I saw questionable woodland behavior wasn’t truly out in the woods, but was on a quiet, wooded trail on the University of Washington campus. I was in high school and my dad, brother, and I were on a tour of the western United States looking at colleges. The UW was our first stop.

For those who have never been, the University of Washington is one of the most beautiful campuses in the country. It has grand Gothic-style buildings all angled perfectly to give unparalleled views of Mt. Rainier. We had seen most of the campus and were looking for the Sylvan Theater, a famous landmark that consists of four white Ionic columns in a small meadow surrounded by trees. The short trails leading to the theater are not often traveled, especially in the summer months, and can give a feeling of solitude despite being located in the center of a busy campus.

On this particular day, a young college couple had massively overestimated that solitary feeling. We rounded a corner and on an otherwise nondescript park bench these two were engaged in…well, I’ll let you use your imagination. Turned out there were far more interesting scenic views on the UW campus than Mt. Rainier. Being the son of two dedicated Washington State grads, the UW was never really one of my top picks, but after that episode I was willing to give it further consideration. This place was hardcore!  Dad tried to salvage the situation gracefully and with his signature wry smile, the corners of his mouth just slightly stretched back said, “Looks like this is the place to take the ladies.” I don’t remember whether we found the Sylvan Theater after that or not.

A similar sighting happened while camping at Havasu Falls in northern Arizona. It’s possible that, for outdoor enthusiasts, there is not a more romantic location on Earth. Due to large amounts of calcium carbonate in the water, it is a brilliant turquoise color. Thick, bright green vegetation give the illusion of being in the middle of a tropical rain forest and just beyond the trees, red canyon walls stand vertically against the cloudless, deep blue Arizona sky. There are several waterfalls and each creates a tranquil pool of cool azure water. It’s a gorgeous, magical place and has mysterious aphrodisiac qualities that could arouse a eunuch. I found just how strong said qualities were when on a moonlight excursion to the toilet. Suffice to say, the scene was strikingly similar to the one witnessed at the UW, well, minus the park bench.

While walking in the woods I’ve overheard countless funny conversations, had my looks compared to friends of other hikers, and once, at the Ramsey Canyon Preserve in Arizona, I was stopped by a group of women hikers who each had to get their picture with me, I’m still not entirely sure why.

Up until this year, these incidents were the most awkward trail interactions I’d had, but in October I inadvertently stumbled directly into something intended to be far more private than any incident I’ve described thus far.

It was early in the month on a phenomenal Saturday. I decided to head into the mountains and hike the Tonga Ridge trail. I planned on taking the Mt. Sawyer spur, which climbs to the top of a 5,500 foot mountain while offering incredible and unobstructed views of the surrounding Cascade Mountains including the 10,541 foot volcano, Glacier Peak. October had painted all the leaves in its signature fall hues of yellows, oranges, and reds. The entire mountainside was a shade of brilliant red due to the countless blueberry bushes. There were many people on the trail picking berries and enjoying what could potentially be the last hiking excursion into the Cascades for the season. The sky was cloudless and the air had just a hint of cold giving that refreshing, crisp feeling I love so much about fall. It was an ideal day to be outside.

The trail rises gradually up a treeless hillside and I was taking the walk slowly pausing every so often to get pictures of the mountains or the colors and to eat the sweet berries that were bountiful.  I finally got to the end of the well-traveled trail. There, the trail widened so several people could easily stand next to each other and everyone in the line could get a photo of Glacier Peak while giving the impression they were alone. I could tell that this turnaround was not actually the summit of Mt. Sawyer and since I was so close, I wanted to find it. There were small, unmaintained game trails that continued up through thick wind-blown firs, hemlocks, and other shrubbery that was just high enough to cut visibility completely. Pushing my way through, I came upon a clearing complete with a ring of stones for a campfire that was clearly the summit. I decided to go to the other side of the shrubbery hoping to find an alternate route back to the main trail and the blueberry bushes. I pushed through the last of the shrubs and into a clearing where I noticed two people, a man and woman, to my immediate left.

The first thing I heard was the woman shout, “Oh no, wait!” The exclamation came just a second too late, however, as a large cloud of pale smoke appeared to be tossed into the air with much gusto by the man. I noticed whatever was happening was being captured on a video camera that was stationed on a tripod where it was recording the smoke, the couple, and, now, me. It took me about three more dumbfounded seconds to figure out what was going on. The couple had an urn with the ashes of a deceased loved one and were using this magnificent Saturday to spread them. They had found the perfect spot, brought the camera to record it, and were sharing their final intimate moments with Uncle Charlie, and at that instant I had pushed my way out of the brush. The ashes were gone and there was no redoing this. The second I realized what I had just seen I felt a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach and without saying a word dashed back into the brush. I pushed through it as quickly as possible catching my breath at the summit by the fire pit before charging through the brush on the other side back to the trail where I hastily made my way back down the mountain.

I think it’s great that people are comfortable in the woods. Forests are treated like every room in the house and cradle every human interaction from racy bedroom encounters to sharing a meal to saying a final goodbye. But the forest is a public place where every intimate decision can be seen by anyone else who happens to be around and despite nature’s great ability to make us feel like we’re alone, truth is, most often we’re not. I hope people always feel at home in the woods and succumb to their deepest instinctual behavior just as long as they understand their behaviors are on display for anyone who happens to stumble out of the brush, clumsily, at the worst possible moment.