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About a year ago, I experienced an unforgettable camping and hiking expedition, which I'm about to share with you.
To provide some context, my mother, who served in the Army long ago,
developed a deep passion for camping and hiking after feeling a void in her heart.
Over the past six years, she meticulously planned our annual hiking and camping trips, drawing on her military preparedness.
Together with my brother, we became known in our little town as the mother-son hiking duo.
However, I must admit that I harbored mixed feelings toward the mountains we frequented,
specifically Pine Creek Gorge, also known as the Grand Canyon of PA.
Our latest adventure was to conquer the 30-mile West Rim Trail in under 47 hours, a challenge my mom wanted to achieve.
Reluctantly, I agreed to join them, despite my reservations about the woods and what lurked within.
We began our journey by parking our car at the trailhead in the Brady Wallace picnic area.
From there, we hiked to Rattlesnake Rock, and then descended another 10 miles to a nearby town where we could restock on supplies.
This is where the story takes a chilling turn.
As darkness fell, we found ourselves halfway through our hike, prompting the need to set up camp.
Fortunately, we stumbled upon a suitable campsite nestled high in the mountains, offering breathtaking views surrounded by dense woods.
My mom and I quickly pitched the tent, while my brother arranged the interior.
We changed into our designated sleepwear and lit a roaring fire to ward off animals and insects.
After enjoying our meal, my mom hung our food bag high in a tree to protect it from curious creatures—a crucial precaution.
As we settled in for the night, I suddenly awoke to a pitch-black blur, disoriented and unsure why.
Then, I heard it, an indescribable sound resembling a deep, non-animalistic call, almost like a porcupine but with a birdlike quality.
For what felt like an eternity, the eerie noise persisted,
accompanied by shuffling near our tent, as if something or someone were approaching.
The sounds ceased momentarily, replaced by the sound of trickling water.
It dawned on me that this mysterious entity was urinating near our tent, on my side no less.
Meanwhile, the shuffling continued around our campsite.
I cautiously turned to see my mom upright in the tent, asking me in the softest voice if I heard it too.
I confirmed that I did, and we remained motionless for a few minutes, gripped by fear.
Finally, my mom mustered the courage to grab her machete, a bear mace, and a flashlight before venturing outside to investigate.
And if you're wondering about my brother, well, he remained asleep, unaware of the unfolding events.
Given his young age and innocent appearance, it was best for him to stay behind with my mom, an Army veteran with a protective instinct.
As minutes ticked by, my mind raced with questions.
What was happening outside? Was my mom safe? Was it fight or flight? Where should I go?
In the midst of my anxious thoughts, my mom accidentally struck the tent with the bear mace,
triggering a fit of coughing from both my brother and me.
We hastily fled the tent into the darkness,
our sights fixed on the dwindling flames of the small fire pit and my frantic mother standing outside.
She questioned our sudden exit, and I recounted the incident with the mace.
Apologizing, she assured us that she saw nothing outside.
Around 20 nerve-wracking minutes passed, ensuring the mace had dissipated, before we cautiously returned to the tent.
My brother resumed his sleep, seemingly undisturbed, while my mom and I struggled to find rest.
The idea that something lurked in the woods, patiently awaiting us, consumed our thoughts.
In the distance, a pack of coyotes began to howl, triggering vivid memories of the skinwalker tales I had heard throughout my life. Fighting sleep, my eyelids grew heavy until I eventually succumbed to slumber.
Upon waking, I ventured to the spot where I had heard the unsettling urination sound.
It was still damp and emitted a pungent odor, confirming its occurrence.
We dressed, relieved ourselves in the woods, had breakfast, and packed up, ready to resume our mountain hike.
About 11 miles from our previous stop, we stumbled upon a suitable resting spot during the early afternoon—a perfect time for lunch.
My mom reached for the food bag, only to discover that half of our provisions had vanished.
She stared wide-eyed, her mouth agape.
What she revealed next sent shivers down my spine.
"I wasn't entirely honest with you, kiddo," she confessed.
"I didn't want to scare your brother, so I lied.
I did see something."
She proceeded to recount her experience.
When she exited the tent, she heard a noise near thecampsite and pointed her flashlight in that direction.
Through the darkness, she caught a glimpse of a tall, shadowy figure standing just beyond the fire's reach.
It had glowing eyes that locked onto hers, reflecting the light back at her—an unnerving sight that froze her in her tracks.
The figure emitted a low growl, a sound that sent chills down her spine.
In that moment, she felt a primal fear like never before.
My mother's military training kicked in, and she swiftly grabbed her machete and bear mace, ready to defend us.
But when she shone the flashlight again, the figure had vanished without a trace.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant howls of the coyotes.
Filled with dread, she quickly returned to the tent, unsure of what had just transpired.
She decided not to share the details with us, fearing it would escalate our anxiety.
As we sat there, stunned by my mother's revelation, we realized that the missing food was likely taken by the same entity that had invaded our campsite.
The pieces began to fit together—the strange sounds, the shuffling, the urination near the tent.
It dawned on us that we had encountered something otherworldly, something beyond our understanding, deep in the heart of the wilderness.
With our supplies diminished, we made the difficult decision to cut our hike short and head back to civilization.
The remaining miles back to the trailhead were fraught with tension and an unshakable feeling of being watched.
Every rustle of leaves or snap of a branch sent our hearts racing, and we couldn't help but glance over our shoulders repeatedly.
Finally, we reached the safety of our car, our bodies and minds exhausted.
We drove back home in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
The encounter had left an indelible mark on us, a reminder of the untamed and mysterious nature of the wilderness we had underestimated.
To this day, we can only speculate about the entity that disturbed our campsite that fateful night.
Was it a creature of folklore, a mischievous spirit,
or something else entirely? We may never know for sure.
What we do know is that the experience taught us a valuable lesson about the importance of respecting the wilderness,
being prepared for the unexpected, and acknowledging that there are forces in nature that defy explanation.
That terrifying encounter in the woods left an everlasting impression on our souls,
forever changing our perception of the wilderness.
We continue to enjoy camping and hiking, but with a newfound reverence for the unknown that lies beyond the safety of the campfire's glow. The memory of that night serves as a constant reminder to never underestimate the power and mysteries of nature
and to approach every adventure with caution, preparedness,
and an unwavering respect for the wild.