Sunday morning, September 20th, I woke up to temperatures in the upper 40s. I had not hiked in many weeks and felt the risk of encountering snakes or ticks was minimal because of the temps. I packed my gear and headed to Mt. St. Francis.
I arrived in the parking lot at 7:22am and there were no other cars there. I knew I would be alone (at least for a while), so I took full advantage and quickly took the path toward the lake. My usual route took me around the lake, across a bridge and up my first hill. I have two hills that I usually take that are a gauge of my fitness level. If I can climb them without stopping, reach the summit without stopping or minimal rest, I know I am doing okay. If I struggle, there is work to be done with my fitness.
The woods were eerily silent today. Birds were quiet, no squirrels darting about, and the only sounds I hear were the thumping of my boots on the path below me and the pounding of my heart in my chest. I soon arrived at the intersection and took trail 12 down toward the creek. At the bottom was a twisty creek that sometimes has water, other times not. The ascent on the other side of the creek is my second hill fitness test.
The slight grade of trail 12 goes for about 300 yards, then gets steeper, with larger rocks and roots the closer you get to the creek. As I reached the end of the slight grade of the trail, I had a strange feeling I was being watched. I have had this before and a few times I saw a deer staring at me, and other times I saw nothing. I slowly scanned to my left, nothing. I scanned to my right, and say a large coyote, head down about 20 feet into the woods just staring at me. He was frozen and so was I for a moment.
I yelled, swung my hiking stick, and lunged towards him. He didn’t move. I continued walking, but sideways with my eyes focused on him. As I moved he slowly left the protection of the woods and was closing in behind me on the trail. I was now at the rougher part of the trail and descending it backwards. As the coyote got within 8-10 feet of me I stood my ground. Again lunging at it, swinging my stick and yelling at him. Our eyes locked, and he slowly turned and walked back into the woods. As he proceeded, his eyes never left me until he was out of sight.
I made my way (backwards) down to the creek, still scanning for the beast, but I had lost sight of him. I knew I had to cross the creek, which was flowing well, but could not do it backwards. I had to precariously step on about five different wet rocks to traverse this creek. Hesitant I turned, hopped across, made it to the other side on dry ground and spun back around. I was still alone.
As mentioned before I was a ¼ mile steep incline. My heart was already pumping, so I took a few moments to catch my breath and gather myself before heading up. Only way I would make it up this backwards was on my butt. I gave one last look behind me and turned and headed up.
It was not 25 feet later I heard a noise behind me again and spun to see the coyote lunging at me. It caught me off guard and as I stepped back I tripped, slamming my left hand on a rock, and twisting my wrist. A small gash in my hand throbbed. In my right hand, the impact caused my walking stick to fly into the woods next to me and out of reach. At this point, the coyote was almost on top of me, snapping at my legs and feet. I was kicking at it and got a direct hit to his neck, knocking him back a few feet. Undeterred, he again lunged at me as I reached around on the ground for a rock or stick to defend myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my hiking stick. I got another kick in, but not a direct shot, only knocking him to the side.
At this point, I knew I was alone. My wife was at home in bed, my cell was in my backpack strapped to my back underneath me, and I was in a raven where even a yell would likely not be heard. My heart was racing, I was dirty and bleeding and this disease filled and possibly rabid coyote was attacking me. Why was it me he was attacking?
I kicked at him again, with minimal contact, but enough to push him back about two feet. At that moment he stopped. His head dropped, his eyes locked on mine, and he began opening his mouth, exposing his teeth. I have heard about eyes filled with rage, but never experienced that until this moment. I lunged for my hiking stick, breaking our eye contact, and then felt his mouth grasping the ankle of my boot. The stick was still out of reach, but I was in his grip. I tried kicking with my other leg but was unsuccessful. He began shaking and pulling my leg. Over and over he pulled my leg. I was helpless. Finally, there was one final pulling of my leg. Like I have been doing to you all this time.
I didn’t hike Sunday. I slept in, but I had a dream like this once, and that is exactly how I remember it and the last memory I had before being awakened was this coyote (wolf in my dream) pulling on my leg.
Until next time,
Tim
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