15 June 2022

Last night I had to leave the campground. I had successfully driven the road to the beautiful canyon thrice: twice down, once up. But when I tell you I had to time myself over those rough, rocky roads: I went .4 miles in six minutes. That was going down, the second time, in daylight. I was proud of my success on that road. I hadn’t bottomed out once, and I loved being in that canyon. I was all set up for my second night: hammock, table, chair, washing area, yoga mat, welcome mat, tent. I even built a couple little cute rock sculptures. There was a flicker nest in a tree nearby, close enough to be annoying with their relentless chatter. Cute round towhees scattered about chirping. I could hear the river clearly from my hammock, sunlight filtering through elder leaves.

My only neighbor came to tell me about the fire warning, then later to apologize in case his “singing” bothered me. I hadn’t known it was singing but I told him I was fine. How eerie it was then that after the sun began to set a shot rang out from his camp. Have you heard a gunshot in a canyon? You’d remember. His was the camp nearest mine, which wasn’t that close but who cares: it was also the only other occupied site on the campground. There are reasons it happened this way. There are reasons for all of this, but it happened this way. The “singing” continued. I started to get ready for bed..? I was wondering. The next shots take my breath away still: three in a row, resounding throughout the canyon, blanking out all my thoughts in one fell swoop. I felt them in my bones, reverb stoking adrenaline. But I couldn’t move. It took me so long to catch my breath then. My heart pounds even writing this now. The man made a noise that I cannot fully describe for fear of hearing it again: it was a low, not well-defined sound. In the deafening silence following those ricocheting bangs, I understood that he was enjoying himself. Immediately everything inside of me screamed, “Go!” While the rest of me tried to quell panic. Panic isn’t helpful, right? My entire being was a tilt-a-whirl, and so slow, still shaking. Finally, I moved to pack up everything—it was the only useful thing I could think of. As I did this, my brain slowly began processing. Yoga mat—what if… Table and the stuff on it—it’s really getting dark and the road.. Hammock—no cell service here at all.. Water and clean dishes—Maybe if I just sleep inside the car with it all closed.. Chair—I have bear spray and other weapons… I know what you’re thinking. The good news is I got there. I whispered to myself the whole time. It felt like a while before my head fully cleared and the end of every single query became, “But gun, though.” The person who apologizes for making noise then discharges firearms in a quiet canyon campground is not a person I want to know any more about. By the time all my stuff and I were in the car, my head was full of loved ones saying, “Go, drive!” “You can do it.” “Get the fuck out of there!” Quietly, parking lights only at first, I hit the road. Fewer than fifteen minutes had passed since the three shots. There was some flat ground I could cover quickly before the chaotic rocks of the steep canyon, so I tried to make as much space between me and that man as possible as quickly as possible while I could go quickly. As it was, I checked my mirrors all the way.

In fewer than forty minutes beginning just after dusk, I managed to break down camp and drive carefully out of that canyon with the astute focus that only adrenaline can provide. I crested the top of the last leg to see the moon, massive, draped against the horizon to welcome me to safety. Like a god who has just witnessed, but not assisted in, your trial. “Well done,” said the moon, “Now let us find you a place to rest.”

I could have thrown up or cried; I only focused on the road and the moon, intermittently praying that no animals would choose my path. Solemnly now, cold adrenaline spent, relief seeped in for comfort. It was in direct correlation with distance from that canyon campground that my body calmed down. I went back to my familiar “cow camp” to finally relax under the watchful gaze of a not wholly unsympathetic deity. An hour and a half after the gunshots, I slowly put my tent up again. I ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, texted a best friend, and slept like a fucking baby. Throughout the night coyotes sang for the same bright space orb that had guided me home.