From the Radical Middle 

Spooky Woods

Unseen creatures make noises ~ a true story

by Robert Falcione

August 26, 2007 — Hopkinton State Park offers some great trails with hills and slopes for power hiking, open every day for the adult who needs to burn off a daily dose of ice cream and fresh, really fresh native corn on the cob, thick with butter, like honey clinging to a fritter.

     But people need variety, so on this day I headed to Purgatory Chasm State Reservation in Sutton. 
    Check out the page for a trail map and directions to the park. Regular folks, spelunkers, and technical climbers use the park to their own ends, even if it means just being in awe of the geological event that must have caused it, that split the earth apart for 1300 feet; or looking down from the heights from which your life is literally in your own hands. One false move, one misstep, has taken more than one person to the rocks below with no second chance. "Know where your feet are," the Park Ranger will tell a number of people each season.
      But this evening, I decided to walk the most recently acquired area on the southern part of the parcel instead, on trails that lead to two reservoirs high on a hill and surrounded by woods teeming with wildlife and history. Purgatory Chasm just didn't seem like enough of a challenge for the amount of exercise I wanted on this evening, and the Park had recently doubled their available land with this latest acquisition.
      I parked the car in a designated, but remote area and entered the forest through a dark canopy, seeing foot trails that I had never seen before, but staying on the main trail. I hadn't been there for about four years.

     The sun was hidden from my view and the darkened trail provided an instant spookiness that causes a lone human to be wary and on alert with a heightened sensitivity. After all, I had heard of bear sightings in this park four years ago, but never wanted to actually see one myself. If I did, I remember someone saying to roll up in a fetal position - or was I supposed to run? Hope I don't have to find out.

      Fresh human shoeprints on the sandy part of the trail. Someone else is in the woods. Hiker, runner, dog walker, Wiccan?
      Hmm, berries all over the ground. I wonder what animal might be around to eat them.
      Ah yes, uphill it is, past the area where the deer apparently visit, judging from the scat lying on the spongy earth. I wondered if I would see any signs of pagan worship or practice, like Cathy and I did at the Douglas State Forest. In fact, we found ourselves in the middle of a stone circle that we hadn't noticed when we crossed its circumference. Another time we ran into a pentacle made of trees on the ground in the woods.

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      And I knew that near today's destination would be a trail leading to the second reservoir, and on the side of that trail, off in the woods, was a large cairn. Cairns serve two different purposes: They are trail markers and they are memorials.
     On the top of Mount Lafayette, cairns are used to lead the hiker on a path from the granite peak and back onto the wooded trails below. Painted or erected signs wouldn't last long with the intense, sometimes violent weather that the majestic mountain endures. But a cairn in the woods in Sutton can only be a memorial to a death. I would not take that trail today. Not enough time.
     The trail became darker in some areas, and I figured the sun was hidden because I was on the eastern side of the hill. The trail split. Good thing I had been there before and remembered which to take to the reservoir. The view itself would be a just reward for making the trip.
      A noise here and there. Getting darker. Chipmunks squeaking as I pass, but only a couple. Still no sun.
     At last, I could see the blue reservoir through the trees, so I picked up my pace. As I did, a military helicopter came from out of nowhere, so I raced to the rocky overlook from where I would catch a fleeting glimpse of the bird flying over the western edge of the reservoir as I stood on a ledge 30 feet above the ground. The water was peaceful, and desolate. No deer at its edge. No people on the other side. That's okay. Where's the sun? Wow, it wasn't hiding behind the hill anymore, it has set past the horizon.
      Getting darker. I turned around.

      There was a campfire spot, but no charcoal, no fire bed. The Ranger I had spoken with before my hike was right. He said that the Sutton Police keep a good eye on the place, and judging from this lack of activity, it was apparent no one had stayed overnight in these woods for a while, unlike the area by the chasm.

       A few years ago a Park Interpreter explained my discovery to me. While hiking on a narrow path away from the chasm one day, I came upon a man-made structure of logs and branches that had been used for a shelter.

       "Someone was down on their luck," he said.

       I walked away from the campfire and back onto the trail, which had grown even more dark. Seven-thousand feet to the car. Darkness, bugs, and now nocturnal animals would add to the mix.

       There were no crickets or peepers making their songs  in these woods. There was just an eerie stillness — and shadows through the woods along the trail. Would my writing pen serve as an ample defense against a bear? Five-thousand feet left. Are my adrenal glands working enough to give me that extra strength humans get when challenged? Yes they are. I can feel the dam ready to open at a  moment's notice.

       "Whooph, whooph, whooph, whooph, whOOOooo," called the unseen creature to my right, its last call rising and then dropping in pitch.

        "Whooph, whooph, whooph, whooph, whOOOooo," called the creature to my left, at an equal distance from me as the first. I was directly between them. Not to be paranoid, but I wondered if they were talking about me.

        Yes my adrenal glands were working. I used a little to gain some speed in my walk, but decided not to run, because I did not want to end up weakened and out of energy. Or worse yet, trip in the dark and fall. What were these creatures, and how would I defend myself if need be? Are they coyotes?

        Decades ago, long before leash laws and designer-canines, dogs ran free in neighborhoods and formed social cells called packs, much like an extended family does. But being dogs, part of the hierarchy was to determine among themselves which dog bit the hardest and fought the best.

        The dogs would gather, one by one, including the family pet, and the frenzy would start. One dog sensed to be the weakest might be turned on by the others in a ferocious attack. Sometimes it was another animal the group went after, or the newest dog in the neighborhood. On rare occasions there were reports of children being attacked by a pack of dogs. Did coyotes form packs, I wondered? They must.

         Fight the fear, I thought. The hair on my back wanted to stand  up, but my dad taught me that a dog can sense fear, so I couldn't let that happen. I had my wooden cane with me.

        "Crack, crack," was the loud sound as I smacked the thing against some tall saplings. I was hoping to scare the creatures.

        "Whooph, whooph, whooph, whooph, whOOOooo," they again each called in turn. It wasn't the sound that cowboys turning a spit of rabbit on the prairie hear in the distance like in the movies. It seemed much less benign.

        Did they know I was in their woods? Ya think?

        I did the cane against the trees thing again, but added multiple hits between several trees, like a tin cup along prison cell bars. I looked on the ground for a rock, and there it was.

        This rock was the perfect fit for my hand, as if it had been molded as such. It was the size of a decent-sized potato, and had a notch for my thumb, as well as a point on the bottom and a delta in the front. It would be just perfect for smashing some canine heads, I thought. They stopped their sounds.

        My pace quickened again as I passed a blind spot where the trail splits. What if someone, a sane person for instance, was on the trail coming from the other direction and saw the rock in my hand?

       "Did you hear the coyotes?" I might ask them as a prelude to an explanation of the rock/weapon that I was clenching. Wait. What if they hadn't heard the creatures?

        Here's a guy who thinks he hears coyotes and has a weapon in his hand, and I'm alone in the woods with him, he might think to himself.

        At last, the final turn in the trail and a straight line to my vehicle. Better ditch the rock in case there are any sane people at the parking area.

        No spikes under the tires, no one in the back seat — it's safe to get in and turn the key. I headed to the Ranger Station where the folks still had the lights on. I told them what I had heard.

        One Ranger told me that he had approached a coyote eating some carrion and the thing bared its long teeth at him to keep him away. It worked, he said.

        The second Ranger, upon hearing my tale of noise said, "You were dinner," as they both laughed.

        I asked if they would really pack and attack a human.

        "Oh, yes, if they were hungry enough," said the other.

        "You bet," said the first.

        I think they were just trying to scare me.

        As if that could ever happen!

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Updated: February 27, 2018 08:38:46 AM