A night spent alone on a windswept ridge deep in the Great Eastern forest starts peaceful enough. As the setting sun turns the forest colors into shades of gray, things become a little more interesting. Not sure why but the darkening forest causes me a bit of anxiety. Actually, I know why.
I am a solitary hiker spending a couple days hiking circuits out and back to my car. Some days and nights are along the Appalachian Trail. One night was very different. I hiked past the shelter another couple miles to a spot just below a jumble of rocks that provided a great vista. The next shelter or general campsite was about 3-4 miles up the trail. So, I was between the two locations were people tend to camp. I set up my tent hammock, climbed the rocks to watch the sun set, cook my meal and settled in for the night. I changed into my sleeping clothes, quickly snuggled into my sleeping bag and let the strong breeze sway my hammock. I thought for sure I would sleep well. Instead, with an hour, I heard distinct voices, even laughter. I sat up and looked out the mesh wall of my tent. I saw flashlight beams coming up the trail. Odd, who would be night hiking? They still had several miles to reach the trail shelter. If that was their destination. Realizing I was only a few feet off the trail, I knew they would come by my camping spot soon. Therefore, I got up, changed out of my long johns and into some decent clothes. Not knowing if they would decide to camp at my spot, I thought it best to be ready for companionship. I waited and watched. The lights stopped, never coming closer. The voices trailed off. I guessed they stopped to camp just down the trail. I changed back into my sleep gear and went back to bed. The next morning, I rose, cooked breakfast and packed up. The whole time, I expected the noisy group to hike past. They never did. I took to the trail and headed toward what I assumed was their location. Ten yards, 20, 30, 40 yards I hiked without seeing anyone. In fact, I continued hiking for 3-4 miles without seeing any trace of these people. Only then did it dawn on me that maybe I had not seen anyone at all. The voices were just the wind. The lights were just reflections of the moon off leaves or maybe lights of far town below in the valley. No, I distinctly heard laughter and saw flashlights. It was then I remembered reading about something similar months before. It was a popular a tale/myth of long ago Europe called The Wild Hunt. Sketchy historical accounts of villagers seeing ghostly apparitions under a full moon. Knights, lords, soldiers, dogs, horses and other entourage parading through the wilderness on an eternal hunt.
My experience did not scare me. Instead, believed I had encountered the psychic plasma of countless thru hikers. So many hiking seasons, countless groups of hikers passing along the long trail. Their emotional imprint on the trail arises each night, visible to those who are quiet enough to see and hear them.