A Week Alone in the Wild

Hunting, Scouting, Foraging

A writer will find a way to write and that's exactly what I did. On two-year old printed deer tags by the ceiling light in the back of my SUV where I slept, using a book of crossword puzzles as a hard surface, I unveiled my experience of being alone in the wild. 

The creek behind my campsite

The darkness beyond my windows is encompassing and impermeable, as though my vehicle was dropped into a can of black paint. Today is Thursday, August 15. For four days I have been waiting for my dad to join me as planned. He said he'd be out here last Saturday, but has become caught up in roof repairs, and with the rains coming, he can't afford to delay the project. Five days late. Does it even count as a group effort if one member of the party is absent for two-thirds of the stake-out? I'm trying not to think about it and instead appreciating what I've learned and done with this time. 

I established camp Monday evening after driving all over Oregon searching for suitable hunting grounds away from the smoke plaguing our state. Cedar Creek Fire has especially altered our plans. Normally we meet near Lemolo Lake, but because the northern access around Hills Creek Lake is unreachable due to the Highway 58 closure, and Windigo Pass was still closed for road repairs, it left us with no uncertain place to meet (he from the north, me from the south). From Crescent to Sisters, the smoke was dense and suffocating. Finally, I landed on Ollalie Creek, Forest Rd 2657 south of Clear Lake on Highway 126. These are good roads in here. After three days exploring them, I now know them all well.

During my solo searches, I've spotted an owl, a doe and fawn, bats, stellar jays, woodpeckers, and chased three grouse. I also feel more confident exploring alone than when I first arrived. Slowly, I am owning the spaces I travel and camp at. Last night I sat in a foldout chair and did a crossword puzzle; I was comfortable enough to sit outside after sunset. Before, I was too spooked to venture away from my vehicle. That first morning, I heard hard cracking sounds like heavy feet landing in two directions behind my camp: one in the forest and shrubs on the left, and one in the forest across the creek.

I've established morning, day, and night routines. Here is my morning routine:

• Slip on boots and pee in the hole I dug beside my rear tire
• Climb back into vehicle and dress myself (including orange vest and weapons)
  
• Assemble stove and heat water from one of my potable water jugs in a kettle
• Eat oatmeal and drink cup of mushroom coffee
• Wash dishes in basin and refill spare jug with creek water for rinsing
  
• String bow, bury pee hole, load valuables to take with me
• Begin drive of the day w/ goal of higher altitude to get reception
  

[NOTES: I use a propane fueled camping stove and keep it closed during night to protect it from rain so it will light in the morning. I came prepared with four gallons of water and that was just enough for me to survive eight days. All of my nonperishable foods had to be gluten-free.]

My one-person, dry camping setup

I ate one of my homemade dried meals: the Makeshift Thanksgiving Dinner. It was decent. I didn't expect to finish my bowl. Perhaps because it was mostly water, low on salt, and my caloric intake has reduced since being out here, I was hungrier than I thought. The bouillon cube was a bad choice. The instant mashed potatoes absorbs the water before the cube can dissolve. Chicken stock powder would work better next time. 

Each night I dig a new small pit for squatting in the middle of the night

At night when I return to camp (hopefully in one piece), I dig a new potty hole near my back tire for when I'm too afraid to walk in the dark to my other, farther away pit. Tonight, before I wrote this entry, I pitched a rain tarp over my little cooking area in case it rains between now (7pm) and when I wake (7am). Today was partly cloudy and the forecast calls for rain this weekend. Might as well get a head start so I don't have to scramble later. That's how I prefer to do things. 

Life is simpler and scarier out here. My senses are always on high alert. Instead of a gun, I have three knives, bear spray, a bow, and a blast horn. Keeping two on my person at any given time is a constant priority. 

Hours of driving are wearing out my feet. Bringing my moccasins for walking around camp was a good call. The boots are heavy and humid.

Although I romanticize the forest, being out here ends up more about conserving energy, surviving, being alert, battling with paranoia, and nurturing my confidence. I function by the light of the sun. When it goes down, the temperature drops and mosquitoes roam, so I withdraw to my SUV where my fold-up mattress, sleeping bag, fleece blanket, sheet, and pillow await. I strip down to a shirt and swap into a pair of sweats -- depending on how cold the air is. My vehicle retains heat well, but the temp can still dip into the 40s during the Fall and the 30s at higher altitudes. Some nights are a fight to stay warm, though not nearly as bad as camping in a hammock during a rainstorm, which I've done twice. Not recommended. 

I'm not bored, but I find myself wondering how I will fill my days until my dad arrives. I picked berries earlier. I stop often to pee or hunt by foot as a way to stretch my limbs and give my feet something new to do besides press, hold, life, tense, tap, tap. I nod at other hunters when we pass, sure they're a little surprised and confused to see a lone woman out here. My blood cycle began on Tuesday in full force. That's something they never have to think about: the added challenges of bleeding from their groin while pursuing a hobby in the wild. I worried the wipes in my potty holes, covered in rich uterine blood would attract predators. As if the pain and fatigue weren't already compromising my security. Hygiene is important out here. I brush my teeth every day, though at irregular times of the day when I can no longer tolerate the grime, and actually have a moment to dedicate to the ritual. I wear a new outfit each day (so far). Though I may have to double up if I stay beyond Sunday, making this a 10-day hunt. I've washed my face twice: once with warm water, once with cold. I even bathed my top half by dunking a washcloth in soapy water and essentially sponge bathing with my pants on. It probably wasn't as beautiful as the idea of a topless woman bathing by creek water in the forest sounds. It was hurried and sloppy, but refreshing. 

I am grateful for all the supplies I brought: four gallons of drinking water, one bag of nonperishable food items, stove and three small tanks of propane, dishware, bamboo fork, can opener, homemade sanitizer, mushroom coffee, vitamin drinks, pot and kettle, sleeping gear, coat and sweater, beanie with rechargeable headlamp, rechargeable hand radios, four gallons of spare gasoline, small cooler (for holding meat), collapsible chairs and table, hand towels, laundry bag, garbage bag, one tupperware container (for leftovers), water bottles, charging cords, eight outfits, maxis, blister care pads, first aid kit, predator protection, orange vest, hunting bag (rope, gloves, wipes, quartering sacks, plastic tarp, tape, skinning knife and sharpener), weapons, pen and pencil, maps, little broom, shovel, wet wipes and sanitizing wipes, hair tie, eco-friendly dish soap, gathering baskets, and vibrator (yup). 

The Physical Toll

You don't realize how much you're doing to survive and function out here. Everything requires energy, yet you're likely to eat less than normal. I have four or five small meals throughout the day and ignore any hunger I experience in the middle of the night because I don't want to poop at night. Luckily I unloaded before the sun set. 

Even little tasks take energy because you're fighting the elements and on alert to every sound -- pine cone bombs are the worst. There are sounds in the silence that the mind wants to label as familiar. A race car in the distance is really a fly buzzing outside your car door. A muffled engine is actually the steady hum of crickets.

My body's temperature regulation is tested. We take our air-conditioned and heated buildings for granted. What a luxury an HVAC system is. 

All of my muscles are sore. I massage target areas when they bother me or inhibit my task at hand. 

I write now by flashlight to save the car battery.

The Psychological Toll

I am restless for social security, the kind that comes from knowing someone is there to help you deter or fend off predators (animal and human). Sharing the weight of survival becomes increasingly appealing as the days roll by and my energy slowly depletes. Monday night I had loads of energy to spend. The next morning I wake at 95%. Then the next day at 80%. Then 70% and on. I enjoy the freedom to choose my path and pace each day, but I miss believing someone cares. Being alone for so long makes you forget who out there thinks about you. That isolation can be dangerous (as we all learned during the pandemic). My finds and trials should be shared. When no one is around to hear about them, do they really matter? Am I just alone in a darkness only high isolation of dense forest can conjure? Would it be so easy to fade away? 

I would not have stayed out here for so long were it not for the lingering promise of my dad joining me. I can't be mad. He's caring for my mother and sisters. I just wish his plans worked out more than they tend to. 

In Tune With the Forest

My hunting party

Dad arrived late on the fourth night. Yesterday was the last day of the hunt for deer. I held a deer in my sights for a solid three minutes. Its heart was centered in the scope. The deer stood still, gazing right at me 300 yards down the road. I could take a breath, adjust my aim, lower and raise the rifle when tired, enjoy the moment, but not shoot at it. No antlers. It was a doe. My tag is for a buck. 

The wild is always leading me up to moments like that, training me, gradually leveling me up. Here, it proved a deer could in fact wander out of the thicket and linger in range and for a duration that I could retrieve my gun from the back seat, aim, and shoot. What an exciting opportunity to learn what colors the deer around here are (tan brown with black tail), yet another thing I was wondering. Even the appearance of grouse seemed synced to my requests. E.g.: "I see what happened there. Now I need one to sit still." I turn a corner and there is one sitting in the middle of the forest road. 

Long shot fell short. The grouse flew into the trees and I pursued. If I can stir it into flight again, I might be able to track it to a better spot for me to launch another arrow. But my luck with weaving through the underbrush to get them to panic from their hiding spots is a 25% chance of success. And if it does take flight again, it will likely go farther than the initial landing and be too deep in the woods for me to bother chasing thereafter. This one, like all the rest, got away. 

Still, again and again the forest responded to my requests. One game the forest likes to play is to present you with an opportunity you weren't actively looking for. Think about a deer and you'll see a grouse. Try to spot berries and you'll see a hare? (Yep, saw one --the only one of the trip-- seconds after wondering if there were any in these parts.) Focus on finding a conk mushroom and instead you'll see a deer. Such a funny game. It expects you to be an opportunist kind of hunter/gatherer. Know your plants and game and it will provide IF you can harvest it yourself. Timing is everything. Skill and a keen eye are also important. But there was also a tuning that happened. I would feel a spot is perfect for elderberries, then behold, a grove of such trees exists there. 

Failure of Skill

The forest continued to produce opportunities for me to shoot a grouse and I failed each time. My skill with the bow just wasn't up to snuff. I got close several times, enough to draw blood. 

Maybe the risk of losing an arrow compromised my success. Maybe switching arrow tips back and forth disrupted my sense of the arrow's weight and how it would fly. Maybe I just suck at hitting a live target. 

I chased at least a dozen grouse. (Yes, I counted.) One was literally ten feet away perched on a branch at eye level with the driver's side. I held my bow out of the window and shot. Missed. That was dumb, I thought. I recovered my arrow and pursued. On this occasion I did manage to stir it and another grouse from the ground into flight, but I couldn't get another shot off before they were too far out of sight to bother. 

You have to understand that this forest has dense undergrowth and fallen logs, making it treacherous to hike through without a trodden path. A machete will only get you so far. And my bow is a long recurve. I have to slip it through the thin trees and bushes without tripping or getting it caught. 

After so many failed attempts, I finally caved and drove the last 30 minutes of the evening with a shotgun at the ready, thirsty for a win to bring home. Just one bird to make all of this effort worthwhile. The intense force of will repels nature. Not a single grouse appeared for the rest of the trip. While I held that shotgun, I was no longer in communion with the forest, I was angry and bargaining with it. I was anxious and uncomfortable and wrestling mentally with my desperation to kill. It was entirely unfamiliar. 

Facing all those failed shots had me feeling silly. Any other hunter would tell me "Why not just use a shotgun? You're making it harder on yourself." I had to ask myself, "Why am I using a bow? Why do I insist on making this harder than it needs to be?" 

I was improving. Some shots, even with a gun, just aren't meant to be; they're not quite right. Wrong terrain for retrieval, too much debris in the way, animal is too far, there's not a clear enough shot, etc. Regardless of the weapon I use, I learned that it will still take time to ready, load, aim, and fire. The gun just makes it so that any shot you do take is less likely to miss. And I had no problem (with the bow) finding opportunities.

The bow is quieter. An arrow can land before the bird knows it's been fired. A shotgun is not the same. Those milliseconds matter. A shotgun needs to be cocked for a bullet to be loaded into the barrel. That cocking sound is exactly why some homeowners choose to have a shotgun for self-defense. Even if it's not loaded, that sound is distinct and tells an intruder (or a bird in this case), I am a threat to you. It is a preparatory signal. When actively hunting, I don't want to clue in the prey that I'm a threat. I want it to remain curious or dumbstruck until my ammo hits it. 

So maybe the shotgun is not for me. Or maybe the whole thing at the end was a bad confluence of emotions and events. When I try again in October, I may start with the shotgun to see if a fresh mind helps the matter and yields a kill. Obviously I should target practice with my bow as well.

Cravings

Besides the unfamiliar blood lust I experienced at the end of the hunt, I also randomly smelled chocolate cake and pizza on occasion. No doubt those smells were wishful cravings. I easily lost five pounds of body weight while surviving out there. 

Wild herb and berry tea to replenish nutrients

 

I was grateful to find fresh berries for the Vitamin C and juice content. I didn't eat as many calories as I was expending. Eating came secondary to the hunt. I only ate what I had to in order to keep going another day. Despite the variety of foods I packed, I didn't intake enough variety. I did eat an entire can of peaches at one point and a can of chicken at another point to get nutrient boosts. One can't sustain on coffee and oatmeal alone.

See my upcoming post on Packing Gluten-Free Food for Camping.

Preparedness

There was indeed a blustery downpour on Saturday. My equipment was soaked. At least the knots on my tarp held. It kept my cooking space dry in the drizzles to follow that storm, once everything dried out. 

The tarp erected over my cooking area survived the storm

 

Staying warm and dry in the Pacific Northwest during Fall is a challenge outdoors. Luckily, the sun comes out from behind the clouds during the day to humidify the forest and any items you left out. 

I've plotted several spots on my map in case we return to this area. [Note: We will return in October.]

For now, I return home. I'm low on gasoline. I poured in one of my jugs last night so I could escape the wild and reach a gas station this morning. I'm down to my last gallon of water and I'm wearing my last outfit. I stayed two nights later than I originally planned and packed in preparation of an extended stay. But it's time to call it quits and acknowledge when the hunt is over.

Although I think I deserve a kill more than anyone else out here, it may not be a question of deserving. 

I could walk the road one last time in search of that grouse family we saw days ago [which I did do to no avail], but I'm done; I'm ready to go home. Ultimately, my family just wants me back, with or without a catch to show for the time apart. Guilt about how long I've been out here is weighing heavily on me. And it's not like I'm coming home entirely empty-handed.

Our Finds

I like foraging because plants don't wander away when I try to harvest them.

At the conclusion of our trip, we walked away with the following wild edibles and encounters:

• Two full baskets of elderberries
• One red-belted conk mushroom (for medicinal purposes)
• One bowl full of berry mix
• Twelve grouse (at least), uncaptured
• Three deer, uncaptured
• Several beautiful scenery photos

Only photos can truly capture the memories. Here are a few more fun ones:

Displaying the types of edible berries I harvested

View from highest section of forest road network

Lush forest road

Although I rarely catch an animal when I hunt, I always come away with edibles, images, and a story to tell.

Returning Home

When asked if my son missed me while I was away, his response was: "Not really. It was fun to spend some time with dad." 

All that worry and guilt was for naught. He didn't even miss me? 

I suppose I should be proud that he is now independent enough to not need or want mom around. But a little part of me felt annoyed that I worried myself about getting home when they were doing just fine without me. Ha! Maybe I should've stayed out there.  

UPDATE - One Month Later

Two grouse spit roasting over campfire

One month later, I returned to that same area to try my luck again with the rifle. I negotiated with the forest that if I couldn't get a shot off on a valid opportunity by mid-week, I would acknowledge it as a sign that I should stick to learning the bow. 

All day long, I thought about a spot with a grove of elderberries that I wanted to return to. Green bunches I left would now be ripe and ready for harvesting. But the course of our day navigated us in a loop that ended at that grove. At 4pm, having struck out on wild edibles and game alike, we arrive at that side road I dubbed Elderberry Row. Not only did we find a plethora of edible mushrooms and elderberry along that road, it was where I shot my first grouse. 

Without getting too much into the bloodiness of it (I'll save that for another post), suffice it to say the forest awarded me a near perfect opportunity. Then, the following day, another successful pursuit yielded a near perfect kill on a second bird. 

We field dressed the birds immediately after I shot them. The picture above shows them fire roasting in the most authentic way possible: on carved sticks over a wood-fueled campfire. In the pot are the edible organs of the 2nd bird (gizzard, heart, liver) with a little water and oil, which made a delicious broth for moistening the breasts in. 

I gave thanks to the forest and the birds for their sacrifices, and enjoyed the relief of being able to bring home wild meat. 

The shotgun increased my success. Two birds out of twelve spotted and five used shells. The difference was I didn't have to worry about retrieving the ammo as I do with a bow. That affects my willingness to shoot. Yes, shotgun shells still cost money, but not nearly as much as arrows and heads. I shot at a third bird three times and couldn't find a carcass. My dad wants to believe it got away injured. I think I just suck and missed all three times. Who knows. Who cares. Point is, I walked away with a net loss. 

Nevertheless, I obtained organic, wild meat that tasted like the best chicken I've ever had, and beautiful grouse feathers to compliment my mined sunstones for jewelry making. The experience I gained made it worth the investment.