It was just after sunrise, late October, in the woods of northern Wisconsin. I was alone in the woods, on a segment of the Ice Age trail that extended for hundreds of miles through the state. Sick of the noise of crunching leaves beneath my feet, I stopped and stood still, listening for evidence of anyone or thing nearby; other footsteps perhaps, or the sounds of birds or deer, or... anything. A chipmunk, a wolf, a wild animal of any type. After a moment of silence, I was certain that I was alone.
The night before I was at a bar in a nearby small town, brought there by a friend who had a cabin on a lake in the area. He had generously made the cabin available to a group of 6 of us, all closer to 50 years old than any of us wanted to be. We represented half the people in the bar, with the other half also being men over the age of 40 who were also not local. All of us ogled the young female bartender, who put her massive tits on display with the utmost professionalism. Whenever one brave old soul drunkenly tricked himself into thinking he had a chance and attempted to "flirt," she deftly moved on and allowed him to preserve some dignity. My own attempt to engage her in conversation about the cryptic tattoo on her forearm only lead her to pull down her sleeve.
Much of the conversation in the bar among my friends was related to the ravages of age. This same group half a lifetime ago would have been raising hell and howling at the moon, but not any more. Not just a cliché apparently; older people do love to talk about their medical problems. There were broken bones and replaced joints and interior scopes and diagnoses and prescriptions and dietary restrictions. I took it all in, realizing how much healthier and/or luckier I was than my group of friends, while also making the decision right then to make any changes needed to keep it that way.
I was already in relatively decent shape, I thought. I exercised regularly, wasn't on any prescription medication. My last physical had been unnoteworthy, and I was generally able to do anything I physically needed to do. Might move a little slower the next morning, but the job got done. My sex life with my wife was still solid. And I occasionally caught a female coworker or stranger out in public looking at me. That was all I really needed.
After we'd run out of singles for the bartender, the party returned to the cabin where more drinks were consumed around the fire pit, before, one by one, we peeled off for bed.
Before falling asleep though, and knowing that I would be up at 6AM whether I wanted to or not, I did a quick search for hiking trails in the area, having a vague knowledge of the Ice Age trail that passed nearby, but not knowing the specifics. I picked out a segment and made a plan to head out there in the morning while others slept off their hangovers, my own hangover be damned.
So the next morning, just after sunrise, not caring that it was barely above freezing, I quietly slipped out of the cabin and drove off for my hike.
Being a city person (ok, really a suburb person, but...), it was a new sensation to find myself alone in the woods, surrounded by so much quiet. There were no other cars in the small pull-off at the trailhead, not that I was expecting a crowd. Realistically, I thought, there might not be anyone within a mile of where I was at that moment. With that in mind, I kept moving down the trail, no signs of life or nature except the sound of more crunching leaves.
I continued through the woods, losing the trail once or twice and having to backtrack. I knew it was a straight line trail, not a loop, with small parking areas on both the east and west end of the trail ( I'd parked on the west side), so eventually I'd have to turn back to return to my car. But I felt great, the cool air was good for my hangover, my blood was flowing and knees felt good, so I kept going.
I trudged up a steep hill, my gaze on my feet as I pushed through the fallen leaves, on the lookout for rocks or fallen branches or any other impediments. At the top of the hill were three large trees tightly bunched at the top of a small cliff, maybe 15 feet tall, which overlooked a large area to the southeast. I stopped at the top of the hill and leaned against a tree to enjoy the view.
There was the first sign of wildlife. In the distance below a lone deer stood. It looked back in my direction, an expression I interpreted as annoyance with the noise I was making, certainly not considering me a threat. But I was still now, and it soon looked away, turned its attention back to the forest floor, and started strolling away but not out of view.
I nearly screamed when I heard a voice say "You scared him away."
