Stealth camping is the term given to camping at an un-established wilderness site. It also can have a second meaning, which is camping in a site without the permission of a landowner.
On a couch in a coffee shop in Bennington, Vermont, I meet and chat with two humorous, laid back guys sitting on the opposite couch.
“I sell babies on the black market”, jokes Elvis.
“Since he’s black”, adds Niko.
“He’s my pimp (referring to Niko), that’s why he wears those sunglasses,” says Elvis.
Of course I understand they’re not serious. After they get over the fact that I’m not really a pro-disc golfer, Niko gives me great info and directions to a nearby spot that’ll make a good campsite.
I drive down the street and around the corner, about a mile from downtown’s center and find the trail. Hammock-sleeper in tow, I want to set up while there’s still daylight. I nearly wipe out after slipping on mushy lawn clippings that someone had dumped at the start of the trail, which is on a slight decline. The trail runs parallel to the river at first, then veers off.
I get to the clearing that Niko described and explore possible options. I find a nice little nook that appears to be the perfect natural campsite, not too close to the river. While being feasted on by mosquitoes, I quickly hang the hammock between two trees… golden! It’s still early, so I head back downtown for a cold one. The Rattlesnake Cafe, as recommended by Elvis, is a Mexican joint with a cozy little bar. Two Stone IPAs later, I head back to camp. The stars are out; it’s a lovely night. I’m kind of scared. I’ve camped alone before, but never in an area this strange. It’s a crazy test for myself. Facing fear, being adventurous, trying something new. Walking down the trail with my battery-powered lamp, I make a brief phone call to hear a familiar voice before sleeping. I get cozy in the hammock and zip myself in, Swiss-army knife tucked into my pants. Time to catch some zzzzzzzzzzz. Here's the hammock... now picture it in the dark of night:
I wake up a few times as the air becomes chilly, to wrap myself completely in the blanket. All is well… until…
…MY EYES SPRING OPEN!!... to the sound of a growl. A low, continuous, rumbling growl. HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! It’s in the woods, to my left. I have no idea what it is. I hear the thing barking, but it’s not a dog bark. It’s something way stranger than a dog. All I can picture is some medium sized creature with coarse hair, pointy ears, creepy round eyes, and a sharp, raw, drooling mouth… staring me down. OH MY GOD… GET THE FUKUOKA AWAY FROM ME! It’s quiet for a moment, and then I hear the growling from the opposite side. It’s not right next to me, but apparently it’s circling me. I’ve made camp in this thing’s territory, and am being kicked out. That’s right, I’m OUT OF HERE. It’s 4 a.m. I wait until the growling subsides for a minute and unzip my hammock. Socks off, sandals on. I hastily grab my light & backpack and hit the trail. I’ll go back for the hammock in the morning. Call me a quakebuttock; I just need to get the hell back to my car. I drive to the downtown area again, park, and sleep in the safety of my back seat with the comfort(er) of down for two more hours.
I arise between 6 & 6:30 feeling pleasantly refreshed. It’s cool out, and the morning sun brings way to another beautiful summer day. I head down the trail once again, to fetch the hammock & blanket. The ground is muddy and the tall golden weeds lining the trail are soaked with dew. Something about daylight erases any fear. Laughing to myself, I gather the hammock and walk back to the car.
