He had been anticipating this trek for some weeks. Wearied of civilized events, he was ready to get back to the woods. A little apprehensive - he was not in the best of shape. A strained back and a "heel spur" on the left foot often caused severe pain. But, if he was able to carry his gear, he would be OK. Maybe a little slow, but he was sincerely prepared to go it alone if he had to. He had done it before. A cave explorer, in his younger days he had pushed himself to the limit and beyond.

The group he was going with was a new one to him. He had shared a cup of coffee with one or two of them. He wasn't sure if they were just "characters" or severe nut cases. They called themselves the Bushy Tail Clan, whatever that meant. They joked of spooning on cold nights (at least he assumed they were joking!) Best to be prepared for anything.

The plan was to sleep in a grove near the river. That meant rain shelter. He should have packed lighter, for a rock shelter.

He gets off to a late start. Should have taken off the afternoon, instead decided to try and take care of some business and ended up arriving at the park late. As he gears up, checking everything twice, gloom overtakes the dimly lit parking area. Soon the foot bridge, the symbolic starting line for his trek disappears across the lot. But, he was ready to go and had never been afraid of the dark. He lights his lantern and steps across the bridge into the 18th century, never looking back.

Nostrils flare, he takes a deep breath, a smile crosses his face. He never feels so free as he does alone, in the night, in the woods. His mind is gradually drained of civilized thoughts as he begins his Trek. The trail is relatively easy. He relishes every moment, taking his time, not wanting to risk taking a tumble. Not the first nor the last time, he stops dead in his tracks, quickly backtracking to wipe the sticky spider web from face and arms. He becomes cautious about passing between trees too close together and wary of the slightest glimmer across the path.

The path divides once again. Knowing the general layout, he allows the river bend forces the trail to go to the left. More than once, the trail leaves the river and shortcuts the ridge. He had been instructed to leave the trail at some point, but the directions were somewhat vague. It is a warm, humid evening. he pull his canteen strap towards the front for frequent access.

The path stretches on and on, first mile, second mile, uphill, downhill, muddy stream, rocks and roots. He feels good. "This is what I have been yearning for." he thinks. Away from the Rockcastle, it is as if the forest is holding its breath. No breezes dry his moist face. he removes his outer hunting shirt and hat. His bandanna becomes a sweat mop. The occasional bird or small animal rustles off the trail. he give up trying to see anything. Past the small circle of light, it is black and still. At most, a glimpse of stars through the canopy, no light for the trail.

He trudges on across primitive bridge and sometimes no bridge, just mossy-slick rocks. Moccasins do not always have the best of traction. His body aches. He inventories all the gear he probably should have left behind. his left heel throbs, his pace slows. One part of him wants to find the hunters camp.

After what seems like an eternity, at this point the river is close by on his right, the trail abruptly turns upridge. Is this just another shortcut or not? He had just used up his second to last candle a while back. He dares to think he must be close, but was prepared (and maybe secretly hoping) to spend the night on the trail. The unearthly howl of coyotes on the ridge far above him. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine. He had been heavily sweating - it must be getting chilly.

He has a nagging sense that he should break trail and follow the river. He pauses to listen. Eyes closed, he move his head from side to side. Only the sounds of the midnight forest. Having a sense of smell would be helpful. He had, apparently, had that disadvantage since birth. Otherwise, he might have been able to detect woodsmoke in the air. Expanding the rest of his senses further and further afield, he see and hear nothing that hints of human occupation.

Sipping from his canteen, he decides to follow the trail, see where it leads. Up, up, out of the clammy river mist. He pads beneath a large tree lodged across the trail and traverses the cliff-line rock shelter. It does not feel like rain, but he notes the shadowy shelter. A few minutes, he senses he is nearing the top - his last candle goes out. Approaching exhaustion, he slumps on a tree for balance. As his eyes adjust to the dark, he detect a clearing ahead and inch by inch approaches it. A primitive road crosses the trail. He enters the road and gazes each way. He carefully examines what turns out to be a dark curved stick on the white gravel and lays down in the road, only for a moment. How comfortable. His pack makes such a nice pillow. How relaxing this is, how bright and numerous the stars are tonight through the gap in the canopy.

He awakes, somewhat refreshed. Nibbling on venison jerky, he contemplates his situation. Should he take the road to the right, follow downstream to the river? Should he go back down the pitch-black trail? No, he was out of light. He had to find a place to bed down for the night. Not on or within sight of the road. He would have to retrace his steps. He notices a glow from the East, the moon would soon offer light. Not enough to guide him through the wooded mountainside . He lights the stub from a candle remnant and stumbles down the trail. Could he find the grove? He knew now he should have stayed with the river this last time. Maybe if he went down, he would not have far to go. He yearned to make it in camp tonight. Maybe there was no camp? Maybe plans had been changed and he was never notified?

Aware that he is very tired, he makes a conscience effort to be slow and deliberate. Carefully placing each step, he stops to rest and evaluate. He was pushing it, but was not in trouble. he was not wet or cold, had plenty of food and some water. Already halfway down, he realizes it is time to stop. He retraced his steps up the trail to a previously noted spot. He rolls out his bedroll as his last candle sputtered out. The moon is his nightlight as it tops the trees. What a pleasant night. He estimated the moon should have been rising at 2 or 3 AM. It did not seem that late, but he had no time piece to gauge by. He pulls off his gear, briefly considers starting a fire, slips into his dry shirt and pulls his wool blanket up to his neck.

He is suddenly awake... and realizes he can see trees he could not see last waking. It had been a fitful dozing. Sleep laced with dreams of coyotes sniffing his head in the dark. Or had it been a dream!

The gloom lifts. he is anxious to find out if he is to have companions for the weekend or not. If not, he will still enjoy myself, it was nice to be by himself last night. He packs up, the false dawn has arrived.

The morning is too beautiful for words. The river mist frames the steep Kentucky hillside. The warming sun sends shadows through the trees. He spies the flowing river, his first real sight of it. Many times he had heard it on the way in, but not seen the swells and riffles. He turns left and runs too soon into a thicket. Backtracking, he finds a meager trail paralleling the river. How far would he have to go to know he was truly alone? He stops to listen and look for motion in the distance. Was that a human voice off to the left? Would trekkers give themselves up so easily? Off the trail he comes to a huge downed tree surrounded by dead leaves and branches. At this point he is no longer the silent stalker that he was on the trail. He freezes, in the distance a slight walnut motion. "Had he seen or heard me?" He walks towards the figure. It was a longhunter, he had found his Clan.

After a 12 hour hike in, he was ready to lay his pack down. There was just one more obstacle to overcome. The steep hike up to the rock shelter? No, the snide remarks coming from the top of the hill. It continues unabated for the duration.