Lost in the deep dark woods
Saved by the dog…
Do any of you remember that scene from the original Snow White where she is running away, lost in the forest in the storm? The malevolent trees tear at her. The wind howls, buffeting her. She trips and falls. That’s a bit like how I felt last night trying to get home from my 5 mile trail run.
Every year about this time I get trapped in the dark in the woods. I look out the same window and say the same thing every year. “We’d better get going if we want to get back before dark!”
It’s not like I haven’t run in the woods before. It’s not like I haven’t run in the dark before. I have done hundreds of miles of both in my life. Last night was a bit of the perfect storm.
I’m usually smart enough to pick up a headlamp just in case when things are gloaming, but there is something about this time of year as we exponentially slide off the long tail of the equinox that makes me think “It’s far too early in the day to get dark.” In my big brain I reason that even if it starts to get dark there will be enough residual sunglow to make it back.
It’s only 5 and ½ miles for heaven’s sake! What could go wrong? I’ve been running this same trail for 15+ years, clearly the risk is low, right?
Last night as I headed out into the trails, with the dog, without a headlamp it was only around 5:30ish maybe a little later. It was dark. It was a dark day. The clouds hung thick and low over the trees. A consistent drizzle of rain like the mourning of summer.
I had gotten stuck in traffic and was in dire need of getting out of the house and out onto the trail. I quickly got changed into my shorts and trail shoes. I had to hunt around for a long sleeve shirt.
Maybe it was closer to 5:45 when I finally got out the door. I had to go to the bathroom too…maybe it was closer to 6:00… No matter, I was in a hurry and had to get out of the door to make it back before dark.
My home loops is a 5.5 mile loop out into the forest behind my house. It’s a lollipop loop that includes ancient farm roads and technical single path with roots and rocks and bridges and ridges. Great running for me, and Buddy my border collie guide, most of the time.
The low clouds made it hard to see the trail in the dusk. The drizzle and wind had brought down the first crop of fallen leaves. The roots and rocks and bridges and ridges were slick and camouflaged by the newly discarded leaves. It was slow going. I had to focus on the trail and high step to keep from tripping.
The woods were filled with noises. Birds squawking, branches falling and all of it distant and obscured by the dismal rain. I warned Buddy to ignore the noises and we pressed on. Down at the pond, half-way into the run we paused at look out into water and scare a muskrat or some other sort of water critter.
We made it about 3 miles before the darkness started to be an issue. I was already on the way back so there were no short cuts. The rain and clouds made it really dark. Horror movie dark. I called in Buddy and did my best to keep his white tail in my viewfinder as I high stepped the rocks and roots. The leaves occluded the obstacles and screwed up my depth perception.
The slower I ran the darker it got. With about ¾ of a mile to go I was reduced to walking because I could no longer see the trail and where my feet were landing. If it wasn’t for Buddy’s night vision and sense of direction I would have left the trail for good on some wrong turn.
Finally I couldn’t even see my feet. I was in full Snow White mode. Stumbling one step at a time on and off the trail.
With only a ½ mile to go I had to play my last card. I called to Buddy and leashed him up. I told him that I was blind and he should take me home. We set off at a slow trot. He knew exactly what I wanted and led me down the center of the single path and onto the farm roads with a calm and purposeful trot.
I just held the leash and jogged. Listening to and feeling my friend, the dog, lead the way. It was a beautiful symbiosis. It was me blind in the rainy night being led those final few hundred feet home through the woods by my service dog.
If you can’t remember a headlamp, bring the dog.