Optimism Isn’t Always Enough in the Wilderness

By Michael Pearlman, 7-19-09

When the runaway truck tire narrowly missed slamming into our car, perhaps we should have viewed it as an omen.

Lindsay and I had barely started driving up the steep dirt road that accesses the Bighorn Mountains above Sheridan when we got behind a pickup truck pulling a trailer jammed with a four-wheeler and assorted gear. The truck stopped near a corner, and out of nowhere the tire appeared, gaining speed as it rolled down the steep road. I watched, frozen, as the tire crossed in front of the car, missing us by a few feet. It was an ominous beginning to a day that wound up turning into a ludicrous wilderness adventure.

Once in a while, a simple night in the woods winds up being a humbling experience. This was one of those times. A one-night outing in mid-July in the high country of the Cloud Peak Wilderness wasn’t ambitious in theory. But June was wet and July is always peak insect season in Wyoming’s mountains. We knew this, and thought we were mentally prepared to deal with the mosquitoes. What we weren’t prepared for is what happened to the dog.

Rather than subject the car to another vehicle-destroying access road, we wound up parking a mile short of the trailhead. The mosquitoes greeted us immediately as we shouldered our backpacks, but after a couple shots of bug spray we were on our way, hoping for the best.

We trudged up the road and waved at the ATV riders that dotted the trail that borders the eastern shore of Bighorn Reservoir. The insects got worse when we turned off the motorized track and entered a swampy area in the woods, but as long as we kept moving the swarms were barely tolerable. The hot temperatures resulted in an unpleasant mixture of sweat, sunscreen and bug spray pouring off my face.

We ascended about 1,000 feet to about 10,000 feet, enjoying the views of the higher peaks of the northern Bighorns spread out in front of us. We found a campsite on an open ridge, where we hoped that a breeze would keep the mosquitoes from swarming us too badly.We quickly set up our new tent, stashed our food and dropped our backpacks to explore further. The dog seemed happy, we were handling the mosquito challenge, and in my mind we were proving our wilderness fortitude.

It wasn’t until we reached a windswept alpine ridge and scrambled over some boulders for a better view that our feeling about the situation began to turn. The mosquitoes, which had been landing on Neve’s face and nose throughout our hike, had bitten her so many times that her face was contorted and her snout was so swollen it was firm to the touch.

We rushed back to the campsite, where we shepherded her into the tent and quickly followed her in. Upon closer examination, the problem revealed itself to be worse than we thought. As Neve lay panting and swollen, her belly was covered with literally hundreds of bites, the result of what we later determined were tiny midges that must have invaded when she lay on the grass near our campsite. Her eyes were so swollen they were almost closed, and we were worried we’d wind up trying to guide a nearly-blind dog down the trail back to the car.

It was 6:30 p.m. and we had a decision to make. We could ride out the evening in our tent with the dog, or we could pack up and walk out that night. The dog looked terrible, Lindsay was panicked and I was dreading the thought of cooking dinner while being swarmed. We knew that bailing out was the best decision for Neve, and for our own sanity.

It was the fastest camp breakdown in history, and we hit the trail 10 minutes later for the walk out. The bugs were ever present and less than 15 minutes into our descent, the dog started puking, something she never does. My head was pounding from dehydration, I was sweltering in the wind shell I’d donned to keep the mosquitoes off my arms and my shoulders were throbbing from the weight of my pack.Our not-very-ambitious trip had gone from relatively pleasant to survival mode in the span of a few hours. When we reached the car a little before 9 p.m., we’d been moving for more than 8 hours and it felt like it.

We should have known better. I’ve heard the horror stories of early-summer backpacking trips gone awry because of insect infestations, and I’d always waited until early-fall for my annual overnight backcountry excursions. But despite our preparations, we were unprepared for the reaction of our dog, who wound up the innocent victim in our miscalculation. Besides, there’s no getting around the fact that if you have to hide in your tent and can’t sit outside to enjoy a sunset or the view, the backpacking experience is substantially diminished.

The day after our return, the three of us have scattered bites and fortunately the dog’s swelling has greatly diminished. They say you don’t know until you go, but we don’t plan to spend another night deep in the woods until a couple of good freezes have decimated the insect population. Live and learn.