It’s a morning of errands: load the tank full of petrol; shop for groceries; sit down, check the date and create a rough plan for the week ahead; find free internet and write to mum and friends that I am still alive.
Most days I don’t know what day of the week it is, but I’m about to enter a popular area of Utah, and without site reservations, I do not want to be left driving and looking for a spot to sleep, especially if it is the weekend. And the weekend, I find, starts tomorrow.
It’s still morning by the time I’m done my errands. I’ve found a spot on the map with a tent on it and gauge it is far enough away from Moab that I’ll find an empty site even if I drive up there in the late afternoon.
So, with the day still stretching out before me, I drive south to Needles Outlook in Canyonlands National Park. The gravel road forks into two long drives: both are worth it for the views, even when the haze hangs over the scenery, the smoke from the blazes in California. I stand at the top of the mesas, looking down at the expanse of the exposed, jagged earth and vow that I will better treat it for it is majestic, sustains life, provides adventure, and bewilders. I also make a note to come back here in the future with an ATV so that I can explore the crevices of the earth.
In the afternoon my Civic climbs the La Sal mountains. I leave the red earth behind and enter the lush green mountains. I pitch my tent in a grove of aspen at Warner Campground. Even before the sun goes down, I don a sweater – the temperature up here is a whole 10C less than down in Moab. The chill is welcome. I sip hot tea and listen to the roar of thunder somewhere on the other side of the mountains. The rain never makes its way over here.
Suddenly, I hear branches snap and I see something black heading for my campsite.
My heart starts to beat. Normally bears do not tear aggressively through a forest, so my first thought is that this is an already angry bear. There is, after all, a sign at the campsite kiosk alerting all campers that a bear was spotted at the site yesterday.
Quickly, I rush to shove my dinner into the boot of my car, when the creature emerges.
It is only a big, black cow. She sees me, stops at the edge of my campsite, we stare at each other, both shocked. Then, she turns and begins tearing through the forest in another direction, and away from my site.
It takes some time before my body calms down. My ears listen to all the sounds and though I know the snapping of twigs comes from a cow trying to finds its way back where it came from, I can’t stop thinking about bears.
Note: Even after my third night at the site, the note is still up, and it still says “yesterday” on it. A permanent warning, perhaps.