Weird shit happens in the forests of upper Oregon. Especially in the sweet spot between Mount Hood and Adams. The forests are dense and when you’re in the thick of it, it’s easy to imagine strange things stalking those woodlands.
I spent my summer traveling the state, fishing and living out of my van, but now I was back on the road home. I wasn’t in a rush. College started in a week, so I could spare a couple of days and decided on an impromptu camping trip at this cozy little horse camp near Wahtum Lake, about an hour from my hometown. High enough in elevation, the light pollution of Portland didn’t reach you. And as dark a night sky as you could want. Perfect for stargazing and during the day I could get in some last-minute fishing at the lake. It’s a good lake for trout.
I woke up before dawn, fixed a quick breakfast and a thermos of coffee, then started my hike to Wahtum lake’s parking lot.
The place was a wreck. Trees stripped of bark, their branches strewn across the lot, the trailhead marker lay on its side, the post still connected to the concrete base.
I considered the debarked trees, thumbing the buttoned pouch that held my bear spray. Suddenly, I wasn’t too keen on the fishing trip. But this seemed less like a bear and more like the work of drunk teens. So I continued down the trail.
A small stream carved its home along the center of the path, causing the log steps to bloat and rot from months of soaking in water. I stepped carefully; a punky log could lead to a broken ankle.
Eventually, the stream overtook the trail, and I hiked along its edge until it flattened out into a massive puddle. From there, a series of switchbacks eased you down to the edge of the lake where a widowmaker had fallen, connecting the mainland to a small island.
I crawled halfway out onto the tree and cast my line into the water and listened to the splash of a trout jumping for low-flying bugs echo across the lake.
By the time the sky turned pink I’d caught my limit, plus two extra. No one else around, why not? I thought.
A whistle cut across the water followed by the whoosh of a rock missing my head and ricocheting off the wood.
From the other side of the lake, I could make out the vague shape of someone amongst the pines.
The second rock struck the water, showering me in cold spray. I scrambled towards the shore, slipping on the tree’s wet moss. The third caught my ankle, and I fell into the water. Another rock flew past, and the figure whistled again.
By the time I reached the shore; it was gone. My shoe felt tight and I could tell my foot was swelling. I decided it was time to leave. I needed to get back to camp.
My ankle made walking hard and darkness came quicker than I expected. At some point the stream forked, and after a while of hiking I lost the trail, instead following a second stream. One I didn’t notice on the way down.
I tried backtracking, but in the dark, it was impossible and my ankle hurt more with every step. A short distance from the stream was a small clearing, and I figured this was a good place for a makeshift camp. Besides, I needed to see the damage to my ankle.
At the center of the clearing were two large rocks sandwiched together, so the middle created a cubbyhole. Perfect.
I collected some firewood from the nearby logs, and soon I had a campfire. I removed my shoe and examined my foot, which nearly doubled in size from the swelling. This was bad. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I tried to rest despite the pain.
The night passed slowly, but I felt safe tucked in my crevice and sheltered from the dark by my campfire. It was the best I could hope for.
Then, a strange knock, knock sound echoed from deep within the woods. The sound came again, closer this time. A wooden, rhythmic knock, knock.
I pushed myself deeper into the crevice and stared into the forest. It’s nothing, I told myself; normal woody sounds, like the creaks and groans of a house settling — just normal sounds.
Suddenly, a howl erupted from the darkness. My stomach tightened. That was not a normal woody sound.
Before long, the knock-knocks were even closer. Bushes rustled, branches cracked, and something massive moved through the dark. I strained to see beyond the firelight.
Something grunted from deep within the woods. A wet burble sound. I fumbled for the pepper spray, thumbing at the button on the pouch, and found it empty. I must’ve lost it when I took my spill into the drink earlier in the day.
The bushes parted, and a large dark mass emerged, stepping from the brush into the light of my fire to sit down, resting on the balls of its large, flat feet. Its body was a hunched shaggy mass of dark matted hair and mud in the shape of a large ape. The mouth hung open. Its limp lips were thick and pockmarked like an old denim jacket. It stunk to high heaven. The smell hit me like a punch to the gut.
We stared at each other. It looked from me to the fire, then back. Its mouth flapping silently, like it was talking to itself, trying to work something out, mulling a thought around in its brain.
We continued our staring contest, and then its lips pulled back into a smile and I realized what had happened. I let the fire die.
It reached for me.
I grabbed a log from the pile and threw it on the fire in a shower of sparks. The ape yelped, then sat back.
I side-eyed the wood laying beside me. There wasn’t much left, maybe a couple of hours.
Then the creature looked at my pile of wood, grunting and bobbing its head. Our eyes met again, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.
The staring contest continued. The ape reached for me whenever the fire died, and I’d throw on more wood. He’d sit and wait and watch.
Before long, the fire dimmed again, and I reached for wood but felt dirt. I used it all. The ape noticed, and that big smile returned. The jig was up.
In an instant, it grabbed for me. I Panicked and snatched my backpack, flinging it on the fire. The fabric caught, and the flames blazed high. The ape howled, huffing and slapping its hands on the ground. Then settled back on its haunches.
Pretty soon, I had burned everything but my underwear. I was cold, tired and my eyes felt heavy. I fought to shake the sleep off, but couldn’t. After a while, I’d doze off again, then jerk awake seconds later. As the fire grew weaker, my eyes closed for longer and soon I fell asleep.
That morning, two kids from the trail repair team found me. They’d snuck off for a recreational smoke and stumbled across my body. I was barely conscious and suffering from hypothermia.
They brought the crew lead, who came with a thermos of coffee, and the kids let me have their bag lunches, which was nice of them.
During our drive to the hospital, I told him my story, but he chalked it up to paranoia and hallucinations and suggested I don’t tell the doctor.
Weird shit happens in the forests of upper Oregon; strange things live deep within the woods. I still fish in Wahtum Lake, but when I hear the knock-knock sounds, I know it’s time to pack up and leave.