A Rare August Backpack to the Valley of the Elk

And then suddenly the rains stopped and the heavens began to clear, with great dramatic clouds moving across bright blue skies. The temperatures were expected to drop, promising a couple of unusually chilly nights for this time of year. I marked two vacation days off from work and we headed out for a rare August backpack into the Valley of the Elk in the Quehanna Wild Area.

By mid-morning on Thursday, we have our gear packed and stowed in our car, and we are on our way to Quehanna. We see many butterflies on our hike in: red-spotted purples, a bunch of great spangled fritillaries, a black swallowtail, a mourning cloak, maybe even a monarch. It is the most butterflies I have seen anywhere this summer, and their presence seems like a special gift.

On our walk in, we see evidence of animals: tracks of elk, spoor of bear. We carefully check the area where my husband saw a rattlesnake last summer, but there is no sign of it. When we arrive at our campsite, I immediately set up my tent, as the forecast is calling for a slight chance of a shower in the afternoon. This time, I bring my new tent along. AND remember my tent poles.

And soon we are scurrying out to our favorite rock to enjoy the view down into the Valley of the Elk. And there we find the skeleton of a tiny snake, curled into the shape of the numeral 2. We look out and enjoy the scenery. We’ve had so much rain this summer that everything around us is green, green, green.

On the far hill we spot the first glimpse of red. A few red leaves signal the foliage changes that will follow in the coming month or two. The undergrowth is tall and thick. I can tell we don’t get out backpacking much this late in the summer; I’m not used to seeing it as overgrown as this. Oh, and poison ivy: this must be the poison ivy capital of the world, as its green, shiny leaves are everywhere.

It’s warm and sunny on the rock, and eventually we make our way back to our campsite in the shady pines. A dark cloud passes over us, and I put the fly on my tent, just in case; but it never rains, not even a drop. I’ve put the new tent up maybe three times now. I think this must be the first time I have put the fly on, though, and the fastex buckles and zippers are brand new, stiff.

And then I just sit and admire my tent for a while: oh the thrill of new camping gear! This tent (an Alps Mountaineering Zenith 3) is only the second tent I’ve owned in 25 years of backpacking, and I love it already. They’ve made amazing developments in camping gear technology since our early days. The tents and packs used to be all square and clunky. Now they are slimmer, sleeker, more high-tech.

We hear the sound of birds overhead, and I realize that it is the kyriae of hawks. A pair of them are circling over the trees above our heads. It is a wild sound. They are playing, I think, just catching the currents and circling, circling, circling in the big blue sky.

Late in the afternoon, we finally make our way down to the creek. This is one of the many tributaries of Mosquito Creek, and my husband has seen elk cross it in the morning mist; was actually pretty much prevented from sleeping on a September backpack trip because of their bugling. I myself have not seen them here yet, but I am always hopeful. Once I did find an elk horn by this stream, as evidence they were here. These incidents were the origin of the name we gave this valley: the Valley of the Elk.

I walk down past a tree whose shape I love, and I turn and look back on this valley. I take a bunch of pictures of the blue sky and pretty white clouds reflected on the waters. In the late-day sun, the whole valley almost seems golden. The moon will be with us tonight, but not until much later. I think about what it would be like to sit by the creek and watch the moonrise on these waters.

And then we walk back up into the woods, but we go a slightly different way, and I see some more interestingly shaped trees. Two of them are twined together, and I think they are like the shapes of two women, their hair wavy and green, their bodies twisted in the dance, their hands reaching upward to the heavens: a pair of dancing goddesses in these wild woods. And me, ready to spend a wild night among them.

The soundtrack: John Mellencamp, Wild Night.