Gemini Chaos

The butterfly in the photo above was pretty much the best part of what turned out to be a failed backpacking trip yesterday.

It’s been about 24 hours since I left the Hoosier National Forest and I’m still processing/working through my feelings of defeat so I can draw some positives and lessons out of this first attempt! For background, I’m relatively new to outdoors activities; I started hiking a couple of years ago. I hope this story is helpful, rather than discouraging, for other beginning backpackers.

The plan

I live in New York, and my first backpacking trip was going to be an easier hike last week closer to home, but I got COVID and didn’t make it. After recovering, I had a work trip to Indianapolis this week and found a backpacking trail in the Hoosier National Forest that didn’t seem too difficult in terms of elevation.

The Two Lakes Loop Trail is a 14-mile loop, but my plan was to hike in only a few miles, saving myself much of the day to test my equipment outside for the first time (I live in an apartment so don’t have a backyard). I’d have one day and night to build real life experience using my water filtration systems, camp stove, tent, and sleep system, then hike back out the way I came, or take some other manageable route back to the trailhead.

Preparation

Information I could find about the Two Lakes trail showed dispersed campsites were plentiful, with many creeks flowing into the two lakes the trail is named for. The videos and posts I saw of others who’ve hiked this trail showed lots of streams and water sources. So I carried in 2L of water, a gravity filter, a Sawyer Squeeze for backup, and purification tablets for backup to the backup, figuring that would more than cover me.

One thing was concerning, however: there were few, if any, recent trail reports. The most recent was a month ago saying the trail was overgrown and there were a lot of ticks. That would’ve made sense, because a month ago was peak tick season. I’m terrified of bugs, however—more so than most people—so for the last few weeks I obsessively researched every possible method of avoiding bugs and what to do if a tick latched onto me, etc.

I got a kit with tweezers to remove them, treated my clothing with permethrin, covered myself in bug spray, and brought extra. I also wore knee-high compression socks (more for the ticks than for the compression, though I do love compression socks for long walks/hikes), long pants, and a hat and bug net. I put my hair up and kept it inside the net to minimize the possibility of bugs crawling into my hair. I also brought a pair of lightweight gloves, because I know I’d freak out if I had to touch a bug with my bare hands. Not to mention, I’d be less afraid to pick up rocks and sticks and anything else that might have a bug under it.

For navigation I brought a paper map (National Geographic), and downloaded 3 offline maps of the area with the course mapped out (Onx Backcountry, AllTrails, and Google Maps). I loaded the planned course into my Garmin apps as well, so I had it in my watch and my InReach Mini 2. I also brought a power bank in case my phone died.

There are no bears in Hoosier National Forest so I didn’t need to pack a bear can, but I didn’t want rodents chewing through my stuff so I brought it anyway. The nights have been chilly so I brought a backup thermal layer. Other than that, I brought the obvious things: waterproof rain jacket, temperature appropriate sleeping bag, sleeping pad, etc. I like trekking poles and brought them as well, and they served a dual purpose because my tent required them.

The hike in

When I arrived at Hoosier National Forest I asked the ranger how the trail was; he said it’s a well-traveled trail and that he couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t get any ticks but that it had been weeks since he had any on him. He did look a little surprised I was going out alone, but I asked him if there was any reason not to, and he said no. So I figured he didn’t see a ton of women solo hiking there, or this being a remote area of Indiana and not a popular park, maybe he hadn’t seen a ton of Asian people come through.

I started off in good spirits, which helped me power through what was ultimately a pretty terrible hike—I’ve hiked a bunch by this point, all over the U.S. and in Canada, and I’ve never seen a trail in such poor condition. The hike itself was moderate, but the trail was barely visible. At first, I encountered some overgrown paths and downed trees, but went through them fine. I figured people were exaggerating about the overgrowth.

But it got worse from there. The trail was so overgrown that there were points where I wondered if I was on it. At a few of those points, there were trail markers so I knew I wasn’t going crazy; but the markers were actually sparse. My GPS maps really saved the day and comforted me while I was pushing my way through this brush, and getting burs stuck all over my clothing. Some got into my shoe, and they hurt, but I was mostly relieved they weren’t bugs stinging me.

Every 10 steps or so, without exaggeration, there was a spider web across the trail. This was really stressful for me with my bug fear; I powered through, but felt like I was having a mini heart attack every single time I didn’t spot one until almost walking into it. A couple of times, the web got stuck on me and I’m ashamed to say there was a lot of screaming and flailing involved. In this respect, it might be better there weren’t other people around (I’m not gonna lie, one of the reasons I wanted to backpack solo was so I didn’t have to worry about embarrassing myself in front of other people. lol)

At one point while screaming and flailing my arms in reaction to a spider my watch thought I was in an emergency and asked me if I wanted to alert my emergency contacts—thankfully I had no signal in that moment, because I’m sure my mom (who was following me on my Garmin tracker) would’ve been worried sick.

I passed a few dried up small streams, but it took a few miles to reach the first of two major creeks I was meant to pass (this is where I saw the pretty butterfly). They were mostly dried up as well, with some pools of still water remaining. One looked passable for filtration, but by the time I got to it I knew I was a little more than a mile from the lake so I figured I’d just keep going until I found the lake.

I was still in good spirits, despite the burs, the spiders and the lack of water. This was because I’d read somewhere in my research that the area around Indian Lake, where I was heading, was supposed to be lovely. So I was clinging to the idea that I was just hacking my way through this terrible trail to ultimately arrive at a beautiful lake where I’d spend the rest of my day playing with my gear and relaxing.

My Arc’teryx Bora pack was holding up nicely, I didn’t feel fatigued at all. There was some massive insect buzzing by my head every minute and the occasional whine of a mosquito but I felt invincible under my net, and my bug spray and treated clothing seemed to be holding up. I stopped every half a mile or so to inspect myself for ticks and didn’t see any, though the paranoia in the back of my mind was present the entire time and weighing heavily on me. It was made worse by the fact that I had no idea what I’d do if I found one, because there was no place to put my pack down to remove it—I was surrounded by brush that could very well have even more ticks.

I did start wondering if, on the way out, there was any way I could continue hiking and find some other exit from the forest to catch a ride back to my car, because the trail on the way out was so terrible. But it was a problem for the following day that I figured I’d solve by examining the map after I set up camp.

Setting up camp

I was beginning to feel the tedium of endless spider web battles and walking through overgrowth when I finally spotted the lake through the trees. To the left, a sign warned there was a path infested with ticks, which was scary, but also made me think, great! In that case maybe the path I came from WASN’T infested.

I continued in the opposite direction of the tick infested path, and came upon a cool looking campsite. This was a revelation for me. One of the biggest questions I had preparing for backpacking was how on earth I was supposed to know where to camp. I knew the attributes of a “good” camp site: flat ground, no widow makers in sight, not too close or far from a water source. But I didn’t know how I’d even know where to look to spot them. I certainly hadn’t seen any flat open spaces in the 4 miles on the way in.

Someone in the women’s backpacking mentorship Facebook group told me that once I got on trail, it would actually be pretty obvious where people have camped before, and as a general rule of thumb one should avoid creating new campsites to help preserve the nature. She was totally right, because when I saw this spot (especially after the hike I had) it practically had a neon sign that said “CAMP HERE” over it. Someone had even built a little fire pit with logs around for sitting, and left a grill on it.

I did a little inspection and found there was one tree I should not be under because it had some dead branches suspended in the air; so I cleared a space off to the side for my tent. Pitching the tent wasn’t hard, but it was hard to get it exactly right. In the end I did my best, and it was passable and felt stable but it looked off. The entire time, I was thinking about the beginning of the Animal Crossing game, when your character starts with just a tent. These things amuse me. lol

I decided it was good enough and I was too tired to make it perfect. The process had me sweating with the bug net over my head, so I took off my shoes and got inside to do the rest of the setup. With the tent zipped up I could take my bug net off and breath better. Blowing up the sleeping pad was easy with the Flextail pump I brought (backpacking YouTubers refer to this as a “luxury” but I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t carry these little things out, they also double as lights. What’s not to like?). And once my sleeping bag was out, I was feeling pretty proud of myself.

I was down to 1L of water by this point, and intended to save as much of it as possible for the hike out the following day. So next up was filtering water to cook some lunch and to use for the rest of the day. I knew from research that still/lake water is not ideal, but with the creeks dried up, this was the only option I had and I’ve heard of backpackers doing much worse than lake water. So I stomped through some more overgrowth to get closer to the lake, and this is where I realized my trip might not turn out so well.

Critical decisions

I began to feel genuinely scared, knowing that indecision might be the thing that made an unfortunate situation really really bad.

There was a thick barricade of more trees and shrubbery between me and the lake as far as I could see, with no obvious points where people had gone through to get water. I walked a little down the path and the trail all but disappeared in even worse overgrowth than I’d already encountered. What little of the lake I could see between the trees looked troubling—it was blooming with surface scum and dead still.

I went back to camp to assemble my camp chair (this I agree is a luxury, and I’m so glad I brought it) and sat down to psych myself up to filter and purify this disgusting water, and also to think of a solution for how I’d even get to it in the first place. I thought about whether it would be possible to ration my water and make it all the way until the following morning, and it was so hot and humid that it seemed like that would be a recipe for having to hit the SOS button on my InReach, a GPS device by Garmin that offers satellite texting and calls for help in an emergency.

So my conclusion was, if I was going to make it through the night, I needed to find water, whether it was disgusting or not. The only ways to find it would be to go further down the trail to what looked like another stream on the map—even if it was dried up it might be a way to walk closer to the lake—or to figure out how to get through to the lake without a pathway in.

My first move was to try to hike to the stream. In doing so, I confirmed that my way out was definitely not to continue the loop, but to turn back, because it was really bad. I wondered when the last time any human had been through the area, because it couldn’t have been recent. About two thirds of the way to where the stream should have been, I could tell there was nothing there to help me. So I turned around and went back to camp to think some more.

At this point, I was down to one option and I knew that if it didn’t work out, I’d need to abort mission. I was tired and the thought of hiking back through that awful trail was deflating. I put on my rain jacket and gloves, kept my bug net on, grabbed my water kit and muscled my way to the water.

To my dismay, I would have had to wade into the disgusting muddy water, thick with some kind of bloom, that clearly had insects breeding throughout, just to try and capture a little sludge for a hope of filtration. The lake literally stank. I was feeling defeated and stressed enough that by this point, I took no more photos. Looking back I wish I had, so I could remember how gross the lake was.

It was mid-afternoon by this point, and though the hike back out wasn’t long in distance, I knew it was going to be tedious and I was totally out of energy and feeling miserable. I did have enough time even if I hiked slowly to make it out by dark, but I’d have to start leaving right away.

I questioned myself, and wondered what a more seasoned backpacker would do to stay, but couldn’t think of any other option except perhaps putting on my sandals and wading into the infested lake. I considered staying and rationing my water again, but I began to feel genuinely scared, knowing that indecision might be the thing that made an unfortunate situation really really bad. I was lucky to have cell service so I texted with some loved ones and got the encouragement I needed to call it.

Taking action and keeping composure

…to keep myself moving I just let my frustration out. I shouted “Motherf*cker!” and “I f*cking hate this!” and “This trail sucks!” countless times into the abyss hoping my rage would power me through.

I hastily packed everything up, starting to get nervous about the hike out. I kept reminding myself of the bright side—I’d already cleared most of the spider webs on the way in, so I wouldn’t have to deal with as many of them on the way out. I made it all the way out here, so even if it’s harder on the way out, I at least know what to expect. And yes, it was a bummer that I didn’t get to enjoy the outdoors or sleep outside like I’d planned, but I’d get to shower, sleep in a bed with air conditioning, and properly inspect myself to make sure I didn’t in fact get a tick on me. Life could be worse.

I gave myself this pep talk over and over as I packed everything up sloppily and headed back on the trail. The bag, which didn’t feel heavy at all coming in, felt like… a heavy ass bag. One good thing was, I knew I had enough water to hike a few hours, so I drank it freely. I hadn’t eaten so I snacked on some peanut butter ball things for energy.

I don’t think I ever felt so demotivated to put one foot in front of the other. I had to “left, left, left, right, left” to get myself to march at any kind of pace that was going to get me back to the trailhead. The hills felt so much worse with the bag feeling heavier on me. I wondered if the closest human to me was the park ranger who was 4 miles away, and thought about how weird it was that it might have been the first time in my lifetime that I was that alone. I also thought about how weird it was that I was struggling so hard to make it out of a forest when a highway was only 5 miles away.

I couldn’t bring myself to sing or anything to pass the time so to keep myself moving I just let my frustration out. I shouted “Motherfucker!” and “I fucking hate this!” and “This trail sucks!” countless times into the abyss hoping my rage would power me through. Between those shouts I muttered to myself that I was going to make it, that I HAD to make it, if I didn’t want to sleep in a bed of spiders.

I told myself plenty of people hike way longer distances and way harder trails all the time, and that even though I wasn’t in as good a shape as they were, I was in plenty good shape to do what I needed to do. I reminded myself that I’d walked longer distances than this many times in the city, and though this was harder because there were hills and I had 30 lbs on my back, it’s not like I had any reason to believe I wasn’t capable.

A relieving discovery

As my feet started to throb with pain, I checked the map for the 100th time and realized something: If I took a small detour off the trail, there was a road that cut through the middle of the forest between the lakes, that led up to the trail head. It looked on the map to be about a quarter mile shorter than the trail, but more importantly, it was A ROAD and not a miserable, overgrowth path.

The turnoff to the road became my new goal, and that was less than a mile from where I was. Less than a mile! Nothing! I routinely walk a mile around my neighborhood! This is what I kept telling myself, though it was a mile pretty much straight uphill. To keep myself going I stoped aiming for the top of the hill and instead focused on very short segments, hiking my way to the next tree root, or to the next rock. I stopped a few times, and had to make my way around some of the downed trees again, but when I finally saw the sign for the turn off I was elated.

Seeing the road was a huge relief; though I still had a ways to go up the road, I wasn’t under constant threat of bugs and no longer had a reason to fear the dark, though I also knew by then that I’d make it before sundown. I trudged up the road, which was empty of cars or any signs of life, imagining what the equivalent distance was back home, to make every quarter mile segment feel shorter.

Making it out

I was limping and my feet were pounding with pain by the time I got to the car. I plopped my pack in the back, texted all my loved ones to let them know I made it, and pulled out. The ranger was still there as I left, and I told him I gave up because there was no water.

He asked me where I went, and I told him I’d gotten as far as the west side of Indian Lake and all the creeks had dried up. His eyes widened and he said he hadn’t heard from any hikers recently about the condition of the trail and had no idea the water had all dried up. He said it does happen in the late summer but if he’d known he wouldn’t have sent me out that way. I couldn’t help but wonder if he said that because there was no sense in making me feel worse by telling me a better person would have figured it out. But I’ll never know the answer.

Conclusion

I do wish that I’d been in a more opportune place for my first attempt backpacking. I was really looking forward to seeing the night through. I was also hoping to catch some views for my trouble, but I think the worst part of this whole story is that I went through all that struggle and all I got to see was a stinky lake. And I had one happy moment with a pretty butterfly.

While I’m still processing it all, recovering from the soreness, and figuring out how I’ll psych myself up to try again, I can definitively say it wasn’t a total loss. Here’s why:

• I set out to try my hand at testing my equipment, and while I only tested a third of it, it was the most critical third (tent, sleeping stuff) that I cannot do at home in the city. While my pitch wasn’t perfect, I know I’ll be able to do it again and I can try to make it better each time.
• My over-preparation on the bug front actually paid off. I got one mosquito bite on my exposed arm and a few bites on my butt from when I had to pee. Other than that, the combination of the treated clothing, the net, and the bug spray actually seemed to work pretty well. More importantly, my fear of bugs was the biggest factor in my reluctance to camp, and though dealing with spiders was unpleasant, the bugs weren’t the thing that chased me out of the forest. I consider that a win!
• I didn’t know prior to this trip how far I could hike with so much weight on my back, and wasn’t planning to push myself so hard in one day. But since I had to, 8-ish miles and 1,000+ feet of elevation gain isn’t bad for a first shot, and makes me think I can definitely do the 10-12 miles a day I’m aiming to do in Iceland next year.
• I always knew that water sources aren’t guaranteed, but now I have first hand experience having to preemptively strategize my way out of a situation that could have gotten bad. Next time, I might have to sacrifice the weight and just carry enough water in. Or, I may avoid places that are tricky for water or that have unknown water situations.
• In the future I think I’ll ask the park ranger more questions before I head onto the trail. I don’t think I would’ve cancelled the trip if this one told me he didn’t know about the water, because I had no frame of reference. But now that I’ve been through this, it might deter me from going or at least give me the heads up that I need to plan for time and ways to get out just in case.
• I think I learned first hand that summer camping unless in a cooler climate is just not for me? The heat, the psychological terror of bugs, and the water situation are just too much.
• I feel very good about a few gear decisions: the bug net, the gloves, my trekking poles, the wool compression socks, and my relatively rugged Fjallraven pants—although the bug bites on my butt make me wish Fjallraven had a zipper like on Gnara pants, that let you pee without taking your pants off. I hadn’t mentioned earlier, but while I was packing up my tent something stung me. For a terrified ten seconds I waited to see if I reacted badly to it, but I didn’t. So after that I put my gloves back on and it was all good. I later used the gloves to pry all the burs off my pants, socks, and shoes. These things kept me feeling well protected under the conditions, and if I didn’t have them this terrible day of hiking would have been infinitely worse.
• Edit to add: I am also really truly glad I brought a camp chair. Some important thinking was done in the comfort of that chair. 10/10 recommend