Art Bernstein - Weird Hikes: A Collection of Bizarre, Funny, and Absolutely True Hiking Stories

This book, like me, is dedicated to Lynn Bernstein, my wife, whom I love with a never before experienced fervor and who has read and enjoyed every word Ive ever written. Thats one of the things wives do, after all.

Copyright 2003, 2011 by Art Bernstein

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to Globe Pequot Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, P.O. Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.

FalconGuides is an imprint of Globe Pequot Press.

Falcon, FalconGuides, and Outfit Your Mind are registered trademarks of Morris Book Publishing, LLC.

Project editor: David Legere

Text design: Sheryl Kober

Layout artist: Kevin Mak

All interior photos by Art Bernstein except where otherwise noted.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

ISBN 978-0-7627-6386-3

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

The author and Globe Pequot Press assume no liability for accidents happening to, or injuries sustained by, readers who engage in the activities described in this book.

The following people helped make this book possible: Lynn Bernstein, Jessica Haberman (editor at Globe Pequot Press), David Pitt, Marcia Ruff (Roeper School), Crater Lake Search and Rescue, Anna Bernstein, Sara Bernstein, Brandon Bremer, David Robbins, Mrs. Shotka, Jon Emanual, Monty Elliott, Sharon Kleyne, Calvin Kennedy, Brian Boothby, Stacey Elam, Chuck Smith (Klamath National Forest/retired), Linda Drescher, Laurie Lerner, Mikki Dolgin, Old Augie Atteberry, George Roeper, Terri Dworkin, Nick and Monique, Leelyn Pritchett, Natalie and Larry Katkowski, Thelma and Henry Bernstein, Zaydie and Dora, Barbara Gornowich, Jerry Bernstein, Paul Bernstein, Steve Bernstein, Ross Tocher, Bev Driver, Tonya Ozone, Georgia OKeeffe, Ansel Adams, and Santa Claus.

Im excited about the second edition of Weird Hikes, especially the five new stories included in this fully revised edition. The new stories, like the original stories, all involve weird incidents that happened to me while hiking. However, in the new stories, the weird incidents also represent major turning points in my life. They range from my first hike at age seven, when I wandered away from school in the snow and had a remarkable experience in which I first learned to value my personal eccentricities, to a dramatic broken leg and wilderness rescue when I was sixty-two, when a strange event removed my lifelong fear of death. As for the original fourteen stories, the editors and I revisited all of them, making this a better, weirder, and more exciting book.

Readers will note that there are no demon-possessed dogs or cars in any of my stories (although there are some rather frightening nocturnal deer and at least one seemingly demon-possessed trail). Thats because every one of the stories is essentially true. Therefore, even though each story involves a weird or bizarre event, they truly could happen to anybody.

I have no special psychic talents or paranormal abilities whatsoever. Weird things do not usually happen to me... except once in a very great while and, for some reason, almost always while hiking. As a writer, I am well aware that certain basic elements are critical to any good story. This includes things like establishing a connection between the climactic weird event and a need or desire of the main character (who is almost always me). Without good story elements, even the most bizarre event just doesnt make very good reading. In a few cases, turning an isolated event into a cohesive, readable story took a little ingenuity. But aside from that, the stories are all based on true events. If you have doubts, I encourage you to experience the weirdness for yourselfall the stories include information on how to get to each hike, for those that are still accessible.

PART 1

I went on my very first hike in 1950, when I was just seven years old. And I did it alone. My parents certainly did not take me on any hikes because they were sedentary big-city types who never, to my recollection, took me, my sister, or my brother on so much as a walk in the park. Later on, when our family visited places like the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, I still rarely saw them engage in anything that approached hiking.

In the 1950 hike, therefore, I was completely on my own, sneaking off into the wild with no adult supervision or permission. It was a perfect setup for disaster. But in the end it proved to be a grand adventure, and it forever changed me in many ways.

You have to understand that in 1950, I was considered a problem child. The concepts of ADHD and Aspergers syndrome were completely unknown in those days. Also, Talented and Gifted programs in public schools were years in the future. So children who fell into one of those categories were simply out of luck. I had the misfortune to fall into all three categories (although the Aspergers was very slight).

It is not surprising that when I was seven, I felt a yearning to get away from adult supervision, especially teachers. Nor is it surprising that I acted on it.

PART 2

As a small child, the one person in the world able to look beyond my various behavioral quirks was my mother. She mostly enjoyed my curiosity and imagination, although when the ADHD kicked in, which was frequently, I could be a bit of a handful. Nevertheless, even at my most mischievous, my mother was always patient with me and always took me seriously.

A good example was the time in 1948, when I was five, that she took me shopping at Federals department store. I remember it because it was also my first encounter with a department store Santa Claus, and I did not react like most other children. In the days before K-Mart and Walmart, Federals was way less expensive than, say, J. L. Hudson, Detroits big department store.

In a place like Federals, I had a tendency to wander off and investigate whatever attracted my curiosity, which was just about everything. I still do. My mother, despite staggering under an armload of bags and boxes, calmly, patiently, and repeatedly dragged me back to reality, usually by the collar. At one point, I disappeared under a clothing rack, and without breaking stride, she grabbed my foot and yanked me back out.

No fair, I complained. I was exploring the Lost Cave of the Aztecs. I coulda found some hidden treasure.

You can look for hidden treasure when we get home.

You never let me do anything, I pouted.

Life is hard, said my mother, giving me a kiss on the head, which I ignored.

And then, rounding a corner, there it was! Id never seen anything so enchanting. Right smack in the middle of Federals, there was a genuine fairyland with a golden, jewel-covered throne attended by magical-looking elves and surrounded by sparkling, multicolored Christmas trees, papier-mch statues of reindeer, and giant, gaily wrapped presents. Sitting on the throne was none other than Santa Claus himself.