Snakes in Paradise
Then, the vibrations of two large creatures, at first far away, and now approaching closer and closer, soon shattered the stillness. The snakes almost imperceptibly retreated further under the safety of the strong gray boulders, patiently waiting for the movers and shakers to move on. Back and forth and all around the disturbing oscillations continued. Finally, a reprieve, as the perpetrators moved away. The snakes did not resume their posts. Better to wait until dusk to leave the defensible havens. The landscape was altered and their tense bodies indicated that now, everything mattered.
The afternoon still languished when the now familiar pulsations returned. This time they showed no signs of receding. The sun continued to lower in the sky. The time to move neared, larger creatures or not. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, the snakes began to stir. There were no second thoughts, if there were thoughts at all.
I looked over at him as we walked along Slickrock Creek checking out abandoned campsites near the waters' edge. Not one seemed appealing, and I knew he felt the same way. The river roared too loud here, the last campers messed it up over there, and a third spot just did not fit. I suggested we canoe back out onto the lake to see if we might discover a better place. Even though in the past he had always camped along the creek, he agreed.
Surprisingly, the water temperature of the smoky mountain stream felt warmer than the deep, cold, fast-flowing water of the lake. As we left the river and paddled out onto the lake, it felt as if an air conditioner was blowing cold air across the dark surface, in start contrast to the midday sun's hot rays on our backs.
Disappointment about the state of the campsites by the river did not last. The day, yet young, held the promise of adventure and beauty. By all appearances, we had the whole area and lake to ourselves. I felt wonderfully alive in this unknown edenic setting, with my, more experienced in the wilderness, man, with whom I had been enjoying blissfully intimate times. I thought I had found my soul mate.
As we rounded the bend and looked up at the impenetrable woods ending abruptly, unnaturally, at the dam-controlled height of the water, I made a mental request that we find a little paradise. Contrarily, the narrow lake rose up the sides of precipitous slopes with no sign of landing sites, much less a level place to camp. Yet, not too much time had passed when we heard, in concert, the sound of water flowing into the water. We paddled towards the sound. Yes! We saw a flat place to land the canoe. He noticed a path going up the hill and instantly left to explore. I followed close behind.
A short climb up the path led to a hidden, isolated campsite with a fire pit, large boulders strategically placed for tables and chairs, and a flat person-made platform of earth buttressed by a stone wall, just the right size for a two-person tent. Ahhh, paradise! I silently expressed my gratitude.
We gathered up our belongings and set up camp quickly, so we could go back out and swim and fish before dinnertime. Actually, he fished, I paddled. We canoed back towards Slickrock Creek. Although cold, the creek seemed slightly warmer than the lake, and bearable for a short dip. I wondered out loud how, as a child, I could swim for hours in cold Burntside Lake of northern Minnesota.
Feeling wonderfully alive after the dip, and enjoying the breezes, fragrances, peaceful natural sounds and beautiful vistas in every direction, we leisurely paddled back towards our little paradise in the woods. Our dinner tasted like manna from heaven. We dived into summer squash prepared with onions, garlic, and peppers, all from his garden, a spanish tortilla with green beans from the garden, and fresh ripe red tomatoes, yes, from the garden. Beer, kept cold in the lake, organic chocolate and luscious ruby red raspberries from the garden topped off our feast.
Hard to believe that less than a year before, I contemplated living the life of an ascetic, a mystic abstaining from the comforts and privileges of the middle class American life. Here, I reveled in a sensualist's heaven, immersed in the natural world, and all the pleasures of the flesh. I wanted paradise to last forever.
Dishes were quickly washed in the lake below. Plans were made for a canoe ride to see the stars after dark, as the only place with a decent view of the sky would be in the middle of the lake. A slight chill began to creep into our bodies as the sun's descent quickened, and a layer of long sleeves was added.
Final preparations for the night were speeded up as the light grew dimmer faster than expected. I was standing below and in front of the tent (in front of the stone wall), when paradise was lost in a matter of moments. At the lower end of the campsite on the path to the lake, he suddenly exclaimed that a large copperhead was in the path. What excitement... if only there had been just one. But then, he shouted there were two! Excitement turned to nervousness. Something made me turn my head just in time to see a third, a huge copperhead hurriedly winding its way in front of the tent at about my eye level, his head held high. Oh my God!
We were surrounded! And it was getting harder and harder to see. He carefully grabbed a rock and wounded one of the snakes in the path. He yelled to me to get his machete. In slow motion, I reached the machete and handed it to him. He went after the snake in front of the tent, but it had slithered into the brush alongside. He returned to the wounded snake, and, as if possessed by the primordial need to protect, slashed at the snake until it was lifeless.
In my shock I kept repeating to myself, "I can handle this. I'm not going to panic. I'm not going to act like a hysterical female." After examining and disposing of the dead copperhead with mixed feelings of relief and regret, we looked around, imagining eyes in every crevice and under every stone. We were back to back now, scanning every direction. He lit the kerosene lamp as darkness blanketed us. I would not leave his side. The immediate environment was carefully scrutinized in the light of the lamp before we took a step.
Neither of us wanted to leave, defeated in the night, nor did we want to try and collect our things in the dark. Besides, we figured the tent would provide some security. We jokingly named the site, Copperhead Caverns, and wondered if previous campers had encountered copperheads. An underlying current of tension permeated the atmosphere. Later, when we went down to the lake to canoe out to see the stars, the mists only added to my growing sense of foreboding.
Back in the tent, I found I was unable to relax. I finally dropped off into an uneasy sleep. In the middle of the night, I awoke with existential terror. I could not see anything. I did not know which way was up. I felt dizzy and thought I was falling. Uncontrollable thoughts raced through my mind. I felt afraid to touch the tent because the snakes outside might strike at any moving lumps. I felt claustrophobic inside, but too terrified to go out. I couldn't breathe. I despaired, "What if nothing I believe in is true? What if I am wrong about everything? What if life is meaningless?"
I did not want him to know I was hysterical, but I needed help. I woke him saying I needed to pee and couldn't find the flashlight and was nervous about the snakes. He held the flashlight while I tore out of the tent, bravely jumped down in front of the stone wall full of crevices, and peed and breathed. It took all the mental control I had developed in my life to get back up in the tent and go back to sleep.
We encountered ten snakes on that three night trip. Looking back, I realize the snakes in paradise represented part of one of those life lessons, that has taken me that camping trip, that fantasy relationship, over four years in another paradise, and other relationships, to get. Maybe I am a slow learner, but I finally understand, paradise is not a place, not an activity, and especially important for me to realize, not a relationship.