Bavington Game Lands

I'm always taken aback whenever I come across other people in the forest.  Hillman State Park is much-loved by mountain bikers.  They know it simply as "Bavington," and most of the unmapped trails there are a zigzagging labyrinth of  their creation.  In fact, if you hike Bavington, there's a real risk of getting seriously lost because the trails are circuitous, unblazed, and they don't meet the standards of hiker logic.  They seek out the heights in order to plunge into the depths.  They follow the most up-and-down terrain.  But if you're careful not to lose your way, the bike trails make for a nice hike.  I've rarely encountered anybody out on those trails until yesterday.  

Yesterday was the most beautiful fall day, the gold-tinted sunlight filtering through the red and yellow cathedral windows of the forest.  Since I rarely see other vehicles parked in the area I frequent, I supposed that not many people knew about the Hillman.  Unlike other state parks, it doesn't have a website or a park office. It's rustic and undeveloped.  That's one thing to love about it.  So when I had hiked a good distance in, it was a shock to hear someone nearby yelling, "Hyuh! What's a matter 'ith you?" It was a creepy voice that went unanswered.  Otherwise, the woods was silent.  No bike tires coursing over fallen leaves.  No footfalls.  It was spooky, and the plaintive commands grew closer.  "C'mon, boy, this way!"  

My first instinct at times like those is always to conceal myself.  I imagined right wing survivalists marching some hapless captive through the furthest reaches of the park, bound for some dismal trailer on the edge of an old strip mine, where the victim would be tortured and kept tied to a toilet. But before I knew it, they were upon me, two equestrians on unruly horses.

And the woods were full of other Sunday revelers, too.  Cyclists mostly.  Trails that I imagined to be obscure and little trod turned out to be known to more than a dozen people.  It's a little disappointing to discover that Bavington is public knowledge.  But it didn't ruin the golden splendor of a crisp autumn day in the forest.  The maples--though less common this far south--are still brilliant.  Most of the remaining color is from the varied kinds of oaks: deep crimson and orangish-copper.  It's no Vermont, but it will do for now.  Rarely have I had a more restorative day in the forest.