In The Dark – ainslies.org

It’s always dark when I walk Wiggles in the morning before sunrise. I enjoy these walks. I see bunnies and deer munching on my neighbor’s lawns. There are only one or two cars on the road. I wave to my 4:30AM girlfriend.

Even though it is dark outside, it’s not truly dark. There are streetlights, porch lights and house lights lit everywhere.

This time of year, it’s even brighter with Christmas lights and decorations.

When I lived on the road, I experienced what it is like to be in real darkness.

Before I went on the road, I read stories from travelers who waxed poetic about the stars and the skies at night in the wilderness far from the light pollution from the city.

I fell for this romanticism and couldn’t wait to get out into the middle of nowhere to experience it.

For me, it didn’t go as planned.

My first experience was camping in the DeSoto National Forest in Mississippi. I scouted an isolated campsite in the the pine forest in the early afternoon that looked perfect. The woods were quiet. There were no campers in any of the sites nearby.

I set up camp and settled in. When the sun went down, everything turned to black. I couldn’t see sh!t. The trees blocked out the sky entirely. I could only walk outside with a flashlight because there was no light from the moon or stars.

So I went to bed early. Then I woke up at 3AM. I was wide awake. I figured I could feed the dog and then workout beside my truck in the light of a portable lantern until the sun rose. I fed Snickers and then heard a rumble before the sky completely opened up with a horrendous rainstorm.

By the time I got Snickers and the truck packed up, I was drenched. I had no cell phone signal and the storm seemed like it would be going on for a while, so I got back on the road and drove for the four hours – in the dark, on unlit National Forest and back country roads, in a thunderous downpour, until I finally (and gratefully) reached the well lit Interstate highway that afternoon.

A few days later, I camped in the desert outside of Bowie, AZ (population 449). It was dry and hot. There were a few other campers within eyesight and my camp was within 30 minutes of the Interstate, so I wasn’t as isolated as I was in De Soto.

I really liked it here. Snickers and I climbed the mountains up to the bread rocks each day. I met a crew of old guys who had been doing an annual camping trip together for 30 years. I met a couple who had a rig similar to mine and they tried to teach me how to back up and turn around my trailer (and failed – it took me a few more weeks on the road to get this down). I hiked with Snickers through the Ft. Bowie National Historic Site (ruins) seeing exactly one person in 4 hours while I imagined what it was like for the settlers, Chiricahua Apaches and US Army people who lived, battled and died there.

As the sun went down, I was rewarded with a beautiful orange sunset that faded into inky blackness. When darkness fell, I looked up and saw a million stars. They were everywhere, lighting up the sky. I saw white stars, yellow stars, dim stars, bright stars – in every direction.

It was really cool – for about 15 minutes. Then I went to bed.

When I woke before dawn, I rolled over and stayed in bed until the sun rose. I had already learned my lesson about getting up in the dark.

I then traveled to Bureau of Land Management Land outside of Silver City, NM to meet up with a caravan of other car campers.

Naturally, I didn’t arrive there until well past dark.

As I navigated the twisty, windy, rutted mud road I spied campers of all descriptions off in the woods. There were truck campers, tents, a few big rigs and even someone sleeping in a Prius.

I used my flashlight and headlights to find a relatively level spot without cacti and pulled in to setup camp.

When I stepped outside to scout the area I heard a huff. Then a grunt and another huff. I spun around with my flashlight as a herd of Black Angus cattle trotted past me, scaring the crap out of me.

I didn’t bother checking out the sky that night. I was beat. Snickers and I crawled into the camper and passed out.

This camp was not truly dark. There were about 15 campers scattered here. We met around a big campfire each night to shoot breeze. After the fire died down, everyone would use flashlights to make their way back to their campers and (hopefully) not step in any of the gigantic Black Angus cow patties that dotted the landscape.

In the night, I’d see some lights from headlamps, reading lights inside campers, and the blue tinted glowing screens from cell phones and iPads.

When I looked up at the night sky, it was filled with stars and occasionally a bright moon. It was a lot like the sky in the desert. Quite stunning. Huge. Beautiful. But after 15 minutes, I had enough.

During my two months on the road, I camped and drove through other desolate, truly dark places:

A mud road off the beaten path in Texas.
The Coconino Forest outside of Flagstaff AZ
Dark, unlit rest areas off the interstate highway

Once I was back in society, I realized how much I love electricity.

I like streetlights. I like seeing houses lit up from the inside at night. I like seeing families sit down for dinner. I like seeing the glow of flat screen TVs bouncing off the ceiling. I like flipping a switch and having my room light up.

I like being able to walk in the “dark” that is not truly dark.

Someday I would like to revisit truly dark places again. I want to visit a National Observatory space. I’d like to see the Grand Canyo, visit the Sierra Nevadas, camp in Arches National Park and visit the Pacific Northwest.

Lying on my back on blanket staring up at the stars could be wondrous and wonderful – but only with another person or group of friends – and secure with the knowledge that we’re heading back to a hotel that has electricity, running water and heat, for a good night’s sleep later.