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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Jimbo11604 on 2026-05-23 17:11:09+00:00.

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Between Reddit and Facebook, I see more than a few queries from beginner backpackers about safety in the wilderness or scary stories about the back-country . In all my years of camping, backpacking, kayaking, and hiking, I have had only one incident that caused me concern.

Last October, I was backpacking a trail in the Angelina National Forest. The trail follows the path of a long-abandoned tram. The tram was used in the 1900s by the logging industry to get trees to nearby mills. I planned an out-and-back trip that would cover about 30 miles over four days and three nights. I was not trying to break any land speed records; I was taking it easy, figuring on about 7 to 10 miles a day.

On my first day, I parked at the trailhead around noon and started on a leisurely trek toward a hunters camp. Hunter camps usually have a picnic table, an outhouse, and a pad for tents. Hunting season had not started yet, so there was a good chance I would be alone. The temperature was perfect for hiking, slightly cool and not warm at all. The tram route was fairly clear, and it was easy to hike through the brush and trees. Mostly pines with some hardwoods, the canopy made it difficult for sunlight to reach the ground. At times, it felt like I was walking through a poorly lit tunnel. The trail would narrow and the trees would close in around me. Most of the time, the trail was well defined and easy to follow. Exploring off-trail could be a problem if you lost track of the route. Occasionally, I saw side trails leading to overlooks or small ponds. Those made for good breaks. I covered the eight miles from the trailhead to the hunters camp and, as expected, had the place to myself.

First things first, I set up my tent and sleeping arrangements. Once that was done, I focused on relaxing and having dinner. I leaned back against a large pine tree and read for an hour or two before preparing supper. I had Mountain House Jambalaya, then spent a few more hours reading before turning in for the night. The temperature dropped into the mid-40s, making for excellent sleeping. Nighttime in the forest is actually pretty noisy and comes in waves. Crickets would start the evening, then the forest would hum from the millions of midges waking up. The hum was no big deal until you considered the sheer numbers of tiny insects required to make that much noise. Nocturnal birds like owls, whippoorwills, and lonely mockingbirds would wake you up in the hours just after midnight. The sounds of deer, armadillos, raccoons, and possums had their time as well. Solitude in the woods is nice, but at night, the imagination can run amok. I would wake to those sounds and, in my grogginess, let my imagination tell me a scary story. Within minutes, I was fast asleep again, at least until the next strange sound.

In the morning, after coffee and some Pop-Tarts, I headed out on a planned eight-mile hike that would put me near a campground at Colton Creek Cemetery. The trail was much the same as the day before. The views were mostly forest, with the occasional deer or armadillo. At lunchtime, I took a short detour down a trail that led to a spring. There, I filtered water to replenish my supply. After lunch, I lay back and took one of the best naps I had ever had. The detour and nap cost me a few hours, but I was not on a schedule.

Darkness was setting in when I arrived at my primitive campsite, a small clearing set back from the trail. The clearing was so small, and the woods so close, it felt more like a large bedroom in the forest. Once again, I was alone, and at first, the solitude was welcome. I set up my tent and sleeping bag while there was still some daylight, since it is much easier than doing it by headlamp. By the time I prepared dinner, the sun was long gone. I ate mac and cheese with smoked sausage and raisins for dessert. Like the previous night, I sat up reading my Kindle until the midges overwhelmed the glow of my Kindle. These little critters were drawn to the light and managed to annoy just about all of my senses. I escaped to my tent and resumed reading. Despite being inside the tent, the light was still attracting the bugs. They would get trapped between the rain fly and the tent, buzzing and scratching around. Out of frustration, I flipped the Kindle off and climbed into my sleeping bag. The bug noise faded, only to be replaced by other nocturnal sounds and complete darkness. The sky was overcast, and the canopy blocked any remaining light. Before my eyes could adjust, I drifted off to sleep.

I do not know how long I had been asleep when I was suddenly awakened by the sound of footsteps. Leaves crunched with each step. These sounded human. Animals like armadillos, pigs, and raccoons move in short bursts, stopping to sniff or dig. Human footsteps have a steady rhythm. My senses went on high alert. The tent was completely dark, and it suddenly felt very small. I saw no light. From the sound, it seemed like the person was about 15 to 20 feet away. I was trapped in my tent, with only a knife and some pepper spray for defense. As I lay there, with only the thin fabric separating me from the footsteps, I eased myself out of my sleeping bag. The footsteps stopped. Fight or flight kicked in, and despite the cool air, I began to sweat. I held my breath, listening for any sign of intent. My tent felt like a sauna, and my eyes burned with either sweat or panic tears.

I was out of the sleeping bag and squatting, my head rubbing the dome of my tent. After a few seconds, I spoke up. I kept my voice steady, even though I was not calm. “Unless you have some type of emergency, I am camped here, and I would appreciate you announcing yourself and then moving a safe distance from my campsite.” My legs were aching from being crouched in the confines of the tent.

I was shocked when a woman’s voice answered. “I will move away. I will set up camp away from you. Is that okay?” She sounded like an older woman, but I could not be sure.

“I would appreciate that,” I replied, adding an invitation for coffee in the morning.

The footsteps moved off to my left.

I remained on edge. I slowly put on my boots and listened. I expected to hear the sounds of someone setting up camp, but there were none. No zippers, no tent poles, no stakes being driven, and no light. Setting up camp is not quiet. Zippers, poles, and stakes do not happen in silence. Still, I heard nothing. No sleeping bag, no pad being inflated. Only the sounds of the forest: crickets, owls, and an occasional whip-poor-will.

I leaned forward and slowly unzipped my tent, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. My thighs burned from crouching in the cramped tent. The sound from each pull of the zipper seemed amplified. I opened it just enough to stick my head out of the door, but it was too dark to see anything. I pulled back inside and listened again.

I ran through every possible scenario, including being attacked while trapped in a tent.

I found my headlamp. It had a red-light mode that would preserve my night vision.

I put my headlamp on and pushed my head out through the tent opening. The space was tight, and the lamp slid down my face before I managed to adjust it. I unzipped the door further and tried again. Still no sound outside.

With my head just outside the tent, I slowly scanned the campsite. I looked to my left because that was where it sounded like she had moved. I knew she had not gone far, but there was nothing there. I scanned around the clearing, nothing in front of me, then to the right. The red glow caught the reflective cords on a backpack. The woman was still wearing her backpack. She was standing with her back to me about 20 feet away, just standing there. She stood in front of a large tree, swaying left and right. She wore shorts, hiking boots, a Tilley hat, and held two trekking poles in her right hand. Under the glow of my red light, her long, wavy gray hair looked orange.

“Are you okay?” I called.

There was no response. She continued to sway.

“I have to admit, you are scaring the shit out of me right now. Can I help you?”

Nothing, just the continuous swaying.

I pulled back into the tent and tried to think. Leaving seemed like the best option. I dressed quickly, no longer concerned about making noise. My plan was to slip away from the campsite and put distance between us.

I opened the tent fully and glanced to my right. She was still there, swaying in the red light. I crawled out on all fours. Once I stood up, I made a beeline toward where I thought the trail was. When I got a few feet away, I switched off the red light and turned on the bright beam. I needed as much light as possible if I was going to run.

With the forest lit up, I turned back toward camp. I scanned the campsite, hoping to get one final look at the woman, but she was gone.

There was no sound, no movement, nothing to suggest she had left. I scanned the area with my light, circling completely, but found nothing.

Like I was approaching a land mine, I walked to the tree where she had been standing. The ground showed signs of disturbance, flattened leaves, boot prints, and two small holes where trekking poles had been placed. At the base of the tree sat a clear plastic bag tied with a black ribbon, set inside a small circle of pine cones. Inside the bag were a wad of hair, a small pill bottle, a keychain from an insurance company, a used candle, and a chicken foot.

Not totally sure how far I would get without food and water, I ...

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