The Woods People

Thank you, Bear Gryhls.

A few weeks ago, I brought my 2001 Corolla to the repair shop on a Sunday afternoon. It was due for an annual inspection and a couple of minor repairs. The repair shop is a few miles away and, with T-Dubs living with my Aunt Florence in Ft. Lauderdale, nobody was around to give me a ride home.

We were somewhere off to the left of the big green spot,
definitely not on a red-dashed trail.

No matter. There's a stretch of woods that Daisy, my infectiously athletic 16-month old Lab, likes to patrol. I'd seen a Portland Trails sign on the road near the repair shop. The repair shop is in the middle of nowhere, just over Interstate 95 and sitting in an open field. It would be picturesque if it weren't for the 15 or so junkers sitting out in the yard at all times.

Daisy excitedly jumped in the car and excitedly jumped out at the repair shop. We walked back to the previously unexplored trailhead and dove into the woods.

Any time we faced a fork in the road, we kept veering to the left, trying to run basically parallel to the interstate. After a few minutes, we came upon a pile of trash in the woods and a sleeping bag. Clearly, a homeless guy is sleeping in the woods here.

We were in the back corner of the woods – where I'd never been before and I've run on the trails at least 60 times over the last two summers – so it made some sense that there would be somebody in there. Only it wasn't just one somebody.

We walked on for another couple of minutes and walked by an elaborate campground. Two big tents, big blue tarps that probably used to cover boats, were set up nicely, professionally off to the side. They'd even built a fence out of trees. Certainly better than I would do. There was nobody there, though I didn't inspect the campground.

The next time we went to the park, we saw another blue tent sent in a much more prominent spot, next to a main trail. Another time, on a long run, Daisy and I found another tent with a broken plastic chair propped up against a tree. On our way back from that run, we passed a guy in a ratty shirt walking with a PBR can in his hand. He was nice enough and laughed at my dog, who's a spaz. Anybody who's owned young Labs knows what I'm saying.

Until I have a functioning camera or the ability to send
pictures on my phone, I will be stealing photos like this from
other websites. This is where we run/hike.

I think about these people constantly while I'm running. Not about calling the cops, though that's been considered, not about their status in life, which is kind of sad or kind of awesome, depending on your priorities.

Primarily, my thought is this: There are people living in the freaking woods. These are not scary people. In a way, you have to appreciate their determination to go live in the woods, presumably so they can drink as much as they like. We're not in downtown Portland. These people are riding buses, I assume, and hiking for miles to get to their campgrounds. Some have built elaborate shelters. One takes down his tent every morning. Most pick up their trash.

Feel free to weigh in. Should I notify anybody? Portland Trails is a nonprofit that maintains the trails. The Audobon Society owns the land. It's illegal to camp there. Thing is, I'm sure anybody who's hiked these woods has spotted a tent. Clearly, I'm not the only one either ignoring the situation or who is OK with it. What do you think?