It suddenly occurred to me this week that prior to moving to the Driftless area of Wisconsin in 2020, my husband and I had actually visited a decade earlier. In 2010, we had the idea that we wanted to try primitive camping. This means hiking in all your supplies by backpack and camping without modern amenities. We went all in and gave it a go. As it turns out, we tried it at Black River State Forest.

We bought a tent, lightweight seats, backpacks, sleeping bags and pads, and so on and took an overnighter. We parked and then hiked our way into the forest, first following a trail and then heading deeper into the woods until we found a reasonable clearing.

Our tent was small and cozy, enough to keep the bugs off at night:

We cleared a spot on the ground and built our very first campfire by scavenging wood and using a flint and scraping tool, and we were so proud we took a picture:

You see the “heater meal” on my husband’s legs? We weren’t ambitious enough to think we could cook much even if we managed to start a little fire, so we brought meals you can chemically heat. I will say, they tasted about as good as you’d expect.

Armed with online advice and a rope, we gathered our trash into a small bag and hung it away from the tent. This is meant to make sure bears don’t smell your food waste and come to investigate.

The mosquitos were insane and not long after dusk we dove into the tent for the night. This is when the real adventure started.

“WHZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!”

We’d never heard a sound like it before. Lying on our sleeping bags, we heard it repeat several times. We peered out the tent into the darkness and saw nothing. First lesson: Bring a flashlight that you can narrow the beam on so it reaches farther. All we saw was the area really close to our tent.

“WHZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!”

What is that? Our best guess was an animal was trying to pull down our hung trash bag. Maybe the sound was the paracord rope rubbing against the tree?

“WHZZZZZZZZT!” stomp stomp stomp

Oh boy. My husband grabbed anything metallic we had, one in each hand, and banged them together outside the tent entrance, all the while yelling in the deepest voice I’ve ever heard him make. It went quiet, for a while.

stomp stomp stomp “WHZZZZZZT!” stomp stomp stomp

Is it getting closer? More banging, more yelling. This went on for hours and we never saw a thing. Huddled in a little tent offering absolutely no protection for anything larger than insects, in pitch darkness, we just endured. Eventually, I grew so exhausted sleep found me in the wee hours of the morning. My husband didn’t sleep at all.

Early the next morning we broke down our campsite and packed up. My husband retrieved the hung trash and found it undisturbed. We hiked back to our car like zombies, eyes glued to the forest around us. Safely back in the car, we headed for home.

With a cell phone connection again, I sat in the passenger seat and searched furiously for the sound we had heard. Are there wild boar in Wisconsin? No. What sounds do bears make? Eventually, I found the answer:

We hear this sound at home every now and again these days, as we’re surrounded by hills and woods as well as farmland. There are plenty of deer and occasionally one gets a little testy out there. Sixteen years ago, isolated in the forest with no clue what it was, it was a night of terror.

Within the first hour of driving home, my husband said he couldn’t stay awake. He crawled into the back seat to pass out and I drove the rest of the way.