“Where is Natty Bumpo?” one of us asked at one point.

Of course you’ve never heard of Natty Bumpo, also known as Hawkeye.  No one reads James Fennimore Cooper’s dense historical novels anymore. In Cooper’s alleged masterpiece, The Last of the Mohicans, Natty Bumpo knows woodcraft. He is a white man raised by Indigenous people. 

The book is 350 pages long. The movie, however, seemed to last about four hours.. In reality it was only an hour and 52 minutes. So perhaps we were lost in the woods for only an hour and 52 minutes. 

“Oh, look, a goldfinch!”  “Oh, look, purple wildflowers!” 

Captain Nemo and I were ecstatic to hike in “our park” again. In our youth, we romped amorously in these woods and meadows.  And this week the park was green and lush after days of rain. The tall, dense trees kept the limestone paths dry.

Like Natty Bumpo, Captain Nemo knows woodcraft.  He can blaze a trail, make a campfire, camp off-trail, and dig a latrine (though the latter hasn’t been necessary – yet). 

I used to know this park backward and forward. I once camped here (illegally) off-trail with a friend, My aunt gave me a heavy canvas tent she no longer used, and we thought it would be fabulous to spend the night in the woods. We were impractical, indoorsy girls: we didn’t have a lamp, nor did we bring a flashlight. We hated going outside to pee, because every time we opened the tent the bugs attacked. As soon as the sun rose, we walked home.  We didn’t take down the tent. That job was for our adult relatives, none of whom had ever gone camping.

Today Captain Nemo and I set off happily, but we were unaware of one crucial detail: the city has acquired many, many acres for the park since the days we walked here. We started up a trail that used to lead to a woodsy cemetery: I wanted to visit a friend’s grave.  Bizarrely, the trail wound back, veered left, then right, and took us to another winding trail. We had also intended to cross the creek and circle back to the northern entrance, but in fact the trail kept winding, ever winding, branching off, then winding back– and the creek was almost dry.

Occasionally we found a bench to sit on.  At one point, I sat down, exhausted, in the middle of a hilly trail. And then I chose a trail across the meadow, which led nowhere. Finally, Captain Nemo went ahead to “scout.”  If not for his woodcraft…

Honestly, it was a long, beautiful walk. When we finally emerged from the woods, we stank of sunscreen and sweat. We had survived!

This park has its own hipster vibe, but I do wish there was a map. I’d still be sitting in the middle of the trail if Captain Nemo didn’t know his woodcraft. I imagine that people who get lost must yell for help, or calm themself with controlled substances, like coffee in a thermos, or gummies (still illegal in this state), before resuming their search for the exit.