The darkness, the night time and the bush are the stuff of childhood nightmares as we are told to stay tucked up in bed. Into adulthood we choose not to seek out nature in the throws of night. That is unless you, like myself, are fond of some type 2 activities that get the blood pumping.

It’s 4:00pm, late afternoon in April and I’ve miscalculated once again how quickly my legs can carry me from point A to point B. The sun had begun to drop faster as I climbed a near vertical hill I hadn’t factored into the walk. I had minimal information on the spot I was headed to and no clear plan for a spot to pitch the tent either. Only a rough idea to simply find deep enough sand or dirt to get in at least two tent pegs to stabilize the main pole.

Daylight was dropping below the tree line fast as I grappled with the twisting in my gut that this was a stupid idea. I still had enough time to bail and get the next train out if I wanted. But I didn’t want to, I wanted to push past the fear that leaves you clammy. The voice in my head saying this was a risk not worth taking. I reached the spot with about 45 minutes of daylight or less and began looking at the sand. To my horror there was one option and it wasn’t a good one. The tent was barely standing with only 4 out of six pegs secured and no hope to get the guide ropes in. Any wind in the night was to render my shelter useless but it was too late to back out now. The sun had gone and the skies had burst out their last purple flicker before turning deep indigo. My pot of water now boiled while I sipped whisky to the sound of the valley below erupting with the howls of feral dogs.

Darkness had taken the views and dinner was finished leaving nothing more to do but to become comfortable on the floor of my tent. Lining the floor with nothing more than a sleeping bag designed to go to 8 degrees and sleeping directly on sand and stones I got as comfortable as you can. Which isn’t very, but sleeping anywhere is a gift of mine. I left the door open to stargaze through the night and slowly but surely slipped off into a deep sleep.

The temperature dropped to 4 degrees in the night, waking up to the stone cold ground seeping through my bag and into my bones. Luckily I packed my thermal pants but hadn’t planned to use them, I hadn’t expected it to drop below 7. Laying back down from my fidgeting I became acutely aware of a presence. It wasn’t very tall, at least it didn’t seem like it from my now frozen lying position. The sniffing was vigorous and fast, almost aggressive as if looking intently looking for something. I didn’t move a muscle at first, I just hoped it wouldn’t pass my open tent door. It was so close it was as if it was inside with me. In a panic I grabbed the pole from the inside and shook the unstable shelter, threatening the structural integrity risking having the entire thing collapse.

It seemed to vanish but no sooner as I believed it to be gone it came back only this time it was sniffing near my head. It suddenly went quiet for a small pocket of time. Settling back down I was suddenly perked back up to the sound of gnawing. Teeth against metal as they made contact with my tent pegs. The chewing now vibrating the entire pole that ran through my tent causing tremors across the fabric. One last violent shake I thought and with that the mystery creature vanished into the night. Sleep took hold again and I woke at dawn none the wiser to whom my night time visitor was. A feral dog? A dingo? A wombat? A fox? A wallaby? A big cat? I’ll let you decide.

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