August 01, 2004

The following is a transcript of notes made on July 24, the 10th day of my journey:

The sounds raccoons make while they prowl and rape each other in the dark awakened all of my primordial fears. I spent most of the night in a state of nervous tension listening to things move in the darkness.

The staggering number of mosquitoes prevented me from pitching my tent so I just crawled inside and pulled the fabric over me to protect me from their bites. I felt trapped in a huge body bag on the forest floor and near me things crawled in the dark sniffing my backpack.

And gradually I grew afraid of those sounds of darkness — I feared things crawling over me and biting my face and skunks peeing on my head. I feared all the undefined terrors that rustle in the wind.

The growls I heard chilled my soul. I didn’t know what creature made those horrible sounds; I couldn’t see what moved in the leaves.

Once or twice I screamed Martha’s name as an incantation against evil and the darkness screamed back.

It took me a while to brace myself against the sounds. Eventually I realized that I’m on top of the food chain and I was immensely comforted.

"I’ll eat any fucking thing that tries to eat me," I growled.

And at three in the morning I snapped open my pocket knife and slept soundly until the chill awoke me at six in the morning and I went prowling through Port Rowan looking for coffee and food.

And a bit before noon while walking towards the docks, I saw Simon’s orange hunchback and I turned around to see Simon himself walking towards me. Because his appearance was unexpected and wonderful, I dropped my bags and threw myself into his arms, feeling his strong muscles grip me.

He brought with him meat, fruits, extra blankets, bike repair tools, and Martha’s warmth.

"I’ve also got wine," he said, and we sped off in the orange cat of a car to find a campsite.

And after food and talk and bike fixing we headed for the beach at Long Point. I covered my body in the red, sparkly sand and slept away last night’s terrors while he swam.

Later, around the campfire, I returned to my philosophical self.

"You have to will the fire into being," I told him. "Focus on one piece of wood until it ignites into pure light." And I got on my hands and knees to will the fire into being.

When the flames licked the darkness we drank down the wine which tasted like cough syrup and talked about talking. I tried to convince him of the richness of online communications, to smash down his luddism and nostalgia for a world of interaction that never existed.

In the middle of my diatribe, we heard growls in the darkness. The raccoons came out with bright eyes and shameless appetites to attack my stash of apples.

A couple of meters away from our campfire, the vicious beasts fought and growled while devouring my food and then started stalking us. Simon and I witnessed horrific scenes of mutilation.

Once we went to sleep, they even humped our tent. Poor Simon hardly got any sleep, but I was used to them. Wrapped in warm blankets, I haven’t slept so soundly in weeks.

There’s no reason to fear darkness now that I realized that I’m probably the most vicious thing out there.