My directions said turn right at Teepee Creek Rd (or Forest Service Rd 986 depending on which web site directions one followed) and as I reached the mileage mark for the turnoff there is indeed a road but no sign. Lack of signage on dirt roads isn’t uncommon so I blindly turned onto the dirt road, narrowly missing a Toyota truck pulling a four-wheeler on a trailer. Little did I know that was the last person I’d see for two days.

The initial destination was Teepee Creek trail head, laying six miles down a rutted dirt road, and after a five-mile hike, my final destination; Cabin Creek Cabin. The cabin is one of the many the Forest Service rents to the public, some more remote than others. Cabin Creek Cabin is on the more remote part of the scale yet still one of the more popular and harder cabins to rent. After a dusty twenty minute drive I arrived at the trail head and found a place to park. Wasn’t hard, mine was the only car there.

The trail to the cabin is a multi-use trail with horses and off-road vehicles allowed. Instead of a narrow path the trail was wide and grooved like a small road. It is also hard packed dirt making for easy footing. For the first four miles the trail steadily inclines through dense forest and patches of open grassland. On a normal day it’s a moderate hike but with a 30+ pound pack and unseasonably warm temperatures I worked up quite a sweat. Thankfully the last mile downhilled through a dark, Hansel and Gretel-like, shaded setting and as the cabin came into view I floated the last steps to the cabin’s narrow porch.

This is grizzly country. Several people reminded me to bring bear spray and make noise while hiking. I always bring bear spray but rarely make noise due to many of the trails having plenty of noisy hikers. However my hike was not only bear-free but free of any wildlife. When I reached the cabin and looked out to the Tetons in the distance and the vast countryside around me it hit me how alone I was. Besides the “whoosh” of a large bird flying overhead there was complete silence. I was tired and ready to unload my pack but the view demanded a few minutes of my attention.

After unlocking the combination lock on the cabin’s front door (I had written the combination on my arm but sweated it off, thank you FS for an easy to remember combo) I entered the small cabin and immediately set my pack on the table near the front window. The cabin was small but cozy. A rectangular table with two chairs lined the wall on the left. The wood stove took up most of the far wall with various pots and pans hanging on the wall. The far end of the right wall contained shelves with toiletries, food items, and other necessities for cabin life left behind by previous visitors. A cot and bunk bed took up the rest of the left side of the cabin.

After a long day’s travel my usual routine would be to kick off my shoes and enjoy a few minutes of rest on the hotel bed but here I didn’t have such luxury. For one, the bed was a cot and not terribly inviting, and two, I had tasks to accomplish- gather or chop firewood and find water to boil for my dehydrated feast and extra drinking water. I brought a few liters with me but in this situation there’s no such thing as too much available drinking water. I found a small stream fifty yards downhill from the cabin for water and the surrounding area was filled with large dead branches easily broken to make a fire. Chores done, it was time to look around before the sun fell behind the mountains.

I know what you’re thinking….yes, there was an outhouse. It stood fifty feet back up the trail behind the cabin, a substantial jaunt for middle of the night relief. It was the only outhouse I have seen with a dutch door. For enjoying the view while….? As outhouses go it was clean, sturdy, and comfortable. However there’s a vulnerability to them I can’t get past. Maybe it’s the idea that a pissed off bear would take two seconds to knock it over. Truth be told I’d rather go outside. Too much truth?

The cabin is situated at the edge of a treeline with the back of the cabin in the trees while the front looks out over a long, slightly downward sloping grassland. To the left the forest extends as far as they eye can see while on the right the land rises to a ridgeline hundreds of feet above the cabin. That land is a mixture of grassland and tight patches of trees. Both the forest to the left and ridgeline to the right converge and meet at the Tetons rising in the distance. I could have enjoyed the view all day but a fire needed to be started and I had yet to unpack.

My pack. While putting it together I knew it was too much. I knew I was violating the rule of “pack by weight, not by need” yet continued to stuff in as much as I could. As I laid everything out on the small cabin table it looked ridiculous. Half of my pack was already in the cabin (I knew people left supplies in these cabins but there’s no definitive list of what is there) and did I really need two flashlights? Enough food for two people for four nights? Two knives? A change of socks and underwear for every day? A boom box? (I didn’t bring a boom box) Two books? No, I didn’t. Lesson learned.

As the sun fell my water came to a boil and I fixed a dinner of dehydrated chili and potato soup. Dessert was half a Milky Way bar. After dinner I walked fifty yards in front of the cabin and marveled at the many colors in the early evening sky. Still not a sound was to be heard. In the sky to my left rose an eighth moon disappearing and reappearing through the clouds. I knew I was in for a dark night. After a few pictures I settled into the cabin for some reading and pondering. Again, not a sound to be heard. There is silence and then there was this silence.

I exited the cabin and plunged into the darkness to retrieve wood from the pile on the front porch. The darkness was so consuming I felt like an underwater explorer, seeing only the little part of the world illuminated by my head lamp.  My last trip to gather wood I took a few steps off the porch and turned off my head lamp. It was surreal. My senses were useless. The darkness I can handle. In most situations I welcome silence. Together they were disorienting.

Back inside I finished my book (“Hiking with Grizzlies”, on second thought not the best choice. Who brings a book about ghosts to a haunted house?) and turned off the light. Tucked in my sleeping bag I stared into the blackness and listened to the silence one last time before the weariness of the day won out.