A Close Encounter with Pazuzu

Good afternoon, friends,

There were more highs and lows this week centered around one particularly tumultuous 48 hours. I thought we were going to have a nice little stay in Harrisonburg, VA with our buddy Mike, and that I’d be able to type out a polite little blog post at the public library, but the trail had other plans. 

It started on Monday. We were sweatin’ like sinners in church when my aunt Alice and her friend Maggie swung by and met us in the Shenandoahs before they returned home for good. We were flagging in the heat but they were able to rejuvenate us with water and a delicious, homemade farro salad.

As we sat in the parking lot off Skyline Drive, we discussed the possibility of thunder storms that afternoon which would obviously impact all of our plans.

A few hours later and a few more miles up the trail, storm clouds started rolling in from the west. The nearest structure under which we could take refuge was the Blackrock Shelter just over two miles away. Very close in terms of a 2,200 mile trail, but incredibly far when cumulonimbus clouds are bearing down on us. 

As the rain started coming down, we felt like we were decently protected under a heavy oak canopy and my little sport umbrella. We huddled together with the hopes that it was just a passing shower and we may not get hit by the full brunt of the storm. Optimism.

Ten minutes later, as bolts of lighting cut through the sky over our heads and claps of thunder are vibrated our chest, we were hit by the full brunt of the storm. We pushed forward to the shelter and thankfully got there in less than an hour. Soaking wet, but safe, all things considered.

At the shelter we were greeted by two beautiful doodle dogs, Bennie and Griff, and their moms Mary and Alaina, who were hiking the Shenandoah section of the AT. Our plan was to wait out the rain and cook dinner, but then hike another few miles before sunset. We were still ~25 miles from where our friend Mike was going to meet us the next evening to take us into Harrisonburg, and we didn’t want to tackle that all in one day. However, the prospect of putting our wet shoes back on after dinner was rather unappealing and we decided to postpone that unpleasant sensation until the following morning. Mary and Alaina get up early so we figured we’d go to bed early and wake up with them. Perfect.

We were the only two that opted to sleep in the shelter itself — there has been an outbreak of norovirus in the park and it’s typically contracted at the shelters. With all the damage our tent has accrued, it’s no longer waterproof, and we didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of another storm rolling over at night and soaking us in our sleep. We rolled out our sleeping pads in the shelter and we were sound asleep before 9PM.

I didn’t wake up again until I jumped up out of my sleep and blurted out “Whoa what the f__”. A headlight was blaring in my face and there was all sorts of commotion about. Someone had barreled into the shelter in the middle of the night and was now haphazardly going through their bag and muttering to themselves.

”It’s alright Aub”, Ciara reassured me, “it’s just another hiker.” I settled back down and waited for the newcomer to sort their stuff out. They finally clambered into the shelter, shut their light off, and set up their sleeping pad unreasonably close to me. But at least the commotion was over.

“The number 18. Remember that.” They say out of the darkness. 

”What?” I responded.

”It’s the day of the ox. Then the day of the rat.”

Oh boy, here we go, I thought.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then he just started laughing to himself.

The next two to three hours consisted of dark, nonsensical ramblings about Pazuzu (the demonic entity in The Exorcist), religion, numerology, and other cryptic topics. They expressed that they, themselves, had internal demons and were in the midst of an exorcism.

Some of the more alarming sentiments were:“No souls must be sacrificed on the way to Katahdin, but blood-letting is acceptable”, “a lot of people will die on the 4th of July”, and “nobody try to kill anyone in their sleep”, were among the most alarming comments.

The sentences weren’t coherent and it was very difficult to determine where one thought ended and the next began. Right around 12AM, the individual climbed into the corner of the shelter to drink Yoohoo, “midnight milk” as they called it, and at least put some distance between us.

A lot of the responses on our end were light agreements with whatever they were saying as we tried to gauge whether we were in immediate danger or not. We’d actually met this person twice before, they’re somewhere between seventeen and twenty-two (the two ages they’ve given us), but we’d never seen them, nor anyone really, in this sort of state.

”Things are so chaotic right now because of the solstice”, they remarked, “but I’ll be able to do more self-discovery in August”.

”What keeps you grounded?”, I asked.

”The ketamine. And the mushrooms.”

I’m no expert, but I feel like getting high is the opposite of being grounded.

It was incredibly unsettling in the moment. C and I were using our fingers to trace letters in each other’s palms to communicate. We were essentially trapped, and naturally it had started to rain again so it would’ve been tough to explain why we were leaving at that hour if we did start to pack up our stuff. We didn’t want to do anything that would further trigger this individual.

The individual was clearly dealing with struggles related to mental health, and at that particular moment seemed to be going through some sort of drug-induced psychosis. They’re a young kid at an age where they’re questioning a lot of the societal norms and assumptions they grew up with, some of which are nonsensical in their own right and deserve to be questioned, but it’s causing them to spiral. Whatever they’re going through, it’s clear they don’t have the appropriate support system they need (“where are their parents?” Is a very valid question). They’re completely untethered and self-medicating with psychoactive drugs that are further degrading their current condition.

We barely slept at all that night, and I was alarmed enough to keep my hand cupped over my heart in case they lunged at me in the night. I was positioned between them and Ciara, but that was little comfort for either of us. I just told myself that this individual has been on the trail for months and they haven’t been violent yet, so as long as we don’t give them a reason to turn sour, we should be able to get through this.

We were very relieved when we were greeted by kisses from Bennie the bernadoodle a few hours later. A harbinger of morning, and more people, he was a sign that we had made it through the night. Now to get out of here and get to Mike.

As others awoke and gathered around the picnic table outside the shelter for breakfast, they quickly assessed the situation with the newcomer. I think it was within the first two sentences that the individual blamed Pazuzu for why their belongings were spewing from their bag and scattered all over the wet ground. 

One of the women offered the kid the rest of her breakfast, which they accepted, and then they produced a seven inch dagger to cut up some spam. Of course they have a huge knife, they always do. It was something out of Tarantino movie watching them recklessly cut up the gelatinized meat and plop it into a plastic bag with the leftover egg scramble. “Does anyone want pizza?” They asked as they squeezed tomato paste onto a tortilla. No takers. They dropped that into the bag with the rest of their concoction and never ate any of it.

We got out of there and hiked all day (in the rain of course) to get to our pickup spot. Nothing allows you to crush miles like adrenaline and trying to out-hike a deranged person. One of the other campers at the shelter filed a report with the National Park Service regarding the individual, and rightfully so.

Mike picked us up at mile 906 and brought us down into Harrisonburg. A kind man, he let us sleep in his bed while he slept outside in the pop-up tent attached to the top of his Jeep. We got take-out that evening, watched Captain Fantastic, and everything appeared to be back to normal.

But alas, another midnight disturbance. This time, the takeout wasn’t sitting quite right (sushi, kimchi fried rice, and some other suspect items). I was nauseous but was able to quell the unease and go back to sleep. It wasn’t until the morning when my body finally decided to reject my stomach’s contents.

I threw up twice more, and was sweaty and feverish for the rest of the day. Thankfully, I could just lay on the couch and watch Mike’s Netflix. Of course, matter how many times he reassured me that it wasn’t a big deal, I felt horrible that I had potentially brought norovirus into his house. If this had happened while out on the trail, and I was throwing up while curled up in a damp tent, that probably would’ve been enough to send me home for good.

Fortunately, it was a 24 hour bug, and Ciara didn’t get sick. We were back on the trail the following day. It’s still not clear whether it was food poisoning or norovirus. A lot of the people we’ve talked to that contracted “noro” said it was a four to five day ordeal. Who knows?

While in Harrisonburg, we were also able to pick up a package from Ciara’s family and a package from John Cox, the president of the Mid-Hudson Mycological Association. Both sent us care packages with dehydrated food and other trail necessities. When you hit lows like those we encountered on the previous two nights, it’s those acts of kindness that lift us back up and keep us out here.

We’re now ticking down the miles and days until we’re out of Virginia. This state may be for lovers, but the relationship is starting to feel pretty toxic at this point. Hopefully this Thursday we’ll be in Harpers Ferry, WV, which is the unofficial halfway point.

In the words of Mike when he dropped us back off:

Keep on truckin,

Aubrey