My Wacky Winter Vacation
No trip to the woods is complete without mice in your cabin, am I right?
My first trip to Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin, was at the end of December. There was a foot of snow on the ground and the lake was completely frozen over, to the point where I remember seeing at least one guy out there ice fishing.
But Devil’s Lake isn’t just known for the lake part. Many people visit the park to hike its mountainous trails and peer over the edge of scraggly cliffs. In summer, the view is breathtaking from the park’s tallest heights, where you can see the grand bluffs cradle a lush landscape of green and glittering blue.
Like most things in nature, Devil’s Lake is not always a soft or gentle beauty. People have fallen to their deaths from the cliffs — not often, but often enough that you’d think twice before doing anything risky near the edge.
And yet, somehow, I thought it was a fine idea to hike Devil’s Lake in the middle of winter. Completely alone. After a fresh snowfall, in near-zero temperatures. While wearing the absolute worst shoes: a pair of Doc Martens with zero tread.
Being stuck inside for months will do funny things to your brain. It was December 2020, a little under a year since the pandemic started, and I was feeling seriously stuck. Before Covid hit, I’d been traveling pretty regularly, and often alone.
In 2018, I took a long-distance train to Portland, Oregon, and stayed in a shared AirBnB for about a week while I explored the city. Then, I went to Germany for a semester and traveled all over via the country’s expansive train networks. I took side trips to Ireland and Spain, where I wandered the lively streets of Dublin and the peaceful beaches of Rota.
2019 wasn’t as intensive (or expensive) of a travel year, but I did go to Minneapolis for the first time with my new boyfriend (Ryan, now my fiancé). I had these grand plans that we’d soon travel together to more far-flung places.
The pandemic, along with the reality that my first job out of college barely paid the bills, quickly put those plans to rest. By the end of 2020, I was desperate to get out of town and travel somewhere. So I planned the cheapest and most socially-distanced vacation I could think of: staying in a cabin and hiking alone in the woods.
I can’t remember why Ryan didn’t come with me. But sometimes I wish he did because this vacation was one of the weirdest I’ve ever taken. I would’ve loved to have someone to share the weirdness with, but at least I can do that here, years later, by retelling it to a bunch of y’all.
So, let’s start with the cabin I stayed in. It was at least 10 or 15 miles from Devil’s Lake in a pretty remote area.
On a snowy day in December, I pulled up to the address I was supposed to stay at, which was at the end of a private driveway in the woods. I parked my car next to some trees. That’s where the other cars were, so I figured that was probably the parking lot.
When I stepped outside, I realized I had no idea where or how I was even supposed to check in. I eventually figured out that my cabin was at the bottom of a steep and snowy hill. I shuffled down there in my tread-less Docs and opened the front door, which was unlocked.
A woman — who turned out to be my hostess and the owner of the property — greeted me through a mask. A man was fixing the fireplace nearby. Almost all the windows in the cabin were covered with blankets, and there were huge plug-in radiators sitting on the floor in the living room. It was dim inside and the whole place smelled musty and old.
The woman came up to greet me. “We’re just making sure the fireplace works because it’s supposed to be really cold tonight.” She was genuinely concerned I was going to freeze out there, which was why she’d put blankets on the windows and hauled the radiators in. It was clear she cared that I was safe that night, which was reassuring.
But I also started to freak out a little bit because I hadn’t checked the forecast (oops). I knew it’d be cold out, but I didn’t realize the temperatures would sink well below freezing. We were also due for several inches of snow, which I worried might put a damper on my hiking plans the next day.
So I started to mentally prepare myself to spend more time in the cabin than I’d bargained for. I wandered around, looking at the cozy living room with the big couch and the bed that was just a few footsteps away in the next room, decked out with blankets. It was tastefully decorated, and the space felt warm and well-loved.
The cabin had a wonderful rustic charm to it. You could tell it was old and battered by the elements by the way the floors squeaked and the paint on the outside looked chipped and weathered. And of course, there was the smell — that familiar mustiness that seeps into the copies of old books and furniture.
Even indoors, I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was alone in the woods. The cabin had been there for so long that it’d become one with the landscape, a white building blending in with the snow-caked trees. Spiders made homes between panes of window glass, and the chill of the outdoors crept in through every unassuming nook and cranny.
In the kitchen, a window sat over the sink. Dead leaves covered it from bottom to top, and barely any light could get in. In fact, the window looked more like a picture frame for the foliage rather than a place to view the outdoors.
Once the fireplace was working, my hostess said goodbye and told me to text her if I needed anything. But before she left, she gave me a warning:
“There’s a chance you might see a mouse or two.”
I guess that’s to be expected in an old cabin. But it really freaked me out!
I sat on the couch wondering what I’d even do if I saw a mouse. Run? Scream? Watch it crawl across the floor into a dark corner where I presume it wouldn’t bother me anymore?
What if the mouse was sick? What if it bit me? I genuinely had no idea what my game plan was.
Thankfully, I didn’t need one. No mice ever came out to see who was staying in the cabin that night. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t nearby.
Instead of seeing the mice, I heard them. I literally heard them in the walls all night long.
The first time I noticed the sound of four-legged scuttling was sometime after the sun went down. In the woods, it gets so quiet indoors that your ears ring. With the radiators on, there was some white noise for my ears to focus on but not enough to distract them.
Then, I heard the frantic drumming of little animal feet on a hard surface. I thought for sure that there was a mouse right next to me in the living room, but when I turned around I saw nothing.
It took me several occasions to realize that the mice were behind the walls and underneath the floorboards, living their fantastic mousey lives just inches from where I was sitting. Just some weathered, wooden slats separated me from these mice eating, pooping, and sleeping on the other side.
Even scarier than realizing you’re alone in the woods is realizing you’re actually not alone at all. I laid in bed that night listening to the sounds of rodents scurrying under the bedroom floorboards and over my head in the rafters. To be fair, they were probably more afraid of me than I was of them, which is why they never came out into the open.
I remember falling asleep at some point, and when I woke up I was relieved that no mice crawled into my bed during the night. Maybe nature wasn’t so scary after all.
That day, I decided to go hiking at Devil’s Lake like I planned. So I got into my car after brushing off a fresh layer of snow and promptly backed up into a tree (there were so many trees). It left a dent in my back bumper, but otherwise, the car was fine. Onward to Devil’s Lake, I told myself.
When I got to the park, my car was the only one in the lot besides the snow plows and ranger vehicles. At first, I thought the place was closed. But it turns out hiking up big hills in fresh snow is just not an activity most people enjoy.
It was quiet when I stepped out into the park. After slipping and sliding around in my Docs for probably a half hour, I made it to the top of the cliffs at Devil’s Lake. I peeked out and saw the water frozen over and the snow blanketing the vast landscape of the park.
But I knew I’d be wise to not get too close to the edge. I knew I could easily slip and fall. I also realized that, if I did, it’d probably take the park rangers a week to find my body.
Going back downhill was somehow more embarrassing than going up. I remember actually falling a few times. I think at one point I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get down a hill safely.
It didn’t help that I passed by at least two other hikers on the trail who actually looked prepared. Both had walking sticks and real winter boots. I felt so silly trudging past them in my Docs. What was I thinking??
Looking back, I’m pretty lucky nothing bad happened on those slopes besides occasionally slipping. My unpreparedness put my 12 years in Girl Scouts to shame. Wasn’t I supposed to be ready for anything?
But then again, being stuck inside your apartment all the time does funny things to your brain. Going to Devil’s Lake and staying in a cabin alone in the woods wasn’t about playing it safe for me. It wasn’t about putting myself in danger, either — I was just so desperate to do things again. I wanted to see the world and have experiences without getting sick or getting others sick.
To me, the woods were the best place to go. Even if my cabin had mice in the walls. Even if the temperature outside was below freezing. Even if I had to slip and slide around the slopes of Devil’s Lake just so that I could see the park for the first time.
I was out on my own, doing stuff, and that was enough.
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