Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Backpack Hunting What’s your most miserable night in the woods

As a teenager a pal and I were floating down the Chatahoochee river and running jugs. Well, the boat had no motor and we floated too far. Found an abandoned dock, that actually had a light on it and spent the night trying to sleep, occasional interruptions by a Moccasin swimming by, and once a batch of apparently hungry wild dogs tried to work their way down the dock. Couldnt sleep so we sat and caught frying size catfish, which were so ravenous we literally used bare hooks. Cooked a couple up without a frying pan and ate them. It wasn't cold or miserable, and it was actually a good experience.When dawn broke we managed to gather up our jugs and get back home. I remember it for two reasons 1) my parents never wondered or worried where I was or what I was doing and 2)when I got home I set a personal best record for sleeping-23 hours straight.

A few years back there was a string of somewhat unplanned nights out. Mostly it was after killing a ram, and one time after a pretty good billy. There were two nights in the same basic spot, a year or so apart. We learned after the first one that some rivers can rise a couple feet during the day close to the glaciers. And that it's way more fun to cross sketchy water in the daytime.

Spent the night in a cave after killing my double broomer, and in hindsight I'd rather pitch a tarp by a lot. Did the same after I shot my goat, and that was a very good call. Even stayed pretty dryish. Making the second trip for him sucked, but now that it is done, I'm good with it.

I think the worst night was up high, in a good cold rain, chasing a ram. Got stranded out, under a half assed tarp, and the wind kept blowing it off the anchors, which were in moss. Wearing all your layers plus rain gear is a good time. Don't overly feel the need to do that again.

Marine Corps infantry included quite a few miserable nights in snow, mountains, jungles, desert...

Then there were a few pretty miserable night stake-outs in law enforcement.

Hunting, fishing and backpacking, not too bad, though the little backpacking tent has sheltered me from rain, snow and dust storms all while "trying" to sleep. There was one night, camped with a good buddy in a crummy tent, the wind broke at least one of the poles and it fell down on us. Ya, that wasn't much fun at the time.

Good memories? Ha!

Guy

I knew I shoulda chimed-in sooner, as my tale would become ever more lame as others posted.

Such as it was...

The outfitter took pity on me eating tag soup in 2006, so he went out himself with me in 2007 in the East Kutenays. We called-in 4 bulls through the day, one to within 10'. I couldn't discern a 6th point on either side, so I sat motionless 'til he wandered off. At last, last, LAST light, I dropped a 6x5, & we commenced to dressing him. The process took about 75' of elevation, as he kept sliding downhill. In the meantime, the bushes rocked several times, causing us to drop everything & grab rifles. I'd been warned repeatedly about grizzly concentrations in the North Fork of the Flathead, so my butt puckered a good bit each time.

Well after dark we had elk parts 'n pieces perched in the brush, & took stock of where (and when) we were. We figured it would be best to stay put, rather than wander the mountain in the darkness. Still, it got chilly, & firewood was scarce in that area. We decided to head toward where we thought the road should be, & see what happened. As I stumbled along deleriously, I laughed at the folly of our having taken a lengthy meat bath, only to wander for hours in the dark through grizzly country. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

We hit the road around 4 am, found the truck by 5, & got to camp by 6. By 7 the horses were loaded, & we went back to load-out the meat. I think it ended up being a 30 hour hunt, but we still had all of our limbs, & my very first elk back in camp.

It's one of the few times I've ever been too tired to sleep, & too hungry to eat. And it was glorious.

FC

My first western hunt, 2015 public land Colorado 2nd Rifle. We waltzed in thinking we were gonna be dodging elk in the national forest like we had in the Chama Valley. Unit 77 was ours…little did we know it was pretty much everyone else’s, too.

The hike in wasn’t bad. 5 miles didn’t seem like a lot, even with the thin air and clouds on the horizon. And the pack guide we had paid to take the bulk of our Victorian safari-esque pack list got us a spot a good distance from the nearest hunters…at least 150 yards!! But my boot did get a little wet, which at this point didn’t matter because tomorrow morning I’d be tagged out. I wouldn’t have time to get a blister…

The first morning was promising and the wind was in my face as I sat watching a wide, grassy burn atop a high, flat ridge. My back was to a sheer cliff and in the valley below was our tent. A spec in the distance.

Elk sign was everywhere. The first animal to walk by was a coyote at first light. I let him pass because I was sure I could hear a herd of elk behind him. Unfortunately it was 8 hunter orange clad members of the same family. One was a rather hefty mother and father, which didn’t make sense because I had sincerely tested my fit 31 year old body getting to my spot before sunup. Locals. Acclimation, I thought.

They had parked 400 yards from where I was sitting. I hiked 2 miles and 1,400’ to get there. “Next year just park at the gate.” Don’t worry! I was invited to camp with them and 46 other individuals who were hunting this same ridge (and in the same family!) next year.

After walking a mile down the ridge to my buddy and exchanging stories regarding the various branches of the same family tree we had interacted with that morning, we decided to lunch at the tent and hike further down that evening since distance from civilization was our friend. We read about that and it had to be true.

I could handle this disappointing deviation from expectations given how utterly beautiful our trip had been to that point. I was going to persevere, despite the unwanted camaraderie.

Then it started to rain. And rain. And rain. 5 straight days of steady, wet rain. My boots and blisters were fully soaked. Our clothes were not drying. Visibility was less than 200 yards, like it even mattered. There were no animals. We made a 1,200 yard stalk on a bull elk the next to last afternoon to finally get within range to identify a mule tied to a tree. There weren’t even chipmunks to steal our food. Simply me, Russell, and hundreds of other hunters.

The last night, knowing we had been thoroughly defeated, we agreed to get in bed and hike out the next morning. That felt like a shallow victory though we knew it was really a sad defeat. We would walk out with our packs empty and our heads held high, looking failure in its face and daring it to call us what we really knew we were down deep in our hearts. We were pansies. Defeated, overmatched losers. We were failures. But at least we knew it!

We turned into the tent, and as we did we saw stars for the first time in 6 nights. Odd we thought. We drifted off to sleep as a cool, still night settled darkly over our camp beside the swollen creek feeding the Piedra River. We slept soundly, safely under the overwatch of pine trees that had stood for decades if not longer. Tomorrow will be a good day.

About an hour in to a deep, albeit damp and shivering sleep, the sound of a freight train awoke me. It was quite deafening, but at the same time I couldn’t tell if it was very loud or very quiet. I just couldn’t hear. I turned on the lamp and could see Russell’s mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. He was obviously yelling but he couldn’t compete with the racket outside. All of a sudden I could hear the steadfast pine trees coming down all around us. The rain fly on the tent was trying to come through the tent. I didn’t know if the neighbors had finally gone mad and were tormenting us or if we were being attacked by a den of bears. I had read there were bears here.

I’m from Oklahoma. Bad weather doesn’t frighten me. I was effing terrified.

For about 30 minutes, or maybe three, this went on. Finally the crashing stopped and the tent quit quivering. The noise abated and the hoarse words coming out of Russel’s mouth started making sense. Water was coming through hundreds of new holes in our rain fly. We slowly opened our tent door to 12” of hail. Everything in the valley was white, but not from snow. 1/4” hail was everywhere. Hail was up over 2’ high on the side of our tent. I stepped out to just below my knee in pea sized hail. It was breathtaking.

The next morning we left a note on a thoroughly soaked piece of paper for our horse guide to grab our stuff and call us when he got in. We didn’t much care to ever go back so we didn’t figure needing any of our gear except our rifles and binocs. Most of our gear was completely waterlogged so we couldn’t take all we came in with on our backs and the horses would have to pick up the slack. We hiked out in record time and straight to Pagosa Brewing. We each ordered hamburgers, wings, and a ton of beer. Two days later our crap was at the outfitters and we piled it into my truck.

Took me 5 years to go back. Now I can’t get enough of it.

One time my valet forgot to pack my cashmere slippers. Most uncomfortable night ever.

Seriously though, you guys have had some truly miserable nights afield!

Been a few for me, but the one that still rankles is when my wife and I were out on a local property (Bagomba) just out of town in winter shooting rabbits for coin.
We had a good load of some eighty pair from memory when I drove through some irrigation runoff that was hidden in the long grass. The loaded 2.8 litre diesel Hilux hit the diffs as soon as I heard the water.
That was early in the night and I spent the next few hours digging to no avail...then I came up with the bright idea of jacking the truck up and piling rabbit carcases under it. If you are ever in this predicament do yourself a favour and DON'T do this...the wheels chewed through those carcases like a mincer and left me sitting in a great big wet hole filled with a mud/mince concoction.
We were stuck so my wife had a sleep in the front of the vehicle and I lay on the back amongst the mud, blood, mince. During the night it decided to rain and when the sun hit the horizon every damned blowfly in the district found us.
A couple of very uncomfortable hours later the cocky drove up in his Landcruiser and pulled us out...THEN was rude enough to just drive back through the bloody great mess we had been stuck in, and didn't even look like getting stuck.

Last time my wife came out on the Rabbits with me, and I cannot say I blame her.

Waking up with water in the tent is always fun......

One of my first forays into tent camping, we set up in a "nice little cleared spot" it rained hard all night and it turned out our nice spot was in a depression. We had prob 1" water in the tent and simply sat there waiting for the lightening to quit. It was a long night. I was about 15 at the time and learned a good lesson in site prep.

I also spent a night in temps in the teens with a '20 deg' sleeping bag. EN rating took on new meaning for me after that. I wasn't anywhere near hypothermia but sat there with all my clothes on waiting for daylight, kind of sucked.

Also spent a night with a camp visitor that wasn't afraid of being yelled at, headlamps, or apparently anything else. Judging by the tracks, I'd say a 200 lb black bear. Our campsite wasn't his first visit. There is something about having a large creature walking around your tent in the dark, only separated by nylon.

Lots of good info on how to make the unexpected cold and wet night more survivable was discussed here:

https://www.24hourcampfire.com/ubbthreads/ubbthreads.php/topics/1105065/surviving-a-cold-wet-night

Being sick is the worst. I watch my kids pretty close now a week or so prior to leaving to see what kind of crap they are bringing home from various things they attend.

I almost had a close call this year. Soaked sleeping bag and tent. Going to get new stuff for next year.

Some good stories, and these stories make great memories, don't they?

When I was doing the mountain phase of ranger school we had an unexpected freezing rain and snow storm hit when we were patrolling. We didn't have good field gear, cotton field pants and field jackets, no ECWG back then. We were patrolling, so no sleeping bags or shelter halves. Some of us had ponchos with poncho liners tied onto them, but not enough to go around, not even any plastic wet weather gear. It was the worst night that I ever spent in the woods, but it graphically proved the truth of "mind over matter", that you could survive if you had the will to survive or you could die if you didn't.

Mine mirrors 260Rem although at Ft Benning OBC, light week, freezing heavy rain, lost PL, laying on the ground for several hours while the PL un "F'd" himself. Absolutely nothing was dry, even under those stupid ripstop ponchos we were drenched and not moving. Un believably cold....

I served in ARNG as an armored recon scout, as did my BIL. I was in graduate school and he had a beer truck route and we both were unable to attend summer camp with our unit in July. His boss had requested that he be allowed to run his route cos of beer sales during July 4 and I was in graduate school and taking exams. We were detached to another unit and another date for our summer camp. Summer camp was at Camp Shelby, extremely hot and humid, and tank trails ground to 3’ of fine silt by the tracks turned to deep mud. The Scouts still had open jeeps and BIL had misplaced much of his field gear. No poncho, canteen, nothing and thunderstorms every afternoon and thru the nights. The skitters are our state bird. BIL discovered that they had a shortage of tankers and excess numbers of scouts. Volunteered us to be tankers, thinking the tanks would be warm, dry and skitter proof. I received 2 minutes of driving instruction before going on an 18 mile road march in the night, no lights, on roads 3’ deep in mud during severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings. Googles were useless and my face and eyes were covered in gritty mud. I was told not to touch anything metal in case of a lightning strike. Water dripped all night resembling a Chinese water torture and it rained all night long. The other 2 tankers had hammocks strung and were moderately comfortable. Skitters love dark places like the interior of a tank. What a damn miserable night. Every surface was hard metal and no no way to get comfortable. I had scrapes and bruises all over. I had to see a medic to get grit rinsed from my eyes. I have no desire to ever be a tanker. Too much misery

Took my boys on a winter overnight, when they were ages 6 and 11. They were veteran pack in campers at that age but not in the winter.

I broke trail back into our property with snowshoes and they followed along. We set up camp on the edge of some white pines with hardwoods across the small clearing. We cut pine bows to build up a layer under the tent, then shoveled snow up around the sides of the tent. Tent plus all the bags and wool blankets we had was cozy in that arrangement, despite no source of heat inside.

We spent the evening before bed around a goodly sized fire and cooking food. In the morning we built the fire back up and cooked a good breakfast, then headed home.

The boys were never miserable, but I was that night, all night. See, I was under threat of divorce to not let a single f'ing (her words) thing happen to the wife's boys. I stayed awake all night listening to them breath, and snore, prepared to bail at a moments notice if something went sideways. Nothing did and they were just as happy when they woke up as they were going to sleep. I spent the entire night warm and cozy in my bag fighting every second to stay awake. That was a LONG miserable night. Still ended up divorced, but not over that.

To this day they recall that overnight as one of the coolest things they ever did when they were kids.

Oh, and it got down to 35 below that night, a might chilly..........

hawaii. 1982.
camped on the beach for a night.
storm blew in and knocked down our tent. couldnt get it back up in the wind, flashlights went dead, so we gave up. it was so hot we slept on top of the tent. crabs came out at night and pinched our toes and fingers all night.
we gathered up our stuff, hiked out, and slept in the car.

2007 PWS AK. I had packed out of our cabin to find the boat and bring it into a different, more sheltered cove. THat night, a squall hit. November, cold, high winds, on a salt water inlet in the open cabin aluminium boat. I have never been that cold again, ever and if I have any say in the matter - I will never again be that cold while breathing. For that matter - I'll have them cremate me nice and toasty.

I am sure all of you still have a smile on your face every time you think of that trip

A smile then, and a smile now.

That little trip taught them that nothing is impossible. Be prepared, and get it done. Them being hooked on The Outdoors made it so much easier. They both are tough and true men now in their mid and late 20s respectively. Men that I greatly admire.

Had a night on Kodiak deer and bear hunting where the rain was near horizontal, and the wind had the Cabela's 9 man? tent in a teardrop. I was on the windward side, and on top of getting moisture from contact with the tent, was freezing from the wind taking heat away.

Too much wind to light a stove safely.

Wet and cold.

I hate that.