Evil Outfitter

When the Designer Intrudes on our Designs

I do a lot of wilderness backpacking. In fact, I’m preparing to publish a novel with a backpacking theme.

I usually travel 35-50 miles, solo with a 50-pound pack. And I’m usually out there 4-8 days, depending on the route I take.

I recently returned from a trip that didn’t go as planned. Rain was forecast for every single day, but I went anyway because I have the right gear, and I don’t mind rain. However, when I got to a particular canyon I wanted to ascend, the river was so swollen from the rain that I couldn’t get across. So I pitched my tent in the rain in an unfavorable terrain. It left me ruminating about what was the point of the trip?

Then this happened: While I was exploring the river for a place to cross, I stumbled across three grave markers. One for a drowned infant. A second for a prospector. And a third for a suicidal bookkeeper who had worked for a mining company.

Besides surprise, my first reaction was awe that I had stumbled across a piece of history; the markers were all dated 1881. My next reaction was pity because of the tragic circumstances of death noted on the stone markers.

But things didn’t add up. The narrow pinch of the valley would have been an unlikely place for habitations, even for gold rush prospectors. And there were no ruins in the area to my knowledge. Also, the stones were identical in construction and appeared as new polished work, no corrosion or erosion at all.

Suddenly I was stirred by a memory from the writing process: There is a character in my novel whom I good-naturedly characterize as an evil outfitter. He’s not really evil, but it helps me to think of him archetypally. On a whim, I had googled “evil outfitter” just to see what the universe would turn up.

The entry explained how a certain outfitter pranked his customers with ghost stories associated with three fake graves. The “evil” outfitter would dress up as a prospector and haunt his clients during the night. On the final night, the “haunting” rather insensitively culminates in tossing a river-soaked baby doll into the victim’s tent so that he thinks he is being haunted by the drowned infant. Not my idea of campsite humor.

I suddenly realized I was standing next to those fake graves I had read about.

The intriguing notion persists with me that I had coincidentally stumbled across this site, off-trail, hidden in the brush, along the unfrequented confluence of valleys, in the largest contiguous wilderness area in Colorado. And I only knew of the site and recognized its true significance (or insignificance) because I had googled a fictional character of my own making.

I wonder now if this signifies that I am on the right trail with my novel? A divine message? Is it something which has percolated up between my unconscious and the collective unconscious? Or maybe it doesn't mean anything at all.

I can live with any answer. In any case, I am on a path with a supernatural design; I am co-creating with my Creator, co-designing with my Designer. Possibly, the design itself is not my problem. But I am thrilled just to be on that path.