Retro Rhonda J: A Hellish Night in Shawnee National Forest

Gunshots rang through the cool, rainy, dark campground and I felt paralyzed within my already vulnerable and confining sleeping bag and tent. My fear had been growing over the past hour as shouts of apparent anger from another campsite grew ever louder and more intense. I had already began preparing for my escape if it was needed. When I heard the gunshots, I knew it was time.

I was camping at Bell Smith Spring Recreation Area’s Redbud campground in Southern Illinois’ Shawnee National Forest. Mark and I had checked out this campground many times when hiking there and I decided my solo trek back to Havana was a perfect time to try it. I was on my way back from Nags Head, North Carolina where I’d dropped off Mark to start his month-long motorcycle adventure on the Trans America Trail (TAT).

I arrived early on Wednesday, June 7, 2023, and quickly set up camp in site #12. I was sitting in my chair eating grapes and cheese when a breeze picked up and it looked like rain. I got my chair pushed inside the truck bed tent just as it started to rain. Inside, I comfortably sat in my chair, listened to music, and continued writing my book on my laptop.

Camping at Bell Smith Springs Redbud Campground

Inside tent

Later the rain let up, so I went for a hike, lit a campfire, made a simple supper, and enjoyed my peaceful evening in the forest. I had just put everything away for the night when it started raining again. I was glad I took down the clothesline. The only things still out were the firewood inside a small tarp and Mark’s heavy motorcycle ramp, that I’d need when I retrieved him in Oregon in 30-some days. It was pouring rain, but I was nice and dry inside.

Hiking along spicebush and broad beech fern on the Jay Gap trail at Bell Smith Springs Recreation Area.

I fell asleep watching a movie I’d downloaded on my iPad and woke up in a confused state at about midnight. It was still raining. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. I kept hearing noises around me. I told myself it was a small animal, or the movie noise, or the rain in the trees. It was hard to tell with the rain just what the sounds were.

Soon I heard yelling and screaming. I turned off all my devices and listened with a tight chest and quickening heart. All kinds of scenarios ran through my mind, but mainly they were about what wacked out people might do in the rain and dark. It was VERY dark. I grabbed the truck bed-retrieving stick and bear spray for defense, though not sure how I’d use them, and began thinking of a plan to escape if needed.

Then I heard two gunshots and knew I had to get out of that tent. I put on my hiking boots, grabbed a small flashlight and my phone (with no signal) and stepped outside in the rain – less intense but still raining. I had on pocketless sweatpants and a sweatshirt, so tried to tuck my items into my underwear. I briefly thought about hiding in the woods, but it was cold and wet and hours until daylight.

Then I heard more shots and made a move. I had positioned the truck on the campsite sideways and had Mark’s big cycle ramp and the firewood under the tailgate on the ground. As quietly as I could I dragged the heavy ramp away from the truck so I could back it up and maneuver out of there. I left the tent up in the back of the truck with everything inside, the tailgate step and lift pole out, and drove away slowly, going in the wrong direction down the one-way road out of camp to avoid the scary campers. I didn’t see anyone in the dark campground on my way out. I drove slowly down the gravel road away from potential danger and started to feel safer and better. At the turnoff to the other parking area, I pulled over – a safe distance from the crazies - and moved my suitcase and backpack to the cab of the truck. Everything else I laid down and left in the tent, then undid the tent straps from the truck and loosened the tent poles to partially collapse them. I just stuffed it all haphazardly into the truck bed and pulled the tonneau cover over it all, closing the tailgate.

In the dark and rain, at 1:30 a.m., I drove slowly down the rough gravel, narrow Shawnee forest roads. I saw many deer, opossum, and racoons. One small buck stood in the road a few moments before letting me pass. I kept watching the cell signal but there was none. Back out on Rt. 145 I drove south to find a town – Eddyville I think. I had cell service there, so called 911 and got emotional with the sheriff. He said he’d send a deputy out since shots were fired and told me where a hotel was in Harrisburg, about 15 miles north. The Super8 night clerk there was very nice but new and took forever to get me a room. I restlessly slept a few hours, got up at 6:30 a.m., showered, had breakfast, then pondered who to call for advice. Should I go back for the $300 ramp or just go home and try to find a replacement. Mark was camping somewhere without cell service, so I texted my sister, then called our son Derek, who said without hesitation to go get the ramp. I rearranged the truck bed at the hotel to allow room when I got there for a quick recovery.

In the clear, calm light of day, on the way back to camp, I could feel my confidence and courage building, but I was still apprehensive. As I drove off Rt. 145 deeper into the forest, I could feel the trees sending me positive vibes. They seemed to tell me that it wasn’t their fault and they supported me, and I’d be okay. Stupid people are not a reason to fear nature. Adding to my courage, Mark called me just as I turned onto the Bell Smith Springs Road. I pulled over to tell him my story, then proceeded back to the scene with him on the line, but I lost him as I backed into the space to retrieve my items.

As I walked to my truck after retrieving the ramp and firewood, I almost went back for a black feather that I’d found when I arrived the day before. Someone had stuck it into the stump of a pine tree, and it had seemed either a bit omen or a bit prophetic at the time. A nearby campsite had a voodoo-like thing hanging in a tree, and I wondered what type of people camp in Redbud campground. Had someone hexed the site, or did they leave it as a positive sign to the next camper? During by travels I had been listening to the audiobook “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed where she describes in the Corvidology chapter about how a black feather is a symbol of the void and beginning again. I did not take the feather with me, but I do think it was a sign and helped pull me out of the dark void of that moment to be proactive for my safety. It did change me. I’ve always known I’m strong, but I feel it deeper now. I also know I won’t put myself in that situation again. Next time I’ll camp in a state park by elderly, retired, peaceful folks.

As I drove away, I felt proud of my confidence and courage, and was glad I hadn’t paid yet since I didn’t stay even one whole night. It wasn’t until I was about 100 miles north on my way home that the intensity of my relief set in. I wasn’t the vulnerable girl taught to fear every situation and person. I was a strong woman who took control of her situation and provided for her own safety. I had used my training and experiences to circumvent the situation and feel safe.

It was about then that it also occurred to me that maybe the people weren’t wild-eyed, drug induced, crazy people, but rather ordinary campers frustrated with pesky coons that ravage and scavenge every camp I’ve ever visited. Maybe they were yelling at the coons to go away and maybe they got so frustrated that they finally shot at them. I sure hope they got the SOBs.