We drove towards the butte and took a right turn on the road that should lead most of the way to the top, at least according to Google maps. The road wound circuitously among farmers' fields and slowly climbed towards the upper reaches of the butte before curling around to the northern side and plunging into pine forest. Not long after entering the forest we were stopped by a gate and barbed wire fence which were covered with No Tresspassing signs. Yeah, whatever. We ditched the car among the weeds off to the side of the road--far enough away that I doubt anybody legitimately supposed to be there would notice it while opening or closing the gate.

We climbed over the gate and proceeded on foot. The sun had gone down but there was plenty of twilight to see exactly where we were going, even if it was at times difficult to completely attain a sense of direction in the pine forest. As we followed the dirt road upwards--it was barely wider than a single car--the fleeting light of dusk gave way to nighttime and the faint glow of a waning moon. We broke out of the pine forest into the edge of a field and, in the moonlight, could see an enormous, spooky-looking house. The exterior of the house was simple and wooden and the faint light reflected off of huge, gaping windows that suggested a cavernous interior. The overall appearance of the architecture suggested a shoddy cabin in the woods expanded to grotesque proportions. The large parking area in the driveway was filled with rusted out cars and it was impossible to discern whether the place had been abandoned for 20 years of if there was somebody in it at that moment, looking back at us through the darkness. It was fucking creepy. We stopped talking, quickened our pace, and kept our heads down while trying to move with stealth until we were safely back in the woods and out of sight of the clearing and its weird quasi-abandoned cabin-mansion.

The road turned upwards even steeper, and, even though we were still in the woods, it was obvious that we had reached the ridgeline which we were now following to the true summit--the slope trended downwards to both our left and right. The last hill was almost too steep to drive a vehicle up, and as we started to crest the final hill--the tops of the radio towers were already visible--we all simultaneously heard a noise and froze. It was men's voices. We could hear people talking through the darkness but couldn't see anybody or anything other than the shining red beacons in the air far above us. I'll take credit for the next group decision, which was to immediately turn around and try to move as quickly as possible in the other direction while simultaneously making as little noise as possible and staying low, close to the ground. I got the impression that Chris would have rather confronted the other people up there and that Ben was ambivalent, but when I turned around and took off in my awkward crouching run-walk neither of them seemed keen on sticking around by themselves to see what happens.

As we fled the voices grew gradually fainter until we could no longer hear anything except the rustling of leaves in the slight breeze. By this time full darkness was upon us and the road became difficult to follow, especially once we descended off the ridgeline back into the thick forest. Since none of us had even an inkling that this was to be our Saturday evening--it was entirely spur of the moment--we didn't have any flashlights or adequate methods to light our journey and had to make do with cell phone light. Although almost entirely unsubstantial, the light from the phones was, at the very least, enough to avoid stepping in puddles of water as the reflections of the dim light off the puddles made them easy to spot. We conversed nervously while trotting down the dirt road. None of us were in a stable frame of mind and we were all nervous and twitchy to a certain extent. The next thing that happened did not take any of us by surprise, as I think we all had the same realization at the exact same moment.

There was a vehicle coming down the road. Maybe more than one. It was probably the people who had been on top of the butte talking, and the fact that they had vehicles confirmed that they were the ones who were legitimately up there while we were the ones who were trespassing. A thousand horror scenarios passed through my mind in an instant: here were were, trespassing in the woods on a lonely butte in northern Idaho. Getting caught was not an enticing option. The advancing headlights first appeared shining on the trees up at the end of the straight stretch we were in the middle of. The vehicles were coming and would round the corner any second and we would be caught right in their headlights, exposed with no chance of escaping reprimand or worse. In an instant we reacted. Fight or flight was not even a question or debatable issue in this case; Ben and Chris went left and I went right.

The blackness of the night underneath the pine canopy had disoriented all of us and the directions we fled in were mostly a product of where we were standing in relation to each other. The three of us were walking abreast with me on the far right, Ben in the middle, and Chris on the left. Each of us took the quickest path off the road, which, unbeknownst to us, was cutting sideslope at this point. This created an interesting situation.

I flung myself with abandon through the brush at the right side of the road and had a horrifying revelation: the ground was not there to meet my feet like I thought it would be. I had, apparently, chosen the downhill side of the road. I hit the ground with a thud and slid for ten feet or so before clawing to a stop with minimal injuries--just a few scrapes and sore spots that eventually bruised, but nothing that was a hindrance to motion. I picked my way across the slope to a large tree and crouched behind it with my head peeking around to the side, my eyes intently staring at the three sets of headlights coming down the road. I was well out of sight. My incidental choice to flee on the downhill side provided me with plenty of cover: nobody driving that road could ever possibly have been alerted to my presence. Ben and Chris, however, were not afforded the luxury of an undetectable hiding place.

When they jumped off the road they found themselves in the opposite situation as me: the ground met them unexpectedly and instantly. Putting enough ground between themselves and the road to feel safe in the time before the headlights turned the corner and shone towards them was not an easy task. They both scrambled furiously up the slope in the few seconds that they could move completely undetected, but ended up hardly off the edge of the road and hiding behind vegetation that barely qualified as "brush". An astute observer in any of the vehicles would have conceivably been able to spot them with ease.

The headlights grew nearer. I was fixed intently on their speed, hoping for their seamless, uninterrupted passage by our hiding spots and on down the road. As the first truck came close to our positions it slowed down. Almost to a stop. My heart sped up. Holy shit, what was I going to do? They must have seen Ben and Chris! What do I do? I could most likely stay out of sight behind the trunk of this old, thick pine tree, but what if they did something to Ben and Chris? What would they do? Who are these people? How will they react to finding people trespassing up here? This is fucking northern Idaho, there are crazies all over the place up here. At least that's the stereotype. Is it true? Should I be this afraid? If something bad happens do I slip off into the night, abandoning my friends to save myself? Do I make a stand with them? What bad things exactly would happen?

Suddenly, the motor roared and the truck accelerated around the corner and out of sight. The other two trucks followed. I exhaled.

The rest of the walk to the car was in silence, still using cell phone light to dodge puddles in the blackness under the forest canopy. This excursion ended up being a little too exciting.