My Pungent Guest

June 4, 2025__|__Paul Belz

It’s a bad idea to leave a tent partially unzipped at night. Still, even an experienced hike leader can make mistakes. And sometimes, at the end of a perfect day, an unexpected visitor might find its way in.

On a bright June morning, I’d guided eight Sierra Club backpackers on the fairly short trek from the Limantour parking lot to Coast Camp. After lunch and a rest, we spent the afternoon examining the sandstone cliffs, their embedded pebbles, and the daisies and other wildflowers that thrived atop them. Erosion had slashed them into astounding shapes—some looked like faceless statues standing sentry, facing the sea.

If they’d had eyes, they could have watched the lines of brown pelicans that skimmed the rumbling ocean’s surface. Wind hurled waves over offshore rocks decorated by green anemones, sea stars, and thousands of mussels. Black oystercatchers searched for meals, and seals pushed their faces above the water to see what was going on.

I congratulated myself on my leadership skills when the tired but happy campers gathered for dinner at our picnic table. We played a humorous game of poker before turning in. I was sitting on the bench, facing the ocean, and studying my hand when one of the gang said, “A spotted skunk is sitting between your feet!” His voice must have scared the little visitor; it slunk away and vanished in shadows. We laughed, played another few hands and forgot about it. That was a huge mistake!

I settled into my tent as darkness fell, sat on my sleeping bag, removed my shoes and socks and yes—didn’t completely zip the entrance. It only took me a few minutes to realize something was walking around and sniffing as it searched for a meal. “A raccoon,” I kidded myself and sighed. “It’s good I didn’t bring any food into the tent. It will figure that out quickly and leave.”

I was lucky that I knew something about meditation. I relaxed as much as I could, breathed very deeply, and watched my shadowy guest. My eyes quickly adjusted to the growing darkness, and I realized the creature’s fur was black and white just as its scent reached my nose. My whole body felt like a scream, but I forced myself to breathe more slowly and to somehow stay still as the skunk tried to drag my daypack out of the tent. 

My visitor suddenly dropped my day pack and climbed up my bare feet. I never knew that salt had a strong smell, but the little one somehow realized that I had sweat as I hiked, and it could lick the mineral it needed from my toes. It tickled, but I successfully  stifled a shriek. “Deep breaths, deep breaths…” I chanted silently while the skunk enjoyed itself.

My little friend suddenly turned and focused its face on mine. I don’t know what it thought I was before it decided it was time to leave. It jumped off my feet, slipped out of my tent, and merged with the night. Silence surrounded me, but the ocean rumbled not far away. I wanted to make completely sure the skunk had left, so I waited a few minutes before pulling the zipper shut. Then, I somehow managed to sleep.

I walked to Sculpture Beach at dawn and suddenly laughed so uncontrollably that it hurt. I knew my pal was resting in its den. This was its world; it had been a kind of guide who strengthened the wind’s chill, the ocean’s roar, gulls’ shrieks and the cliff’s sharp colors. These sensations flowed into me more sharply than before. Good luck, little skunk! I look for you when I return to Coast Camp, and I hope you’ve had a great life.