n the year or so that I’ve been at the University, people have often told me to check out Nichols Arboretum. I never found a chance to go and I didn’t give it much thought. In fact, I used to think the Forest Hills Cemetery was part of the Arb, though technically it isn’t.

While leaving the School of Public Health one day, on a whim, I decided to head over to the Arb. It was pretty late — about 10 p.m. — so I searched for a flashlight in my trunk before setting out. After failing to find it, I decided to go anyway. I parked (illegally) in the Oxford lot and crossed the street. As I approached the entrance to the Arb, I was confronted with a choice between two paths. I decided to go right and take a short counterclockwise loop — with luck, I thought, I should be back at my starting point in slightly over a mile. A few dazed-looking students passed me on their way out and I began to wonder what I was getting myself into.

It was dark when I started my adventure but there was enough ambient light for me to follow the main trail. I perceived vague sounds of laughter coming from all several directions, and I imagined hordes of drunk people walking around aimlessly. I later concluded that the voices were coming from outside the Arb, and drunk or not, they posed little threat.

Nevertheless, the oppressive darkness and solitude began to weigh on me. The Arb isn’t meant to be an imposing place, but in the dead of a moonless night, it can be pretty scary. Soon the trail emerged from the woods to curve around an expansive yet desolate valley. Starting into that undefined nothingness, my eyes began to play tricks on me. I felt vulnerable and alone, and amorphous forms began to take shape all around me. Then I saw a large mass just 15 feet away that I knew couldn’t have my imagination. It paused and looked me in the eye before flitting away. Yes, I had nearly walked into a deer.

After my encounter with the deer, I quickly began to grow paranoid. I started thinking about what little I knew about deer and if they could attack a person. What would I do if the deer followed me? I checked my cell phone and saw my signal was only one bar strong. I imagined how my panicked call to DPS might go. “Hello Officer, I‘m being followed by a deer in the Arb and I think it means to do me harm.” I was ready to hit “send” when I decided to take a more mature approach. I made it a point to cough every few feet from then on to alert the local animals of my presence.

Soon after, I began to notice an unmistakable roar that gradually grew deafening. This is was to be the climax of my trip — reaching the mighty Huron River. I had walked along the Huron at night, mostly where it comes near Plymouth Road. But this was a different experience entirely. In the absence of humanity, I was taken aback by the loudness and animation of the rushing water. The beauty of the scene quickly transformed my earlier fear into awe.

Campus and the city surround the Arb on the north and west, and I used the brightly lit dormitories and hospital buildings as landmarks. It’s a surreal experience being in such an isolated place, yet being surrounded by civilization at the same time. At night, the Arb was like a post-nuclear apocalypse landscape from a science fiction novel — that’s how empty and vacant it seemed at parts. Yet the lights of the campus were always in view.

I had intended to loop around at the riverfront but I lost track of my location after walking about half a mile along the river. I ended up, rather anticlimactically, in the Hospital parking lot. I noticed a helicopter about to take off at the helipad and I rushed up the stairs for a closer look. Watching a helicopter take off from close distance is actually pretty exciting. The sound is loud and powerful, almost like a plane. And then it just sits there with the horizontal and tail rotors whirring at extreme speeds. The actual moment when it lifted up in the air was almost unreal; it seemed impossible that it could just hover there without falling. It’s quite a sight to watch it happen a few feet before your eyes.

Dismayed at the unexciting prospect of walking down Observatory to my car on Geddes, I decide to re-enter the Arb and take another path. At this entrance, there were three paths to choose from. I tried them out, turning back indecisively several times before deciding to return to the map at the entrance. Apparently, they all end up at the same point, with the leftmost being the main path and the rightmost being the most “rustic” one (according to the map’s terminology). Deciding on the road less traveled, I come across a new set of fellow travelers after walking for a few minutes.