Twilight
When dark is not quite night
I’ve challenged myself to try twelve new outdoor (and outdoor-adjacent) activities in 2025 to get out of my comfort zone and have some new adventures. This is a recap of one of those attempts.
I shivered as I stepped out of the car into a dark, empty parking lot at Bong State Recreation Area.1 Away from the light pollution of Chicago, the stars were brilliant and the sliver of moon shone bright against the inky darkness. Then I looked lower, towards the lake I had visited dozens of times before, and I saw nothing but black. This time the shiver was not because of the cold. I bolted back into my car and took a deep breath before driving home. It was not the night for a hike.
I’ve had a tense relationship with darkness over the past year. For the vast majority of my life, I would have classified myself as someone who was comfortable in the dark. During childhood summers, my neighborhood friends and I would meet up after sunset to play games of ghost in the graveyard that spanned the entire block. In college and beyond, I would confidently walk home alone from bars, concerts, and long sessions of strategy board games at two or three in the morning. But last February—not long after dinner on a Sunday night—I was mugged in front of my apartment building. The bruises and scrapes faded in a few weeks, but I was left with a dread of the dark.
Yesterday, I returned to Bong a few minutes before sunset. If starting a hike in the dark was too much, I figured I could ease myself into it. After all, anyone who has gone camping knows that night does not begin at sunset—there are degrees of darkness.
When I plan a backpacking trip, I always make note of when civil twilight begins and ends—the time before sunrise and after sunset when there is enough residual light in the sky that you can read a map or set up your tent without needing to turn on your headlamp.2 In the evenings, civil twilight is followed by nautical twilight, then astronomical twilight, and finally—when the sun is far enough below the horizon—night.3
I stood, once again, in the parking lot and looked out over a fully visible—for now—Wolf Lake. I strapped my headlamp to my forehead, but didn’t turn it on, and I cracked two glow sticks, a bracelet for each wrist. I wanted to let my eyes acclimate to the fading light, but also wanted to avoid startling other hikers by appearing suddenly in front of them without illumination. Unfortunately, the glow stick bracelets were not sized to fit over a puffy down jacket, so I ended up looping them around the door handles of my car as a beacon for when I returned to the parking lot. Then, the clock ticked over into civil twilight so I took off on the familiar 4.2 mile loop around the lake.
The trail starts (and ends) in a prairie4 and the wide open space made civil twilight feel bright, despite the clouds. Buoyed by the light, I almost fooled myself into thinking that I could finish the loop before anything approximating night actually descended. Alas, I am not that fast.
Only a half mile or so in, I paused to (poorly) photograph some sumac and heard not-so-distant gunshots off to my right. Damn, I forgot to wear blaze orange—though does it even matter in the dark? I turned my headlamp on, hoping that a halo of light around me would be a decent enough substitute.
Nautical twilight began as I entered the forested portion of the trail and the light around me abruptly diminished, an inverse relationship with my sense of urgency. Luckily, the wide trail, coupled with my familiarity of the route, allowed me to stride forward without hesitation. Only the sculptural silhouettes of the trees slowed me down as I took dozens of photos of gnarly limbs stretching across the sky.
Darkness continued to descend and a small, pulsating panic rose in my chest. I increased the brightness of my headlamp, though that limited my field of vision, and I began mentally checking off the landmarks I had passed and preparing for the ones ahead. At the intersection with the Green Trail, I considered taking the shortcut back to the parking lot—my preferred route during daylight because it closely hugs the shore of Wolf Lake and offers fantastic birdwatching opportunities. However, I knew that the end of that trail required traversing a boardwalk that has, historically, had stability issues. Better to continue on the longer, safer route than to fall in the water.5
The final twenty minutes of my hike occurred in astronomical twilight and it felt like true night. No longer did I worry that I was taking the easy way out by shifting the goalposts of a night hike to merely a twilight hike. This was dark enough to count.
Though when I arrived back at my car, I was surprised that Wolf Lake was still visible. It was about the same time of night as when I arrived for my previous hike attempt, but the difference in how my eyes had adjusted to the low light made a world of difference. On my prior visit, leaving the bright bubble of my car headlights had made the darkness feel impenetrable. This time, those final minutes of astronomical twilight were easier to navigate.
That made me reflect back on the camping trips I’ve taken over this past year. Though I had often been too anxious to leave my apartment after dark, I embraced the night when I was alone in my tent in the woods. Perhaps it is not the dark I dread, but rather the stark contrast of stepping from the light into the unknown.
That being said, I don’t think I will become someone who goes on solo night hikes just for fun. With friends? Sure! But on my own, I prefer my nighttime outdoor activities to include a book, a campfire, and a cozy tent that I can retreat to.
From the Wisconsin DNR’s website:
“Once designated to be a jet fighter base, Richard Bong State Recreation Area is named after Major Richard I. Bong, a Poplar, WI native who was America's leading air ace during World War II. The air base was abandoned three days before concrete was to be poured for a 12,500-foot runway. Local citizens had the foresight to protect this open space for future generations.”
However, in areas with a dense tree canopy, I may need to pull out my headlamp during civil twilight because the leaves filter out much of the light.
In the mornings, this order is reversed.
According to a sign near the entrance to the park, Bong State Recreation Area boasts the largest managed prairie in southeastern Wisconsin!
In retrospect, the lake appeared to be mostly frozen and there were even people skating on the ice when I arrived. If I had taken the boardwalk, there would have been minimal risk of getting wet had I fallen off.
I love night hiking solo. There is an intensity to it especially if you can manage without a headlamp on. (always carry one though!) this reminded me of hiking to Larch mountain from the Columbia river gorge. I started it with enough daylight that I knew I would return in the dark. Nobody out lots of sounds and enough light to get by. The headlamp came on when I approached cliff edges. Nobody was going to rescue me. It was a great experience.
I am glad you are able to face your fears.
It really sucks that those jerks made darkness so scary. I'm glad you were able to still do the twilight hike.