"Is that...a moose?" I whispered, clutching the edges of my too-thin jacket. It was dusk, the sky streaked in sherbet orange and bruised purple, and I found myself in what can only be described as a laughably bad setup for a rom-com: trudging through a bog in Baxter State Park, trying to impress someone who once described Walden Pond as "hot inspiration." My date, Evan, was, in his own words, "spiritually connected to the natural world." I suspect he mostly liked showing off his Patagonia wardrobe and quoting Thoreau inappropriately. Regardless, I agreed to this...adventure. It seemed charmingly rough around the edges, a departure from my predictable life by the Maine shore.
What followed was the most peculiar, awkward, and, strangely, transformative experience of my dating life. Because here’s the thing: trudging through a bog with someone you barely know will either strengthen your connection—or make you seriously question your life choices. I’ll let you guess which direction this unfolded.
The Setup: Love, L.L. Bean Boots, and False Confidence
Let me preface this by saying that I’m no stranger to the great outdoors. Growing up in Kennebunkport, I climbed my fair share of sandy dunes, braved rocky tide pools, and sailed past more lighthouses than I can count. But this––a 14,000-acre chunk of Maine wilderness dotted with trails, streams, and, apparently, bogs––was entirely new terrain.
Evan somehow convinced me that an early fall hike would be “romantic.” He pitched it with cinematic descriptions: “Imagine golden leaves drifting down around us; the crisp air sparking conversation—then, loons calling as we enjoy our trail snacks by a reflective pond.” It sounded like something you'd see on the cover of an eco-travel magazine. Of course, reality often has other plans.
Instead, we ended up in a bog. Yes, a literal wetland zone where the ground squelched underfoot, the air reeked faintly of decay, and the mosquitoes swarmed with the ferocity of unpaid interns. All because Evan had taken a “shortcut” he swore was on some obscure ranger map.
The Craziest Spot for a First-Date Debrief
Picture this: I’m balancing precariously on a soggy log, trying to navigate a path that Mother Nature obviously never intended anybody to walk. Evan is charging ahead, waving his arms around enthusiastically to show me what he called “nonverbal leadership.” I swear he read one of those aggressively confident self-development books—Act Like a Moose, Get the Mate! or something.
As he bounded forward, oblivious to the growing scowl on my face, I had what some might call an epiphany. Relationships are far more like bogs than well-paved trails. The path isn’t always clear, things get messy fast, and sometimes, you feel like you’re just one wrong step away from sinking up to your knees.
What’s the lesson in all this? Listening. No, not to some moody bird in the bushes. To your date, to the rhythm of the interaction, to the pace of connection. Had Evan paid the slightest attention to my increasingly sarcastic remarks (“Oh sure, I LOVE mud between my toes, who doesn’t?”), he might’ve realized I wasn’t exactly thriving in our unplanned off-trail excursion. Good communication is like a sturdy pair of boots—it keeps you grounded when things get slippery.
What the Moose Taught Me About Dating
Yes, the moose was real. After forty minutes of “shortcutting,” we emerged onto a grassy, damp clearing. And there it stood, a massive bull moose with antlers like a candelabra and a calm, almost judging gaze. For a full 30 seconds, he stared us down, chewing slowly like he could spot the existential crisis brewing inside me. But then he sauntered off, unimpressed with our flannel-and-fleece aesthetic.
Here’s the wild thing I realized as I watched him disappear into the trees: a solid moose encounter is basically the dating world’s version of a red flag. You get lost, you veer into unexpected territory, and all of a sudden, there’s something big and unmistakable right in front of you. The question is: Do you stick around to see what happens, or do you politely excuse yourself from the situation?
What was my moose moment with Evan, you ask? Well, about fifteen minutes later, as we finally found a trail, he remarked, “This reminds me of the bog metaphor Thoreau wrote about. Granted,” he paused, “Thoreau might not have said ‘bog,’ but you get what I mean.”
No. No, I did not.
Lessons from the Bog for Navigating Love
So, where does this leave us? Soggy boots aside, hiking into literal quicksand with Evan taught me a few things about dating—and myself. Here are the takeaways, channeled down from that moment of wilderness-induced clarity:
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Know Your Tolerance for Adventure
If your date suggests something out of your comfort zone, ask questions. Don’t just smile and nod! The idea of being “spontaneous” might be romantic, but not if it requires dodging mosquitoes and decoding cryptic dead-wood signposts. -
Adapt, Don’t Settle
Bog life can teach you adaptability—but there’s a fine line between compromise and carrying your partner’s emotional equivalent of wet socks. If you’re doing all the work to keep things steady, you’re not building a connection; you’re babysitting their metaphorical map skills. -
Red Flags Don’t Hide in the Woods
They're out there, large as a moose and just as impossible to ignore. Pay attention to how your date reacts when plans go sideways. Do they help problem-solve, or are they too busy pontificating on existential metaphors to notice you’re floundering in knee-deep muck? -
Find the Humor
Okay, so bogging isn’t my new favorite activity. But here’s what I love: the story. You’re bound to encounter mishaps in life or your love life—the question is, can you laugh about it over drinks later, or is this clash of priorities too stark to ignore?
The Exit: Bog Walked So I Could Run
Spoiler alert: Things didn’t work out with Evan. And you know what? That’s perfectly fine. Not every connection has to lead to dinner dates on rocky coasts or fateful walks in autumn forests. Some moments exist simply to teach you what you need to know—like how to politely decline unusual first-date suggestions. Or that carrying extra bug spray in your tote bag might just save the day.
Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Connections that matter don’t feel like a bog. They feel like finding your way out of one. Comfortable, clear, and, most importantly, fun. And while I’m still on my path to connection, I’m grateful to the moose for offering me that much-needed look of existential clarity. After all, the journey—messy, wild, and unpredictable—is what makes the destination worth reaching.
