Mt. Delphi offers the perfect campsite: a meadow atop the mountain, grassy and flat, a sea view looking west for sunset; east for sunrise. A place where quiet reigns and Simba, my dog and I can watch the evening set in, the stars appear, and listen as the sounds of owl and hawk take over the night.

My friend, Beth and I had camped in July, this time Simba and I arrived alone at Delphi and set up camp in the meadow so green and level. But around 7 pm, a battered pick-up truck came rumbling up the dirt path toward our campsite. Two rough-looking sheepers alighted from the truck, I guessed owners of the large herd of goats that wandered these mountains from Palio Klima to Glossa, both looking as wooly and unshaven as their goats. “You stay all night here in that,” one said pointing at the tent. They were not threatening yet they weren’t friendly either. Simba was the source of their suspicion. Surely when Simba smelled the goats he would be off after them, tearing at their necks and eating them whole. They mimed arms being ripped and blood and carnage as they made predictions and demanded questions in Greek.

Then I had an idea. “You have a rope?” I asked. They did in the back of their pick-up. I’ll tie up Simba olli nixta, all night I said, to that ancient plum tree down below just to be sure he will not chase the goats. They seemed satisfied with this solution and drove off slowly. Then I let out a groan of frustration— here was a photo opportunity I had let slip by. But then, I am not sure they would have been willing subjects but perhaps that would have made for a more interesting picture. Suspicion. Mild hostility.

I will find them next time I raise camp on beautiful Mt. Delphi.