No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy’s main strength.
Helmuth von Moltke, 1871.
We departed Sinclair Hollow just before midday, driving north by way of the same rutted trail we had taken on the way in two days before. Crossing the streams again, we saw a sign hidden amid the foliage in such a way that it had not been visible when driving south. The sign was a simple metal post with a metal plate bolted to the top. A white sticker about the size of my hand was affixed to the sign, advising passersby that they were being monitored via security camera. It seemed an odd place for a security camera, particularly given the apparent dearth of civilization in the area; there were no roads or trails leading into the woods, no power lines or permanent structures, or even a day-use picnic spot, from which a security camera might draw power. Satellite imagery of the drive that day bears this out, showing no signs of habitation in that part of the Forest, as well as no plots of private property even remotely close to where we were passing. We chocked it up to some local playing a joke on out-of-towners like us and laughed it off.
