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4 | (continued) The pursuit, I’m afraid, was very brief. When she reached the corner of the woodlot, facing open fields to the north and east, she dropped to the ground, out of sight. Having no real objective in my chase, I chose not to spook her witless by cornering her where she lay, perhaps nibbling a favorite food. I returned to camp, saddened, more than a little frustrated, but bearing, as a trophy, a self-revelation long overdue. On another occasion, at night, I was lying in the tent, slowly falling asleep, when I heard, from directly above the peak of the tent, the deep, snuffling sound of a deer with a serious case of nasal congestion. It seemed to have so much mucus in its nasal passages that it made me sniffle in sympathy. If ever there were a case indicating anti-histamines, it was his. I’m presuming its sex from its height, since the peak of the tent is over five feet high. A few minutes later, I could hear him again, browsing on some greenery a few feet away, still snuffling; I can’t recall when I’ve heard a more pathetic sound. My only guess as to his motives for sniffing at the tent peak is that he was trying to figure out what the hell this strange thing was, suddenly appearing in his front yard. I remain convinced that most of the deer found the tent positively attractive at night, especially when my flashlight was on. Late one night, I left the light on the pillow, then went outside and looked at the tent. I wasn’t surprised to see that its internal reflections illuminated the entire structure—about 14 feet long—making it by far the most conspicuous thing in that dark little world. Many nights I heard the deer gamboling about, only yards away, but not once did I open the flap and take a peek at them. Somehow I knew it would scare them silly, and they might never come back, which would have made me very sad. It remains a mystery to me that they never seemed to associate the tent with their most dangerous natural enemy.
Some things that did make me sad concern the predators. It’s never a pretty sight to watch one animal killing and eating another. Worse yet is the experience of hearing it happen, in the dark, only yards away. Worst of all, for me, is hearing one lonely animal whimpering near the tent to my right, while its mate is being slowly eaten by an owl, perhaps twenty yards off to my left. I heard this happen more than once.
Only once while I was there did I actually watch this happen. It was in the day, and easier to bear, if only because the prey couldn’t scream. Sitting on the bank of the river, scanning its reaches with a pair of 10-power binoculars (hard to hold steady at first, but great for nature observation, once you get used to them), I patiently watched a female kingfisher swallowing a fish that must have been nearly a third of her weight. The fish convulsed once as it went down; she adjusted herself for its movements in her gullet, then all was still, meal over. I also watched a charming little scene, minutes later, a vision worthy of Disney, as a fat, possibly pregnant raccoon ambled slowly across the river, alone, in broad daylight, perhaps looking for a bite to eat, but not at all ambitious in any case. She was taking her time, and I was enjoying her promenade immensely, but when she finally noticed me, despite my distance (they are very aware of large strangers in their vicinity), she moved a little faster and disappeared on the other bank. I saw only one other predator while I was there, during the winter, and was surprised at its presence, since no one had mentioned them. It was a river otter, apparently full-grown, diving in and out of the snow on the far bank. It must have seen me, since it was only about thirty feet away, but it showed no fear, and without seeming to hurry, it simply disappeared in the snow after a couple of minutes. As for skunks, I neither saw nor smelled one in nine months. Which is a shame, since I don’t find their scent repulsive at all—a bit wild, perhaps, but hardly the sort of thing that makes me gag. And they’re beautiful to watch. I never saw any foxes, either, where I was, though there was a den of them deep in the back yard of the house next door to Boss’s place, far across the field from me. |
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If I may judge by their calls, most of the nocturnal predators were great horned owls, one of the largest species in the wild. Exactly what they were eating, at any given time, I had no way of knowing. Probably, as elsewhere, mice, rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, young raccoons, most of which are quite capable of crying out in agony for several minutes until their consciousness fades.|
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