The Lone Ranger
08-06-2010, 01:32 AM
Unfortunately, all good things must end. I spent the past 3 weeks or so hiking and camping in the Southern Appalachians and generally having a wonderful time. Now, alas, it's back to work.
I spent the first week or so in Shenandoah National Park. There are, according to park literature, 500 miles of trails in Shenandoah N.P. I didn't hike all of them in that time, of course, but I did my best. In particular, I made a point of hiking to each and every waterfall in the park. (I do love waterfalls.)
It's funny how it's the little things that you often remember though, isn't it?
You know how butterflies often gather to suck up minerals where they're concentrated in exposed soil or in drying mud puddles? They'll happily gather minerals from the skin of a sweating human, too. One day, I was sitting at the base of a particularly pretty, rather isolated waterfall, enjoying the view and the solitude when I felt a light touch on my hand. I looked down to see that a Spicebush Swallowtail (Papilio troilus (http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/wildflower/Image/Butterfly/05-Spicebush-swallowtail.jpg)) had landed on my hand.
For the next 30 minutes, I sat still while the butterfly methodically cleaned salt from my hand. It was an utterly fascinating experience, and in my opinion, no movie, television show, or video game could possibly have been as entertaining as sitting there in that lovely woodland, by a waterfall, enjoying the butterfly's attentions.
The next day, I sat on a boulder high on a mountain as a ferocious thunderstorm swept up the mountain toward me. I put on my poncho and carefully tucked it under and around me to ensure that I stayed dry, and sat down to watch the show. The valley below me disappeared as the clouds filled it, and then the thunderstorm marched up the mountainside toward me. You could see the wall of water approaching, and then the storm was all around me. After half an hour or so, it was over.
I'm sure that sitting on a boulder on a mountainside and enjoying a good thunderstorm isn't exactly everyone's idea of a great time, but I certainly enjoyed it.
Shenandoah N.P. rents cabins to visitors, and after a few days of hiking in hot, humid weather (and getting caught in the occasional thunderstorm), a soft bed and a hot shower seemed like they'd be really good ideas, so I rented a cabin for the night. As it turned out, the cabin had a fireplace, so I built a fire in the fireplace and roasted hot dogs for supper. (That's probably not what the cabin-builders had imagined the fireplace would be used for.)
One curious thing that I've often noticed in the past is that deer are, very frequently, not stealthy animals. People have this notion that deer are dainty and quiet animals that move silently and almost undetectably through the forest. Sometimes they do, but often they don't. A single deer stomping around in the forest often sounds like an entire herd.
By contrast, Black Bears (Ursus americanus (http://www.joe-ks.com/archives_feb2009/DemocratBlackBear.jpg)) are often amazingly stealthy. The first bear I saw I nearly missed. I was taking a picture of a Turk's Cap Lily (Lilium superbum (http://www.olddominionwildlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/turks_cap_lily.JPG)) when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see an adult black bear strolling by, almost within arm's reach.
A couple of days later, I was hiking up a trail when an adult black bear just sort of ... appeared ... in front of me. I'm guessing it was a male, since it didn't have any cubs. Being as this was a national park and the bears are used to seeing people, it showed no particular concern about my presence and let me follow it around at quite close range (while I got some nice video footage) as it flipped over rocks in search of tasty grubs and whatnot.
A day or two later, I accidentally startled a bear cub when I came around a bend in the trail and encountered it. The cub quickly ran off while I looked about for Mom. I never saw her, though, which was just as well. Surely, she was somewhere nearby, and the last thing I wanted to do -- and very possibly the last thing I would do -- was to get between a mother bear and her cub.
Speaking of bears, I happened to encounter some scat on a trail at one point. "Well, that answers that question," I thought.
One strange encounter still has me puzzled. I was hiking along the edge of a gorge, the river valley a good 200 feet or more below me. Growing on the lip of the gorge and projecting out into empty space were some sunflowers (Helianthus giganteus (http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Fwnv5JH7C3o/SCuiKGbDsII/AAAAAAAAAgs/K0fqoARY5po/100_5910.JPG), to be precise). A branch had fallen from a tree overhead and was -- just barely -- being held up by the sunflowers. A simple breeze could easily have dislodged the branch and sent it tumbling down into the gorge. Sitting on the branch as if this was perfectly natural was a large Northern Water Snake (Nerodia sipedon (http://herpjournal.com/2003/4_26_03/fullsize/n_sipedon_1_04_26_03.JPG.JPG)). As you might imagine, these snakes seldom stray far from water, so what on Earth was it doing there? Why was it so far from water, and why did it choose such a precarious perch? And how did it get there? Strange, very strange.
Anyway, after a week or so of hiking and camping in Shenandoah N.P., I headed down the Blue Ridge Parkway and down into North Carolina to visit with some friends for a few days.
I arrived at the home of "Fred," "Joan" and "Kelly" on Saturday, at 10:00 a.m. or so. Later in the day, we went out to dinner with "Steve" and "Melissa," another pair of friends from college.
I've known Fred since I was 12, and I met Joan during my freshman year of college. Later, I introduced the two of them, and they obviously hit it off. Steve and Melissa started dating in college (I had nothing to do with them meeting), and married soon after graduation.
It had been 8 years (where does the time go?) since I'd last seen Steve and Melissa, and they have a 6-year-old son, "John," whom I had never met. He's utterly fascinated by dinosaurs and wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up, so we had some interesting discussions.
Steve declared that I have changed little if any in the past 8 years. "One more way in which you disgust me," he said. I think that was meant as a compliment.
On Sunday, Fred's parents came up for a visit, which was quite pleasant. Long story short: I used to spend lots of time at Fred's home when we were younger. Given that my father died when I was young and that my mother was, well, who she was -- Fred's parents were really, in many ways, the closest things to parents I ever had. Fred's mom, in particular, was much more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.
So it was wonderful to see them.
Afterwards, Fred, Kelly, Melissa and I went to see a baseball game. I'd never actually been to a (semi)professional baseball game before, given that I have almost no interest in professional sports. Still, it was an interesting experience, if for no other reason than that the company was nice and it gave Melissa and me a chance to catch up a bit.
On Monday, I took Kelly and her friend "Elizabeth" (who's also 12) to Hanging Rock State Park. Kelly is absolutely my favorite 12-year-old, and she wants to be a herpetologist when she grows up. So I had brought a snake hook with me, a couple of aquatic nets, and some specimen pans.
We packed some bread and the makings for sandwiches, and before we went to the park, we stopped at a grocery store. I told the girls that they could get any kind of fruit that they wanted. They settled on kiwi fruits, apples, and blackberries, so we had our lunch. [They tried to convince me -- with all the enthusiasm and energy that only a pair of 12-year-olds can muster -- that chocolate is an essential nutrient for all growing children. But I didn't bite.]
Elizabeth and Kelly have a lot in common, as it turns out. Elizabeth, too, is a lover of the outdoors and of animals in general. This probably explains why the two of them get along so very well.
Anyway, we prowled around the park for most of the day. At one point, we came across a doe, and I was quite proud of the girls. Given that this was a state park, and that the deer are quite used to seeing people, the doe didn't panic and run away, but she was nonetheless difficult to see, given all of the underbrush between her and the girls.
Elizabeth had a camera and wanted to get a picture; both girls wanted to get a closer look at the deer. So I told them to move slowly and quietly, and to avoid making any sudden moves that might startle the deer. To their great credit, they spent maybe 15 minutes slowly and carefully following the deer, and were able to get quite close to her. I hung back a respectful distance to let them do it for themselves. (Though I was careful to make sure neither girl got out of my sight, of course.)
A little while later, we were turning over rocks in a stream, looking for crayfish and other interesting critters. I spied a very large, flat rock and thought it very likely to be hiding something interesting. It was so big that I could barely lift it. Upon lifting it, I spied an enormous Northern Water Snake hiding beneath it. Aha! An excellent opportunity to teach proper snake-catching and -handling technique! But how to do it?
I called the girls over, but now I had a problem. If I braced it against my body, I could keep the rock up with one hand, but Nerodia are notoriously aggressive and prone to bite. Worse, moving the rock had stirred up a good deal of mud, and the snake had gone into it. I couldn't drop the rock without crushing and possibly killing the snake, and I only had one hand free.
So I made sure the girls were back a safe distance and then reached into the mud with my free hand. Presently I grasped something large and scaly. Hoping that my grip was closer to the snake's tail than its head, I pulled the writhing creature out. Fortunately for me, I was indeed closer to the snake's tail than its head. I quickly snatched the snake hook from Kelly as I dropped the rock, and then demonstrated how to hold a snake by its tail while using the snake hook to prevent it from getting at you and biting.
This snake was (relatively speaking) enormous -- nearly as long as either of the girls was tall. But they were both happy to get so close to it. So, after a stern warning that the snake would bite if given the chance and carefully going over how to use the snake hook, I handed the snake over to Kelly. She handled it like a pro. And then, so did Elizabeth. I was so proud.
Kelly later told her parents that the size of the snake -- coupled with my warnings that it could and would deliver a painful bite -- gave them plenty of incentive to pay careful attention to my instructions.
We got some interesting pictures of Kelly and Elizabeth holding the snake which, again, was nearly as long as they were tall.
After lunch, we found a beautiful little Ring-Necked Snake (Diadophis punctatus (http://www2.stetson.edu/~pmay/quiz/images/ringneck.jpg)), which both girls thought was utterly charming. We also got some neat pictures of the two girls with the diminutive little snake.
I do hope those pictures come out, by the way -- Kelly has promised to send me copies, and I'm looking forward to receiving them.
But it was the newts (Notophthalmus viridescens (http://www.uri.edu/cels/nrs/paton/rs%20newt/EX_newt9_se.jpg)) that the girls really loved. There were lots of them in the lake, and the girls insisted on spending hours catching them. They caught dozens of them in the nets and then put the newts into the specimen pans (which, under my instructions, they had filled with water) to watch them swim around. And to play with them. They just loved those newts! They insisted on giving each one of them a name, and only released them with great reluctance.
All in all, it was an absolutely wonderful trip. Both girls declared that they'd had a wonderful time, and I certainly know that I did!
That evening, Fred, Joan, Kelly and I went out to dinner. Kelly sat next to me, and presently began to complain about a mosquito bite on her back that she couldn't quite reach. So I rubbed the afflicted area for her for a few minutes. She practically purred, and I found the experience oddly gratifying myself.
On Tuesday, I took Kelly and Elizabeth to a nearby Science Center for the day. (For lunch, I took them to a sushi restaurant that they had both been to before and really liked. And then I had a moment of semi-weakness and succumbed to their pleas. So we went to the Coldstone Creamery for ice cream afterward.) So Tuesday was another excellent day.
I was marveling with Joan later about how much I thoroughly enjoyed the company of both Kelly and Elizabeth, and how happy I was that they (and Elizabeth's parents) would trust me so with the girls. Joan then demonstrated that she knew me perhaps better than I'd thought when she declared that there was nothing remarkable about it. "You'd die before letting either of those girls come to harm." That's true, I think, but it was sweet of her to say it.
Anyway, I gave the snake hook, the specimen trays, and the nets to Kelly as a present -- as I had intended to do all along. She seemed quite pleased.
But I had to leave Tuesday evening. I had mentioned that I might be able to come back for a visit in December, however. As I was getting ready to leave, Kelly sat on the couch and pouted. Joan asked, "Aren't you going to give Michael a hug?" Kelly demonstrated that she wasn't above a little blackmail. "Only if he promises to come back in December," she replied. [How can 9 little words simultaneously warm the cockles of your heart and rip it in two?] I had no choice, of course, and immediately promised to visit in December, if it was at all possible.
Kelly and Elizabeth couldn't quite decide what to call me when describing me to others. They eventually settled on describing me as a "Naturalist." (I suspect that Elizabeth's father suggested the term.)
Somehow, that pleased me immensely. I've always thought of the term "Naturalist" as less a job description of some sort, and more a badge of honor. Something that can only be conferred upon you, not a title that you can bestow upon yourself. So I was quite pleased.
One night, Kelly and I were sitting on the couch and talking about books. She mentioned a book about dragons that she was reading, and I told her that I'd read it myself when I was about her age. "You mean it's been out that long?" she asked. "Well yes," I replied. "It's not like it was that long ago; I'm not ancient, after all." "Yes you are," she replied.
Well, I guess that anyone over 30 is "ancient" to a 12-year-old.
Now, I'm a very independent person by nature. Pretty-much a loner, in many respects. I mean, my ideal vacation is to spend days at a time hiking in some beautiful, unspoiled natural area, like, say, Shenandoah N.P. Alone.
That's how I like it.
So, why is it that for days afterwards, my thoughts keep going back to how much I missed Kelly? Why do I adore that girl so much?
Well, it's true that she's the daughter of two of my oldest and dearest friends, so I'm naturally inclined to like her. But I don't think that can explain it. She's smart as a whip, inquisitive, a voracious reader, and absolutely fearless. She's also a very caring young woman. (At one point, I was hiking along behind Kelly. I saw that I was about to step on a small, flat rock that was projecting above the ground, and I knew that it wouldn't hold my weight. But there was no danger of falling, so I went ahead and stepped on it. The moment she heard my boot slip on the rock, Kelly spun around to ask if I was alright.) In my opinion, she's a splendid combination of her father's quick mind and her mother's kind nature. That she loves animals and the outdoors makes her just-about perfect, in my opinion.
And I think I have my answer. As much as I value my independence, I know I'll almost-certainly never have any children of my own. And, as I told Joan, Kelly reminds me of that fact. If I could choose the qualities I'd want in a daughter, Kelly fulfills them more or less to perfection. How could I not be utterly in love with her?
So anyway, for the next few days, I'd be hiking along somewhere, and I'd find myself thinking of how much more fun it would be if Kelly and Elizabeth were along. It's a bit of a weird experience for me.
For example, I caught a really nice, quite large Timber Rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus (http://www.tanglewoodnaturecenter.com/jscripts/tiny_mce/plugins/imagemanager/images/timber_rattlesnake_2.jpg)) just a couple of nights ago. As I admired the snake, I couldn't help but think, "Kelly would love to see this animal!".
Fred and Joan had joked about how Kelly and Elizabeth would run me ragged, and that I'd get tired of them, but nothing could have been further from the truth. I absolutely loved the time I spent with them, and wanted more. Heck, I probably would have paid for the priviledge!
It's not just that Kelly is a charming girl, which she is. And it's not just that she's practically family, which she is. And it's not even that she makes me think about how I'd love to have a daughter just like her, which she does.
It's that I would so much love to be doing that sort of thing more often: taking bright, inquisitive and enthusiastic students (of whatever age) outside and introducing them to all those wonderful plants and animals (and rocks, and stars, and so forth ...) that are out there, just waiting to be appreciated. I'm a teacher by nature, and I'm not sure I can think of anything more deeply satisfying than taking bright, enthusiastic and inquisitive kids out into a lovely natural area and introducing them to the wonders of the world around them.
After I (very reluctantly) left Kelly and her parents, I spent a couple of days hiking and camping at Hanging Rock on my own, and then a few days camping and hiking at Stone Mountain State Park, also in North Carolina.
At one point, while I was in Hanging Rock, as I was photographing a particularly nice specimen of a Yellow Fringed Orchid (Platanthera ciliaris (http://www.lejeune.usmc.mil/emd/te/YELFRING.JPG)), a mand and his daughter approached me. The man asked me lots of questions about the plant while he had his daughter shoot video of my responses on her cell phone.
That sort of thing happens to me with surprising frequency. Strangers often walk up to me and ask me questions about the local flora, fauna, or geology. This happened to me several times while I was hiking through the Shenandoah, Hanging Rock, Stone Mountain, and Great Smoky Mountains parks. Since I usually can answer their questions, I generally do, and it seldom occurs to me to tell them that I'm not a park ranger. Since I generally wear button-up shirts and khaki pants, maybe people think I'm a park ranger. (Once, while I was hiking along a trail at Stone Mountain, a father and his son approached from the opposite direction. "Hi, Mr. Ranger!" the kid cried out.) My friend Melissa and I were visiting the North Carolina Zoo once, years ago, and several people approached me to ask me questions about the babboons. I answered their questions politely and thoroughly, of course, and after they'd left, I asked Melissa why they had approached some random stranger and asked those questions. "You look like someone who would be able to answer their questions," she replied. "You project a sort of aura of competence."
Hmm. Interesting. Anyway, there are several people who have visited Shenandoah N.P, Great Smoky Mountains N.P., the Blue Ridge Parkway, Hanging Rock State Park and Stone Mountain State Park during the past few weeks who approached me during their visit to ask questions about the local plants, animals, or geology. I'm sure that most of them have no idea at all that I'm not a Park Ranger.
Anyway, this guy eventually did realize that I wasn't wearing a Ranger uniform, and that I wasn't, in fact, a Park Ranger. So he asked me if roaming the woods and looking for interesting wildflowers was my job. Don't I wish!
He then describe two interesting wildflowers that were growing in his back yard and asked if I could identify them. Either he had an excellent memory and observational skills or he had paid considerable attention to these plants, because he was able to describe them in sufficient detail that I was easily able to identify them as Turk's Cap Lilies and Pipsissewa (Chimaphila maculata (http://bolincreek.org/images/Pipsissewa.jpg)).
I was hiking at Stone Mountain right in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave. I would pick the hottest day of the year -- when the air temperature was approximately 100 degrees F and the humidity made it feel much hotter -- to spend hiking the longest, steepest, and most strenuous trail in the park, wouldn't I? At one point, I took off my socks and boots and sat down by a pretty little cascade to soak my feet in the nice, cool water -- ah, bliss! Presently, I noticed a curious tickling sensation and looked down to see that some little Blacknose Daces (Rhinichthys atratulus (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8d/Blacknose_dace_-_Rhinichthys_atratulus.jpg)) were nibbling on my toes. That was actually rather fun, and I enjoyed their attention for awhile. Then a rather large crayfish showed up and nipped my heel. That was a lot less fun, and so I decided that perhaps it was time to move on.
I continued down along the Blue Ridge Parkway and to Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Along the way, I stopped at one of my favorite waterfalls, Looking Glass Falls (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f4/Looking_Glass_Falls_Pisgah_Nat_Forest.jpg). There were several other people there, to admire the waterfall. Presently, I noticed a commotion and went to investigate. Several people were gathered around a juvenile Ring-Necked Snake and were wondering what to do about it. One guy was loudly speculating that it might be "poisonous."
Before the situation could deteriorate, I quickly stepped in, picked up the little snake (to the gasps of some of the spectators), and explained a bit about what it was and its habits. I then declared that it would be best to move it someplace safer, where it would be less likely to be stepped on. So I carried it a little way into the woods and let it go.
A little girl of perhaps eight years asked me if it was a "good snake." I told her that it was perfectly harmless, and could not/would not harm a human. "Do you help animals?" she then asked. I thought that was a rather charming question, and I immediately replied, "Yes I do."
On my way South, I noted that the godawful condominium is still on top of Sugar Mountain, near the town of Banner Elk, North Carolina. That monstrosity was constructed right on top of the mountain, and it dominates the view for miles in every direction. "There's nothing wrong with that thing that couldn't be solved by the proper application of a few hundred pounds of TNT," a friend of mine once remarked.
Speaking of Ring-Necked Snakes, I had a rather memorable encounter with one on a hiking trail off the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had hiked some distance back into the woods to view a waterfall, when I encountered a ring-necked snake locked in mortal combat with a Northern Dusky Salamander (Desmognathus fuscus (http://www.ohioamphibians.com/Images/Northern_Dusky_Salamander_A.jpg)). The salamander was nearly half the diminutive snake's length, and was much bigger in diameter.
Now, ring-necked snakes are neither venomous nor constrictors. To deal with prey, they use what's called the "grab and gulp" method. The snake grabs its victim and then "walks" its jaws along the victim's body to swallow it -- while the prey is alive and struggling. Because a snake can dislocate its jaws and because its ribs are so flexible, it can swallow prey that's bigger-around than itself. And because the jaws have multiple hinges, a snake can swallow large prey by moving first the left side of its jaw forward and securing a grip, then moving the right side of its jaw forward, and so forth. (Thus, it "walks" its jaws up the victim's body to swallow it.)
Anyway, the snake had somehow located the relatively enormous salamander, and had grabbed it by the head. Snakes have lots of sharp, recurved teeth, so once a snake bites into its prey, the prey has little hope of escape. Any attempt to pull free only causes the snake's teeth to dig in deeper.
Goodness knows how long this little drama had been going on when I encountered the animals, but the snake had gotten the salamander's head entirely into its mouth. But then it was stuck. It just couldn't get past the salamander's stout forelimbs. The salamander was not cooperating. It was using its stout forelimbs to hold the snake's head back, and so the snake couldn't get past the salamander's head.
Every now and again, the salamander would brace its stout tail against the ground and use it to roll itself over, obviously trying to dislodge the snake. But the snake simply rolled with the salamander.
The snake would alternately push forward against the salamander, and then pull it back. Apparently, it was trying to get the salamander to move its forelimbs in order to resist being pushed and pulled. If it could just get the salamander to move its forelimbs out of the way, the snake could swallow it. But the salamander was having none of this.
After 20 minutes or so, I began to think that the snake had literally bitten off more than it could swallow, and I wondered if I should rescue the salamander, in order to save the snake, too. If the snake had grabbed a mammal, reptile or bird of the same size, the drama would have been over fairly quickly, because its victim would have suffocated. But a salamander can absorb oxygen from the air through the surface of its skin, so the mere fact that its head was inside the snake's mouth did not mean that the salamander was in danger of suffocation.
But then the salamander made a grievous error. When the snake shoved the salamander back, the salamander moved a forelimb back to brace itself. The snake quickly took advantage and moved a jaw foreward to pin that forelimb to the salamander's side. It took a few more minutes, but the snake eventually got the other forelimb pinned back. I knew the salamander was doomed at this point.
The snake quickly walked its jaws down the unfortunate salamander's body, and then got stuck with the hindlimbs. But hindlimbs naturally point backward, not forward, so the snake had much less trouble with them. Plus, most of the salamander's body was now inside the snake, so it wasn't getting much oxygen. So its attempts to resist were growing feebler.
Once the snake got past the salamander's hindlimbs, the tail followed quickly. And then, if a snake could possibly look satisfied at having performed a difficult task, this one did. Considering the huge, salamander-shaped bulge it was now sporting, the snake would not need to eat again for quite some time.
I also had an interesting encounter with a large Timber Rattlesnake. As it happens, I didn't give my only snake hook to Kelly. I have one of my own, of course (who doesn't?), which I kept on the back seat of my car in case I should encounter a snake while on the road.
Snakes often move onto roads in the evening, apparently drawn to the heat radiating from the road surface. So while I was driving the Blue Ridge Parkway, I kept a sharp eye out for snakes in the road. I'd remove them from the road, to ensure that they didn't get run over.
I encountered a rather large rattlesnake on the road and picked it up with my snake hook. As usual, it made no particular protest. But the instant I grabbed its tail to stabilize it, it began rattling like mad.
This sort of thing has always fascinated me -- that many animals make a clear distinction between living and non-living things. When I was a kid, I learned that I could often easily catch snakes and lizards with sticks by using a stick to pin the snake or lizard, and then picking it up. If you try to move your hand toward a snake or lizard, it will quickly retreat (or bite). But very often, they don't seem to regard a stick as a threat, and will ignore it until it's too late.
Herpetologists often take advantage of this. For instance, an easy way to catch even very alert and wary lizards is to fashion a noose out of a length of thread. Attach the noose to a stick. You can then push the stick-with-noose toward the lizard you want to catch and slip the noose over its neck. More often than not, the lizard will completely ignore the stick and noose until you've actually slipped the noose over its neck and caught it. But try moving your hand toward the lizard, and it will immediately run away.
Anyway, I've always found it fascinating that many animals clearly recognize the distinction between living and non-living things. Incidentally, studies with human infants have suggested that this is "instinctive." It has been shown that a human infant clearly distinguishes between living and non-living things, and responds to them differently. (Of course, battery-powered, life-like toys can be a source of confusion for infants.)
Well, I've rambled on for far too long, I think. Suffice it to say that it was a wonderful trip.
Cheers,
Michael
I spent the first week or so in Shenandoah National Park. There are, according to park literature, 500 miles of trails in Shenandoah N.P. I didn't hike all of them in that time, of course, but I did my best. In particular, I made a point of hiking to each and every waterfall in the park. (I do love waterfalls.)
It's funny how it's the little things that you often remember though, isn't it?
You know how butterflies often gather to suck up minerals where they're concentrated in exposed soil or in drying mud puddles? They'll happily gather minerals from the skin of a sweating human, too. One day, I was sitting at the base of a particularly pretty, rather isolated waterfall, enjoying the view and the solitude when I felt a light touch on my hand. I looked down to see that a Spicebush Swallowtail (Papilio troilus (http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/wildflower/Image/Butterfly/05-Spicebush-swallowtail.jpg)) had landed on my hand.
For the next 30 minutes, I sat still while the butterfly methodically cleaned salt from my hand. It was an utterly fascinating experience, and in my opinion, no movie, television show, or video game could possibly have been as entertaining as sitting there in that lovely woodland, by a waterfall, enjoying the butterfly's attentions.
The next day, I sat on a boulder high on a mountain as a ferocious thunderstorm swept up the mountain toward me. I put on my poncho and carefully tucked it under and around me to ensure that I stayed dry, and sat down to watch the show. The valley below me disappeared as the clouds filled it, and then the thunderstorm marched up the mountainside toward me. You could see the wall of water approaching, and then the storm was all around me. After half an hour or so, it was over.
I'm sure that sitting on a boulder on a mountainside and enjoying a good thunderstorm isn't exactly everyone's idea of a great time, but I certainly enjoyed it.
Shenandoah N.P. rents cabins to visitors, and after a few days of hiking in hot, humid weather (and getting caught in the occasional thunderstorm), a soft bed and a hot shower seemed like they'd be really good ideas, so I rented a cabin for the night. As it turned out, the cabin had a fireplace, so I built a fire in the fireplace and roasted hot dogs for supper. (That's probably not what the cabin-builders had imagined the fireplace would be used for.)
One curious thing that I've often noticed in the past is that deer are, very frequently, not stealthy animals. People have this notion that deer are dainty and quiet animals that move silently and almost undetectably through the forest. Sometimes they do, but often they don't. A single deer stomping around in the forest often sounds like an entire herd.
By contrast, Black Bears (Ursus americanus (http://www.joe-ks.com/archives_feb2009/DemocratBlackBear.jpg)) are often amazingly stealthy. The first bear I saw I nearly missed. I was taking a picture of a Turk's Cap Lily (Lilium superbum (http://www.olddominionwildlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/turks_cap_lily.JPG)) when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see an adult black bear strolling by, almost within arm's reach.
A couple of days later, I was hiking up a trail when an adult black bear just sort of ... appeared ... in front of me. I'm guessing it was a male, since it didn't have any cubs. Being as this was a national park and the bears are used to seeing people, it showed no particular concern about my presence and let me follow it around at quite close range (while I got some nice video footage) as it flipped over rocks in search of tasty grubs and whatnot.
A day or two later, I accidentally startled a bear cub when I came around a bend in the trail and encountered it. The cub quickly ran off while I looked about for Mom. I never saw her, though, which was just as well. Surely, she was somewhere nearby, and the last thing I wanted to do -- and very possibly the last thing I would do -- was to get between a mother bear and her cub.
Speaking of bears, I happened to encounter some scat on a trail at one point. "Well, that answers that question," I thought.
One strange encounter still has me puzzled. I was hiking along the edge of a gorge, the river valley a good 200 feet or more below me. Growing on the lip of the gorge and projecting out into empty space were some sunflowers (Helianthus giganteus (http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Fwnv5JH7C3o/SCuiKGbDsII/AAAAAAAAAgs/K0fqoARY5po/100_5910.JPG), to be precise). A branch had fallen from a tree overhead and was -- just barely -- being held up by the sunflowers. A simple breeze could easily have dislodged the branch and sent it tumbling down into the gorge. Sitting on the branch as if this was perfectly natural was a large Northern Water Snake (Nerodia sipedon (http://herpjournal.com/2003/4_26_03/fullsize/n_sipedon_1_04_26_03.JPG.JPG)). As you might imagine, these snakes seldom stray far from water, so what on Earth was it doing there? Why was it so far from water, and why did it choose such a precarious perch? And how did it get there? Strange, very strange.
Anyway, after a week or so of hiking and camping in Shenandoah N.P., I headed down the Blue Ridge Parkway and down into North Carolina to visit with some friends for a few days.
I arrived at the home of "Fred," "Joan" and "Kelly" on Saturday, at 10:00 a.m. or so. Later in the day, we went out to dinner with "Steve" and "Melissa," another pair of friends from college.
I've known Fred since I was 12, and I met Joan during my freshman year of college. Later, I introduced the two of them, and they obviously hit it off. Steve and Melissa started dating in college (I had nothing to do with them meeting), and married soon after graduation.
It had been 8 years (where does the time go?) since I'd last seen Steve and Melissa, and they have a 6-year-old son, "John," whom I had never met. He's utterly fascinated by dinosaurs and wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up, so we had some interesting discussions.
Steve declared that I have changed little if any in the past 8 years. "One more way in which you disgust me," he said. I think that was meant as a compliment.
On Sunday, Fred's parents came up for a visit, which was quite pleasant. Long story short: I used to spend lots of time at Fred's home when we were younger. Given that my father died when I was young and that my mother was, well, who she was -- Fred's parents were really, in many ways, the closest things to parents I ever had. Fred's mom, in particular, was much more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.
So it was wonderful to see them.
Afterwards, Fred, Kelly, Melissa and I went to see a baseball game. I'd never actually been to a (semi)professional baseball game before, given that I have almost no interest in professional sports. Still, it was an interesting experience, if for no other reason than that the company was nice and it gave Melissa and me a chance to catch up a bit.
On Monday, I took Kelly and her friend "Elizabeth" (who's also 12) to Hanging Rock State Park. Kelly is absolutely my favorite 12-year-old, and she wants to be a herpetologist when she grows up. So I had brought a snake hook with me, a couple of aquatic nets, and some specimen pans.
We packed some bread and the makings for sandwiches, and before we went to the park, we stopped at a grocery store. I told the girls that they could get any kind of fruit that they wanted. They settled on kiwi fruits, apples, and blackberries, so we had our lunch. [They tried to convince me -- with all the enthusiasm and energy that only a pair of 12-year-olds can muster -- that chocolate is an essential nutrient for all growing children. But I didn't bite.]
Elizabeth and Kelly have a lot in common, as it turns out. Elizabeth, too, is a lover of the outdoors and of animals in general. This probably explains why the two of them get along so very well.
Anyway, we prowled around the park for most of the day. At one point, we came across a doe, and I was quite proud of the girls. Given that this was a state park, and that the deer are quite used to seeing people, the doe didn't panic and run away, but she was nonetheless difficult to see, given all of the underbrush between her and the girls.
Elizabeth had a camera and wanted to get a picture; both girls wanted to get a closer look at the deer. So I told them to move slowly and quietly, and to avoid making any sudden moves that might startle the deer. To their great credit, they spent maybe 15 minutes slowly and carefully following the deer, and were able to get quite close to her. I hung back a respectful distance to let them do it for themselves. (Though I was careful to make sure neither girl got out of my sight, of course.)
A little while later, we were turning over rocks in a stream, looking for crayfish and other interesting critters. I spied a very large, flat rock and thought it very likely to be hiding something interesting. It was so big that I could barely lift it. Upon lifting it, I spied an enormous Northern Water Snake hiding beneath it. Aha! An excellent opportunity to teach proper snake-catching and -handling technique! But how to do it?
I called the girls over, but now I had a problem. If I braced it against my body, I could keep the rock up with one hand, but Nerodia are notoriously aggressive and prone to bite. Worse, moving the rock had stirred up a good deal of mud, and the snake had gone into it. I couldn't drop the rock without crushing and possibly killing the snake, and I only had one hand free.
So I made sure the girls were back a safe distance and then reached into the mud with my free hand. Presently I grasped something large and scaly. Hoping that my grip was closer to the snake's tail than its head, I pulled the writhing creature out. Fortunately for me, I was indeed closer to the snake's tail than its head. I quickly snatched the snake hook from Kelly as I dropped the rock, and then demonstrated how to hold a snake by its tail while using the snake hook to prevent it from getting at you and biting.
This snake was (relatively speaking) enormous -- nearly as long as either of the girls was tall. But they were both happy to get so close to it. So, after a stern warning that the snake would bite if given the chance and carefully going over how to use the snake hook, I handed the snake over to Kelly. She handled it like a pro. And then, so did Elizabeth. I was so proud.
Kelly later told her parents that the size of the snake -- coupled with my warnings that it could and would deliver a painful bite -- gave them plenty of incentive to pay careful attention to my instructions.
We got some interesting pictures of Kelly and Elizabeth holding the snake which, again, was nearly as long as they were tall.
After lunch, we found a beautiful little Ring-Necked Snake (Diadophis punctatus (http://www2.stetson.edu/~pmay/quiz/images/ringneck.jpg)), which both girls thought was utterly charming. We also got some neat pictures of the two girls with the diminutive little snake.
I do hope those pictures come out, by the way -- Kelly has promised to send me copies, and I'm looking forward to receiving them.
But it was the newts (Notophthalmus viridescens (http://www.uri.edu/cels/nrs/paton/rs%20newt/EX_newt9_se.jpg)) that the girls really loved. There were lots of them in the lake, and the girls insisted on spending hours catching them. They caught dozens of them in the nets and then put the newts into the specimen pans (which, under my instructions, they had filled with water) to watch them swim around. And to play with them. They just loved those newts! They insisted on giving each one of them a name, and only released them with great reluctance.
All in all, it was an absolutely wonderful trip. Both girls declared that they'd had a wonderful time, and I certainly know that I did!
That evening, Fred, Joan, Kelly and I went out to dinner. Kelly sat next to me, and presently began to complain about a mosquito bite on her back that she couldn't quite reach. So I rubbed the afflicted area for her for a few minutes. She practically purred, and I found the experience oddly gratifying myself.
On Tuesday, I took Kelly and Elizabeth to a nearby Science Center for the day. (For lunch, I took them to a sushi restaurant that they had both been to before and really liked. And then I had a moment of semi-weakness and succumbed to their pleas. So we went to the Coldstone Creamery for ice cream afterward.) So Tuesday was another excellent day.
I was marveling with Joan later about how much I thoroughly enjoyed the company of both Kelly and Elizabeth, and how happy I was that they (and Elizabeth's parents) would trust me so with the girls. Joan then demonstrated that she knew me perhaps better than I'd thought when she declared that there was nothing remarkable about it. "You'd die before letting either of those girls come to harm." That's true, I think, but it was sweet of her to say it.
Anyway, I gave the snake hook, the specimen trays, and the nets to Kelly as a present -- as I had intended to do all along. She seemed quite pleased.
But I had to leave Tuesday evening. I had mentioned that I might be able to come back for a visit in December, however. As I was getting ready to leave, Kelly sat on the couch and pouted. Joan asked, "Aren't you going to give Michael a hug?" Kelly demonstrated that she wasn't above a little blackmail. "Only if he promises to come back in December," she replied. [How can 9 little words simultaneously warm the cockles of your heart and rip it in two?] I had no choice, of course, and immediately promised to visit in December, if it was at all possible.
Kelly and Elizabeth couldn't quite decide what to call me when describing me to others. They eventually settled on describing me as a "Naturalist." (I suspect that Elizabeth's father suggested the term.)
Somehow, that pleased me immensely. I've always thought of the term "Naturalist" as less a job description of some sort, and more a badge of honor. Something that can only be conferred upon you, not a title that you can bestow upon yourself. So I was quite pleased.
One night, Kelly and I were sitting on the couch and talking about books. She mentioned a book about dragons that she was reading, and I told her that I'd read it myself when I was about her age. "You mean it's been out that long?" she asked. "Well yes," I replied. "It's not like it was that long ago; I'm not ancient, after all." "Yes you are," she replied.
Well, I guess that anyone over 30 is "ancient" to a 12-year-old.
Now, I'm a very independent person by nature. Pretty-much a loner, in many respects. I mean, my ideal vacation is to spend days at a time hiking in some beautiful, unspoiled natural area, like, say, Shenandoah N.P. Alone.
That's how I like it.
So, why is it that for days afterwards, my thoughts keep going back to how much I missed Kelly? Why do I adore that girl so much?
Well, it's true that she's the daughter of two of my oldest and dearest friends, so I'm naturally inclined to like her. But I don't think that can explain it. She's smart as a whip, inquisitive, a voracious reader, and absolutely fearless. She's also a very caring young woman. (At one point, I was hiking along behind Kelly. I saw that I was about to step on a small, flat rock that was projecting above the ground, and I knew that it wouldn't hold my weight. But there was no danger of falling, so I went ahead and stepped on it. The moment she heard my boot slip on the rock, Kelly spun around to ask if I was alright.) In my opinion, she's a splendid combination of her father's quick mind and her mother's kind nature. That she loves animals and the outdoors makes her just-about perfect, in my opinion.
And I think I have my answer. As much as I value my independence, I know I'll almost-certainly never have any children of my own. And, as I told Joan, Kelly reminds me of that fact. If I could choose the qualities I'd want in a daughter, Kelly fulfills them more or less to perfection. How could I not be utterly in love with her?
So anyway, for the next few days, I'd be hiking along somewhere, and I'd find myself thinking of how much more fun it would be if Kelly and Elizabeth were along. It's a bit of a weird experience for me.
For example, I caught a really nice, quite large Timber Rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus (http://www.tanglewoodnaturecenter.com/jscripts/tiny_mce/plugins/imagemanager/images/timber_rattlesnake_2.jpg)) just a couple of nights ago. As I admired the snake, I couldn't help but think, "Kelly would love to see this animal!".
Fred and Joan had joked about how Kelly and Elizabeth would run me ragged, and that I'd get tired of them, but nothing could have been further from the truth. I absolutely loved the time I spent with them, and wanted more. Heck, I probably would have paid for the priviledge!
It's not just that Kelly is a charming girl, which she is. And it's not just that she's practically family, which she is. And it's not even that she makes me think about how I'd love to have a daughter just like her, which she does.
It's that I would so much love to be doing that sort of thing more often: taking bright, inquisitive and enthusiastic students (of whatever age) outside and introducing them to all those wonderful plants and animals (and rocks, and stars, and so forth ...) that are out there, just waiting to be appreciated. I'm a teacher by nature, and I'm not sure I can think of anything more deeply satisfying than taking bright, enthusiastic and inquisitive kids out into a lovely natural area and introducing them to the wonders of the world around them.
After I (very reluctantly) left Kelly and her parents, I spent a couple of days hiking and camping at Hanging Rock on my own, and then a few days camping and hiking at Stone Mountain State Park, also in North Carolina.
At one point, while I was in Hanging Rock, as I was photographing a particularly nice specimen of a Yellow Fringed Orchid (Platanthera ciliaris (http://www.lejeune.usmc.mil/emd/te/YELFRING.JPG)), a mand and his daughter approached me. The man asked me lots of questions about the plant while he had his daughter shoot video of my responses on her cell phone.
That sort of thing happens to me with surprising frequency. Strangers often walk up to me and ask me questions about the local flora, fauna, or geology. This happened to me several times while I was hiking through the Shenandoah, Hanging Rock, Stone Mountain, and Great Smoky Mountains parks. Since I usually can answer their questions, I generally do, and it seldom occurs to me to tell them that I'm not a park ranger. Since I generally wear button-up shirts and khaki pants, maybe people think I'm a park ranger. (Once, while I was hiking along a trail at Stone Mountain, a father and his son approached from the opposite direction. "Hi, Mr. Ranger!" the kid cried out.) My friend Melissa and I were visiting the North Carolina Zoo once, years ago, and several people approached me to ask me questions about the babboons. I answered their questions politely and thoroughly, of course, and after they'd left, I asked Melissa why they had approached some random stranger and asked those questions. "You look like someone who would be able to answer their questions," she replied. "You project a sort of aura of competence."
Hmm. Interesting. Anyway, there are several people who have visited Shenandoah N.P, Great Smoky Mountains N.P., the Blue Ridge Parkway, Hanging Rock State Park and Stone Mountain State Park during the past few weeks who approached me during their visit to ask questions about the local plants, animals, or geology. I'm sure that most of them have no idea at all that I'm not a Park Ranger.
Anyway, this guy eventually did realize that I wasn't wearing a Ranger uniform, and that I wasn't, in fact, a Park Ranger. So he asked me if roaming the woods and looking for interesting wildflowers was my job. Don't I wish!
He then describe two interesting wildflowers that were growing in his back yard and asked if I could identify them. Either he had an excellent memory and observational skills or he had paid considerable attention to these plants, because he was able to describe them in sufficient detail that I was easily able to identify them as Turk's Cap Lilies and Pipsissewa (Chimaphila maculata (http://bolincreek.org/images/Pipsissewa.jpg)).
I was hiking at Stone Mountain right in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave. I would pick the hottest day of the year -- when the air temperature was approximately 100 degrees F and the humidity made it feel much hotter -- to spend hiking the longest, steepest, and most strenuous trail in the park, wouldn't I? At one point, I took off my socks and boots and sat down by a pretty little cascade to soak my feet in the nice, cool water -- ah, bliss! Presently, I noticed a curious tickling sensation and looked down to see that some little Blacknose Daces (Rhinichthys atratulus (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8d/Blacknose_dace_-_Rhinichthys_atratulus.jpg)) were nibbling on my toes. That was actually rather fun, and I enjoyed their attention for awhile. Then a rather large crayfish showed up and nipped my heel. That was a lot less fun, and so I decided that perhaps it was time to move on.
I continued down along the Blue Ridge Parkway and to Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Along the way, I stopped at one of my favorite waterfalls, Looking Glass Falls (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f4/Looking_Glass_Falls_Pisgah_Nat_Forest.jpg). There were several other people there, to admire the waterfall. Presently, I noticed a commotion and went to investigate. Several people were gathered around a juvenile Ring-Necked Snake and were wondering what to do about it. One guy was loudly speculating that it might be "poisonous."
Before the situation could deteriorate, I quickly stepped in, picked up the little snake (to the gasps of some of the spectators), and explained a bit about what it was and its habits. I then declared that it would be best to move it someplace safer, where it would be less likely to be stepped on. So I carried it a little way into the woods and let it go.
A little girl of perhaps eight years asked me if it was a "good snake." I told her that it was perfectly harmless, and could not/would not harm a human. "Do you help animals?" she then asked. I thought that was a rather charming question, and I immediately replied, "Yes I do."
On my way South, I noted that the godawful condominium is still on top of Sugar Mountain, near the town of Banner Elk, North Carolina. That monstrosity was constructed right on top of the mountain, and it dominates the view for miles in every direction. "There's nothing wrong with that thing that couldn't be solved by the proper application of a few hundred pounds of TNT," a friend of mine once remarked.
Speaking of Ring-Necked Snakes, I had a rather memorable encounter with one on a hiking trail off the Blue Ridge Parkway. I had hiked some distance back into the woods to view a waterfall, when I encountered a ring-necked snake locked in mortal combat with a Northern Dusky Salamander (Desmognathus fuscus (http://www.ohioamphibians.com/Images/Northern_Dusky_Salamander_A.jpg)). The salamander was nearly half the diminutive snake's length, and was much bigger in diameter.
Now, ring-necked snakes are neither venomous nor constrictors. To deal with prey, they use what's called the "grab and gulp" method. The snake grabs its victim and then "walks" its jaws along the victim's body to swallow it -- while the prey is alive and struggling. Because a snake can dislocate its jaws and because its ribs are so flexible, it can swallow prey that's bigger-around than itself. And because the jaws have multiple hinges, a snake can swallow large prey by moving first the left side of its jaw forward and securing a grip, then moving the right side of its jaw forward, and so forth. (Thus, it "walks" its jaws up the victim's body to swallow it.)
Anyway, the snake had somehow located the relatively enormous salamander, and had grabbed it by the head. Snakes have lots of sharp, recurved teeth, so once a snake bites into its prey, the prey has little hope of escape. Any attempt to pull free only causes the snake's teeth to dig in deeper.
Goodness knows how long this little drama had been going on when I encountered the animals, but the snake had gotten the salamander's head entirely into its mouth. But then it was stuck. It just couldn't get past the salamander's stout forelimbs. The salamander was not cooperating. It was using its stout forelimbs to hold the snake's head back, and so the snake couldn't get past the salamander's head.
Every now and again, the salamander would brace its stout tail against the ground and use it to roll itself over, obviously trying to dislodge the snake. But the snake simply rolled with the salamander.
The snake would alternately push forward against the salamander, and then pull it back. Apparently, it was trying to get the salamander to move its forelimbs in order to resist being pushed and pulled. If it could just get the salamander to move its forelimbs out of the way, the snake could swallow it. But the salamander was having none of this.
After 20 minutes or so, I began to think that the snake had literally bitten off more than it could swallow, and I wondered if I should rescue the salamander, in order to save the snake, too. If the snake had grabbed a mammal, reptile or bird of the same size, the drama would have been over fairly quickly, because its victim would have suffocated. But a salamander can absorb oxygen from the air through the surface of its skin, so the mere fact that its head was inside the snake's mouth did not mean that the salamander was in danger of suffocation.
But then the salamander made a grievous error. When the snake shoved the salamander back, the salamander moved a forelimb back to brace itself. The snake quickly took advantage and moved a jaw foreward to pin that forelimb to the salamander's side. It took a few more minutes, but the snake eventually got the other forelimb pinned back. I knew the salamander was doomed at this point.
The snake quickly walked its jaws down the unfortunate salamander's body, and then got stuck with the hindlimbs. But hindlimbs naturally point backward, not forward, so the snake had much less trouble with them. Plus, most of the salamander's body was now inside the snake, so it wasn't getting much oxygen. So its attempts to resist were growing feebler.
Once the snake got past the salamander's hindlimbs, the tail followed quickly. And then, if a snake could possibly look satisfied at having performed a difficult task, this one did. Considering the huge, salamander-shaped bulge it was now sporting, the snake would not need to eat again for quite some time.
I also had an interesting encounter with a large Timber Rattlesnake. As it happens, I didn't give my only snake hook to Kelly. I have one of my own, of course (who doesn't?), which I kept on the back seat of my car in case I should encounter a snake while on the road.
Snakes often move onto roads in the evening, apparently drawn to the heat radiating from the road surface. So while I was driving the Blue Ridge Parkway, I kept a sharp eye out for snakes in the road. I'd remove them from the road, to ensure that they didn't get run over.
I encountered a rather large rattlesnake on the road and picked it up with my snake hook. As usual, it made no particular protest. But the instant I grabbed its tail to stabilize it, it began rattling like mad.
This sort of thing has always fascinated me -- that many animals make a clear distinction between living and non-living things. When I was a kid, I learned that I could often easily catch snakes and lizards with sticks by using a stick to pin the snake or lizard, and then picking it up. If you try to move your hand toward a snake or lizard, it will quickly retreat (or bite). But very often, they don't seem to regard a stick as a threat, and will ignore it until it's too late.
Herpetologists often take advantage of this. For instance, an easy way to catch even very alert and wary lizards is to fashion a noose out of a length of thread. Attach the noose to a stick. You can then push the stick-with-noose toward the lizard you want to catch and slip the noose over its neck. More often than not, the lizard will completely ignore the stick and noose until you've actually slipped the noose over its neck and caught it. But try moving your hand toward the lizard, and it will immediately run away.
Anyway, I've always found it fascinating that many animals clearly recognize the distinction between living and non-living things. Incidentally, studies with human infants have suggested that this is "instinctive." It has been shown that a human infant clearly distinguishes between living and non-living things, and responds to them differently. (Of course, battery-powered, life-like toys can be a source of confusion for infants.)
Well, I've rambled on for far too long, I think. Suffice it to say that it was a wonderful trip.
Cheers,
Michael