WHEN NATURE SMILED
It seems a law that every deep valley must be next a high mountain.
Our sorrows ended when we quit the canyon, and then, as though in
compensation, nature crammed the days with the small joys that seem
so little and mean so much to the naturalist.
Those last few days, unmarred of the smallest hardship, were one
long pearl-string of the things I came for--the chances to see and
be among wild life.
Each night the Coyote and the Fox came rustling about our camp, or
the Weasel and Woodmouse scrambled over our sleeping forms. Each
morning at gray dawn, gray Wiskajon and his mate--always a pair
came wailing through the woods, to flirt about the camp and steal
scraps of meat that needed not to be stolen, being theirs by right.
Their small cousins, the Chicadees, came, too, at breakfast time,
and in our daily travelling, Ruffed Grouse, Ravens, Pine Grosbeaks,
Bohemian Chatterers, Hairy Woodpeckers, Shrikes, Tree-sparrows,
Linnets, and Snowbirds enlivened the radiant sunlit scene.
One afternoon I heard a peculiar note, at first like the
"cheepy-teet-teet" of the Pine Grosbeak, only louder and more
broken, changing to the jingling of Blackbirds in spring, mixed
with some Bluejay "jay-jays," and a Robin-like whistle; then I saw
that it came from a Northern Shrike on the bushes just ahead of
us. It flew off much after the manner of the Summer Shrike, with
flight not truly undulatory nor yet straight, but flapping half
a dozen times--then a pause and repeat. He would dive along down
near the ground, then up with a fine display of wings and tail to
the next perch selected, there to repeat with fresh variations and
shrieks, the same strange song, and often indeed sang it on the
wing, until at last he crossed the river.
Sometimes we rode in the canoe, sometimes tramped along the easy
shore. Once I came across a Great Homed Owl in the grass by the
water. He had a fish over a foot long, and flew with difficulty
when be bore it off. Another time I saw a Horned Owl mobbed by two
Wiskajons. Spruce Partridge as well as the Ruffed species became
common: one morning some of the former marched into camp at
breakfast time. Rob called them "Chickens"; farther south they are
called "Fool Hens," which is descriptive and helps to distinguish
them from their neighbours--the "Sage Hens." Frequently now we
heard the toy-trumpeting and the clack of the Pileated Woodpecker
or Cock-of-the-Pines, a Canadian rather than a Hudsonian species.
One day, at our three o'clock meal, a great splendid fellow of the
kind gave us a thrill. "Clack-clack-clack," we heard him coming,
and he bounded through the air into the trees over our camp. Still
uttering his loud "Clack-clack-clack," he swung from tree to tree
in one long festoon of flight, spread out on the up-swoop like an
enormous black butterfly with white-starred wings. "Clack-clack-clack,"
he stirred the echoes from the other shore, and ignored us as he
swooped and clanged. There was much in his song of the Woodpecker
tang; it was very nearly the springtime "cluck-cluck" of a magnified
Flicker in black; and I gazed with open mouth until he thought
fit to bound through the air to another woods. This was my first
close meeting with the King of the Woodpeckers; I long to know him
better. Mammals, too, abounded, but we saw their signs rather than
themselves, for most are nocturnal. The Redsquirrels, so scarce last
spring, were quite plentiful, and the beach at all soft places
showed abundant trace Of Weasels, Chipmunks, Foxes, Coyotes,
Lynx, Wolves, Moose, Caribou, Deer. One Wolf track was of special
interest. It was 5 1/2 inches, long and travelling with it was the
track of a small Wolf; it vividly brought back the days of Lobo
and Blanca, and I doubt not was another case of mates; we were
evidently in the range of a giant Wolf who was travelling around
with his wife. Another large Wolf track was lacking the two inner
toes of the inner hind foot, and the bind foot pads were so faint
as to be lost at times, although the toes were deeply impressed in
the mud. This probably meant that he, had been in a trap and was
starved to a skeleton.
We did not see any of these, but we did see the post-graduate
evidences of their diet, and were somewhat surprised to learn that
it included much fruit, especially of the uva-ursi. We also saw
proof that they had eaten part of a Moose; probably they had killed
it.
Coyote abounded now, and these we saw from time to time. Once I
tramped up within thirty feet of a big fellow who was pursuing some
studies behind a log. But again the incontrovertible-postmortem-evidence
of their food habits was a surprise--the bulk of their sustenance
now was berries, in one case this was mixed with the tail hairs--but
no body hairs--of a Chipmunk. I suppose that Chipmunk escaped minus
his tail. There was much evidence that all those creatures that
can eat fruit were in good condition, but that flesh in its most
accessible form--rabbits--was unknown, and even next best thing--the
mice--were too scarce to count; this weighed with especial force
on the Lynxes; they alone seemed unable to eke out with fruit. The
few we saw were starving and at our camp of the 28th we found the
wretched body of one that was dead of hunger.
On that, same night we had a curious adventure with a Weasel.
All were sitting around the camp-fire at bed-time, when I heard
a distinct patter on the leaves. "Something coming," I whispered.
All held still, then out of the gloom came bounding a snow-white
Weasel. Preble was lying on his back with his hands clasped behind
his head and the Weasel fearlessly jumped on my colleague's broad
chest, and stood peering about.
In a flash Preble's right elbow was down and held the Weasel prisoner,
his left hand coming to assist. Now, it is pretty well known that
if you and a Weasel grab each other at the same time he has choice
of holds.
"I have got him," said Preble, then added feelingly, "but he got
me first. Suffering Moses! the little cuss is grinding his teeth
in deeper."
The muffled screaming of the small demon died away as Preble's
strong left hand crushed out his life, but as long as there was a
spark of it remaining, those desperate jaws were grinding deeper
into his thumb. It seemed a remarkably long affair to us, and from
time to time, as Preble let off some fierce ejaculation, one of us
would ask, "Hello! Are you two still at it," or, "How are you and
your friend these times, Preble?"
In a few minutes it was over, but that creature in his fury seemed
to have inspired himself with lock-jaw, for his teeth were so driven
in and double-locked, that I had to pry the jaws apart before the
hand was free.
The Weasel may now be seen in the American Museum, and Preble in the
Agricultural Department at Washington, the latter none the worse.
So wore away the month, the last night came, a night of fireside
joy at home (for was it not Hallowe'en?), and our celebration took
the form of washing, shaving, mending clothes, in preparation for
our landing in the morning.