To illustrate both the beauty and harshness that is nature.
For 11 years, from 1989 until 2000, I would go camping with my older brother, Steve, and his two sons, my nephews, Bryan and Danny. Good kids, now good men to this day. At one point, as all things must pass, my nephews thought it no longer cool to go camping with their Dad and their Uncle Rich.On this particular day, in July 2000, the four of us had given the day all we had. A 9:00 AM start at the trailhead had us climb New York's highest mountain, the 5,344 foot high Mt. Marcy. The round trip took us about 9 hours, 4 hours up, and a triumphant hour atop for shirt and sock change, and lunch and rehydration. For a gentleman, if properly equipped, the wood line served as “the necessary.” The trip back down the mountain was more tedious, having already achieved our goal of conquering the rugged mountain. We were slowly fatiguing. My nephews of 16 and 20 years old, were tired, too, to which I was pleased. My 40-year old frame was shot, I not being the sturdy military man of a mere 10 years earlier. Steve, my older brother, at 48, was having his proverbial ass kicked. Good times. Good times. Steve had to make it back to the car- he was driving!!!
Upon returning to our "Bates Motel"-like cabins, numbers 6 and 7, at the far, dark end of the property, my brother collapsed on his bed. My nephew, Bryan, came running out of the cabin, facetiously yelling out, “My father is dying!” We, except for Steve, all laughed. Steve popped up out of the bed, took a quick shower, and rallied gracefully and valiantly. We began to set up our dinner barbeque, at one with nature, in the cool outdoors of wild upstate New York, knowing full well that we each had a comfortable bed nearby upon which to pass out afterwards.
After a wood-fueled cookout in a stone fire pit, cooking up some steaks, baked potatoes, corn, and hot apple pie, we settled in front of a nice, subdued fire. We enjoyed not a few beers, a nip or two of Bourbon, a cigar, and the Adirondack skies. The stars were magnificent. The perfect end to a triumphant day. The silent forest night was interrupted by an occasional car on the only road every 15 minutes or so. Just driving along the road, keeping things tranquil.
In a moment of perfect silence, between human words and the distant automotive travel, we heard a flapping of wings in the dead night. It was undeniable. So clearly flapping wings. What else could it be?
Then, a scuffle, leaves rustling, a screech, more agitated motion, a squeal, a final cry, another screech...then, nothing. For a cool, upstate New York minute, no sounds came from the forest, across the dark one lane state road. We discussed in low tones what we perceived to be a kill by a night hawk or an owl, destroying the evening of an unlucky mouse or some nocturnal, ground-borne gerbil or other edible living creature. More wing flapping ensued, as we postulated that the bird took his kill back to the nest for the family. For men, although acknowledging that nature is cruel, save for the night mouse that got eaten, it was all very exciting. We were so close yet, happily, so far.
Let this be exhibit 1A on why one doesn't wander about in the dense forest after dark.
As for this avian adventure, the owl ruled this night. It was its nature to do so.
No rodent, no squirrel, no snake, no frog, no lesser bird, no fish, no centipede, no crawling bug was safe. Thus, is the law of the forest as some Adirondack stretches offer scenic vistas and others assured peril. The dark forest is very capable of messing with one’s mind. Being unable to see your outstretched hand two feet from your face is truly humbling. I was quite pleased to not be on U. S. Army maneuvers at that time.
I apologize for the true yet disturbing images of a forest bird of prey actually preying. Even birds from the majestic eagle to the sweet little bluebird must kill to eat and provide for their young.
In the wild, for birds of prey, any living morsel will do.
R. Melnick,
1-7-2021.
Your story of the hunting hawk/ owl reminded me of a group of lions I saw from an African safari bus. They were feasting on the carcass of an antelope that they had taken down. The lions were busy satisfying their appetites, concentrating on the most delectable underbelly. We in the bus were struck silent, until one of the women cried out, "That's disgusting. Look at the blood on their jaws." All I could think was, "Would you prefer that they use forks and knives, like we do?" Yes. nature is cruel, but lions, like hawks and humans need to eat. I can't even say I am a vegetarian like the herbivorous antelope. We are all beasts in our own way.
ReplyDeleteThe above comment was from Marsha. I visited Kenya in 1986.
ReplyDelete