Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Chickens and Rabbits

First off, check this out!! Well done I say. It reminds of the time I stalked a Lynx across the Jos Plateau. It was killing my neighbor's chickens and rabbits. What would you have done in that situation? Gosh! Anyway, it also reminds me of a Sunday lunch that I shared with a friend of mine a few weeks back. Trust me, this story is far better than the Lynx.

A few weeks ago I ran into an old friend of mine, Rupert. We were close for awhile way back when and so he invited me over for a Sunday afternoon lunch. Rupert lives on something of a farm and we sat on his back deck overlooking his plethora of animals. When I knew Rupert he was single. Since then he has fathered what must be about 12 kids. Needless to say that, while we ate, there was an adult table and a kid's table. Out of all the children I was most amused by Rupert 2. The "2" is correct. Rupert is a firm patriot and doesn't make use of any item bearing a foreign designation: No Roman Numerals, no Chinese Fire Drills, and certainly NO French Fries (I didn't have the heart to tell him that "2" was an Arabic Numeral). Young Rupert 2 was about three years old, and had a propensity to find trouble, if trouble was anywhere to be found. Prior to lunch he had managed to climb to the top beam of the swing set, and then face down a charging turkey (a charge that Rupert 2 had provoked). With a personality of this sort it should have come as no shock when Rupert 2 quickly became bored with lunch and tore off into the yard for some more "fun." I was not alone in noticing this act, and it wasn't long before the family collie sauntered over to the kid's table, pulled Rupert 2's mostly full plate onto the floor, and began to chow down. Apparently Rupert 2 had not become bored with lunch, but simply liked to break up his meals with other activities, for variety and such. Anyway, I had never before in my life seen a three year old boy fight a collie for food, but it goes down in my book as one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Considering the fact that I was the closest adult to the melee and did nothing to intervene other than stare in amazement, it is understandable that Rupert 2's mother was not all that happy with me. When that little tyke sprinted in from that yard and tore into that dog I was enthralled.

In conclusion, well done to Rupert 2 and to our African friend. I do feel sorry for that collie though. I don't think he'll be interested in table scraps anytime soon.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

The Valley Part II: Hanging By A Thread

My initial intention in storming off into the wilderness in pursuit of a mountain lion was to photograph it. That seemed the most logical way to prove that I had actually encountered one. How to prove that the picture was actually taken in the area was another story, but in the spirit of documentation I paused by what seemed a particularly good paw print, snapped a picture, put the camera in the right cargo pouch of my pants, and moved on.

I'm no expert in mountain lions, but I do know that they can move quickly. An adult can do something like 30, or 50, miles in a day. I can never remember which one. Nevertheless, it was more distance than I would be able to cover, and I hoped to catch it quickly. I found the terrain off of the trail to be difficult, much more difficult than the trail itself, which was not easy. As I scampered along, trying to move as quickly as possible, I frequently lost my footing. Falling became quite common, and also quite annoying. It wasn't long before I became quite frustrated with the lack of footing, and quite bruised by the repeated falls.

Placed in this situation, a logical person would probably have turned back. In my sleep deprived, mountain lion obsessed state I was hardly logical. I attempted to press on even harder, which led to more falls on the rocks. The more I fell the more upset I became with the situation, causing me to try to push even harder. The situation was obviously worsening. In a desperate push, I followed the tracks over the top of a large mound of rocks and dirt. In hindsight the structure of this pile was a bit unique, and not of natural origin, but I was in a rush and didn't take much notice. Upon reaching the top I thought I saw some movement in the forest below. I attempted to freeze in midstep, but the rocks under my feet gave way and I began sliding down the side of the mound. As my flailing arms failed to arrest my fall, my head hit against something hard and everything went black.

I awoke to a sort of swinging sensation, and was immediately aware that my right side hurt very much. Things were very dark below my feet, and I knew that I wasn't standing on anything. As time went by I became aware that I was suspended at the mouth of some kind of hole. It appeared that whatever was keeping me from plunging into certain doom had somehow snagged the right shoulder strap of my backpack, from which I was now gently swinging back and forth. My right pant leg had been torn from knee to hip and my thigh was bleeding. There was also a burning sensation going from my right hip to the back of my right shoulder. As I looked around it became apparent that I was hanging over an abandoned mineshaft, the mouth of which was only a few feet across. As I pondered what luck I had to slide into this exact location I noticed that there were several old wooden beams protruding over the entrance of the shaft and it appeared likely that I was hanging from one of them. I cannot fully relate to you how it felt to be hanging over a pit of undetermined depth by a piece of wood that was probably older than my grandfather. As time went by and my senses slowly returned, it became obvious that a feat of some gymnastic prowess would by necessary if I were to survive this situation. I had never been very good at gymnastics, but I was able to stretch my legs out and press against the opposite side of the shaft, pushing my back against the closest wall. I then used my arms to pull myself up on top of the wooden beam and slowly slide myself back onto solid ground.

I lay sprawled out beside the mineshaft for what could have been an hour before I felt like moving again. I quickly realized that whatever items had been stored in the right cargo pouch of my pants were now lost, but I couldn't exactly remember which items those were. The sun had now sunk below the top of the mountain, and I knew that daylight was scarce. At this point I figured that the quest for the mountain lion had ended, and it was high time to get back to the trail, and back home. All I had to do was climb back over the dirt mound and follow the mountain lion tracks back to the trail. I was dismayed with the fact that the mineshaft was actually surrounded on three sides by mounds of dirt and rock, but guessed that I had slid down the side closest to the beam that had saved me. I climbed more slowly, and painfully, this time, but upon reaching the top I couldn't find any mountain lion tracks. I was admittedly still a little dazed from that shot to the head, but after a good fifteen minutes of searching the top of the mound, I became concerned.

Every good hiker knows not to depend on the trail to be your sole guide to home and safety. The Stony Valley was laid out pretty simply, geography wise, and I knew that to my south lay the Stony Creek. If I could make it to the creek I would only have to follow it upstream to find my car. Feeling slightly better about things I took of my backpack to get my compass. I should say that I took off what was left of my backpack, for I quickly found that my fall had pretty much destroyed the bag, and left only one of four pouches intact. It was not the pouch that my compass was in. Undeterred, I figured that the evening glow in the sky was in the general direction of west, and struck out in the direction of south in hopes of home and bed.


Stay tuned for Part III: Between A Rock and A Hard Bite. Click here if you missed Part I

Thursday, June 16, 2005

The Pride of A Father

Despite some years in Nigeria, there were always cats around when I was growing up. I like house cats and view them as little panthers stalking about and relaxing in the sun. When my girlfriend, who can't have cats at home, suggested that I adopt a kitten from the Humane Society, I responded favorably. I was so proud of little Orion (black with tiny white "stars" on her hide) as she pounced about the apartment defeating imaginary foes. So proud that I wrote her a little poem, and was convinced to get a second cat. While Orion and Callie (new cat) did play together, I began to notice a disturbing trend as the two cats aged. Orion, my great hunter, had become a complete coward in the presence of strangers, and Callie would prostitute herself for a mere pat on the head. These were hardly the pride leaders I had hoped for. And so I resigned myself to the fact that my cats were less than ideal, and retired my poem written to the great Orion.

Yesterday morning I happened to notice a small thumping noise in my bedroom wall. Orion noticed it as well and looked ready to bolt from the room. The noise slowly moved up the wall and onto the ceiling tiles. I gave the tiles a little poke and could here something scampering back and forth on top of my ceiling. My experience from Nigeria told me that, whatever it was, it was not a snake (don't ask). Several hours later I returned to my bedroom to get ready for work and noticed that Callie was sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling, and I could hear what I thought to be a bird chirping. In my infinite wisdom, I pushed up on one of the ceiling tiles and, to my surprise, a little brown bird flew out. Also to my surprise, Callie was on that bird in a heartbeat. I was able to get the two separated, and returned from locking Callie out of the room just in time to see Orion attack from out of nowhere. Now Orion is much more athletic than Callie and her strike was so impressive that I almost didn't want to stop it. However, Orion soon found herself locked in the hallway with Callie.

Seeing as I had to go to work, and that the bird was somewhere in the box spring under my bed, I closed the bedroom door and left. I notified the girlfriend of the incident and she stopped by my apartment to find that the bird was now sandwiched in between the window panes of my bedroom window. With the savvy use of a fishing net, she was able to extract the bird from the window, and it is now resting comfortably in a used hamster cage while its future is determined.

As funny as the bird story is, the most shocking fact here is that my cats DO possess that killer instinct that I had previous accused them of lacking. I am so proud, and in that spirit I have posted my, previously abandoned, ode to Orion. Enjoy.

The Hunter
Oh, Queen of the apartment
With prideful stride
Black and sleek with starry hide
Sharp of fang and swift of paw
Making prey quick to fall
Nerves of steel, paws of might
Oh fear ye rodents
Tis Orion's night!

Friday, June 10, 2005

The Valley Part I:Two Paths

Life has always amazed me in its ability to surprise you with options. It is assumed in our current culture that sometime in late adolescence, or early adulthood, one sets out on a chosen path for life and then remains in pursuit of said path until retirement. In my experience I have found that this isn't always the case. From the epic realm of morality to simple daily tasks life frequently presents us with options that were not anticipated and are occasionally completely surprising in nature, leaving you alone to make a choice. Not all that long ago I found myself in just such a situation, and the decision I made lead to some remarkable results. Some of you may remember the time, though few know the circumstances.

My friends and co-workers will remember that several months ago I disappeared for several days. Upon my return I offered only the explanation that "I went hiking." Those of you closest to me found this excuse to be somewhat suspect, and rightly so. At the time I apologized for the simplicity of that explanation, and assured you that there was nothing left to be known. I now apologize to you for the lack of complete honesty, and for the time delay. Unfortunately, at the time, my tongue was tied by a mixture of personal embarrassment and governmental restrictions. Recently the latter factor has been removed and I am now free to tell a story that is too good keep to keep to myself.

I enjoy such outdoor activities as running, biking, and swimming. Bearing this in mind it was only a matter of time until I undertook to participate in a triathlon. Despite the early challenge of getting into the proper physical condition, I found the training to be quite enjoyable. In fact, it wasn't long until I started looking for some kind of performance boost. After a short search I discovered an article in my favorite adventure magazine touting the performance enhancing abilities of Ginseng. Excited about this new find I dropped the magazine in mid-sentence and ran out to the drug store. It was not long before I was taking the supplement in heavy and frequent doses. What I had failed to learn from the rest of the half-read article was that despite its performance enhancing abilities, Ginseng is known to cause insomnia in heavy and frequent doses. Needless to say, it was not long before I could not sleep at night, or during the day, or at any time at all.

Recovering from Ginseng induced insomnia is not an easy task. After several weeks I found that the best way to get some sleep was to totally exhaust myself just prior to going to bed. With this goal in mind I took to the habit of taking rigorous hikes in the late afternoon and evening. On the evening of my disappearance I set out on one of these hikes (see, I told you I went hiking).

Few people know that just to the north of our illustrious capital city lies one of the wildest areas in our state. The Stony Valley is the second largest roadless wilderness in the state of Pennsylvania, and seeing that it lies on the northern border of the Fort Indiantown Gap military base, it receives more visits from errant artillery shells than it does from humans. For these reasons, and a few more, the valley is my favorite place to hike. For the hike in question I had decided to pay a visit to the Stone Tower, one of the last remnants of an old coal mining operation on the top of Stony Mountain. And so, with the sun making its decent in the west I set out over some rugged terrain to achieve my goal.

The Stony Mountain and Valley earn their names well, and a trail on the mountain is less of a trail than a meandering pile of loose rocks. To reach the top of the mountain one needs physical stamina and mental focus. While the former is gained with time the latter is lost. It was not long before it required an effort of will to keep my eyes focused on the ascent ahead instead of off into the woods in the hopes of seeing some wildlife. In a brief moment of fate, my eyes happened to return to the trail just at the right time to see something that froze my body in mid-step. To say that the Stony Valley is a wild area implies that wild animals live there. The valley is the proven home of deer, bear, bobcat, coyote, and numerous other species of animals that leave their tracks up and down the mountainside. However, what I saw on that trail was far to feline to be a bear track and far to large to be a bobcat track. There in a small patch of mud a few feet ahead of me lay what was unmistakably the track of a mountain lion.

Although the mountain lion officially does not roam wild anywhere east of the Mississippi (except for a small protected area in Florida), Pennsylvanians report hundreds of sightings each year. Due to this fact, the mountain lion had become something of a fascination for me. It represented the original wild nature of our land, and I yearned for its return to the area. You can imagine my excitement at finding evidence of one in my backyard. I was now faced with two very clear options. Ahead of me was the Stone Tower, it was my goal and provided me with a clear path back to my car, home, and bed. To my left was the path of the mountain lion, promising only uncertainty and risk. With the sun sinking closer and closer to the hills, I took a moment to pause and then turned left and headed off on the trail of the lion.




Author's note: Obviously this is just the first of several installments. Stay tuned I hope to post each new part on a weekly bases. I've also posted several times in the last few days, so check out the previous posts if you haven't visited in a while.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

A Feast in Cinematography

Among our little blog network some of you have recently endeavored to review films that you feel deserve some credit. All of you have fallen short. If you will make note of the new link at left you will find a smorgasbord of filmographic euphoria commonly referred to as Spring Break Shark Attack. While not initially receiving rave reviews, this film is sure to become a cult classic. Shannon Lucio, formerly of "The O.C.," leads a brilliant cast of teenage talent in a plot of epic proportions. When Danielle (Lucio) arrives in Florida for Spring Break against her parents will she has no idea what she is in store for. While the bikini clad girls and video camera wielding boys pursue hedonism in its most evolved form an armada of killer sharks is quietly amassing off shore. The sharks are drawn to the area by the artificial reef that the town recently installed, and the relentless chumming of a jealous local businessman. Danielle and an intelligent-but-misunderstood local boy uncover the secret just in time, but a complicated love triangle and unbelieving town bureaucracy get in the way. Its a coming of age story that I think we can all relate to. While critics can rail away on minor foibles, the spring breakers relax on the beach with mountains in the background (ah the famous Floridian Mountain Range), any film in which the main character survives a dose of roofies, a boat wreck, and a shark attack all in the same day gets thumbs up from me! Oddly enough, I have not been able to find Spring Break Shark Attack on sale, but once I do we can all kick back and enjoy.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Long Overdue

As some of you are aware I make it a habit to, from time to time, visit the wild places of the world. Until recently I was satisfied simply with the fact that this was an activity that I enjoyed doing, but have lately come to think some more of it. Yesterday I took a good friend out on a hike to show him some places of interest I have found over time. I know he's a good friend because he suffered through some pretty rugged terrain, rising temperatures, long hills, and killer salamanders without a word of complaint. We even pulled of a nice attack on the northern border of Fort Indiantown Gap. An attack that went unanswered. Homeland Security my butt. Anyway, this trip was unique in that I returned to spots previously visited, something that I never do unless I am showing them to someone else. Mostly my adventures consist of finding places I have never seen before, a trend that leads to larger and larger undertakings. I noticed yesterday that I did not get the same thrill from these old spots as I did when I visited them for the first time. Initially I felt that this said something about me. Maybe my adventures represented some greater searching in my life. As I thought about it some more I realized that this tendency wasn't limited to me, but was a theme in human nature. We, as mankind, are constantly searching for something new and exciting. Our initial visit to the moon was proclaimed with much grandeur, but after several visits became more of a ho-hum affair, and eventually we gave up on it altogether. Now we want to go to Mars. It seems that once we have done something, it has simply been done and we need to move on. It isn't that these tasks are no longer difficult, our jaunt through the woods yesterday was certainly not easy, but merely that they are no longer new. If you don't believe me simply try to find funding for an expedition to the North Pole or the top of Everest. If you don't plan to do it faster or harder than ever before than you better not plan on doing it at all. Anyway, these are just my thoughts on the matter and it had been awhile since I yammered on in a post. Keep checking as I am working on Part I of a multi-phase blog epic. I'll keep you posted.


PS. Does anyone elso find it funny that blogger's spell check won't accept the word "blog?"