Cheetah

Like a lot of people around the world, I grew up with a love and appreciation for animals and nature that I never "outgrew", not that I think it's immature to feel that way in the first place. Naturally, any type of show or book that featured an animal "best friend" was at the top of my list, which also hasn't changed in adulthood. The "Nature" series on PBS recently aired a special about the wild animals of the Congo; specifically, the chimpanzees and gorillas of the jungle as told by their native son, and I urge you to see it (see link below). The landscape is as stunning as the appreciation for its beauty is heartfelt.

Besides the hokey "Mr. Ed" and poor ole Lassie always finding Timmy in a well during the surreal black-and-white 50s era of television, we waited for something to fill in for "talking" Hollywood animals with mouths full of peanut butter, and "Tarzan" was that for us. He was the king of the jungle, and he always had a little monkey best friend. In the animated series from the 70s, he had a monkey that curled his tail around his neck, while other movies showed Cheetah the chimpanzee as his "go-to" animal for news of the jungle.

We loved his battle cry of "ahhh ahhahhhh ahhh!" that signalled to the other animals trouble was afoot in their jungle. Then, he swung through the trees at lightning speed to chase away the bad guys, and they were almost always bunch of pansy-ass white dudes in stupid "explorer" gear looking to exploit the unspoiled wilderness for profit, or their museum collection(s), or their trophy wall(s). Uh uh. Not in our jungle!

It seemed kind of plausible, too. We loved stories about remote Abominable Snowmen living in some far-off frozen land that remained undiscovered, or wild "wolf boys" abandoned by their parents at the edge of a clearing to be raised by a pack of wolves in the forest. It could totally happen! Wolves are really caring, social animals! We talked about it over comic books, sitting at the kitchen table, dreaming of the day when someone would come to save the animals of the forest and their native habitats, including the wild jungles of the world. The good news? I think we're getting very close. 

See you in the woods, children of the wild.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/congo-full-episode/14635/

Howling (In The Name Of)

Having a real Alaskan Malamute like Teddy was both a privilege and an honor, and one of the most difficult jobs I've ever had in my life, as one that's so often been filled with brutally hard work. He was absolutely astonishing to look at: a stunning, spectacularly beautiful animal of an uncommonly large size that marks the Giant M'Loot tribe of Mals, with their distinctive bandit face-mask of lush black and white fur. He was a lot like me, too, of a spiritual kind that's way deeper than mere pet ownership.

He was my puppy soul-mate: a "totem", a link to my ancient indigenous past like the first canines his pack still resembles so closely today. His temperament was as excellent as his looks. He was gentle yet powerful, strong and kind, intelligent while also being playful and fun. In short, he was perfect, and sometimes I was scared of the awesome responsibility that comes with taking care of such an extraordinary animal. Because of his rare genetics, he was also extremely high maintenance after human exportation to the "lower 48" states; not a lot of moose meat or seal chunks to go around the mainland U.S. As a result, he suffered from terrible diarrhea because of the filler food sold at commercial pet stores, which made me stick to him in a "mommy" way even more, that did not go unnoticed or unappreciated by him.

But our true joy with Ted was in the snow-filled mountains of the cold rocky west. There, he ruled supreme, just as he was designed to do. He was a King among animals, and as the strong wind blew back his thick mane to reveal his sharp eyes, his majestic lineage was clear for anyone to see, as his careful gaze swept cross the freezing landscape with each measured turn of his massive head. He was brilliant, he was my "baby bear cub", and he was a stone-cold killer in the deep-freeze chiller of the northern United States, which meant we loved him with all of our hearts. He was ours to protect and nourish, just as he would easily lay down his life to protect us in the wilderness, if it was necessary. He was way more than just some dog. He was part of our family. He was a part of my tribe. He was mine.

One of the most beautiful sights in the entire animal kingdom is a Malamute running through the woods in deep snow with their incredible snow-shoe paws, through one of the most difficult terrains on earth, with all the grace and elegance of a champion figure skater. He was our Olympic sport. Mals are powerfully-built athletes made for humans who can both respect that and keep up with it. Within a month or two of Ted's adoption into our human family, Kent and I easily lost our "courtship weight" that we'd gained while dating, because the "call of the wild" was too strong for all of us to resist, now a tight-knit family of three.

Our trips to the Coloradan backwoods now had a more acute focus than our nature walks of the past. Ted was a like Tasmanian Devil of unchained energy. He needed lots of fast-paced exercise to burn off his growing puppy stuff, or our apartment and any of our most precious belongings immediately paid the price for any laxity in his routine. He was "hardcore military": up at the break of dawn daily, disciplined in his habits, and voracious in his appetite for life. I was glad that Kent was former Coast Guard, and that hiking with my ex-Navy Dad meant that my pack had been carefully packed (and sitting by the front door) the night before, with a 5 a.m. wake-up that either had my father switching our bedroom lights on-and-off quickly in a jarring strobe light effect, or snapping up the window shades of our bedrooms with a loud "RAP!" (daylight permitting), because "the early bird catches the worm." Aye aye, captain...ugh...so sleepy. "Do you want to go hiking? We're leaving in five minutes."

And so it was with Ted, except that as soon as the cold mountain air blew into his snoofer stuck out the truck's window, his werewolf eyes went "something-something" that meant the crazy would start as soon as snow was quickly huffed up his nostrils. It was an altered state of reality. I've never seen anything like it, in any other types of animals, and I watch a lot of nature programming. It was unique to my snow-beast, and it was done with an urgency that had to be addressed properly. In the summertime, we had him iced down in air-conditioning and wet t-shirts that put him into a glorious bear-like hibernation state, making him sleepier and easier to manage. It was with this genius parental thought in mind (haha) that found us happily driving into the foothills at 7 a.m., greatly looking forward to a walk in the woods.

Because it was summer and hotter than we liked, we parked at a more easily accessible roadside spot than we normally would, what with wintertime skiers posing a serious threat to an off-leash Ted that frightened us once on a trail, never to happen again. Kent knew of a spot with running water, so off we went on a light walking trail. We let the fur beast loose to allow the magic to happen, feeling fairly confident of a smooth hike on a beginner's path. He lopped off to disappear down the top of a small dirt rise, which didn't concern me much. There was a lot of visibility on a trail like this. Kent and I relaxed and chatted, confident that we'd catch him around the bend. Famous last words. No sooner had we established a groove, than we heard a high-pitched shriek and a man's yell. Fuck...so much for our pleasant little Sunday stroll. Now what?

Kent chuckled as he said "let's speed up and see what that moose is up to", so we did. We ran down the path like two concerned pre-school parents to greet two very white and very scared suburbanite kids without any real hiking gear cowering in their tracks. Aw, poor Ted! He stood there at the top of the little hill a little freaked out with his head tilted cutely, pink tongue out and bushy tail slightly wagging. Wha'd I do? Oh, nothing, beast-man, and I harnessed him back to me. He was perfectly lovely. The idiots on parade were much less charming. The guy (about college age) had picked up a fucking tree branch, and he was slightly hysterical. "WHAT IS THAT?!" he yelled out to us.

He and his girlfriend thought Ted was a wolf, and they visibly relaxed when we explained he was our dog, though keeping their distance by walking off the path and around us on the small trail. Whew! As a big man, Kent knew the stigma. He'd been bullied before for being a big lad. And so, he couldn't resist tweaking out the wealthy "Trustafarian" college kids from out-of-state just a wee bit more. As we passed by them, he laughed. "Yeah, hey, just so you know, my Malamute would have chomped through that branch like a toothpick snapped in half because of the massive size of his jaws. Like a pit-bull!"

With that, they grew pale and wide-eyed again, hurrying off down the trail to warn any other hikers they met about the friendly "werewolf" walking with his family in a beautiful sun-dappled forest. It was the only real scare we had that day with our precious little beast, and "Amen" to that. We breathed easier knowing he was with us, so I didn't let him off-leash for the rest of the hike. Oh, well. So much for my easy summer day. It was a parent thing, you know? A werewolf like Ted just wouldn't have understood. But, you do. Right? Yep. You do. I can tell.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Totem

Balls Out

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greater_sage-grouse

Last week I was lucky enough to catch a "Nature" special, and you know how I feel about PBS-type programming: LOVE IT! When you channel-surf using "free t.v." technology like I do (a digital antenna with an adapter made for a flat screen t.v.), you get what you get. Just like those old "rabbit ears" of old, reception becomes a challenge, and just like then, you can tune into different stations by moving the digital antenna around. When I saw the infamous "Nature" graphic come onto the screen, I got excited as I always do, knowing that beautiful photography is their standard, and I wasn't disappointed. Sleepy, yes, but also very interested.

This special focused on the amazing adaptability of the American West, a place often referred to as 'The Great Empty", which the host argued differently. Vast and human-free, but very much alive. These motherfuckin' birds are the jam, so good are the males at mating. 
I know crazy dudes who can't even tie their own shoelaces, let alone approach a decent woman, but that's how it goes for the disordered of our kind. In the wild, there's no such deception: you either got it, or you don't. The male who fights and wins against each and every opponent steppin' up to him gains entry to any female grouse he wants, with the stats to go along with his champion status, too: a record 31 lays was recorded by a group with one male. He managed to mate every 1/2 an hour with a different female grouse. That's impressive!

And not problem-free. A lot of the males are crippled, maimed, or dead at the end of mating season, and that's part of the point, too. The females want the best genes for their offspring, and these are not animals with complex sexual responses like humans. It's something to be fought for, won, and moved on from very quickly, as is suitable to their much shorter life span and lower brain capacity. But, I loved the strutting bravado of their ornate mating rituals and showy displays. 
If you got it, flaunt it! Very simple, isn't it? And so it was: the bird with the best ballsy performance got all the girls. Makes your dating life seem like a breeze in comparison, doesn't it?

At the end of every day, each individual is responsible for mating successfully, to the advantage of their species. If some jerk-off can't figure out how to speak to you properly, what good is he to you, girl? Not much. Even a birdbrain could tell you that, if only it would speak, right? Wrong. What messages are you not getting with his chest all puffed out? That bird's got his balls way out there, man, so why don't you grow a set? Grow up! Life is short, much shorter than you and your rinky dink, so get over it. It ain't all about you, bro. There's plenty of other males out there in the world. Respect your woman like you respect yourself, and you may just get the woman you deserve, instead of the woman you pay for. Mother Nature always wins.
 

For Takoda: I'm always on display, kiddo!

Fish Tale

 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/269.html

I've written before about the weird international rock-star status that follows New Yorkers around wherever we are in the world, being a world capital for many centuries now. It's become synonymous with fame in "human", which takes some getting used to, because it's a really strange concept to be known for something as random as where you were born, but such is life. 

Handling your rise in societal stature rocks many a person coming up, and it can totally wreck you if you aren't prepared for that kind of attention and heat. Some people resort to a "Seinfeld"-like caricature, thinking it will amuse the natives into acceptance; others choose to disown their homeland completely, preferring to try blending in with the locals, which typically results in a funny/sad "My Cousin Vinny"-type of disillusionment. Many simply realize who they are, and come home. Wouldn't you?

I've accepted my home along with many other gifts, but I've had to work at it like anything else. Once you conquer the urban jungle, one quickly moves past the clichés to the real deal, because most New Yorkers do not live on the permanent stage set that Midtown has become for tourist revenue. Now what?! 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/52634.html

It's laughable to me, because as a native, I can disappear into the vastness that is New York state any time I want to, which will be a foreign concept to you until you actually rent a car and drive upstate. It's wild, it's mountainous, it's very cold (like Canada), and it will scare the fuck out of you, as any serious forest should. Every year, we lose professional people to it, like the young trooper who was killed early this season, when a migrating deer collided with his vehicle while crossing a back road.

To us, it's going back into the heart of darkness where the wild things are, and I love it. Trying to grasp a city as large as New York is impossible without experiencing it, and so is our wilderness. It's the lushness of it, the sheer enormity of our space that overwhelms most tourists, and that's exactly why we like it so much; you should be afraid of it to really appreciate it. 

http://www.dec.ny.gov/65.html

That's the respect any difficult place builds into the people who live their lives within it, and so you should do that. For many natives, it's also part of our deep, abiding faith. We love New York, and I ❤ NY, too. Even our logo* and motto is world famous! It's time for you to see why. See you there....or not: http://www.dec.ny.gov/23.htm

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Love_New_York

Predator vs. Predator

Aha, Corvus! I see you, crow.

We've had a series of absolutely beautiful mornings with bright, warm sun, cooled by light breezes. Sometimes it's the perfect way to drink coffee and take a good look around, which was exactly what I did. 
I was not disappointed by my porch musings. Across the street, a dead pine among a stand of healthy trees serves as a watchtower for most of the birds that live nearby, the short list that I observed being this: cardinals, sparrows, mourning doves, blue jays, and a few powerful predators perched at the top. At first, a duo of large crows cawed and searched for food, while a few smaller birds clustered on the branches beneath them. But a feather I found a few days earlier was the harbinger of something new to the neighborhood.

New to the neighborhood.

To my surprise, the next morning when I opened the door, I was rewarded with the sight of a small red-tailed hawk at the top spot. 
I sat down to watch him engage his environment, and he was ruling well. A dove landed then quickly took off, then the crows circled nearby from atop a healthy pine, one braving the hawk's watchful gaze to land on a lower branch, only to take off quickly to report back to its' mate. 
I could tell the hawk was extremely aware of its' surroundings. 
Every time it swivelled its' head, the patch of feathers switched from white to brown, the color of the head feathers on the side. It's young and growing fast. I spotted a feather that still had some white downy chick feathers on it after I found a larger, more adult one. 

The last morning I saw it on top of the dead pine tree, I conspicuously took out my dark smart phone camera, pointed it right at the tree from a standing position and snapped a few pics, which sealed the deal that I already knew existed between us, about who was the bigger, smarter predator in the neighborhood. I haven't seen it since.

The American Bison of Lamar Valley

One of the more interesting facts we learned during our large family vacation (from resident wilderness expert and tour guide extraordinaire, Mike) was the mistake behind the word "buffalo", as it is so often used. Buffalo are the animals from Asia and Africa, while "bison" refers to the American species. It is still allowable in common usage, given the prevalence of the term buffalo in American folklore, like historic songs ("...where the buffalo roam..." ) and mythic stories about the Old West.

It's an overwhelming and emotionally powerful experience to see them in their natural environment; how completely they fit into this big sky landscape! Given the abundance of food for them in their valley home, bison have exploded in population recently, giving us a sense of the originally massive herds that covered the land back then. Settlers once thought the bison of "The American West" were inexhaustible.

But dwindle from over-hunting they did, until finally (in order to re-populate Yellowstone), biologists replenished the wild herd we now see from private stock held in ranches. Those animals were crossbred with the few wild bison left, in order to create the large herds of Yellowstone roaming free that we see today.

It is a breathtaking wildlife preserve, as our very own "American Serengeti": a natural paradise for us here on Earth.

Yellowstone National Park

Geothermal features permeate the park by the thousands, to include: boiling springs, hot springs, both boiling streams and hot streams, mud pots, mud holes, geysers, thermals, cones—every facet of an active live volcano you can think of (besides the more well-known image of exploding lava), is in Yellowstone National Park.

You can easily see the instability of the earth's surface from a just casual walk around the park's most visited areas, especially at its delicate edges, because the landscape there changes and shifts all the time. New hot spots open, become dormant, or shrink and then widen very quickly, as a perfect example of how fast a landscape can alter. A wild and savage beauty, this is "The Great American West" at its finest. You have to see it.