Just as I’ve spent many years exhausted during the workday because I was up all night building a boat or some shit, I also tend to mess up my sleep schedule by taking a “woods stroll” in the pitch dark.
I think most people are afraid of the dark, especially outdoors. I’m not. Full grown adults shouldn’t be afraid of the dark like the boogeyman is out there. I see it as a mind prone to emotion overriding a mind which knows damn well there’s no boogeyman.
But I’m alone in my opinions. For example, when I’m at a campground I notice people will walk to the outhouse at midnight in a gaggle, with a half dozen flashlights, and talking to each other… as if they’re afraid they’re extras in a horror movie. I do the opposite. Our planet has a moon and if your eyes fully adjust you can see… sorta’. Under most situations, you can get around in a lot less light than you’re used to.
My local environment has a dirt path I know well. I could feel the surface under my feet. I navigated by keeping my feet on the dirt path and not the weeds next to it. I don’t need a lantern or a team of Navy SEALS to protect me. It’s my planet goddamn it! I evolved to be here and I’m not going to be a chickenshit about the half of every day that’s Scooby-doo spooky.
There was almost no light pollution and the moon was just about out of sight. Thus, the skies were glorious! People live whole lifetimes without seeing the stars I’ve seen.
I kept pausing to look up; considering the glorious silent stars and juxtaposing that with the neato keen math thing I’d just figured out. The air was warm. In six months it’ll be cold enough to sear flesh. But not this night. I thought about the balance in all things such an observation implies. God had made an impressive world for us to enjoy but how many of us take time to do it?
I was in a good mood.
But… I was also wandering around in the dark like a lunatic vampire. You just know something weird was about to happen. And it did.
Ahead on the path where it was very hard to see, a mammal was approaching. Something small, about the volume of two tennis balls. It was coming my way and not being subtle about it! It wasn’t furtively scampering about like a mouse, it was charging down the dirt like a pint sized rhino. It was making tiny huffing noises. It had no idea I was there.
Huh, that’s weird! I know nature pretty well. It wasn’t moving like a weasel or a mink or a fisher. Maybe a rat or a muskrat? Except the little thing was acting like the meanest badass in the forest.
I travel the forest more or less silently, as one ought. You don’t know what’s there, so why broadcast your position? It just seems like good standard practice. This why a gaggle of chattering / whispering people waving cell phones and lamps en route to the campground outhouse seems weird to me. Being quiet, I see a lot more nature than most people. The bad news is I’ve occasionally surprised skunks or a campsite raccoon or whatever. I have to make a point to change my ways in Grizzly Country!
So this little… whatever it is… was charging down the path like it was ready to throw down with anything from an edible earthworm to a mastodon. It was closing fast.
Animals see at the scale of their life. (This applies to humans too.) A small thing sees small things at small distances. A bigger thing sees bigger things farther away. This is why you can approach a butterfly without spooking to distances that would give an elk a heart attack. It’s also why humans will walk right past dainty wildflowers and spiders and bugs engaged in outright warfare having seen nothing. (By the way, this “scaling of vision” is my personal opinion and not a scientifically proven fact.)
So the little thing got closer and closer. I sensed it perfectly. It had no idea I was there. I was just as unimportant in it’s world as a tree. (A tree that had been pondering the universe a few seconds ago.)
A shrew? That’s what it must be. Shrews are voracious predators. Absolute monsters when viewed within their own weight class.
I couldn’t back up off the trail because I was next to a tree. Nor did I relish stepping into the brush which would make noise and let the little beast know where I was. I felt like that would add an unknowable amount of drama to a scene that was already looking like it might get out of hand. For it’s part, the mystery critter was carrying on exactly like something that would give you nightmares if it wasn’t tiny. If that thing weighed 60 pounds I’d be reaching for my pistol!
I suspected it was looking for a fight, or food, or something equally dynamic and bitey. It still hadn’t noticed me (I stood still). Very soon it would be damn near at my feet.
I like nature but I’m not letting a shrew climb up my pantleg.
Kick!
I sent the little guy sprawling, flinging him back down the trail a few feet. I don’t have anything against shrews (if that’s what it was) but I’m not going to let anything get that close unless the situation is more controlled than it was. (That little shrew’s intentions didn’t seem friendly. He acted like he simply assumed anything he found would be bug or worm sized and he was ready to eat it without asking questions.)
The little monster rolled a couple of times and came up in what can only be called “a fighting stance”. He had no idea what had kicked it or where it had come from so that makes sense. I don’t know if shrews are nearsighted like a mole but that’s what I’m guessing. He had big huge incisors. He pivoted around his landing place making an impressive show of teeth in every direction. He stood up like a tiny bear. His hind feet weren’t visible but his front paws had huge claws. I couldn’t tell if they were “digging like a mole” claws or “tearing a mole apart for dinner” claws. Whatever they were, he clearly wasn’t happy. To be honest, I wasn’t either. I’d been having a better night before he arrived.
He worked around in a circle while I stayed still. I figured there was a good chance he’d retreat. Then I’d just walk back toward my house. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
When his mystery kicker didn’t materialize as an owl or something he seemed to shake it off. He made a little huff sound and started right back down the center of the trail; right at me. Again! What a dumbass!
This time he knew something was going on so I couldn’t be sure how fast he’d react. Maybe I’d get another kick in or maybe I’d have a tiny bundle of teeth latched on my ankle. Then again, I ain’t afraid of rodents (or whatever it was). So I made it count. In my defense, I hadn’t advanced on him. My actions were purely defensive. Regardless, the mystery critter met his maker.
So that happened. It had been such a groovy evening too.
Last post coming up.
