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A Mindless Rock |
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by Daniel T. Keim Copyright ©2002 |
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The shadows lengthened slowly and evenly as the sun continued it’s decent toward the western horizon. The daytime woodland creatures slowly ceased their chatter as the shadows deepened upon their habitat, and the hoot of an owl signals the approach of new creatures that will replace their daytime counterparts. The glow of the embers reflects in the eyes of those seated around the campfire. Each one content after a successful day of squirrel hunting in the Ozark Mountain Range in northern Arkansas. Full stomachs and the beauty of the land combine to create within oneself an inner peace. A pine knot is placed squarely on the embers and soon everybody’s faces are bathed in the orange glow of a new resurgent fire. At age 10 this was Josh’s first adventure outside that picket fence that held him captive within the confines of his home. Oh! He had hunted many imaginary beasts and wild animals within the confines of that wooden fence but now came the time to prove himself against the forces of nature in the largest unfenced area he has ever beheld. His new 22-caliber rifle rested up against the oak tree not twenty feet from where he sat, all shiny and new. It was his most treasured gift and seated around the campfire were all his friends from his neighborhood who before had only ventured with Josh to those imaginary places to hunt the animals that Davy Crockett, and Daniel Boone had hunted years before their births. Excitement etched on everyone's faces as the day slowly closes and tonight will be their first night to sleep under the stars in the wild.
Thurman, the only adult in the group of five breaks the spell of wonder and excitement by asking: “Has any one ever heard of a catamount?”
Four youngsters shake their head - no, each shifting their weight as to shake off the spell the fire had cast over them.
“Well”, Thurman replied, “a catamount is just another name for a mountain lion.” A short silence gave each child a moment to conjure up in his own mind what a mountain lion appeared to be.
“Word has it”, Thurman said, “that a farmer spotted one in these parts. He was in that valley we walked through today.”
Whispers and excited chatter broke the stillness as the youngsters each expressed how he was going to go home with a mountain lion pelt for their bedroom.
Josh asked Thurman: “Do you think that the lion is still around?” Thurman scratches his head and kicks a pinecone toward the fire as he replies: “He could be and we could find out if you kids want to.”
“How?” Comes the reply from four different directions. “Well first off - lets pull those logs off the fire and let it get darker here in the campsite and then you know those squirrels we shot and ate for supper - well over there in that sack are the carcasses. I want two of you to take some of those skins and rub them on the trees and rocks - all around our campsite and you Jimmy - get that big piece of tin out of the bed of my pickup truck and bring it to me, so I may place it over the fire.”
Each youngster had a job to do and it wasn’t long before their responsibilities were finished. Thurman now walks over to his truck and reached inside his glove box and withdraws a five-inch round hollow tube made of cedar. Walking back to the fire he tells each youngster:
“Okay, I want you kids to gather around here and be really quiet and I’ll blow into this squealer to see if we can get an answer from ole Mr. mountain lion.”
Thurman puts the squealer to his lips; then drops his hand and replies: “Now if by chance this works and that cat is really hungry, he may come snooping around the bushes here close to camp and if any of you kids hear him out there rustling around, I want you to put these gloves on and pull that piece of tin off the fire and place those logs back on the fire to bring it back to life.”
“Why?” Came the reply from four different directions.
“Because”, Thurman replies, “I have four youngsters here all smelling of squirrel and if this squealer arouses his curiosity. Well, he may very well come right into this campsite where we are all seated.”
Suddenly after hearing that, this idea didn’t appear to be all that good after all. Thurman placing the tube to his lips started to blow into it and produced the loudest series of screams we ever heard. It’d be loud for awhile like a screaming lady - then he’d do it softly and soon it wasn’t anything more than a series of low pitched squeals. Thurman’s son, Rick, explains that his father is imitating a dying rabbit call. Abruptly Thurman stops and holds a hushed finger to his lips and we all waited. The wait wasn’t long. From the distance in the night stillness we could hear leaves and twigs being displaced by a running animal. Then it happened. A scream pierces the night, Thurman signals to the boy with the gloves, who also jumps to action as he pulls the tin off the fire, as another boy places several pine knots on the still dimly lit coals. The cat - a true to life mountain lion emerges from the undergrowth in search of the smell and sound that alerted his senses to the food it signaled. A tawny cat skinny as a rail - its ribs partially showing through it furry hide glances at the startled people and as quickly as he emerged, he re-emerged back into the undergrowth running at breakneck speed back the way that he arrived from. Thurman, wide-eyed and flushed ushers the kids into the bed of his pickup truck as the pine knots that were placed on the fire earlier come to life and once again our campsite is bathed in the unearthly orange glow as if we had captured a small piece of the sun.
Minutes pass, each child holding his breath; wondering if the cat was circling around our campsite looking for an easy target. Again, but from a distance we all hear a scream that would put any Hitchcock movie to shame. Back near our seats by the fire no one had the desire to sit, a chill settled over us, as one would expect to receive from a visit of a demon from hell. The excited chatter of seeing a real mountain lion had in fact turned their legs to jelly as the realization finally sank in. Thurman recommends that we get our sleeping bags ready. Because tomorrow we will be hunting a new area.
The mountain lion in his haste to escape the trap he was lured into had misjudged his step and he ran headlong into a fresh green briar patch, slashing him from head to tail as he ran through it. Stopping to lick its wounds it seethed with anger for falling into the predicament it had faced earlier. Its hunger undiminished it now heads back to the area that created his ill fortune, only this time circling around the briar patch.
The four youngsters snuggled in their sleeping bags had little trouble falling asleep despite the chaos they had experienced earlier. With Thurman though, he had never expected to see what had developed tonight, as the lion - in question -was shot last winter by a farmer who caught it feeding off his cattle. Now lines of worry and thoughts of indecisiveness had crept into his mind. The presence of a mountain lion in the vicinity he had planned to hunt and camp and teach the children about wood-lore had given him doubts about this whole trip and sitting by the fire listening to the sounds only a night in the woods could produce. He wondered whether he should call off the trip and head back home where the children would be safer.
With a sleuth approach being careful not to alert the night creatures of its arrival the big cat approached the area where the unnatural light was produced. And looking into the clearing, his nose being irritated by the wood smoke, he spots a lone figure in a sitting position near the source of his irritation. Closer to him though lie four cocoons with only heads showing. Suddenly one of the cocoons comes to life in a flailing of arms and screams of terror. The cat now crouches low to the ground; its muscles twitching and growing tight - to be seen now would only bring more hurt; for here were five man creatures capable of great hurt as was evidenced by his mate last winter. Thurman reassures the child that he only had a bad dream and as quickly as he awakened he fell into a deep slumber again. As if on cue, Thurman decides to turn in for the night. The big cat watches as the last man creature entered his cocoon, each muscle in its tight body screaming for release. Slowly the big cat rises and as quietly as he arrived he left again, only this time to the northwest. An area it sensed he’d be safe from these man creatures.
At 5am Thurman awakens and brings the fire back to life and stepping just outside of the camp to relieve himself. He finds very little to be relieved of. For no farther than 5 foot from his sons sleeping bag was the imprint of the mountain lion and this one was fresher than those that were made when the cat entered the camp. Cold as ice a shiver ran up his spine and taking his shoe he smoothed over the prints and wet the ground, then proceeded to make breakfast for the four children he knew would be hungry. He also took notice to the direction of the tracks the cat made when it had left the camp. They were headed southeasterly so with that in mind he decided to take the children to the northwest. An area he knew would be away from the cat’s territory.
Rocks; sharp and unyielding was strewn haphazardly throughout the terrain in what Thurman had called a road. With the temperature in the mid 30’s - the predawn air made the bumpy, jarring ride all the more uncomfortable. Tall bluffs rose up on either side of the truck and thick stands of oak, hickory, and sycamore trees filled their vision in every direction that they looked. The noise of rushing water intermingled with the snapping rubber of the tires, as each rock refused to give under the weight of the truck. Abruptly the truck comes to a halt and from the bed of the truck they looked over the cab only to see a huge tree fallen over the road and Thurman yells back to us that from here on. We would have to hike in to where we would hunt. Thurman said:
“This is the game plan. From here each of us will walk within one hundred yards of that rushing creek using our compasses the way we were shown to use them, and if you find that you can’t use your compass, then all you’ll have to do is follow this creek back upstream to the truck and you will be fine. We will all meet back here for lunch at noon. Each of us went our own separate ways. The sun left a hint of orange over our left shoulders.
The cat had traveled for a half a night before its keen sense of smell alerted it to food. A white tailed deer had misjudged his step in the rocky outcropping, and the cat was upon the hapless animal before it sensed his danger. Having eaten his fill the cat reassumed his journey, crossing the road once where a large tree had fallen over it. He followed the creek downstream for two more miles before coming to an area of steep bluffs and fissures. The small caves formed by an earthquake many years ago provided a suitable place to rest; a place it felt certain the man creatures would not enter.
The morning sun now just above the tree line created a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the heavy dew that clung to the autumn leaves. Josh counted four shots - two to his left and two to his rear over the course of the past half-hour. The terrain he was walking in was extremely rocky which meant he spent more time looking down rather than up for the furry little squirrels that he was hunting. Hickory nuts were abundant and every so often he’d spot a cache of them under a rock or against the base of a tree. Glancing at his pedometer he saw, he had traveled two miles from the truck. To his right was a series of small caves and fissures about halfway up the bluff line. Looking for a advantageous spot to sit he found one and after sitting still for 10 minutes he was rewarded with two squirrels in his game vest. The treetops were a flurry of activity with squirrels rushing from limb to limb it reminded him of rush hour traffic in a big city. They would clamber from treetop to ground and back up paying little attention to the intermediate pops of his 22-caliber rifle. Approximately four hundred yards to Josh’s rear a very large and very irritated animal was indeed paying close attention to those little pops produced by his rifle. Its hair bristling along the nape of its neck, each crack of the rifle echoing off the canyon walls made its muscles twitch as it paced back and forth within the confines of its cave. Josh with his back to the tree and five squirrels in his pouch closes his eyes as he recalls the events of the night before and with that recollection he thinks to himself that he must smell like one gigantic squirrel. With that single thought of smelling like a squirrel. Panic bombarded his perception causing him to come down off the natural high he was on.
Its strange how the mind works one minute your experiencing the time of your life and the next, with a single thought you are cast into the reality of just how grave a situation could become. Squirrels forgotten Josh’s ears now try to pinpoint any new sounds, his gut telling him that he was careless for being so naive. Like a chess master he plans his next move. A new sound reaches his ears this one to the rear, a rock tumbling down the bluff line displacing leaves and twigs mindless of its path to the ravine below. Does he chance a look? To do so would mean giving his position away, his mind moves from chess master to solider, as he remains fixed his back to the tree and to that mindless rock. His eyes scan the treetops praying for the continuation of the rush hour squirrels. Nothing! His eyes become unfocused, staring at the landscape, a picture on a wall unmoving - but still there. He makes a decision to move. He carefully removes his game vest and deposits it on the ground, praying that the tree itself will conceal any of his movements.
A quick glance Upwards confirms what his gut told him the moment before he looked up. That since the mindless rock, all activity had halted in the trees above. Time stood still as he moved his head to the right and to the left and finally to the rear. He scans the picture on the wall his heart thumping in his chest and the blood rushing through his ears. In turning back around his peripheral vision captures a splotch of molted brown; immediately his mind registers rock – tree - mountain lion. The brain sends the signal to the legs move. He stands his knees popping like a champagne cork. After three hours of sitting in one place it had even become hard for Josh to stand - much less to start walking. But walking, limping, and walking some more he did. Looking at his watch he noticed it was nearing noontime to eat...- news flash from the mind - or be eaten and with that he found new life in his limbs.
Now walking only less than one hundred yards from where he was sitting he noticed he was getting cold and goose bumps began breaking out all over his skin even though the temperature had warmed to nearly sixty degrees. Before he had a chance to ponder all that had taken place already he noticed that all of the hairs on his arms and neck was standing on end. Frantically he tried to decipher what was taking place and he turned around steadfast in his resolve not to run from a mindless rock...and who said it was a rock? Standing on the ground next to the tree where he was once sitting; stood the mountain lion tearing apart his game vest trying to get to the squirrels. He turns back around not chancing another look least the animal will see him looking at it. Time passes and to the very fiber of your being, he could sense he was being followed. To show fear now was to become dessert and so onward he walked and prayed and at one point in his prayers he did notice it getting lighter and that his fear was subsiding somewhat but the presence was still there. Deep down inside he knew the big cat was following him. Just how close he could not speculate and he didn't want to turn around to look. He spotted the truck up ahead in the distance and when it came into view his nerves of steel quivered like a rubber band under the extreme stress, then a shout scares tears into his eyes. Thurman fires his rifle at the cat and the other boys jumping up and down yelling and waving their arms. Josh turns around and before he faints into the blue he saw the mountain lion no more than thirty yards behind him. Josh remains unconscious for about ten minutes before ammonia salts brings him back to reality.
Upon consciousness all he would do, was laugh then cry and laugh then cry. Thurman calls the other boys and everyone goes back to camp. Josh had become sick. His mind unable to cope with the pictures on the wall, or rush hour squirrels, nor the mindless rocks en-route to the chasm below, and Thurman decides to call off the remaining four days of the trip.
Having packed the camping gear into the truck they departed for the safety of home while the sky’s deep blue began to deepen and the sun splayed out over the western horizon like a segment of a tangerine. Later it was read in the local newspaper that a mountain lion was tranquilized by the state game wardens where he will be shipped to a zoo for everyone to enjoy from a distance. Weeks passed and another trip was planned but Josh - while he did heal - declined from returning on that second trip for he was unable still to face those mindless rocks in his subconscious mind.
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