We are continuing our exploration of the Scottish Highlands that we went on this summer along with our grandson Cody. Today we are visiting Castle Dunrobin. All photos on this post were taken by either Peggy, Cody, or me unless otherwise noted.
I chose Peggy’s photo of the castle because it also features the Versailles-like gardens below. She used her iPhone, which demonstrates the phone’s capacity as a camera— not to mention Peggy’s eye for photography. The castle has 189 rooms, making it the largest ‘house’ in the Scottish Highlands. And why is the Disney theme song playing in my head?
Peggy and I can never pass up visiting castles, so we were excited when the CIE tour of the Scottish Highlands featured five. I’ll do another post that includes the other four, but today is Dunrobin’s turn. The original castle, built in 1235 CE, was a square keep with thick walls, obviously built for defense. It has come a ways since! Dunrobin owes its present incarnation to Sir Charles Barry, the architect famed for designing London’s House of Parliament. It was his vision in the 1800s that changed the medieval fortress into what we now see now.
The google map above shows the location of Dunrobin in the Scottish Highlands.When we arrived at Dunrobin, a daily show that demonstrates falconry was taking place. We hurried down the 70 or so steps to catch it. You can see the crowd that had gathered to watch the demonstration across the garden on the right. Barry was also responsible for designing the garden.I stopped to photograph the tunnel.Andy Bunting is the resident falconer at Dunrobin. He’s been doing the demonstrations two times daily during tourist season for several years. Among the birds of prey he features are falcons, hawks, eagles, and owls. This is a Harris Hawk. Note the gloved hand. Those talons are sharp. You don’t want them digging into your hands or arms. The straps hanging down from the legs are called jesses. They help the falconer keep control of his birds. Hawk set off by Andy’s white hair! I couldn’t resist including this photo. Falconry has been around for 3-4,000 years. It started as a way to catch food in ancient Mesopotamia, Central Asia, and Mongolia, and morphed into the ‘sport of kings’ during the Middle Ages. Laws were even developed to classify which classes could fly which birds. The curved beak helps assure that caught food/game doesn’t escape.“Hello.” “Where’s dinner? Show me a bird with a red breast and it will be a Done-Robin.” Harris hawks eat small mammals like rabbits and squirrels, reptiles, and birds.There weren’t any birds, rabbits, or snakes to eat, but Andy had a volunteer run across the field dragging a ‘rabbit’ behind him.If you have a dog that likes balls, sticks, frisbees, etc. thrown for them, you will recognize this look. “Throw it! Throw it! Throw it.”The ‘rabbit’ didn’t get far!“Mine!” The hawk seemed to devour it. I suspect there were goodies hidden on it. Birds weren’t the only wildlife to be featured at Dunrobin Castle. After the falconry we explored the castle on our own and found…And found a lion.It was flat.And a flat lioness. The dukes and other nobility connected to Dunrobin Castle were avid hunters. Their castle was filled with reminders.I have seen dozens of stuffed and mounted deer heads in my life. But I have never-ever seen a fully stuffed buck!A close up. I don’t think you would want to argue with this fellow. I wonder if its ghost wanders the castle at night searching for the person that shot him and had him stuffed. Or maybe…He goes to visit his herd. Each one of these heads had a plaque beneath it that tells who shot it, when, where, and its size. One announced that the deer had been killed by the Duke of Sutherland in Dunrobin Forest on September 28, 1932. It had 10 points (antlers with 5 on each side) and weighed 25 stone. Translated 350 lbs, 158 kg, or, for fun, 5600 ounces.There were also sculptures of hunted animals. Fox hunting was big among nobility. This was presented to the Marquis of Stafford. For those of you not up on your nobility rankings it goes: Duke / Duchess, Marquess / Marchioness, Earl / Count / Countess (Earl in England/Count in Europe), Viscount / Viscountess, and Baron / Baroness. Now you know how low to bow. The official job of the Marquess in earlier times, btw, was to be located on the most dangerous border and keep the enemy out.I get the sculpture of the fox. It’s rather handsome. But why someone would want the sculpture of a dying heron with an arrow through it, escapes me.As we wandered through the castle, there was a fair amount of art. Much of it was portraits of family members.We liked this view of the children and their dogs. Note the girl feeding the deer! That’s a twist on the family theme.A mother and child, Madonna-like scene, carved in marble. (Looking at it just now, I was struck by the thought, “Does the baby have an erection?” Forget the Madonna idea. A future Duke perhaps?)This young woman carved from marble is worried about something. It’s likely from a myth. I’m thinking Artemis and Actaeon where Actaeon comes upon the goddess bathing and she turns him into a stag. If she was embarrassed by one man, what about the thousands that see her every year now. Watch out guys! You know what happens to stags in this neck of the woods.What’s a castle without a tapestry?We were all impressed with the beautiful flower arrangements found throughout Dunrobin.Speaking of being impressed, the library had over 10,000 books. Wandering through the various rooms gave us an idea of life in the castle. A separate wing of the Dunrobin Castle is still maintained as a family residence. It is currently occupied by Alistair Charles St. Clair Sutherland (the 25th Earl of Sutherland and Chief of Clan Sutherland), and his wife Gillian.The dining room showed the usual look and elaborate settings of most formal dining rooms we have seen in castles.My preference is always for the informal dining room. But hey, I’m a country boy.Nice hobby horse in the kids’ room. A dapple grey? You can bet that it came with a full time nanny.This is the seamstress room. Rumor has it that it once came with a ghost. The Earl of Sutherland in the 16th Century captured a beautiful girl and wanted to her to marry him. She said “no,” so he locked her up in the seamstress room to reconsider her decision. When he came back to see her, he found that she had fashioned a rope out of cloth and was escaping to the ground. Out of anger he whipped out his sword and cut the rope, causing her to fall to her death. She came back to haunt him. Rightfully so.Every historic castle worth its beans, has to come with a room dedicated to war including what the soldiers wore, the weapons they used and, often, where they fought. Dunrobin was no exception.I had a question about number 4, however.Checking out the views from the castle is always interesting. This was looking down on a section of the gardens. The gardens were actually made narrower as they went out to create a perspective of greater distance.This window provided an unusual focused view of the old Castle walls that Barry had added to. As we left, I caught a photo of the front of Castle Dunrobin and its clock tower. A person to the right of the greenery provides a perspective on the size of the castle.It was time for us to move on to our next adventure in the Scottish Highlands, and time for me to wrap up this post.
Peggy, our grandson Cody, and I visited the main Orkney Island in June as part of our CIE tour of the Scottish Highlands. Seeing ginger haired coos (cows) and Neolithic standing stones and villages were the highlights of our visit to the island. The photos in this post were taken by Peggy, Cody, or me. The maps are from Apple Maps.
You’ve heard of Stonehenge and likely seen photos and even documentaries featuring these ancient and mysterious standing stones in southern England. But have you ever heard of the Ring of Brodgar on the Island of Orkney in the far north of Scotland? Erected in 2500 BCE, at approximately the same time Stonehenge was being built, 60 stones formed a circle that stretched for 340 feet (104 meters) across. 36 of these stones remain standing today in an impressive array. The clouds provided a dramatic backdrop.We took a ferry from the town of Thurso on mainland Scotland up to Stromness and then crossed the main island of Orkney to Kirkwall where we stayed. The road distance between Stromness to Kirkwall is 15 miles, which provides a perspective on the size of the island. The Ring of Brodgar was one of four neolithic sites we visited on Orkney, which also included the Standing Stones of Stenness plus the villages of Barnhouse Settlement and Skara Brae. All four are part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site: The Heart of Neolithic Orkney. The red pin on the bay above Stromness to the left is the location of Skara Brae. The one to the right between the two lochs/lakes is the Ring of Brodgar.This provides a closer view. The upper red dot between the two lochs/lakes is the Ring of Brodgar. The lower red dot is the location of the Stones of Stenness and the Barnhouse Settlement, which is next to it. The distance between the two red dots is approximately 1 mile. Skara Brae is located on the lower side of Skaill Bay at the top left corner, about 5 1/2 miles from the Ring of Brodgar.The stones of the Ring of Brodgar are impressive— either as a whole or looked at singularly— standing up to 15 feet tall, each with a unique personality. Visitors are invited to follow a path that leads around the complete 1,250 foot circle. A nine foot deep ditch surrounds the pillars. Known as a henge— think Stonehenge, it was carved out of sandstone by the original inhabitants.A view of 8 of the stones.The unique looks add to the mystery of what purpose the stones served.Opposites attract?The chief?A number of stones had triangular tops. Which provided great perches. Cody took this photo. In fact Cody took a lot of photos that included birds! “They just show up,” he claimed. We are glad they did. The numerous lichens on the rocks added to their photogenic quality. Lichens, BTW, are among the oldest living organisms on earth, the oldest reaching over 8000 years. They have been hanging out in Scotland for some 400 million years!The walk around the Ring of Brodgar also includes a burial mound as shown on the left of this photo. A number of burial mounds are found within the Heart of Neolithic Orkney UNESCO World Heritage Site. Another one can be seen in the distance. The most famous is Maeshowe, which we didn’t visit. Traveling one mile south from the Ring of Brodgar over a stream that connects the sea water Loch of Stenness with the fresh water Loch of Harray, you come to the Stones of Stenness. Once consisting of 12 stones, it now has 4. It is thought to be the oldest henge site in the British Isles, dating back to 3100 BCE, some 500 years before Stonehenge and the Ring of Brodgar.An ancient hearth that is believed to have been utilized for ceremonial purposes (such as burning the bones of the dead and sacrificed animals) is located in the center of the stones.The ceremonies carried out at the hearth would have been connected to the Neolithic Barnhouse Settlement found a short walk away. Excavated between 1986-1991, the bases of at least 15 houses were discovered, each containing a central hearth, beds built against the walls, stone storage areas and internal drains. We felt they were quite sophisticated, especially considering that they dated back some 5,000 years. Another structure at the Barnhouse Settlement.Out trip north to Skara Brae on the Atlantic Coast of Orkney showed houses with a similar structure to the houses at the Barnhouse Settlement. Beds are in the lower right and upper left. A hearth is in the center and a storage area on the upper wall. People lived at the site from approximately 3180 BCE to around 2500 BCE. It is recognized as Europe’s most complete Neolithic village. The furniture is similar in several of the houses.The village looks out on Skaill Bay which opens up to the Atlantic Ocean.Skaill Bay.Paths and tunnels connected the various houses.Cody found his obligatory bird at Skara Brae, displaying a fat, juicy bug and a wild feather look.He also found these two rabbits snuggling up. Were baby rabbits in their future?
Peggy and I have long been fascinated with ancient cultures and found the standing stones and villages of Orkney of considerable interest. In many ways, we were reminded of our trips through the Southwestern United States searching petroglyphs left behind by the Anasazi and other ancient peoples.
This is a good time to remind my readers of Peggy’s word search book on petroglyphs: Artistic Word Searches Unique and Magical Discovering Petroglyphs from the South West. As puzzle solvers work their way through the puzzles, petroglyphs will emerge. This makes an excellent gift for retired seniors (and others) who love word games (and helps keep senior minds sharp—grin). The book can be obtained through Amazon.
The solution to the Kokopelli puzzle is an example of how the images appear as the puzzle is solved.
It was a dark and stormy day with sprinkles when we went on a search for Nessie on Loch Ness with CIE Tours. We were ready to make history by spotting the illusive, legendary monster. And possibly Big Bucks$$$. Any object on the lake was fraught with possibilities. Wait. Is that Nessie poking her head out of the water ahead of us!?
I’m continuing our series on our recent bus trip through the Scottish Highlands that Peggy, our grandson Cody, and I did with the CIE Tours. Today we are traveling by boat onto Loch Ness in search of Nessie. Our imaginations did a great job of finding her. Sigh. My super telephoto lens soon showed the Nessie featured above to be a boat. But there would be more opportunities. Plus there was a beautiful lake to enjoy, monster or not. The photos in this post are all taken by either Peggy, Cody or me.
It was sprinkling when we left the small harbor and followed the channel that would take us out to Loch Ness. Many of the boats in the harbor were devoted to also providing Nessie spotting tours on the lake. She does a monster of a job when it comes to attracting tourist dollars.The rain gave a preview of the beauty to come.And history. This is the Dochfour Estate, owned by the same family since the mid 1400s. A bit of sunshine illuminated the waves made by our boat, shore, and warped reflections, like a mirror in a carnival. We soon came to the opening of the lake. So much for stormy. The lake was as unruffled as a marine made bed. The Aldourie Castle could be seen on the shore. It actually has rooms for rent but only rents to groups. So gather 26 of your best friends and prepare to party. It can be yours for only $32,000-42,000 (US dollars) per night! And meals are included!The shoreline stretched off into the distance. If Nessie were around, we would see her for sure!Looking up the right side.And to the left. “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”A village along the shore.In addition to keeping a sharp eye out for Nessie and enjoying the scenery, we entertained ourselves by watching the wake and waves made by the boat. Some people note that we are easily entertained, and yes, we resemble that. It’s a good thing.Smooth…Checkered.And straight. But what is that escaping off to the right beyond the waves? Could it be? Is it possible? Don’t know. Didn’t see it until I just uploaded this photo. We will have to go with between highly unlikely and overactive imagination. Eventually, the captain announced it was time to head back toward the harbor. We were ‘making tracks’ but still keeping our eyes peeled.Dark skies continued to hover over us with the boat wake and waves providing interesting views.A wave close up. Surf’s up. Have you ever water skied behind a fast boat crossing back and forth over the wake? Some fun.I was pleased that our cameras could catch the action!It was not hard to turn this wave action into the long, sinuous body of Nessie right down to the tip of her tail! Many a tourist has. Why shouldn’t we? Most eyewitness and folklore accounts put her at around 20 feet long. Does she exist? Most tour operators answer with a resounding yes! Quite happy with our tour even though we came back with no earthshaking photos; we returned to our harbor. We were most of the way back when I glanced off to the edge of the shore and saw this:Had we discovered where Nessie hangs out when she is off duty!? Your imagination is in charge here!On our next post, we will venture to the far north of Scotland to Orkney Island where another Ancient mystery exists, a massive Neolithic stone circle built between 2500 and 2000 BC. Unlike Nessie, however, there is no question of its existence. Its purpose? That’s the mystery.
Last month, Peggy and I went on a CIE bus tour of the Scottish Highlands, along with our grandson Cody. Photos in this series were taken by Cody, Peggy and me.
Harry Coos are just about on everyone’s to-see-list for visitors to the Scottish Highlands. Their thick ginger fur and impressive horns are the two chacterisitcs that most people note. The slender, curvy horns suggest that this coo is a female. Check out the ears as well.
Given the popularity of coos, we were surprised they weren’t everywhere. We only spotted them a half-dozen or so times during our recent bus tour exploration of the Highlands! And only had two opportunities to stop and check them out. One was on the northern island of Orkney, the other next to the Culloden Battlefield. While there are over a million cattle in Scotland, coos number only in the thousands. The fact that their milk involves an acquired taste and that their meat is very expensive are important reasons. Besides, one coo might attract 10,000 visitors (or more), but how many people could it feed.“Why is it that people always look at me as an object and only think meat and milk. Why can’t they think of me as handsome or beautiful?’
So while coos are much harder to find than normal cows, I doubt that there is a tourist shop in Scotland that doesn’t promote them. Paintings, key chains, coffee cups, shot glasses, scarves, coasters, t-shirts… you name it, you will likely find one with a coo on it. We brought home two.
A coaster for me…And a seasonal weather gauge for Peggy.
We found this fellow hanging out in a tourist shop. And no, we didn’t bring him home. Judging from the glasses going through his ears, it’s probably AI generated.
Roadside attraction.The horns are more than weapons. For example, a good scratch. They are also used to break through the snow in winter to get to grass. These guys can eat up to 140 pounds of it per day. I think that’s an oyster catcher looking on. We saw lots of them on Orkney.Harry coos is an apt description for these cows— from their head right down to their tails! They actually have two layers of fur, the shaggy looking outer layer which is oily and somewhat rain repellent and a softer warm, inner coat. Both come in handy for the long, cold highland winters. They’ve had a long time to adjust to the weather. They were first domesticated in 6th century CE in the Outer Hebrides off Scotland.Head shot.Tail shot.Ear shot.Me shot.Don’t know where the horns went on this harry coo lying down. Will assume they were cut off. Had it been a bad coo? Peggy caught a video on her iPhone of it chewing its cud. Just click on the photo/video below.
When we were finished touring the Culloden Battlefield, I ran over to capture a few photos of the Coos next to the battlefield. This is where I found this sign.One thing that stood out was a black coo. There was a time when the coos came in several colors. Then Queen Victoria visited the Highlands and stated she was quite taken by the ginger colored coos. That’s when the farmers started focusing on breeding coos with ginger coats. This is a boy, BTW. Horns are straighter and more stout.It’s just possible this lady coo was having a bad day. A cold perhaps with a runny nose? Or a chapped nose. Click the photo/video below and you can decide for yourself. (I don’t know why WP decided to put in The?)
She was licking her nose.Since we brought up Nessie above, that’s where we will go next: To Loch Ness, fabled home to the ancient monster. It was a dark cloudy day, perfect for our search.
Burning Man is many things, and different things to different people. One of its qualities that I have always loved about it is its weirdness, wonderful weirdness. And I like weird.
My friend Tom called a couple of days ago. “Are you ready to go to Burning Man, Curt.” There was silence on my end. Tom and I had discussed the possibility in the spring and I had tentatively agreed. Going back to Burning Man always sounds like a good idea to me. It would be my 14th time. His purpose was test a new battery driven blender he has invented under extreme conditions. It is small, powerful, quiet, and tough. The plan was to set up a booth on the Playa and give away slushies and margaritas. It would be an ideal test: Extreme temperatures, dust storms, and the legendary thirst of Burners would guarantee it. Then, as it turned out, Labor Day Weekend was an excellent time to begin a kick-starter campaign. Burning Man was removed from the equation.
Unfortunately, the first shipment of blenders necessary for the campaign won’t get here on time. They are coming via a slow-boat from China. The Burning Man trip was back on the table. “I’ll pay for your ticket and a rented vehicle,” Tom offered, sweetening the pot. He really wanted me to go. But here’s the thing. The event is a little over 3 weeks away and Peggy and I have just returned from two months of wandering around in Europe. I’m still in recovery. Two, we are planning a leisurely trip down the Blue Ridge Parkway starting immediately after Labor Day, which is when Burning Man ends. Three, I checked the weather forecast. Another heat dome is predicted to be over Nevada for the whole week. Daytime temperatures are predicted to be in the triple digits— every day. Somehow, having a booth with zero air-conditioning in the middle of the desert in 100° plus weather with likely wind and black-out dust storms didn’t sound all that appealing. On top of that, we would have to set up and take down the operation each day, not to mention schlepping hundreds of pounds of ice by bicycle. Some fun, huh. Especially for an 83-year-old. I reluctantly told Tom no.
Okay, no Burning Man for me this year. Sigh. I went back and looked at the photos that Peggy and I have taken over the years to cheer myself up— and was struck by an idea. I should do a post to encourage newbies to go looking for weird when they arrive at Black Rock City. It’s found everywhere: In sculptures, paintings, mutant vehicles, camps, and costumes. Following are examples from my 13 years of journeying to Black Rock City.
How’s this for weird? I think that this was an ancient rain god, ugly but powerful. He was there in 2023.Bone, being Bone, challenged him, saying ‘Show me what you got!’ (Bone has been traveling the world with Tom and me ever since we discovered him in a snow bank south of Lake Tahoe in 1977.)Watch what you ask for, Bone. I didn’t tell any of my fellow Burners what Bone had done, given that all 70,000 of us were stuck in the mud from a massive rainstorm.This house/beast with legs would have been ideal for hoofing it out.Speaking of hooves, it’s rather weird that creatures are always crawling up out of the desert floor: Fish, people, a large ship. One year it was a giant Texas long horn, a lot of bull.An octopus slithers up through the desert floor. The sunken ship La Llorona rises again. Or maybe it was sinking.Not that there is any lack of strange sculptures resting on the surface. The imagination of artists that bring their work to Burning man knows no bounds.I’m not sure what this was but it was something I didn’t want to catch. I kept my distance.Brainy child or pregnant woman? Hmmm.No question what this is. A skull tree. Just what you need growing in your backyard. Note: There might be some objections if you live in an HOA. Or anywhere.A sign and Calvin informed me that this was Hobbes.Blue Dog at Burning Man.A skyscraper next to King Kong wearing a pink tutu.Medusa! I could go on and on with sculptures, but there is so much more that is weird.Take murals, for example.Bad kitty!Some murals and paintings are in much greater detail. Odds are we found this fellow at Camp Mystic.Look closely at this painting. The details are as amazing as they were varied.Always been one of my favorites.The only way one can drive on the Playa at Black Rock City is in a mutant vehicle. There are two rules: the vehicle can in no way resemble the original vehicle and two, it has to be safe. Imagination runs rampant. I wonder how many of today’s Burners will have actually used one of these?!In the swamps of Louisiana. This was a NOLA creation!Way up north. (Tom took this photo.)Chicken pox at Burning Man.Clever use of tail pipe on cat car.This scary creature is called Rabid Transit. Many mutant vehicles are designed to operate at night as well as during the day, and many of them shoot out flames. Burning Man at night is totally different at night, and in many ways, an even more magical world.Cleverly done. The Eye.Cheshire Cat.Costumes are big at Burning Man. Burners are strongly encouraged to wear one. This long legged fellow enhanced his costume by pulling a piano that was being played! Note the Burning Man symbol on his chest.This dude stopped by our camp each day demanding a beer… The best we had.Almost everyone uses a bike at Burning Man. There are thousands of them. Many of them are decorated!A lioness. Have you ever seen a ‘do’ like this one? Our friend Don Green took this photo.Real but surreal. The ‘barbie’ look above reminded me that you can walk down any street in Burning Man and see elaborate decorations that are created by the camps. A camp is a group of people who share some commonality. This camp featured Barbies. Hundreds of them. They were marching to their final destination.The bigger the camp, the larger the decoration. How do you feel about clowns? Campground decorations are often related to the theme for Burning Man. This year it was Carnival.BM’s media tent also featured a clown. The tent was appropriately named Media Circus.These guys were out in front of the Silicon Valley Camp one year. Many of the Valley’s billionaires make their way to Burning Man. Musk has been there several times. I think he looks a bit like the guy on the left.I have to wrap this up so a few last photos. It is rumored that aliens have made their way to Black Rock City where they can wander around without fear of being recognized.Age apparently isn’t an issue. (I may know that better than anyone who attends the event.) I think I would recognize the red breasted woman as an alien, however. It’s possible the ‘cats’ at the top of this post were aliens as well. I think this guy is reminding Burners to look for the weird. You are guaranteed to find dirt. Monday’s Post will feature the Hairy Coos (cows) of the Scottish Highlands!
It looked like this black-faced sheep in the Scottish Highlands had learned how to fly when escaping from a border collie. Maybe not, but it was a one heck of a leap!
Peggy and I have now returned from our two month exploration of Greece, the Scottish Highlands and Ireland. I’ll be blogging about the experience over the next couple of months, focusing on highlights.
One of the highlights of our CIE Travel Company bus tour of the Scottish Highlands with our grandson Cody was stopping at Neil Ross’s 11,000 acre Leault sheep farm in Kincraig, Scotland. (It’s not far from Loch Ness where we went in search of the legendary Nessie.) Neal and his border collies put on a sheep dog demonstration for us that was incredible.
The first border collies were bred on the border between Scotland and England, thus the name. Their ancient ancestors were Viking and Roman herding dogs. Their specific ancestor traces back to a dog know as Old Hemp born in 1893. His herding instincts were so highly developed that sheep herders the world over wanted pups from him. It’s said that he produced over 200— and I assume that he was quite happy to do so. Among the qualities that Old Hemp showed were high intelligence and the ability to manage large flocks over long distances using independent judgement. Plus a real love for his master and a strong desire to please. The latter made him easy to train and eager to carry out his responsibilities.
Sheep herders were also impressed with the fact that Old Hemp was less physical and more mental in his herding technique: Instead of biting the sheep, he gave them ‘the look,’ translated ‘do it or else.’ The bite was implied. I understand the look. Peggy was the principal of an elementary school with over 1000 students from 18 different countries and was a master of the look. She didn’t have to use it often, but when she did, the kids were instantly on their best behavior. So am I.
Possibly the most important factor is the herding instinct, which is the result of hundreds, if not thousands, of years of herding. Sheep and cattle dogs love to herd. It is not a chore; it’s a way of life. When Ross brought his dogs out for the demonstration, they were almost shaking in their eagerness to be turned loose. When Cody was young, his dad had bought a pair of Austrailian cattle dogs. They were constantly trying to herd him and his brother Ethan. They even tried to herd me, but we had a discussion about it. In addition to sheep and cattle, border collies have also been used in herding poultry, pigs and even ostriches!
Neil uses both voice commands and whistles to let his dogs know what he wants them to do. If you ever watched the movie Babe where the pig ends up herding the sheep, Neil provided the whistle commands used with the sheep dogs in the movie. It’s fascinating to watch how Neil and the sheep dogs work together. His first command was to go out into the woods and bring the sheep into the field where the demonstration was to take place. At one point he directed his sheep dogs to separate out some sheep that belonged to a neighbor from his herd, and they did it.
Following are photos that Peggy and I took to give you something of a feel for the sheepdog demonstration. We will apply our own interpretation as to what the border collies were up to…
The collies began their work by gathering the sheep together out in the woods on Neil’s ranch. The video at the end shows the effort. The dogs then brought the sheep into the open area in front of Neil’s house where they demonstrated their ability to control them. Our interpretation here was that the collie that you see in the foreground was staring at the sheep and informing them, ‘You are going in the wrong direction.”“That’s better.” “Now run. It is okay to wag your tails.” We watched as the border collies worked the sheep back and forth across the field at Neil’s commands.“Now, line up in groups of 2-4 and trot across the yard for a group photo.” One dog, seen next to the sheep here, is herding. Another dog stands off in the distance, ready to run in and help if needed. The dogs worked in tandem with two other collies on the field. “Good sheep.” We dutifully took photos. (All of the wool on the ground suggested to Peggy and me that the sheep were shedding. Either that or it was left over from sheep shearing and had been blown across the field.)This photo provides an idea of the number of sheep the dogs were working at the time. It’s just a small portion of the 2500 sheep on the farm.The whole time the dogs worked, Neil was giving them voice and whistle instructions.He also demonstrated the fine art of sheep shearing while three of his dogs looked on. Maybe they were there to assure the sheep’s good behavior.Neil also introduced us to a pair of lambs.And a calf. One of the lambs stuck its nose out through the fence, asking to be let out. Neil let all three out where members of our tour group fed them milk with baby bottles.The absolute stars of the show were the three border collie puppies that were brought over to meet the tour group.Cody fell in love— and was threatening to steal one.I could hardly blame him.Peggy joined Cody for a photo op.A large yawn announced that the puppy had decided that taking a nap in Cody’s arms seemed like a nice thing to do. Or was it saying, “Ah want tae learn hoo tae mak sheep flee, jist like mammy and daddy.” With a proper Scottish accent, of course.Nope, it was sleep.
This video below shows the dogs bringing in the sheep from the forest to the open field under Neil’s directions. One of other dogs wants to join the fun but is limping. Neil directs it down to the open field to hold the sheep when they arrive. You can see the dogs working in the background. Note how fast they run. A few of the sheep slide off to the side. You can hear Neil telling the dogs “Say goodby, say goodby. Clicking on the photo will start it running.
My next post on Tuesday will take you back to the book I am blogging, UT-OH, and the beginning of my time at UC Berkeley where I was a student when a nation-wide effort was underway to involve students in the civil-rights movement. I ended up giving speeches from the Dean’s desk and sitting on the floor of the Administration building singing We Shall Overcome with Joan Baez.
Our wildlife viewing in Oregon was a two way street. The deer were as likely to be staring in the window at us as we would be staring out the window at them.
Our five acre home in Oregon backed up to a million acres of national forest lands. The Applegate River flowed by the front. It was an ideal location for wildlife viewing. Almost magical. We had front row seats. Usually, our wild visitors were a joy, but when cougars and bears stopped by, we rolled up the welcome mat.
Two fawns crossing our deck.
One night Peggy and I woke up with a start as a deer leapt onto the deck next to our bedroom. They frequently crossed the deck, but rarely at night and never at full speed. It got our attention— but nothing like the loud thump that followed. I imagined something big and thought of getting up to look. But it was a moonless, pitch black night. I wouldn’t be able to see anything and the intruder would be long gone. Or not. I decided to go back to sleep.
Our neighbor, Bryan, called the next night. “I’m shaking, Curt,” he told me. A hawk had taken out a chicken of his during the day and he had gone out after dark to check on the welfare of the flock. What he found was a pair of eyes staring out at him from one side of a large tree. A long tail stretched out from the other side. Twitching. It was a cougar! Around 7 feet long. Bryan kept his bright flashlight focused on the eyes and slowly backed away to the safety of his house. And then called me.
Suddenly, the loud thump from the night before made sense. The cougar had been in hot pursuit of the deer and jumped onto our deck. About five feet away from where we were sleeping.
I didn’t have any photos of the black bears raiding our garbage can. I was always too busy trying to run them off. So I asked AI to produce one for me. It’s perfect. The bear looks just like the one that was a frequent visitor in our neighborhood. The garbage can is an exact match to ours. And it even comes with the claw marks! Garbage is garbage.
Bears came by much more frequently than cougars. They thought of our garbage can as a gourmet restaurant. They refused to make reservations— just show up, lift off the lid, and settle in for an a multi course meal. They were messy eaters (kind of like taking a two-year-old out to dinner), and never left a tip. It was a hassle, but it went with the territory. A quick 15 minutes afterwards would clean things up. Unless they ordered take out. Then their mess would be strewn out for 50 yards up the trail.
Another neighbor, Tom, suggested fastening the lid down with a bungie cord. I had my doubts— given my experience with Yosemite bears—but tried it and was pleasantly surprised. It actually worked (most of the time). It didn’t stop them from knocking the large plastic cans over and leaving claw marks behind.
Two bear encounters stood out.
Tasha and her two sons
The first one took place when our daughter, Tasha, visited with her two boys. The day of their arrival, I’d whipped up hamburgers on my Weber Grill that lived on our porch. Afterwards, we’d had a pleasant evening entertaining the boys and chatting. Finally, we had all drifted off to bed. Tasha had the guest room that was next to the porch, the boys occupied our office next to her (it converted to a bedroom on demand), and Peggy and I were in our bedroom at the other end of the house. Everyone was tired. Sleep came immediately. Until the crash…
The smell of the cooking hamburgers had wafted up into the forest that evening and got the attention of a hungry bear. I’m pretty sure that it was sitting up on the edge of the national forest thinking, “Damn, why don’t they go to bed.” We were all sleeping happily when he came down to find the source of the enticing smell, sniffed the grill, and discovered the smell was coming from inside. Being logical, he decided to open it. Bear style. BANG! A large Weber Grill tipped over on a cement floor makes a loud noise. The bear took off at full speed. And Tasha yelled…
“Curtis!!!” Once again, bear duty called. I threw on clothes, charged out to the porch, discovered that the grill was tipped over, and the bear long gone. I assured Tasha that everything was okay. It wasn’t easy. I understood. The loud crash had me jumping out of bed at the other end of the house. Tasha was one wall away. All’s well that ends well, right. The grill disagreed. It took a fair amount of work to repair. And our hopes of having the boys experience sleeping outside at our home in the future were squelched by mom.
The next memorable bear encounter started with our patio furniture moving around in the middle of the night. Have you noticed that most of my bear encounters start with ‘middle of the night?’ It’s the nature of bears. Not mine. But who would assume patio furniture would have anything to do with a bear? Not me. Crashing grills and garbage cans, of course. I hopped out of bed to explore the phenomena, carefully opening the door and peeking outside. Nothing….
Then I heard the crash. “Garbage can!” was my immediate thought. So I dashed across the house and peeked out the backdoor. The garbage can innocently stared back at me, standing tall, with no new claw marks. “Oh no, not our grill again,” I cursed, bee-lining it for the porch. But the grill was fine. Nothing, nada, zero, zilch. I opened the door and stepped out on the porch, looking up our roadway. Again, nothing. And then I noticed that our bird feeder was swinging back and forth, bent out of shape. Mentally, as well as physically, I was pretty sure.
It’a a strange fact bears like sunflower seeds. Earlier in the day I had spilled a few seeds around our patio chairs when I was refilling one of our bird feeders. The bear had been moving the furniture to get at the seeds! And then come around the house to tackle the bird feeder. Why such a big animal would like such a small seed was beyond me. But then again, bears are quite democratic when it comes to food.
Suddenly, however, I was very nervous. The still swinging bird feeder the bear had been playing tether ball with set off an alarm bell in my mind. In response, I swung my flashlight to the left. Not there. And then to the right. There he was, a big fellow like the photo above, about 20 feet away. He wasn’t running away; he wasn’t charging. He was just staring. And staring. Disconcerting to say the least. So I yelled at him— loudly— and prepared to dash inside. He continued to stare, and finally, as if he had made up his mind about something, slowly turned around and made his way up the road back to the forest. WTF, I wondered. And then I figured it out.
He had never seen a naked man before.
So we come to the end of my bear stories. I hope you’ve enjoyed them.
Peggy and I have now returned from our two months of exploring Greece, the Scottish Highlands, Northern Ireland and the Irish Republic. It was a great trip and we are eager to share the highlights with you. My tentative blogging schedule will be to feature our present travel tales on Fridays and use Tuesdays for blogging my new book, UT-OH!
And now for Friday’s first travel post from our recent journey: Teaching Sheep to Fly
The tell-tale hump on its back is a defining characterisic of a grizzly bear. This grizzly is actually an Alaskan brown bear. Grizzlies that live on the coast with abundant fish to eat grow much larger than their inland cousins. But whether a bear weighs 700 or over 1000 pounds, you don’t want one stalking you.
On Being Stalked By a Grizzly
I related a couple of tales about grizzly encounters last week. They were worrisome, but nothing in comparison to being stalked by one. That happened when I was leading a 100 K trek across Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula in 1985 as a fundraiser for the Alaska Lung Association. We started at Hope on the Turnagain Arm south of Anchorage, followed the Resurrection Pass Trail through the Kenai Mountains to Cooper’s Landing, and then picked up the Russian Lakes/River Trail to Seward. It’s known for both its beauty and bears.
As always, on my Treks in Alaska, I checked in with the US Forest Service to see if there were any issues I should be aware of. There were a couple. A large grizzly was working the area and had treed one of their rangers near Seward two weeks before the trip. Even scarier, earlier in the season, a black bear had bitten through the sleeping bag of a woman ranger and wounded her leg, in the same area. Both had nightmare potential. They had shot the leg-eating bear, however. All I had to worry about was a large, marauding grizzly.
I vowed to keep my group together and make lots of noise on the Russian Lakes/River Trail.
It worked— at least until the last day. The night before, we had come across a forest service cabin. You can reserve and rent them. I’d done neither, but no one was there, and I decided the USF wouldn’t complain about our using it, given that the grizzly incident had taken place about a quarter of a mile away. It was cozy given our group size but bear proof. I figured we were out of the woods, so to speak.
Early the next morning I was awakened by one of my trekkers getting up. I figured she had to go outside and pee, but checked with her. I didn’t want her wandering far from the cabin. “Actually, I want to go for a short walk,” Debbi explained to me. She was a single mom and had loved her week of escape while her mother handled babysitting duties. Or maybe it was her Ex. She missed her kids on the one hand, but didn’t want the trip to end on the other. The walk was her compromise.
I wouldn’t let her go alone, but volunteered to walk with her. I woke up my assistant leader and told him where we were going. We had fun. I liked Debbi. She was bright, had a great sense of humor, and never complained. We laughed a lot. I figured it would keep the grizzly from being surprised if he was around. We hiked for maybe 20 minutes and came to a roaring creek with a bridge over it that we had crossed the day before. We sat down and enjoyed the river for another 20 minutes chatting about our lives. “Time to go,” I said. I wanted to be back by the time the rest of the group was getting up.
We hadn’t walked more than 50 yards when I heard something big moving through the brush on the side of the trail. “What’s that?” Debbi gasped. Whatever it was, it was hidden. And then I saw it. The distinctive hump on the back of a grizzly. A big grizzly! He was moving parallel through the brush, stalking us. “Oh, crap!” I declared.
“What do we do now? Run!?”
I mentioned in an earlier post about not running. Bears think you are food. Plus Debbi was a marathon runner and fast. While she might not be able to outrun the bear, she could outrun me. I suggested we turn around, walk over the bridge we had just crossed and find a tall tree. If the bear appeared and started across the river, we would climb the tree. Quickly. I had spotted a likely candidate the day before. It might very well have been the tree the ranger had climbed.
Thirty minutes later there was still no sign of the bear. I decided it was worth risking the trip back. Two very nervous people began the very long 20 minute hike. Debbi grabbed my hand. She had an iron grip. A mouse in the brush might have given us heart attacks! But we made it with no sign of the bear.
People were finishing breakfast. I quickly apologized for being late and explained the reason. “Yeah, sure Curt.” was the response, looking knowingly at Debbi and me.
Yeah, sure.
I Chat with a Brown Bear Over Menu Choices
Alaska Brown Bears are giants of the bear world. They can weigh up to 1500 pounds and stand 10 feet tall on their hind legs. My first encounter with them was in Katmai National Park, located at the beginning of the Aleutian Peninsula. It’s a wild, remote area known for its trophy size trout. Fisherman come from all over the world to try their luck at catching them. And brown bears grow to their immense size eating them.
I had traveled from Anchorage with a friend to go backpacking. The backcountry where we were heading was the site of a huge volcanic eruption in 1912 and has a beautiful, almost surreal feel to it. The National Geographic had called it the Valley of 10,000 Smokes shortly after the eruption from all of the fumaroles. A number continue to smoke. You can hear your footsteps echoing as you walk over lava tubes. A bit creepy. During rainstorms, volcanic rocks (pumice) float down the river. The river, btw, is named the Lethe after the river of forgetfulness from Hades of Greek Mythology where the dead go. “Souls drink from its waters to completely erase the memories of their earthly lives.”
We had flown over to Kodiak on Alaska Air and then taken a large float plane to Katmai. Four fishermen from Germany and two from Japan traveled with us. We were all met by a ranger when we deplaned. “I’m here to explain proper bear etiquette,” he told us. The large number of giant bears hanging out and feasting on the trout meant human-bear encounters were inevitable. His first directions applied to the fisherman. “If a bear is fishing in a hole you want to fish in, go find a different hole. If you have a trout on your line and a bear shows up, cut your line. If you reel it in, the bear will take the fish— one way or the other.” The ‘other’ sounded ominous.
Then he gave advice that applied to all of us. “Don’t camp on a bear trail,” he admonished. “It irritates the bears. They may remove the tent and you, if you are in it.” And how in the heck do you know a bear trail? It isn’t hard. They are the freeways of animal trails with two distinctive side by side ruts.
The second bit of advice was “If you meet one on the trail, talk to it and slowly back away.” “Talk to it???” What do you say to a thousand pound creature with long, sharp claws, and big teeth that might be having a bad day?
While the water wasn’t as deep on Kodiak Island as it was on the Katmai pool where the giant brown bear was fishing, the objective was the same. Sushi for lunch.
Our first bear encounter was peaceful, at least for us. Not so much for fish. A large pool above the campground had a granddaddy of a brown bear fishing in it. He wasn’t standing on the edge and flipping salmon out like you see in many documentaries, however. He was quietly walking around in the pool about five feet deep with his head under the water. Only his back was showing. Woe to the large trout that swam by. He would strike with all the speed of a snake, and then sit up for a more leisurely feast. The bear held the fish in his paws and ate it like you or I might gnaw on a corn cob— if we were eating the cob as well as the corn. We could hear him crunching away. Then he was off to catch another one. Over and over. It was prime fishing. No wonder brown bears grow so big.
Right about the time we saw him down his third fish, a younger brown bear came along and decided to join in the fun. Not. Granddaddy charged. It was his pool and his fish! The youngster skedaddled. You’ve likely heard that bears can run fast. The smaller bear was faster than that. The two jumped out of the pool and dashed down the trail through our camp. I’m glad I wasn’t in their way, or peacefully sitting outside our tent eating dinner.
That evening I went out for a short walk. Other than mosquitos, black flies and no-see-ums, it was a pleasant trail. I had it to myself— until I rounded a corner and came upon a brown bear going the opposite direction. We both stopped immediately and stared at each other, from about 15 feet away. While not as large as the Grandaddy bear, he was still appeared huge! The trail was narrow and he seemed to be irritated. Maybe it was the bear that had been chased out of the pool earlier.
“Talk to the bear, Curt,” I admonished myself. But what to say? Smart ass that I am, I punted…
“Um, good evening Mr. Bear,” I stuttered respectfully. “I am an Alaskan, just like you. You don’t want to eat me. If you are hungry, I understand there is some great Japanese food on the menu. Or you might want to try the German.”
The bear stared at me for a long two minutes, barked a growl of annoyance, and detoured off the trail. I quickly returned to whatever safety my tent offered. No Japanese or Germans were eaten that night. Or, at least I didn’t hear any screaming. Happily, when we backpacked into the Katmai wilderness the next day, we encountered no bears.
I’m about to wrap up my bear stories, but I do have one more. So far I’ve been featuring bears I have met up with in the woods, but what happens when they come to visit you at your house, as they did in Oregon. They came by to dine out of our garbage can or steal sunflower seeds from our bird feeders. One decided to open my Weber Grill… The bear way.
We are in the final stages of our two month exploration of Greece, Scotland and Ireland. This is the Liffey River in Dublin that our Zanzibar Locke apartment overlooks. The bridge is Dublin’s historic Ha’penny Bridge. It got its name originally from people having to pay a halfpenny toll to cross. The river has a fun tie in with today’s post. James Joyce connected it with the mythological Hades River, Lethe, in his masterpiece: Finnegan’s Wake.
A pair of Kodiak brown bears have a stand off on an Alaskan river. “Maybe if I pretend he isn’t here.” When our son Tony was flying helicopters for the Coast Guard on Kodiak Island, he and his wife Cammie arranged a trip for us to watch brown bears fishing.
The Alaska wilderness experience is significantly different from what you experience in the ‘Lower 48.’ One of my primary reasons for moving to Alaska in 1983 was to explore the difference.
There is a sense of vastness when you slip on your backpack and head away from your car in Alaska, a possibility that you can hike for days and not see another person. And there is an element of danger. Few well-maintained trails and trail signs are there to guide you. The weather is always a factor. Large storm systems march across the state and bring rain and mists in the summer and biting cold and snow in the winter. Plus there are large animals out there, large animals with big teeth, big claws, big hoofs and big horns.
“The better to eat, scratch, trample or gore you, my dear.”
It isn’t that the animals are out to get you. They just don’t have the same level of tolerance their southern cousins do. Recognizing this, I always went out of my way to be polite when wandering in their territory. The number one rule with bears is no surprises. Bears weigh several hundred pounds and have suspicious minds. Their tendency is to bite first and ask questions afterwards when surprised. So, you make lots of noise when walking through dense brush. Almost all of the wilderness shops sold bells to wear, but I regarded them as dinner bells. Cows wear bells, right? And grizzly bears like to eat cows. I preferred to sing. Cows don’t sing. And believe me on this one: There is nothing like a large pile of steaming bear shit to make you sing loudly. Peggy is known to break into a rousing chorus of 99 Bottles of Beer on the wall.
The number two rule is don’t run away. Behaving like food implies you are. Also, as part of this rule, stand tall. Look like a human being. Such behavior suggests to the bear that you know something it doesn’t. Why would a 100-200 plus pound creature stand up to a 500-1000 pound plus creature? It makes the bear more cautious. Possibly something else would taste better.
Be particularly wary if you encounter a female with cubs. Do not approach the cubs or get between the mother and her cubs. It’s a guaranteed recipe for disaster.
These cubs were delightful little fellows, but definitely called for a telephoto lens. Mother bears are very protective of their kids. The cubs were walking across a a fish dam and ladder on Kodiak that was built to allow salmon to get around a 30-foot falls. And Mom was nearby.
Carry bear spray. If that doesn’t work, play dead. Fortunately, I’ve never had to use bear spray or made it to rule number three. (I don’t count the bear standing on me in Yosemite as an attack. I think he was merely curious about what might happen if you stand on a human. Call it a scientific experiment.)
My first journey into grizzly bear country occurred when I went to Alaska in 1981 to help the American Lung Association set up its Trek Fund Raising Program I had created. A friend came along to go backpacking with me in Denali National Park and canoeing on the Kenai Peninsula. Before we headed out on our adventure, the Lung Association Board Member who had brought me to Alaska, took us aside for some advice.
“You will want to carry a weapon with you, Curt, in case a grizzly bear attacks,” he warned. Now there was a comforting thought.
“I don’t have a weapon,” I told him. “And, furthermore, I would probably just piss the bear off or shoot myself.” But he was not going to let us go off unarmed. He broke out his 357 magnum pistol and handed it to me along with a handful of bullets. With that much fire power, I could at least seriously piss off a bear. I took the gun and bullets and dutifully stuffed them into different compartments in my pack.
I thought of a use for the pistol shortly after we headed off into the backcountry of Denali. My friend was walking in front and was primarily in charge of making noise.
“Here bear, here bear,” she kept repeating, “eat the one in back of me. He’s fatter.”
It was our canoe trip on the Kenai Peninsula that led me to finally break out the weapon. It was early in the evening. I was peacefully sitting back, reading a book and sipping a cup of tea when the silence of the evening was shattered.
“SCHIWISSSSH!”
“What the…” I thought, dropping my book and knocking over my tea.
“SCHIWISSSSH!”
Loosing the tea really irritated me. It included a shot of my 151 proof rum. I made a dash for my pack, the pistol and the bullets.
“SCHIWISSSSH!”
Whatever it was, it was getting dangerously close to camp. I could dimly see a large figure through the thick trees. I fumbled through loading the pistol with eight thumbs and two fingers, took it in both hands movie style, and made a heart pounding stalk through the forest, the Great Hunter personified.
“SCHIWISSSSH!”
A large, ungainly moose (all moose are large and ungainly) was methodically stripping the leaves off of a tree. He would grab one end of a limb in his gargantuan mouth and work his way down, ripping off leaves as he went, schiwissssh. My 457 and I high tailed it back to camp in hopes that the moose would find greener leaves elsewhere. Old timers n Alaska will tell you that the moose is more dangerous than the grizzly.
Looking ungainly but not very dangerous. A moose that Peggy and I found in Alaska.Peggy provides some perspective with moose antlers on one of our drives up the Alaska Highway. How would you like to wear these on your head, or worse, have them charging you? This set weighed close to 50 pounds.
My actual encounter with bears waited for when I moved to Alaska. Two involved grizzlies and the third a larger Alaskan brown bear. The first happened on an off-trail trek I was planning to raise funds for the American Lung Association of Alaska. I decided going cross country would be fun and selected a section of the Alaska Range for the adventure. I invited two people, Margaret Timmerman and her friend Tracy, along to help preview the route.
Both were experienced Alaskan outdoor people. Tracy was a glacier guide and Margaret taught mountain climbing for the local community college. She was also my travel agent. Once, when I visited her to arrange for a trip to New Orleans, she related an experience she had leading a group on an expedition up Mt. Denali. They had been caught is a serious whiteout storm on the mountain side and been tent bound for several days. Since I couldn’t imagine leading groups up Denali much less being stuffed up in a tent for that long, I recruited her to be one of my Trek leaders.
Other than fighting off the usual hoards of insects and spending hours walking in the rain, our Trek review went smoothly. But that was before we ran into the bear.
We were hiking happily along on a rare sunny day through relatively open country when a caribou came flying out of a small valley. I mean it was moving. We had seen several earlier. They would bounce up to us, take a look, and bounce off. They weren’t worried and neither were we. But this guy had a problem. Within seconds he had disappeared over a ridge. We looked over in to the valley but didn’t see anything except some snow that hadn’t quite succeeded in melting. I could see tracks in the snow, though, and persuaded Margaret and Tracy to climb down with me and take a look. The story of what had happened was obvious, at least to me.
“Do you guys see what happened here?” I asked. They replied “no,” so I gave them a quick lesson in animal tracks 1a.
“Look over there,” I suggested, pointing down the valley. “See the Caribou’s tracks. He is strolling along without a care in the world. Now look up on the hillside coming out from the brush. See the snow thrown every which way. Something big came barreling out of there heading straight for the caribou. Now look at the caribou tracks here.” The caribou’s nice little stroll has turned into huge bounds. It had gone from 3 to 30 mph in 3 seconds.
“Guess what?” I asked with a nervous grin.
“What?” came the mutual query.
“Somewhere close to here is a hungry, irate grizzly bear.” Three pairs of eyes suddenly got very busy searching the surrounding area. We spotted him almost immediately. He was sniffing around on a hillside looking for marmots to crunch. I pitied the poor marmot he found, but figured better the marmot than us. Besides, I knew that marmots are pretty good at taking care of themselves.
I once watched a grizzly try to catch one in the Canadian Rockies. I had backpacked into a remote area with a geologist from the University of Arizona in Tucson who was doing a study on the origin of the Rockies. The bear provided after dinner entertainment one evening.
He had chased a marmot down its hole about 50 yards away from our camp and was pursuing it with all the passion of a 300 pound NFL lineman pounding after a skinny quarterback behind the line of scrimmage. Dirt and rocks were flying everywhere. After about five minutes, the marmot poked its head up out of another hole a few feet behind the frenzied bear, watched with interest for a minute or so, and then whistled. The grizzly whirled and leapt in one blinding motion but the marmot was faster. Once again the air was clouded with flying debris as the frustrated bear doubled its efforts. Three minutes later the marmot poked his head out from yet another hole and whistled again. I swear it was playing with the bear. “Come on over here big boy.”
Tracy, Margaret and I didn’t wait to see whether our irate friend found its marmot. We quietly exited stage left.
My next post will involve two more encounters. Both were much more close and personal than the one described above. In the first, I am stalked by a grizzly bear. In the second I work to persuade an Alaska brown bear I am not a menu item.
Peggy and I are now exploring Northern Ireland as part of our two month jaunt through Greece, Scotland and Ireland. This is a photo from one of the beautiful, glacier created nine valleys coming down from the Antrim Plateau to the Irish Sea. The one we chose to hike up is known as The Queen of the Glens for its tumbling waterfalls. There were several in the section we explored. This coming week, we will be in a remote farm house, apparently without wi-fi or phone service!
Yosemite National Park is world renowned for its beauty. For backpackers, it is also renowned for its bears.
At the end of my last blog, I had backpacked 18 miles into Yosemite Valley to resupply the food the bears had consumed— and alcohol. (I would have loved to witness the reaction of the bear that bit into my plastic bottle of 151 proof rum.)
My intention was to stay in the Valley that night, but it was a zoo, absolutely crawling with tourists. So I shouldered my pack and hiked back into Little Yosemite Valley. My body was not happy. The hike added a 2000 foot climb plus another five miles to an already-long day.
The area’s proximity to the Valley means that it is a popular camping area for backpackers, either as a first-night stop or destination. I found a small, one-person site with a convenient log in the middle for sitting against and used my pack and Thermarest mattress to make a comfy chair. I whipped up a quick dinner, topped it off with a cup of wine, and prepared for bed. (My 151 proof rum was not available in the Valley.)
The popularity of the area for backpackers also means it is a popular area for bears— a dine in or take out restaurant. Given my experience of the night before, I was a tad paranoid. I carefully stuffed my food, and anything the bear might find tasty (wine, toothpaste, etc.) into my food bag and used a cable the park provided to hang food beyond a bear’s imagination.
I also made sure that every pocket in my pack was open, including the top. Although the food was out of the pack, there might have been lingering smells to attract a bear. Closed pockets can lead to bears opening them. It’s rather hard on backpacks. And even if the bear doesn’t stop by for a snack, lots of other woodland creatures, mice for example, are happy to chew holes to get at food— especially in popular camping areas. I’ve had that happen several times over the years.
It should be noted here that several bear/rodent-proof containers are available for today’s backpackers. They weren’t in the 70s. I nodded off that night listening to backpackers yelling and beating on pans as bears worked their campsites, wondering when my turn would come.
I woke up around 11 when I heard a noise on the other side of the log where I had placed my pack, about five feet away. Heart pounding, I sat up to look. A bear was methodically emptying the pack, checking to see if there was any food. I watched with clinical interest as it shoved his head into the pack, pulled out an item, dropped it on the ground and then stuck his head back in the pack. By then I had enough, and suggested rather loudly that the bear go elsewhere. After one more foray, it did. The only damage I suffered was bear slobber, all over everything. My old Basset Hound, Socrates, the world champion of slobberers, would have been jealous.
The next night I was leaving my camp for an evening walk when I met a bear coming to visit. I bent over and picked up a rock. He took off like a dog: It was my kind of bear. And thus my summer went. By the time I had led two back-to-back hundred-mile trips into Yosemite, I had my fill of bears. Each time a bear visited in the night, I’d hear a scream, “Curtis!” I considered myself an expert bear chaser.
It was almost my demise.
At the end of the second Trek, my friend Jean, her sister Mary and her husband Tim joined me at Tuolumne Meadows to hike the John Muir Trail. We spent the night at the Tuolumne RV/car campground. I had eaten backpacking meals for 18 days. It was time to celebrate. We grilled up steaks, broke out a fifth of Jack Daniels, and threw in several cans of beer.
Tuolumne Meadows, Yosemite National Park
As the night progressed, I was feeling no pain. So it wasn’t surprising when a bear came to visit our neighbors from Iowa, I was prepared to do battle. They had left their cooler out on the picnic table and the bear was leisurely opening it. The Iowans were hiding out in their camper, making nary a peep.
“Hey bear,” I yelled as I strode across the road, “Get out of here!”
Well, Mr. Bear had found himself a cache of fresh food and wasn’t about to leave. He turned around, stood up on his hind legs, raised his front legs over his head and said “GRRRROWL!” He was one big fellow, towering above me. Stone cold sobriety was instantaneous.
It looked like this stuffed bear at the Tonopah Motel in Nevada.
“OK bear, it’s all yours,” I mumbled as I scurried back across the road to my own camp and safety. “Eat all of the Iowan food you want. Heck, eat the Iowans.”
By this time though, 20 flashlights were shining down on the bear. Campers are packed into Tuolumne Meadows like tenement housing in a barrio, and all of the neighbors were checking out the action, worrying. Thus disturbed, Mr. Bear went grumbling off over the hill, more than a little pissed to have his fine feast disturbed. You could almost make out in his growling, “I’ll be back.”
Of course the Iowans left their cooler out on the table. No way were they budging from their camper. I pictured them driving nonstop back to Des Moines the next day.
Finally things settled down. After another beer, or two, we crawled into our sleeping bags. Tim and Mary disappeared into the security of their truck while Jean and I crashed on the ground.
Not surprising, there came a time when Jean had to visit the restroom. Beer will do that. Equally unsurprising, the bourbon helped me sleep right through her getting up. But I did hear her come back. Except it wasn’t Jean I heard through my alcohol-induced grogginess. It was the bear— coming back for revenge.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” I screamed with all of the passion I had used when I had awakened with the bear standing on me. Jean, not knowing what to do, grabbed me by the head and said, “Curt, it’s all right, it’s only me!” This was undoubtedly the right thing for her to do, except now the bear had me by the head. As you might imagine, my yells increased in volume. By 10.
Picture 20 flashlights shining down on this happy little domestic scene.
That was my last bear encounter of the season. There would be many more in the Sierras, but my next post will discuss encounters with grizzlies and the giant, brown bears of Alaska. If you find encounters with black bears scary…
Consider this fellow. I was stalked by a grizzly bear when I was leading a backpack trek across Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula.
Wandering through Time and Place 