Reposted from April 24, 2006
I was walking at the Campbell airstrip with my family, pushing the twins in a jogger stroller along a trail as Wolfie ran free alongside. The military created the Campbell airstrip to provide an alternate runway for Air Force planes in the event of an attack on Alaska. Mostly, the park consists of winding trails in a very wild environment with the occasional runway thrown in here or there, all unused. The view is spectacular, as snow-covered mountains jut into the sky nearby. There is a creek where bears come to eat fish, and lots of moose and other wildlife.
As we walked along, the time came to empty Wolfie's boot of the snow it had collected. While standing still, I realized a bird was walking up the path behind us. It was at least a hundred yards away at this point and looked like a giant pigeon, especially since it didn't fly but actually used the trail to come up behind us. In Los Angeles, pigeons don't fly. I've seen them use the crosswalk. Somehow, they manage to get by in a very crowded world with only the occasional mishap.
I couldn't help but be intrigued by this visitor. What was it doing? Why wasn't it flying? And more importantly, why is it bothering with us? It disappeared as the path dipped, but sure enough, within a few moments, its head bobbed up again into view. I guess it thought it was being surreptitious by leaving the trail at this point and walking behind the brush and trees that line the trail. Soon, the bird was within just 10, then 5, feet of us. It was the size of a small chicken with black and white feathers and red patches above its eyes.
In thinking back, our true city dorkhood shone through in this moment. What were we thinking? That this bird was coming to us for food? The only sound we had heard this whole time was an angry screech awhile back when we walked past this one tree---obviously containing a nest with eggs this time of year.
The bird walked right up to Wolfgang, age 4 at the time, and attacked him! It jumped onto his chest and started pecking at his clothing, thankfully thick enough to prevent any harm. Wolfie, of course, felt enchanted rather than afraid. I felt so exposed all of the sudden. This was just a bird, not a bear. But if it really wanted to, it could have scratched us up real good. We hurried on along the trail and ultimately turned around.
Apparently, this bird was a spruce grouse. The sign at the front of the park didn't mention aggressive territorial behavior, but one has to assume that most animals this time of year, since they're nesting, are going to exhibit similar behavior. And wouldn't you know, we noticed this bird once again trailing alongside us.
In defense of my quickly-fading city ways, my friend Bruce mentioned that these birds are also known as fool-hens because they're so easy to shoot. I just wanted to get home without losing any eyeballs.
The tiniest snail ever
The most terrible dog ever
The fool-hens are mentioned in a Gary Paulsen book called Hatchet that I just finished writing a paper on for my Children's Lit class. It's about a 13 year old boy who survives a plane crash alone in the Canadian wilderness and has to find food. These "foolbirds" (as he calls them) were one of the ways he kept himself from starving. I highly recommend the book. It's appropriate for middle-school on up and is a great adventure story.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Kelly! Do you think it would be appropriate for me to read it to my children aloud? I can't imagine it would be much more dramatic and gory than "The Call of the Wild," which is our current selection.
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