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| Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
In
our time on the road as "Rubber Hobos"*, we’ve met many fascinating people – from
gold panners and a family of wild mushroom pickers in Oregon to a moonshiner in
Louisiana, from a mariachi band in Texas to Gullah-Geechee sweetgrass basket
weavers in South Carolina. We’ve been awed by glorious natural wonders from the
Grand Canyon in Arizona to the hoodoo-filled Bryce Amphitheater in Utah, from
the lush and soul-soothing Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee to the barren
salt flats of Badwater in California’s Death Valley.
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| Black Bear on a hillside along the Rogue River in Gold Beach, Oregon. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Along
the way we’ve also had many, many surprise encounters with wild animals in
their natural habitats. Grizzlies, black bears, coyotes, bighorn sheep, prairie
dogs, pronghorns, mountain goats, alligators, bald eagles, elk, bison, even a
band of beggin’ burros. In Episode 22 of On
the Road with Mac and Molly, I recount some of the most magical
and memorable of these encounters.
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From the time our daughter Brooke
was little more than a toddler, through her teen years and even to her
adulthood, she and I made regular visits to the Audubon Sanctuary in our
hometown of Ipswich, Massachusetts. There we would meander down the woodland
paths, climb up the drumlin and esker, and stroll through the meadows to our
favorite spot, the Rockery. We would settle ourselves into one of the hideaways
by the Rockery Pond to listen to the pickerel frogs and to search for birds,
painted turtles and other wild things.
In every moment, we would breathe
in and revel in the beauty of the created order. After our sit, we’d scramble
up and around the cave-like rock formations near the water and, as we did, we
would each unpack our days.
A number of years have passed
since those sublime hours in the Rockery. Brooke is now married and has
toddlers of her own. Three years ago, she moved, with her husband (a Marine),
to Japan. And, there they stayed till just weeks ago. While they were all on
the other side of the globe – Brooke and I turned to other avenues for our
unpacking: Skype, Facebook, email, the post, the telephone.
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| Our "Rubber Hobo" Rig. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
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| Interior of our fifth wheel trailer. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Over
this time, our meanderings have taken us over continuously changing interior
and exterior terrains. Our days of wayfaring and the lessons gleaned from this
“rubber hobo” life are now the subject of a book on which I am at work. I should probably note here that I would
define a “rubber hobo” as a
free-spirited wayfarer - with no attached-to-the-land home - who travels about
the country in a rubber-tired vehicle. A rubber hobo may work at odd jobs along the way but he or she remains
unencumbered enough to answer the call of the open road whenever it may come.
We are, admittedly,
far from our much-loved Ipswich with its much-cherished Audubon Sanctuary, but I
have found new sanctuaries for the mind and heart and spirit and I am still
venturing out from my room to follow the road to new rockeries: places of
yearning and searching and learning.
As I reflect, I note that some of
the most remarkable moments in my life have come through surprise encounters in
the natural world.
As I prepared the narrative for
this program (the bulk of which I will share here), I recalled a trip I made,
with friends, to Zimbabwe. We were in that country working as journalists but
were able to take a few days away from researching and writing to visit Hwange
National Park and Victoria Falls.
We chose as home base for our
trip, Hwange Safari Lodge, a 100-room hotel that sits on 33,000 acres abutting
the 3.5 million acre national park. Most
of the lodge’s rooms and suites overlook a waterhole and savanna bush and all
come equipped with mosquito nets.
On our first evening at the lodge,
after a buffet of traditional African fare, my friends and I made our way - at
sundown – toward the waterhole. There, we spied - silhouetted in the half-light
glow - a herd of more than 40 elephants coming in to take an end of the day
drink. The adults strode in slowly and their young clung close to their sides.
I couldn’t hold back the tears and found myself weeping and weeping, overcome
by so many emotions. I felt so privileged to be in their presence. But
there was even more to the moment, for behind them – in the distance – I could
see herds of impala, zebra and wildebeest racing across the savanna. The images
from that night are indelibly stamped on my heart and memory and I find I am –
even now - near to tears as I place myself again in that space, in that moment,
at Hwange… Magic.
The morning after this encounter,
one of my companions and I were awakened by a commotion in a neighboring room.
Our friend Diane had disregarded the warnings of the hotel staff and had left
the sliding glass door to her patio slightly ajar. She’d had quite the rude
awakening when she opened her eyes to find a vervet monkey cavorting about her
room! After some loud hand clapping and shouting, the three of us were finally
able to shoo the uninvited guest out of doors.
Later that day or, perhaps it was
the next, my companions and I stopped for tea at the Victoria Falls Hotel. This
gracious “grand old lady of the falls,” established in 1904, is set in the midst of lush tropical
gardens. It epitomizes the romance of grand travel but it is also a place where – again – we were to be
entertained by vervet monkeys. These impish creatures reminded me of the
squirrels who frequented my bird feeders in New England; the vervets were just
as numerous and just as mischievous.
In another spot on another day,
three of these delightful fellows lined up on a log for me in perfectly
profiled poses. What a great photo op they presented!
When I was traveling some days
later in a Jeep en route somewhere, I spied three young warthogs off the road.
I asked the driver to stop and raced into the bush to take some photographs. I
was getting some fabulous shots when – suddenly - a question popped into my
mind: “Where’s Mummy?” It was right about then, that the foolhardiness of my
impromptu mission became apparent to me. A large female warthog seemed to come
out of nowhere to face me. I backed away respectfully and, thank God, I was
able to make it safely back to the Jeep. I learned a lesson that day and I am
truly grateful Mama warthog left me alive to share it.
Human beings can behave so foolishly
- human beings can abandon all reason, all common sense - when faced with a
good photo op in the wild. I’ll never forget a story told to me by Nevada Barr
in an interview for this program (see Mystery
Making in the National Parks, http://petiferadio.com/ontheroadep17.html). Barr, who is now an award-winning author of
mysteries, spent many years as a park ranger. I nearly keeled over when she
recounted how a friend, who had worked at Yellowstone National Park, had to
write a man a ticket for smearing ice cream on his daughter’s cheeks in hopes
of getting a good picture of a grizzly licking it off. Really? Good grief!
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| Grizzly Bear, Yellowstone National Park. Photo by Gene Hailson. |
But then, when Gene and I were
visiting Yellowstone, we couldn’t believe our eyes as we watched two young men
leap from their vehicle to make a mad dash into the woods – tripod and camera
in hand – trying to get a close-up photo of a grizzly that we and they had
spied some yards off the park road. Gene and I were quite content to remain at
a more respectful distance. And, thank God - again - like my Mama Warthog, this
grizzly allowed this pair of photogs to live another day.
Yellowstone
is the flagship of the National Park Service and, based on our experience, we
would say it is THE place in the country to find wildlife. Visitors can view
much of the park from the comfort of a vehicle or they may hike the miles and
miles of trails to backcountry destinations.
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| Yellowstone Lake is the highest elevation lake (above 7,000 ft.) in North America. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Yellowstone
is spread out over 2,219,789 acres, making it larger than the states of Rhode
Island and Delaware combined. Seven species of ungulates (bison, moose, elk,
mule deer, mountain goat, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn); two species of bear (grizzly
and black); 67 other species of mammals; 322 species of birds; and 16 species
of fish all call the park home. There are more than 1,100 species of native
plants, more than 200 species of exotic plants and more than 400 species of
thermophiles (microorganisms
that grow best at elevated temperatures).
Yellowstone boasts 10,000 thermal features
and more than 300 geysers. It has one of the world's largest petrified forests
and more than 290 waterfalls. There are nine visitor centers and twelve campgrounds
(with a combined total of 2,000 campsites).
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| Buffalo butt, Yellowstone National Park. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Yellowstone
was the first national park established in the world and it should be the first
park on any list of places to visit. Yellowstone is, as I said, THE place to
see wildlife. Hints at that truth became immediately evident to us upon our
arrival at the park. As we passed through Yellowstone’s south entrance, we were
greeted by buffalo butt. We drove along for quite a distance looking at the
backside of this bull that just took his sweet, sweet time strolling down the
road, unperturbed by and seemingly oblivious to the vehicles inching along
behind him.
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| Bison at the Mud Volcano, Yellowstone National Park. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Some
days later, I’d see another bull, that had planted himself next to the park’s
Mud Volcano, showing a similar disinterest in all the folks eagerly clamoring
and clustering around him trying to get the best photo. He’d plopped himself
down for an afternoon sit and that was that. On the walk up to the Mud Volcano,
could also be seen a jackrabbit who was placidly sunning herself just a few
inches away from a snake that was moving in her direction.
One
is certain to come across a good many “bear jams” – traffic delays – throughout
Yellowstone as folks stop in their tracks – in their vehicles or on foot –
whenever one of the park’s denizens comes into view. And, just before sunset,
great numbers of folk compete for the best parking spots adjacent to Hayden
Valley, which has come to be called by many, America’s Serengeti. The soil in
this former lakebed permits little tree growth and the shrub and grassland valley
plants are frequented by grazing animals – from rodents to large ungulates like
elk, moose and bison – and they, in turn, attract predators: bears, coyotes and
wolves. Folks pick a hillside, cop a
squat, pull out the binoculars and cameras with their mega, mega telephoto
lenses, and marvel.
Home
base for our stay at Yellowstone was Fishing Bridge, a campground that -
apparently - sits in bear central. Here, only hard-sided camping units are
allowed and the rules regarding bears are given to visitors verbally and in
writing and bear spray, a specially designed-to-repel-bears pepper spray, is
available at retail outlets in and surrounding the park.
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| Bison in Custer State Park, South Dakota. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
In Yellowstone, we saw great numbers of
elk (even quite a few hanging about at park headquarters at Mammoth Hot Springs).
We also spied black bears, ospreys, trumpeter swans, moose, and mule deer.
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| Bighorn Sheep, Estes Park, Colorado. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
As
we’ve been traveling about the country, one thing that’s particularly struck me
is that we have often seen large animals – white-tailed deer, mule deer, elk,
mountain goat…even bighorn sheep – in
the middle of densely-populated neighborhoods.
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| White-tailed Deer at the post office in Manitou Springs, Colorado. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
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| Elk, Estes Park, Colorado. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Scholarly
papers have been written in recent years detailing the effects of residential
development on wildlife in the Rocky Mountain states. One paper noted that white-tailed deer
display a high adaptability to human activity. Studies suggest that deer often
select high quality forage near residential structures and benefit from the
reduced number of predators found there. Elk, however, initially respond to the
presence of humans with increased vigilance and flight. Large developments,
such as ski areas, are altering elk distributions during sensitive periods such
as fawning and this is leading to a decrease in their populations. But, now…elk
are now beginning to move to areas that have restrictions against hunting such
as private lands. As hunter-friendly ranches are increasingly being transformed
into subdivisions, more land is becoming available as a refuge for elk during
hunting seasons. Bighorn Sheep are also now wandering about populated areas
searching for food and safety. Humans are crowding them out and wise decisions
will need to be made in the years ahead to equitably address these new
realities.
Sometimes, human
beings decide to let animals alone to just be in their habitats. Humans adjust their
patterns so as to co-exist alongside other species. In Louisiana, near New
Orleans, we were warned not to walk Mac and Molly by a lake on a campground
because the alligators that live therein are particularly fond of dog.
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| Alligator at Forever Florida, St. Cloud. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
While ziplining at
Forever Florida, in St. Cloud, over pine flatwoods and forested wetlands, I was
surprised when I looked down and saw an alligator looking back up at me. I was
comforted by the knowledge that I was 68 feet in the air and traveling at
speeds of up to 30 miles per hour.
On
my arrival at Forever Florida, which is a 4,700-acre wildlife conservation
center, I was greeted by a muster of peacocks and peahens. While riding there
in an all-terrain safari coach, I was especially intrigued by our guide’s
commentary on the Cracker cattle, Cracker oxen and Cracker horses that all call
the adjacent Crescent J Ranch home. It turns out the animals trace their
ancestry - in direct line – back to those first brought to Florida in the 1500s
by Ponce de Leon.
On the other side of the
country – in South Dakota’s Custer State Park, we found some relatives of those
Spanish Cracker Horses: burros.
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| "Beggin' Burros," Custer State Park, South Dakota. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
Burros – and the name
comes from the Spanish word for donkey - most likely derive from the African
wild ass, which survives in the semi-arid scrub and grasslands of Ethiopia,
Eritrea and Somalia. This charismatic relative
of the horse, long of ear and muzzle, might have been domesticated a continent
away, but it now spends its days on the prairies and pine savannas of South
Dakota’s Custer State Park.
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| "Beggin' Burro" at my truck window looking for a handout. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
At the park, the burros
are feral. They were introduced into the area by humans and have reverted to a
wild or semi-wild state. More specifically, the park’s donkey squad descends
from pack animals once used for treks to the Harney Peak summit. Now
naturalized, they often plead for food from park tourists in places like the
Wildlife Loop Road where they - quite frequently - cause traffic jams. Their
boldness is such that they are now referred to as the “beggin’ burros."
Gene and I - and Mac and
Molly – were stunned and then fascinated to find the burros poking their heads
into our vehicle looking for a handout. This band of beggin’ burros – which,
word has it, especially crave crackers - has quite the racket going.
Well, if we can
co-exist with other species, preserve the heritage of other species, and let
the tamed of other species loose to be feral, perhaps, we might also do what we
can to ensure that still other species are protected so that they may continue
to exist…at all.
Years ago, when Gene
and I made our first trek across the country in an RV, we were amused and captivated
by the antics of the very social, black-tailed prairie dogs whose communities
we encountered while hiking near the Devil’s Tower in Wyoming.
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| Road sign in Interior, South Dakota. Photo by Donna Hailson. |
It broke my heart to
hear that these little creatures have now contracted the bubonic plague. Plague has been especially active in their
populations in the northern Great Plains only within the last decade but the
plague was actually discovered among them as far back as 40 or more years ago.
The disease appears to be spreading to encompass the entire range of the
species. Some
environmentalists - and the National Wildlife Federation in particular - are
convinced the prairie dog has become an endangered species even though millions
still roam the Great Plains.
Some of the research suggests that the
numbers of prairie dogs have been reduced by 98% since 1900 (reduced through
plague, hunting and other factors). And there are concerns about protecting the
prairie dogs that go beyond their numbers. Prairie dog colonies are associated with sustaining more than 170 other species. "In excavating their elaborate burrow system, prairie dogs change the soil chemistry, making it more porous to rain, and increasing the amount of organic materials that nourish it; they are like rototillers adding organic compost to the ground. [In imbuing the soil with such life, prairie dogs contribute to] the vibrancy of those crawling, scurrying and flying overhead. So, take out the prairie dog, and you start by losing that one species. Then add to it all the species in the soil you lose as a result, and then the impoverishment of the vegetation that results." (Source: The Spine of the Continent.)
As I recall the comical squeaks of the
prairie dogs, I think how sad it would be to “hear” those voices silenced. When
Gene and I were camping in Death Valley, California, I realized one night that
I was hearing not one sound. Not an insect. Not a bit of running water. Not a
single creature stirring. Not an engine purring, not a cell phone ringing. Dead
silence. I looked up to find a night sky – unblemished by light pollution – and
awestruck I stood - beneath the most spectacular stellar display it has ever
been my privilege to behold. As I strove to take it in, I found myself, as in
that moment with the elephants of Hwange, weeping. I was profoundly moved in that silence,
under that star-spangled sky, and, as I recall those moments now, I seek the
lessons in them.
It
was eye-opening, it was instructive, to hear the soundlessness. I was
led to think of the sounds of nature I would miss if I could never hear them
again: the chirp of a robin; the chatter of a monkey; the rustle of the
pronghorn moving through the grassland; the powerful clambering of the bighorn
as it makes its way up a stony hillside; the trumpet of an elephant; the call
of a humpback whale; the groan of a walrus; the whinny of a horse; the bray or
a burro; the clicks of a dolphin; the barks of a prairie dog, the barks of our
own Mac and Molly.
How precious is this world which we call
home and how blessed we are to share that home with creatures that crawl and
swim and fly, creatures that amble and arc and strut and slither. I hope you’ll
make time today to get out into the natural world, listening for, looking out
for, and celebrating the wonderful creatures that so enhance and enrich our
lives.
*For more on our adventures as Rubber Hobos, visit http://www.rubberhobos.com and http://www.facebook.com/RubberHobos.
