16 Sep (Mon) Up at
5:15. Beautiful, clear sky fulla stars: Canis Major well-up over Hawksbeak
[Peak]. Orion, the Hyades, Auriga—just brilliant; the winter constellations
making early appearances. As I watched, Venus burst over the ridge, shockingly
bright. ◦◦◦◦◦ Heading out today. After a huge, greasy breakfast, got cleaned
up, swept, and gathered the three stooges. ◦◦◦◦◦ Pretty smooth trip out. Rode
Pal. Valiente wheezed & groaned & dragged as per usual; Redtop I turned
loose to follow. But then I caught Red and led him (he dragged also) and let
Val follow on his own; that worked well and I didn’t have to listen to his
complaining. ◦◦◦◦◦ Where the trail comes right down to Roosevelt [Lake] at the
alder thicket I heard some splashing and strange, muffled sounds. Then I saw
them: the otter family, just off the shore and on those half-submerged logs. I leapt
off Pal and crept down to the bank. They saw me but, if anything, moved in closer.
I was only twenty feet from seven river
otters! The most I’ve seen before at one time was three and nowhere near so
close. What a thing! Mostly, no more than five were visible at any one time.
They were feeding & playing and when one would come up it’d shake its head
sending off a spray of water and then clear its nose with a loud SNOOF! or two.
They kept an eye on me but seemed little concerned by my presence, as if they were
too engrossed in their work & play to be bothered by the likes of me. They
have a faintly superior air about them as if well aware that they’re the
happiest creatures on Earth. Lorenzo put it perfectly one time: he’d seen
several playing by the shore near here as he rode by and, as he described it,
they eyed him with that distinctly haughty look as if to say, “YOU…are a turkey. WE…are Otters!” ◦◦◦◦◦ They were in & out of the water, diving and
gliding all around. One sat on the log—fur all slicked down and glistening—loudly
munching on a crawdad. Another joined it with a 5” trout and devoured the thing
with gusto. With their blunt heads, fat tails, and sinuous way of moving, they
reminded me of big worms or short, plump snakes. I was actually quivering with
delight and squatted there on the grassy bank surrounded by willows and happy
creatures. I would’ve sat there watching as long as the family stayed but this
excellent time was brought to an abrupt end. ◦◦◦◦◦ The horses were forty feet
away, in plain sight. They’d been ground-tying [staying put, with lead-rope or
reins just laying on the ground, rather than being tied firmly to something]
just fine all day when I’d get off to collect trash. (Stood stock-still for ten
minutes when I gathered up an old dump earlier….) But it seems that all the
thrashing & splashing & weird sounds were too much for cowardly Pal.
All was peaceful for those four or five sweet minutes, then another sort of
thrashing & snorting, and I turned to see my three loose horses galloping
in rank terror back up the trail. It was plain that they were mortally
terrified, sprinting full speed back
toward the cabin. I stood up (show over…) and mutely shouted Stop! Please stop! in my mind. ◦◦◦◦◦ They were already out of sight but I
could visually follow their swift regress by way of a cloud of dust rising up
into the trees over at Lane [Lake]. I Started running but soon stopped to ditch
hat, FS shirt, chaps, and spurs. I might
have to go all the way back to the cabin, I thought. Groan! But you have to put in the full effort right off if you want
to catch runaways so ran as hard as I could, chasing that dust cloud. I dashed
up the rocky hill past the far end of Lane and heard them ahead. Careened down
through the mahogany [a rigid-stemmed, skin-tearing shrub] at full tilt and cut
them off at the switchback. Much relief; I really did envision walking all the
eight miles back to Piute. ◦◦◦◦◦ Red was in front with lead-rope dragging
between his legs but I’m certain that it was solely Pal’s terror spreading
through the ranks that caused the panic. And as I came up on them, coughing and
wheezing, they all looked at me with that innocent gaze, like, “Oh, there’s
that wispy-haired fella! Wonder where he went
off to?” My lungs were fried—never run anymore; not like that, anyway—and I had a nasty, metallic taste in my mouth that I
recalled from after track races when I was in high school. ◦◦◦◦◦ Got up on the
palamino and headed back to retrieve my gear. Pal was all spooked and ready to
dive off the trail should the giant worms reappear. ◦◦◦◦◦ The otters had left
but I spied them all on the far side of the lake, working their way back toward
the north end. I tied Pal and Red firmly to stout trees this time and waited
for the wild ones. They came right by again, diving & bobbing & blowing
& munching. Red and Pal were both straining at the ends of their ropes,
eyes rolled back and nostrils flared. Monsters!!
Arrrgh!! (Val stood there completely unfazed.) The otters were merely curious
and I witnessed one of my finest wildlife spectacles ever: each in turn, they
crawled up onto the end of one of those half-submerged logs where it rose out
of the lake. And there were seven otters on that log, black eyes sparkling and
heads bobbing up and down, watching those silly horses and me with manifest curiosity.
Seven otters—splendid
animals—shoulder to shoulder. I tried to get closer but, one at a time, they
slid soundlessly back into the water and didn’t resurface ‘til they were well
out in the lake. Whew! Wow! Show’s
over for real this time.……
31
March 2014
©2014 Tim Forsell
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