For any backcountry ranger, having an intimate connection with Place is a big part of the profession’s visceral appeal. Living and working in the same area for years and taking part in its seasonal rounds results in a singular bond. One feature of this very personal relationship begins early in the game, when a distinct sensation of “belonging” takes hold—a burgeoning awareness that you’re not just a spectator but also a participant in The Grand Swirl of life in the mountains. But these are clichés—what I speak of here is a vague but powerful feeling that resists description. It takes time to mature and, so far as I can tell, never reaches a plateau. Looking back, I can see how my own connection with Place changed over time—one aspect being subtle changes in the way I related to the feathered and furred kind (and, in some cases, how they related to me). ◦◦◦◦◦ Mule Deer were one constant in my backcountry life. At Piute, the cats were akin to house-mates; horses and mules: co-workers. Marmots, coyotes, chickarees, and deer: neighbors. So—notwithstanding this piece’s title—I never actually thought of the local deer as “friends.” By definition, wild animals are not our comrades; rather, they are fellow sojourners—members of their own ancient lineages, separate from us. Being around the natives day in and day out leads to a respect for that eminence—a respect that grows over time. While I recognized some of the deer that would regularly come around, I never felt inclined to assign names. When addressing an individual (yes, of course I spoke to them!) it was in a normal adult conversational tone, not overly familiar. ◦◦◦◦◦ Despite their continual presence, or maybe because of it, I seldom wrote about deer in my log unless there were some particularly noteworthy or unusual encounter. The following entries describe a few memorable ones that took place out on the trail during my fourth season at Piute. Future installments of My Deer Friends will recount incidents that occurred around the cabin, a number of which involved horses or cats.
13 Jul 1991 ◦◦◦◦◦ About halfway to Piute I glanced down and saw Pal all ears up, looking at something. Followed his gaze: there’s a very large buck grazing in a dense clump of deer brush—that’s right, deer brush—about 40 feet away. Huge rack—in velvet, of course—twice branched (four points each side), the first fork about 10” above the skull. Guessing around 150–160 lbs and in fine fettle—smooth, rich pelage…ribs barely visible. I could feel that Cervid charisma just oozing out of him; it seemed like the horses did, too. Mr. Buck nonchalantly carried on browsing. It’s become apparent to me, from encounters like this one, that wild animals are much less afraid of humans on horseback. We three watched with great interest for a minute or two while the big fella went about his business, chewing noisily. Then I eased Ramon and Val off the trail and we curved around toward him—no interruption of feeding—and stopped again, partially obscured in an aspen thicket. All we could see of him were those great antlers bobbing up & down in the bushery. Rode a bit closer and stopped. Finally, his head shot up, visible agitation now. But instead of bounding off, he casually walked closer, within 30 feet of us, and gave us a quizzical once-over before trotting off in a smooth, power-glide. Nature’s theater of Life! Yay! Thanks for another glimpse of the real deal!
4 Aug ◦◦◦◦◦ Checked out the secret pond above Sheepherder Meadow for a bit. (Only been through there the one time.) Starting back, I hopped off the rim of a smooth bed-rock slab and ‘bout had a heart attack when two spotted fawns leapt out from almost underfoot. The pair had been tucked into a little nook beneath this ledge while mom was off gallivantin’, watching & sniffing the whole time I was checking out the pond. They dashed off in opposite directions. One disappeared while the other crashed headlong into an impenetrable tangle of fallen branches and, with nowhere to go, froze. Me, too—fortunately in a comfortable position and down-wind. After a couple of long minutes, mortal fear morphed into curiosity. The little guy turned, looked me over, then approached sloooowwly ‘til, oh, maybe 12 feet away (which felt really close) looking right into my soul with gray baby-deer-eyes, pupils horizontal like a goat’s. There were black streaks above its eyes that looked like slanty eyebrows, giving the fawn an almost sinister frowny look. Such skinny little stick legs…spots beginning to fade. And the delicate sound of those tiny black hoofies on granite was a thing. Twitchy tail, wet black nose wrinkling away. Then the breeze changed and it ran off. Never saw sibling nor ma.
28 Aug ◦◦◦◦◦ Contoured over to the ridgetop and crossed back over into what I call “Piute Wilderness” (that whole mountainside bordering the length of Upper Piute, never ever visited by non-ranger humans). Descending on a new line, stumbled into brand-new delightful scenes, pocket meadows, lichen-covered walls. And found something that completely wow-ed me: a deer had actually constructed a bird-like nest at the foot of a big juniper. Wow. I had no idea. It had pulled long, slender strips of bark from the living tree to fashion a charming cinnamon-orange cubby built up on the sides with softer, lacy strips in the center, about three feet across. You could see how he/she’d stood there and stripped the bark off with their teeth to make a big cushy pile. (Shreds still hanging from the trunk….) An inviting, cozy place to sleep and I could just see the maker curled up in there, legs all folded and tucked under. Animals are forever doing things that surprise and amaze; had no idea deer “built things”!
2 Oct ◦◦◦◦◦ We started climbing up the shallow draw on a faint trail. Up near the top, two does with fawns sprinted across the track, stopped for quick look-over, then ambled on, paralleling us not that many yards off. This went on for quite aways, all of us moving in unison slowly up the forested slope—the deer people tolerating us humans and horses as fellow-travelers. A new sensation, different from just watching them up close: having a shared destination, going somewhere…together.
One last thing: fans of Piute Log will have noticed by now that I often ended entries with nebulous “thankyous!” directed at nothing specific, no one in particular. These were intended as broad-brush expressions of gratitude for what I call “gifts from the Universe” and were usually offered in response to having witnessed some minor miracle. While I don’t partake in conventional forms of prayer, my thank-you!s could be characterized as prayerful in intent. The root of this practice began many years ago when I was paging through a magazine and there before my eyes, in bold block letters, was this: GRATITUDE IS A CHOICE. Seeing those four words (I don’t even recall what precisely they were in reference to) cracked me wide open. That pithy phrase somehow rewired a few neural circuits, permanently altering my entire world-view. In a glimmer of insight I fully grokked, for the first time, that “gratitude” meant much more than a sensation of thankfulness or appreciation. I now understand gratitude to be a state of mind…a way to be…an approach to living. It’s something that one can choose to invite into their world and consciously foster. It is a thing one can willingly receive and in turn mete out. Since that day, it has been of paramount importance to me to try and maintain a continual sense of gratefulness for the gift of being alive on this marvelous planet of ours. End of sermon. But I wanted to make this point clear: during my entire “career” as a ranger there was a wordless understanding, always playing in the background like soft music, that I was one of the luckiest people alive. And most fortunate. (Two very different things, when you think about it.)
©2020 Tim Forsell 7 Aug 2020
