Five Feet and Six Inches

The creek is dry and the pathway inviting.

The maw of the red canyon gapes: I enter. How can I not?

It is fall, cool and dry in the Owyhee high desert. I am alert for cougars and snakes… but the beauty of the canyon distracts me. Stuns me to muteness. I've hiked the upper part; I've walked along the rim; years ago I discovered eagles nests on one of the canyon's cliff walls. But I've never hiked through this lower part, with the dragon walls and monster monoliths and cathedral towers.

My sense of wonder is so overwhelmed that my other senses suffer, and when a willow bush explodes beside me, I explode too, in adrenaline. Five feet was all that separated me from a great horned owl, and I hadn't seen it. Good thing it was only an owl! But I am disappointed I didn't get a close-up shot of it.

I vow more alertness, checking ledges and overhanging walls, where cougars might lie observing, or where more owls might be perching, as I creep up the gorge.

The canyon in places squeezes together, twists in mazes, and widens into a massive garden oasis. Pretty autumn-colored poison oak decorates the passages. 

The walls become a funnel in places when water runs swiftly in the spring, carving chutes and caves and leaving miniature sand beaches where detritus washes up.

In a hole in the wall 12 feet above the creek bed, 

I spy feathers. It's an old owl nest! 

But as I approach closer, and climb up to peer in it, I see it's pieces of a whole owl - this is the dining room of an owl-eater. Perhaps one of the golden eagles who rules this territory has ripped this great horned owl apart in this dining cave-with-a-view.

Ahead through the canyon walls, I hear and see an angry swooping and diving prairie falcon. I can't see what she's after but I'll bet it's the great horned owl that I disturbed. I try to tread quietly in the creek bed, (which is impossible for a human), try to creep around the corner to see the owl, when it's suddenly had enough of the falcon, and enough of the approaching crashing thrashing human, and it flies over my head back down the canyon, with the prairie falcon in pursuit. As I turn my gaze back up-canyon, a chimney cleft in the opposite wall catches my eye - and I see another great horned owl, staring down at me. He is perfectly camouflaged - I'm not sure how I even noticed him.

I continue on up the canyon, where it becomes very brushy. I could crawl through a tunnel of brush in the creek bed, but I think better of it. I don't sense the presence of cougars, but - what do I know? An owl almost had me for lunch. I opt to crawl up and around where I'm out in the open. 

I see the eagle nest cliff ahead, and there comes a point where I have to either climb or cross the brushy creek bed - and I'm no climber. I pick my way carefully through the 6-foot-high sagebrush and willows, eyes and ears scanning everywhere. There is a sea of poison oak beneath the cliff, but if I pick my way carefully through, I should emerge the other side of the eagle cliff, and continue up the rest of the canyon that I've traversed before.

Still scanning cliff walls and brush, I study my path, carefully taking one step at a time through the tall and pretty red-leafed poison oak. Nearing the edge I say The Heck With It, and I sort of leap and run the last few steps to get it over with.

My mistake.

My last footfall lands in the golden sea of cheatgrass, six inches from one unsuspecting and suddenly very pissed off six-inch rattlesnake. She is golden, barely visible in the matching golden grass, and soundless, because she is too young to have even one rattle. 

can you see it retreating?? me neither!

 (I read later: "Rattler babies have venom, short fangs and are dangerous from birth. In fact, they are more pugnacious than the adults. Although unable to make a rattling sound, the youngsters throw themselves into a defensive pose and strike repeatedly when disturbed."*)

It is only - what? - fate? luck? - that this newborn rattler has not struck me. Again and again. We both leap back, the rattler rising tall and coiling and writhing and rattling a rattle-less tail, me recoiling and cursing, adrenaline raging, stepping back but not too far back without looking, because where there is one rattlesnake baby there could be more babies ("The female rattler may carry from four to 25 eggs, from which an average of nine or ten young are born live"*), not to mention the big rattlesnakes that created them.

The little rattlesnake slowly retreats - while still coiled and ready to strike - into taller grass, and I realize that with its perfect golden camouflage, I'll likely not see the next one, either.

I find my that nerve to continue up this canyon has suddenly vanished. I choose to retreat - back through the poison oak and golden grass (very carefully!) through the tall brush (cautiously!) and to climb up out of the canyon, and leave the rest of the canyon for another day. 

Like a cold day in winter when rattlesnakes should be hibernating.

*from Desertusa.com

Rattler!

Thursday August 25 2011

I blithely step out the front door and waltz down the steps and
SSSSrattleSSSSSrattleSSSSSSrattleSSSSSrattleSSSSSS!

"J^*#$ K@^$%&$!!!!!"
I spat out something quite inventively profane, or in a foreign language, or possibly both, as I leaped 7 feet in the air, skipping the rest of the steps.

Rattlesnake where there was not one before, has never been before, curled up beside a pretty flower pot on the second step, 5 feet from the front door, rattling at me, coiled, head up, hissing, ready to strike.

Steph came running to the door.

I switched to English. "Sh&*T!" I pointed. "Rattlesnake! Right there!" My heart was racing.

We'd actually seen one - probably the same one - last night in the driveway by the creek. I'd almost walked on top of it before I realized it was a rattlesnake. It didn't rattle at me, just got out of the way and watched me from the bushes. Steph tried to get it with the hoe, but it escaped.

Since we'd missed killing it last night, we didn't want to miss him on the front porch today. This wasn't a job for girls. We called Rick. I took a few (telephoto!) pictures of the snake while we waited for Rick. I was still shaking so most of them came out blurry.

Rick brought a hoe and a rake. He didn't have a real clear shot at the rattlesnake to chop him in half with one blow (and he was a fat rattlesnake), but he tried, swinging the hoe blade down and pinning him with as much muscle as he could muster, and then he tried to crush him behind the head with the rake.

That snake did not want to die. It writhed, twisted and bit the rake, fought, struggled on, and as it died, it kept fighting. I think it did die and it kept fighting. When Rick finally severed the whole head off, the biting finally stopped, but the body kept writhing and rattling for a good 5 minutes.

I did feel sorry for the snake, and said a little snakey apology as he departed - but we have plenty of good snakes around here, and we're not putting up with rattlesnakes with all the people, horses and dogs around.

Sorry rattlesnakes, but you're not welcome here!

(Don't) Bite Me

Wednesday June 16 2010

I did something rather silly.

I was driving home yesterday up Bates Creek Road, a bit fast on the dirt road... came over a hill and - WHOA! swerved and skidded to avoid a snake stretched out long ways across my path. Slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, hoping I hadn't clipped its tail.

I hadn't - he was still laying there, same position, stretched out in the sun.

Well, I certainly didn't want the snake getting hit by some other vehicle, so I walked up to it to try to shoo it off the road. It didn't quite look like a rattlesnake... well, except for the pattern in the middle part of his quite long (about 3 feet) body.

He didn't move when I walked up close and waved and said "Shoo!" to him, so... I squatted behind him, reached out... and touched its tail.

Quick as a flash, that snake whipped around into a coil, head up, tongue out, tail... rattling?


Quick as a flash, I was three feet back, my heart pounding a bit. I still didn't quite think it was a rattlesnake, but... it was coiled like a rattlesnake, its tail was vibrating like a rattlesnake and I heard... rattles? I didn't see rattles... and I started thinking I'd read somewhere that a rattlesnake might not have rattles for some reason or other (which is probably wrong). I stayed out of range of the snake's leap (I think) and tried to get a better look at it. It sure sounded like rattling, and its tail was still shaking, but I think it was really hissing.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't a rattlesnake... but maybe I shouldn't have touched it. A snake is pretty dang fast.

However, at least I got him off the road, so he didn't get run over (at least that day). Good snake or bad snake, he'd make a good meal for the hawks and the golden eagles (who still hang around, though their nest failed) along the crik.

(And reading about it later, it was a bull snake; it imitates a rattlesnake by taking the coiled posture of a rattlesnake, vibrating its tail - though instead of elevating its tail it usually keeps the tail in contact with the ground to hit brush or leaves for sound effects - flattening its head to look more like a rattler, and hissing - which sounds like a rattle.)

You Can Rest When You Die! (Not When You Break Your Toe)

Monday June 29 2009

So said the back of Janis' shirt (all except the Toe stuff) when we rode off on a 25 mile loop today.

I just couldn't stand it, after missing two 50-mile rides in our back yard (the Almosta Bennett Hills ride), and Janis saying she was going out on a long ride today, soI just had to go riding with her. This morning I got a bigger sized Croc shoe from Steph and stuffed my right foot in. Yowza. That's when I got the notion that maybe I didn't just rip the toenail off my foot when I got stepped on, but maybe I broke the dang toe too.

Whoooeeeee it hurt and I didn't think there was any way I'd be able to put my foot in the stirrup (hitting the side of the stirrup, putting weight in the stirrup, etc). But it was SUCH a nice day, and Janis was already on her horse Cole heading my way at a canter, the Owyhee mountains in the background framing them, Cole's mane flying in the breeze and Janis grinning, and that clinched it. I was riding.

I hobbled out to catch Jose, limped about getting him ready, and whimpered as I stood on my bad foot to mount. I awkwardly hauled myself up into the saddle (sorry, Jose!), placed my poor toe in the big shoe into the stirrup... and off we went!

It hurt, sometimes a lot, but, who cared! A cooling breeze refreshed us as we trotted north on Steph's ridge; and the view into Hart Creek along the Rim Trail as we headed south on the next ridge made up for the rising temperature. We turned back north and descended the sharp ridge down into Hart Creek, where the horses gulped cool water, and then I almost guided Jose over a rattlesnake at the old Homestead! He saw it before I did and jumped out of the way.

Normally when I ride this loop I'm going the other direction, so this was almost like a new trail today. And I don't know if Jose has ever been this direction - things looked different and interesting to him too, and he had one big spook when we came around a corner and saw a dead log on his left. Sure, we've seen that dozens of times from the right side, but not the left!

I found a long snake skin on the ground (going into a little burrow - did the snake just slide out of his skin when he slithered inside?), and, a GPS! Actually Jose must have spotted it because he stopped right there to get some grass, so I could hop off him and pick it up. So now Jose has his own GPS.

We followed Hart Creek (soon it became dry - the water was diverted) to the Potato Field (full of flowering potato plants this year), and when we turned for home we had another nice breeze at our back.

By now the drinking water in our saddle bags was hot, the day was starting to cook, so it was good to be getting back home when we did. The boys stood in Pickett Creek - which was 10* cooler than anywhere else - for a while and took a deep drink right at the barn.

When I dismounted, I had to lower myself gently to the ground - not land on my right foot - but in general, my toe wasn't too much different after riding. It still hurt. And what a great ride! Heck, I even think I might have been able to do a 50 on Sunday.

Huh - that's the last time I'm letting a little smashed toe stop me from riding in an endurance ride. I can rest my toes when I die!