OR: The Chipmunk’s Trap, and Three Sisters
“Is that a Blockbuster?” Astrid asked in disbelief. “A real Blockbuster?”
They had exited highway 97 North to refuel the car and pick up lunch to go.
“Oh, yeah … right. It’s the last Blockbuster store in the U.S. I forgot it’s in Oregon,” Bjorn said, craning his neck to get a good look at the icon from their young adult years.
An Albertson’s grocery store was nearby, where they picked up lunch items, coffee and almonds to snack on.
Recreational vehicles (RVs) and campers were everywhere in Oregon; on the highways, huddled in groups in designated spots, rotting in front yards, or deserted in the middle of a lonely plain.
Whether they were towed behind a truck or car or driven, they were everywhere. Astrid thought Michigan had a lot of RV traffic, until she visited Oregon. Almost every small town and highway exit had an RV park. She also thought that an RV park was somewhere a person “camped” to enjoy a little bit more of nature. No. Now she knew better. It was just a place to park your RV, while you slept, a veritable portable hotel room where you never had to unpack. The better places provided water, electricity and a dumping station.
In addition to RVs, Oregon had more than a few memorial highways dedicated to veterans: Vietnam Veterans, Veterans of the Middle East Wars, Veterans of World War II, just to name a few.
“Oooh, this is a nice area,” Astrid commented as they passed through the quaint, picturesque town of Sisters, Oregon. There were no cheap dollar stores, no apparent dispensaries on main street, but neat sidewalks full of visitors.
Sisters, Oregon had an older feel to it-things were not so spread out. On the other side of Sisters, the neat greenery turned into what looked like fire-ravaged pine forest, hills, commercial logging, then … lava.
As if the road were mined through it, the lava came up to within inches of the road at places. They were in a very volcanic part of Willamette National Forest. The sun was hidden by a cloud and mist moved in, flakes of snow fell sporadically.
They stopped at the Dee Wright Observatory to appreciate the view and eat their lunch, parking the car in a lot looking out over a field of black lava rock punctuated by a tower built of the stones.
“Hey, look, there’s a chipmunk,” Astrid pointed in front of the car, to a ledge of volcanic rock overlooking the parking lot. “I wonder what it eats out here. There’s no vegetation for miles,that I can see. Poor thing.”
…
It started off as an overcast chilly day with the dim light of morning seeping through the cracks in his burrow. But every day was getting warmer. A few snowflakes snuck in. The outlook was good for a decent haul that day. More and more traffic passed through the area. The chipmunk yawned, stretched and preened its fur for a few minutes then became calm again. It sat still, listening for the trap to be tripped.
About noon, after a few measly sunflower seeds he had stashed away the day before, he heard the engine of car idle, then stop nearby. It was time.
He scurried out of his hole, cautious, but casual, stopping occasionally to sniff the air for danger or food, zipping here and there, out for his regular phrenetic stroll. He stopped at his usual spot on a flat rock, in the open in full view of the parking lot. He felt a little exposed, and he knew he had to be careful, but it was worth it.
He could smell it already. There was food in that grey car and the giant biped humans were eating it.
It was a risky business, his trap. He was a very light colored specimen of his family, which made it easy for flying predators or any predator to see him against the dark lava rocks that filled the plains for miles. But his excess adipose fat was an apparent testimony to his trap’s success. He ate well.
The grey vehicle in front of him wasn’t turning out to be an easy mark, though. The human bipeds had been eating in it for a while. A biped had come out of it and put stuff in the trash bin nearby. It had passed his trap, paused, but went back into the vehicle. The trash bin was only his last resort, this chipmunk was out for the premium stuff.
Patience, he told himself. Maybe a little more acting. He twitched, itched himself, then lay full-bellied on the rock, staring straight at the big grey vehicle.
Finally, a human came out, walked up to the edge of the sidewalk and put something on his feeding rock. Then she stood there, watching him.
He ran down, and of course, like always, she backed away a little. Almonds! He shoved one in his cheek, and carried the other. But she was still there. Easily fixed. The chipmunk ran down to the sidewalk and as always, the biped walked away quickly, back to the grey car. It was good haul.
….
“It was a trap! There was even a little flat rock there, with sunflower seed shells to put the food, as if it were an altar to put all the sacrifices! He’s done it hundreds of times before this,” Astrid said, suddenly aware of being duped and manipulated by the tiniest con-man ever. “He just sat there, looking super cute. He knew it. He knew humans have food, and a soft spot for furry animals. That was amazing. He knew how to manipulate humans, how to game the system!”
She had failed. She had been seduced into breaking her promise to follow the Leave No Trace rule #6 of not feeding wildlife, duped by her deep-seeded maternal instinct to feed cute, furry little things. Her guilt and betrayal lay heavy on her conscious as they drove away.
Later that summer, as penance to her infraction, she did three hours of community service in conservation, pulling up invasive weeds at a local state park in Michigan.
Up hill and down, around hair pin turns punctuated by short straights, they drove, through misty fog and patches of sun, by roadsides sprinkled with pink digitalis wildflowers on one side of the mountain, white fluffy flowers dominating the roadside on the other side of the mountain.
When they parked and got out at Proxy Falls Trailhead in Three Sisters Wilderness in the Willamette National Forest, it was still misting, but lightly. After using the restrooms, and paying, they set off on a wondrous trail flanked by volcanic rock, giant, moss-draped trees and dark green pines. After hazarding a steep downhill trail into a ravine, over fallen trees, they reached their destination: Proxy Falls.
While Bjorn waded dangerously near the cataract, out of sight, Astrid found a damp, but cozy seat in the crutch of a tree, opened her journal and started to write.
“How to Travel with a Landscape Photographer” was the title. It expounds on all the interesting hobbies which are conducive to waiting for your landscape photographer travel-mate to take pictures. It may never reach this blog, but it was worth writing a draft. After she wrote all she could, she realized she was a bit cold, so she got up and explored the ravine which was criss-crossed with huge fallen trees, the waterfall coming down a quite steep and high wall of it and a stream wandering crooked along the bottom.
Over and over, she tight-wire walked the large slippery, moss-covered logs, exploring every corner, rock and gully of the ravine; just messing around in the woods, looking in crevices, touching moss, kicking a rock. It was worth every minute. Then she tried to spot Bjorn. There were a few other photographers there, standing in the stream, disappearing into the woods; doing weird things as if in a sacrificial slow-dance in front of the alter of the ultimate photographic subject–the waterfall. She couldn’t see him. She wasn’t worried.
Eventually he appeared, damp with waterfall spray, having taken all the pictures he wanted. The trail back out to the car was as beautiful as the one going in.
They drove out of the close, curvy mountain road into a close, straight mountain-flanked road, with the pine-tree green slopes of the mountains making a V-shaped sky in front of them.
Still misting, they stopped at Sahalie and Koosah Falls Trail, near MacKenzie Bridge, Oregon and walked along a crystal-clear stream that jumped down precipices in a few water falls. The colors surrounding them were vivid; a dozen shades of green leaves, aqua-blue water with white froth, brown-red tree trunks, grey stones, clay-red dirt; all the objects’ hues popping vibrant against the dull, mist-filled sky. Astrid noticed that every natural place she traveled to specialized in different colors. Spring in northern England showcased bright green in its hills and pastures against grey skies with white specks of sheep. Northern Michigan used a lot of the dark green of pines against blue sky and an ever-changing palette of the lake. Here, Willamette National Forest was best at "earth-colors" and they were spectacular.
“My post- and pre-adventure jitters are starting to overlap,” Astrid said as she ate, her mind traveling a few hours ahead of her in time. Post-journey leaving always carried with it a vein of stress–her imagination ran away with scenarios of missed flights and disastrous situations. And her pre-journey jitters were just beginning for the new adventure that wait for her just a day after they got home.
Comments
Post a Comment