These confrontations, if you will, provide us with a spell of ephemeral amnesia during which we are allowed, almost unsuspectingly, to enjoy life beyond a particular goal or objective and just enjoy the woods for what they are…wild. I have had many such encounters during my time in the woods, especially while hunting. I have seen a great grey owl perched in a Douglas fir, watching over me as I wailed away on a predator call, turkeys gobbling in the distance. I have been in search of early season deer when I heard a bull elk crash through the undergrowth across a ravine and then gazed up to see his chest distend and release a most euphonious sound. And I have been fighting a head on snow storm crossing a barren, frozen lake only to see a bald eagle burst forth from the adjacent tree line and soar out over the white world, a potentate of this forgotten landscape. But these moments are not unique to me; they permeate our backwoods and mountain tops. They know no bounds and the men and women who fight their way every day in the wilderness must have collective stories that would rival the publications in the Library of Congress in sheer volume and content. What stories there must be out there.
Most recently while out for a stroll with my dog we had a meeting of a very different kind. I was not hunting nor was I actively seeking anything but rest for my tired mind and some exercise for the dog; both of which are necessities for my daily sanity. But while my brain was shutting down my dog had spotted some deer across an open field and with the body clinching that can only be described as a dog on a mission, he was locked in. Knowing that the snow was some 20 inches deep I knew the deer would be long gone before he could ever catch them and as I watched them watching us, I let the dog go.
Faster than one can blink he was off, working his little heart out to make ground on “his” adversary. But the moment was not to last and without warning, another foe was upon us. I looked quickly and saw the outline of a robber, a thief, a masked killer, a bandit or, as is more widely accepted…a raccoon. He immediately jumped in the air which I believe just about caused my dog to leap out of his skin and then, without hesitation, the inquest was abruptly begun. Wavering back and forth the two animals looked like ancient warriors from a lost Chinese culture; my dog sporting his best “Contorted Crane” while the raccoon chose a form of what can best be described as, “Slender Dragonfly”. The scene was a combination of wanting to get my dog away from the foe and wanting to let him handle his own encounters with the wild. They would size each other up over the next minute, both no doubt feeling a sense of imminent danger but unable to resist the attraction. However, I will admit my dog was certainly more interested in the coon than the coon was in him. But nonetheless, the chance meeting was something for all to enjoy. The action was brief and once I pulled my dog away the small larcenist steadily worked his way back into the woods, unsure how his afternoon had taken such an erratic turn. And away we went, the image of an urban brawler now seared into my memory bank.
These run-ins with wildlife and other organisms lead us down all sorts of roads and while I have had many pleasurable interactions in my life others have not been so fortunate. There are examples right here in Minnesota where birds hunters have been forced to make difficult decisions when confronted with wolves, a man shooting one dead last fall as his canine companion was in quick retreat. But overall these are the exceptions and even though those stories can be harrowing ones, they will be told over campfires for friends and posterity alike, adding to the diverse array of anecdotes behind us. In the end though, the stories we hold on to and retell over and over, occasionally embellishing as we get older, are all what make hunting a unique American tradition. We keep these stories close to us, we keep them so we can share them with the ones who will understand, and we keep them to keep them. They are what make the hunter the hunter and the man the man. So, here’s to our next encounter.
Our Bandit:
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