The Squirrel Wars

The American West has seen a number of bitter feuds over the years. The Hatfields and the McCoys, the cowboys and the Indians, the Broncos (yay) and the Raiders (boo), but none so fierce, so bitter and so relentless as the battle being played out in my own back yard right now.

Man versus Squirrel.

I had run ins with them before; most notably when a herd took up residence in our roof (See Our Wild Life in the Mountains), but for the last few years we’ve been able to live in peace. In fact, since moving into this odd little house in the woods, I’ve very much enjoyed their presence. Standing at the window; watching their antics has passed many a happy minute or thirty when I’m supposed to be working. The Dynamic Duo of Dogdom tend to take a less pacifistic approach, usually trying to eat through the glass door whenever one appears but for the most part, I’ve been more than content to have squirrels as neighbors.

Until one of them figured out how to get into the bird-feeders that is.

We have half a dozen or so bird feeders hanging from various trees around the yard and a good portion of my income goes to keeping them filled. But, it’s worth it because woodpeckers, nuthatches, chickadees and grosbeaks are among the daily visitors to the yard. This is in addition to the hummingbirds that take advantage of the sugar-water we put out through the summer.

A couple of the feeders are “squirrel-proof” in that they close by means of a spring whenever anything heavier than a magpie lands on them. Which is fine but the birds’ favorite feeder is an ugly big green plastic thing, which holds about ¼ of a ton of feed. This one always saw the most activity and despite being the largest of the collection, required re-filling every few days.

Even more so once Tufty the Squirrel figured out he could climb down, sit on its roof and scoop the seed up with his paws.

That was bad enough but the little bugger spilled more than he ate and as the neighbors’ free-range cats discourage birds from eating off the ground, it was largely going to waste. I’d lobbed a few pine cones up at him, but that only caused him to run away, chattering dismissively and by the time I was back in the house, he was once more at the trough. Round 1 to him. Desperate measures were called for.

Dear Wife came home with a big, clear plastic dome designed to sit above the feeder and prevent assault from above. That was duly installed and it only took the birds two or three days to overcome their fear of it and start eating again. As for the squirrel; it barely slowed him down at all. He soon figured out that rather than climbing down to the feeder, he could just leap onto it from the tree trunk, spilling yet more seed in the process. Round 2 to him.

But, I finally beat him the next time. I strung a length of rope from one tree to another and hung the feeder from the middle. Hah! Even though he can do a balancing act on the rope itself, he can’t climb down to the feeder and our avian friends get the seed to themselves. Round 3 to me.

So then he moved onto the suet feeder.

This is a cage like doohickey into which we put slabs of seed filled suet. The birds in turn peck at it through the bars. Tufty on the other hand, simply hangs off the branch by his back legs and hauls handfuls out with his front paws. I could take the same approach and sling a rope between two trees, but it currently sits in front of the window of my home office, and the rope trick would involve moving it to a position less convenient for viewing. What to do, what to do, what to do.

I’m a pretty fair marksman with a slingshot as the well-aerated photos of G.W. Bush that I use for target practice will show. Still, I didn’t want to kill the little guy, or even injure him so the ½ inch marbles I usually use weren’t practical. I’d already established that pine cones aren’t suitably aerodynamic so I had to experiment a little before hitting on the ideal ammunition.

A bite of carrot, around thumbnail sized will fly straight and true for a good thirty feet or so, but without enough velocity to cause serious damage should I accidentally hit the target. I believe many police forces use carrot pieces for riot control, or if they don’t, perhaps they should.

A few well placed zingers around his head and my squirrel friend was soon scampering off to the neighbors’ yard. Ha ha ha ha! We’ll see who’s boss of this backyard yet. Well, it’s him apparently. The little sod figured out that I wasn’t aiming to hit and within three days he would sit blithely hoovering up the suet while I fired shot after shot within an inch or two of his head. A week on and he doesn’t even do me the courtesy of flinching. Round 4 to him.

I wonder how he would react to a blast of 1oz shot fired at close range from a 12 gauge? Round 5 could get reeeeeeeeelly interesting.

Now, where’s that Redneck Recipe book?

On the 7th Day

doG decided he needed a hobby. Mrs. doG had been complaining that he was spending too much time around the house, cluttering up the place as it were. So, bright and early on Monday, he set about making himself a universe.

Most of the day was spent creating the heavens and the earth, because he needed somewhere to sit and he figured this universe might be around for a while. Around 3 he called for Mrs. doG to come and check his progress, proud of what he had done. However, Mrs. doG merely sniffed and said

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Muttering under his breath, doG locked the door of his laboratory so he could continue work uninterrupted. It didn’t take him long to create Man; a stomach and a penis and he was about done. Even so, he wanted to take a bit more time over woman. He took a little longer than was perhaps strictly necessary, but hey, you can do that when you’re doG.

On Tuesday he was up bright and early and ready to start on the beasts of the field.

“This is where the fun really begins” he thought. For hour after hour, he toiled happily at his work bench. Lions and dogs, caterpillars and horses, elephants, cats, stoats and cows all rolled off the production line one after another. Zebras and kangaroos, armadillos and oxen soon followed. doG was in the groove and life was good.

But by the time Wednesday morning rolled around. doG was feeling a little fed up. The challenge was gone you see. This was too easy. He scrawled a few sketches on his notepad, and over the next couple of hours cranked out sheep and pigs, tortoises and antelope but when he took a step back and found himself admiring the duck-billed platypus, he realized it was time for a break.

“All work and no play makes doG a dull boy” he told himself and looked around for a diversion.

It was then he remembered that Mrs. doG had gone out for the day. Greedily he scanned the contents of the pantry, rubbed his hands together and thought

“Let’s see what I can make with this lot.”

The de’il makes work for idle hands and it wasn’t long before doG had come up with the formula for hallucigenic drugs. It was a long afternoon, filled with screams and manic laughter and by the time Mrs. doG came home from the shops, our hero was slumped in the corner, drooling slightly and with brownie crumbs on his shirt.

But look at what he had created! Giraffes and butterflies and tropical fish in fantastic psychedelic colors. Coral and salamanders and hummingbirds, oh my. Even Mrs. doG had to admit, she was impressed. But she bundled him off to bed nonetheless and having strapped him down, set about the task of cleaning up the mess he’d left in the kitchen. Sweeping the ingredients of half completed dragons and unicorns into the bin, she shook her head fondly.

“What will he get up to next” she wondered.

If only she had known.

For doG was in a foul mood when he awoke the next day, and with barely a grunt, he headed for his lab and closed the door. Sawing and banging sounds emitted from the room for the rest of the morning and it was nearly dinnertime before he emerged, with a vicious smile on his face and a cage full of…mosquitoes.

“Bwahahahahah!” he laughed, while Mrs. doG looked on in horror.

“Oh, you can’t!” she protested. “Those things are terrible!”

“You just watch me” he muttered and went off to bed.

Friday was a little better. Feeling more than a little guilty about his behavior yesterday, doG worked feverishly for hours without a break. By noon he’d created chickens, tigers, lizards and buffalo. Before the afternoon was done, he was just about finished with the animal kingdom. And, that got him into trouble once more. It was just a simple idea; one that he’d been mulling for some time. What would happen if he took barley, malt, water and hops and treated them just right…

Well of course, you know how beer is made, right? Oh, doG was pleased and decided to throw himself a little party to celebrate. Which went on loooong into the night. Long after Mrs. doG rolled her eyes and headed for bed, locking the door behind her. Long after he figured out the formula for Scotch whisky. But long before he wondered if perhaps he should have invented aspirin first.

Every night is followed by a morning. That’s how it works. And Saturday morning was a doozy. The sun was well up before doG surfaced and even then, he wandered round the house in something of a daze. Mrs. doG was less than sympathetic.

“Don’t think you’re going to be sitting around watching television.” She told him. “You haven’t invented it yet.”

So with a sigh, doG took himself off to the lab and attempted to work. But it was no use. By the time 5 O’Clock rolled around all he’d managed to produce were slugs, worms and snakes. Not exactly big league stuff. He tried to liven things up by making some of the snakes venomous, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Time to give it up” he thought, and wrapped up the project. "No more creations for me."

But when Sunday dawned, bright and sunny, with the promise of a whole day before starting work again on Monday, doG got himself to thinking.

And doG invented football.

And doG saw that it was good.

The Colorado Trail ~ Epilogue

As I write this, I’ve been home for almost 2 weeks. The raw patches on my shoulders have healed, as have the blisters on my feet. Even the mosquito bites are barely discernable. But the memories will linger on. Sadly, at the moment they’re mostly along the lines of “Oh, that was tough”, rather than “Oh that was beautiful” although maybe that will change over time. Because it truly was beautiful and while the disposable camera I carried with me didn’t really didn’t do the scenery justice, there are hundreds of fabulous Colorado views locked in my brain.

I learned a few lessons along the way. The necessity of packing light being the main one. Even though the bag I carried on Days 4 & 5 was almost half the weight of the one I hauled through Day 2, it was still too heavy. And that Saturday morning strolls with The World’s Most Irritating Dog™ isn’t adequate preparation for long days out on a trail. My feet, legs and shoulders simply weren’t up to the task. Before I tackle the next stretch I’ll need to get in some overnight trips, with some major mileage and elevation gain.

I should also plan my daily mileage allotment a little more carefully. The guidebook divides the trail into segments, but these are merely geographical divisions, not recommended daily hikes. Once I get further from home it isn’t practical to sail through 10 easy downhill miles one day; and be done by lunchtime, only to spend hours grinding uphill the next. And it would be good to know that each night’s planned campsite has water and a flat place for a tent, to avoid fruitlessly walking a mile further along the trail and back as I did on Day 4.

But probably the best advice I could give to anyone planning to replicate this portion of the trip, the five days from Denver to Kenosha would be this:

Do it the other way!

Happy trails everyone.

The Colorado Trail ~ Day 5

Long Gulch to Kenosha Pass
Distance: 14 miles
Elevation Gain: 1540 ft

The end is near (Just not near enough)

Last stage. I can do this. Actually, I have to do this; there’s no other way to get home. No cell phone calls begging for rescue today; the only way out is to finish what I started and walk to Kenosha Pass. It shouldn’t be too big a deal though. I slept unusually well and even though breakfast and striking camp took longer than I’d hoped, I’m shouldering my pack and back on the trail by 8:15.

And there isn’t too much elevation gain today. And it’s only 14 miles. Only 14 miles. Ah, but you forget you’re almost 45 years old my lad, and no matter how much you try, your body just doesn’t work as efficiently as it did back in your hardcore hiking days all those years ago.

And yesterday really took its toll. I’m tired, and sore and aching and driven almost insane by the rash of mosquito bites that cover my arms, and legs and face. The Jungle Juice I’d slathered on at regular intervals never held the little buggers at bay for long and while eating breakfast, several of them feasted on a section I must have missed, up by the hairline. My forehead swelled so badly I got the impression this must be what Botox feels like.

So I was more than a little cranky as I began the first climb of the day, out of the canyon in which I’d slept and only got more so as I discovered just how tough that turned out to be. It looked like another long day after all.

The scenery was beautiful, the scenery was beautiful. I have to keep reminding myself that the scenery was beautiful. Years from now, when I look back on this trip I hope that what I remember is the beautiful scenery and not the endless physical pain of putting one foot in front of the other. Because Colorado truly is beautiful and on these glorious summer days, with blue skies above and the wildflowers in full bloom at my feet, I’m seeing it at its best.

But oh, it’s hard to appreciate that, even on the long downhill portion. My shoulders are rubbed raw, my back, never my most trustworthy body part, is beginning to spasm again and my legs are running on empty.

But, I still had the fortitude to rag on a father and son hiking the other way when I noticed the youth was wearing an Arsenal Soccer T-shirt. I pointed out that I was carrying a large stick and held the high ground and cared not one whit that I was obviously making him nervous. The father hastily explained that this was a youth soccer team from Fort Collins, not the scum of the English leagues and with a smile, I let them pass. I suspect though, they’ll both have nightmares about this wild eyed maniac who came out of the hills and threatened them just like the infamous soccer hooligans of which they’d read.

Johnson Gulch: The bottom of the last hill of the trail. Here I met the two young through hikers I’d last seen asleep on the trail of Segment 2. “Man, that really kicked our asses” they told me. “We almost quit that day.” Yep, I knew where they were coming from and gave thanks once more, that I’d had the luxury of being able to bail and run for home that day. Lunch now and a sit down before beginning the climb. Only 3 miles and a mere 900 feet elevation gain. How hard could it be?

Very hard of course. And…it…took…for…ever. Up and up this endless incline as the temperatures got higher, my bag got heavier, my body got weaker. I’d passed numerous creeks in the morning and deliberately allowed my water supply to get low to lighten the load. What I didn’t realize was; Johnson Gulch, the halfway point, would be the last water of the day and now I was forced to ration my intake. No fun when every breath is a ragged, heaving gasp of hot, dry mountain air.

Eventually I began to meet mountain bikers coming the other way. “I’ll swap you my pack for your bike” I suggested to each but none took me seriously. I was still trying this ruse when the highway hove into sight. Every few hundred yards I had a clear view of the RVs, cars and trucks heading out for the weekend but to my frustration, it never seemed to get any closer. It turned out to be simply a mirage, a torment. The trail was running more or less parallel to it and it was another 2 miles before I began walking towards it again.

And then, and then, and then there’s the gate leading to the campsite and journey’s end. Every single muscle in my body hurts, even the ones I didn’t know existed. But despite that, I found the ones in my face involuntarily lifting themselves into a smile.

I’d made it.

I sat in the shade of the pines, leaning against my pack, and barely moved for an hour until Dear Wife showed up with the dogs in the car, and a cooler full of cold drinks and fresh food.

68 miles in 5 days. Doesn’t really sound all that much written here. But starting at 5,520 feet above sea level, finishing at 10,000, and with an accumulated elevation gain of 10,260 feet, (that’s almost 2 miles, if you’re counting) I can tell you, it’s one hell of a hike.

But there’s less than 400 miles to go. And how hard can that be?

This is going to be a piece of cake.

The Colorado Trail ~ Day 4

Forest Service Road 560 (Wellington Lake Road) to Long Gulch
Distance: 16.2 miles
Elevation Gain: 2840 ft

Climb Every Mountain. And Climb and Climb and Climb

And we're off again. Over 16 miles to cover, mostly uphill but really; how hard can that be?

Well, bloody hard as it turns out. 6:35am found me trudging up a steep jeep trail with barely a half-pint of coffee in my system. It didn't take too long to use all the calories gained from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and much too soon I was heaving and wheezing once more. I couldn't even blame the pack this time; my gear was stripped to the bone and while the tent and sleeping bag alone were disturbingly heavy, I had no spare clothes and only the barest minimum of food.

But uphill is uphill, whichever way you slice it and I was only averaging around 2 mph, which was going to make for a long day. The trail alternated from thick, dark pine trees to light, summery aspen forests, but the only variance in the gradient was from steep to steeper. The trees blocked any scenery so the view was simply the muddy trail rising in front of my face. For mile after mile after mile.

That's not entirely true; one bright spot came when I almost tripped over a very young fawn lying directly on the path. It's common for the mothers to leave new-borns unattended for hours or even days while they forage for food; however usually they hide them better than this. I had to wonder if the little rebel had done a spot of exploring on his own, then hunkered down when I came along. Either way, he didn't so much as twitch while I left the track and took a wide excursion around him.

So on and on I climbed, with the track only getting steeper. Stopping for a breather was no pleasure either because of the mosskeeters that descended upon me with glee if I so much as slowed my pace. "Mosskeeters can't live at this altitude" my ass. There were times when I had to go around fallen trees as they were just too big to climb over and each delay felt like a slap in the face.

I met two middle-aged guys hiking the other way (downhill, what a concept!) and they cheerfully explained that I had a lot of climbing ahead of me. Mutter, mutter, mutter. At somewhere around 10,000 feet I walked through my first snow of the trail. Only a small slushy patch but considering this is the first day of summer, still intriguing.

Much more alarming was the first clap of thunder, which came at 10:05 am. Usually the summer storm clouds don't roll in until mid-afternoon and this was disturbing considering how far I still had to go. Even more disturbing was just how close the storm was. The next clap almost blew my socks off. Fortunately, it never really came to anything because shortly after, I popped out of the trees and into a wide, open meadow. Not the place to be during a lightning storm.

Good news is, the steep climbing was now over and after an early lunch, I set out on the long, slow grind up the valley. Nothing like the same altitude gain, but still climbing, climbing, climbing.

I consoled myself that at least I was lasting 45 minutes or so between breaks, unlike the 4 or 5 minutes I was managing on Day 2, but even so, the head of that damn valley just never seemed to get any closer and I was a weary little hiker by the time I finally crested the summit a little after 3 pm. 2 miles more to go and downhill all the way, but by now I was so utterly banjoed, I couldn't really appreciate it.

16.2 miles is a long haul when 80% of it is uphill and you were starting at over 7,000 feet in the first place. It feels even longer when you end up clocking an extra mile at the end trying to find somewhere flat enough to pitch a tent and then end up having to walk the mile back again to accept a sort-of-OK site you'd dismissed earlier. And when you know that you'll have to walk that mile for a third time in the morning.

Naturally, the rain which had been threatening since this morning finally got going as I was setting up camp. And the mosquitoes followed me there and drove me indoors by 8pm. And the freeze dried "food" I'd brought for dinner tasted every bit as vile as you'd imagine.

But when I put down my book and snuggled into my sleeping bag I was asleep in moments. And I stayed asleep until morning and you can't complain about that.

Even better, tomorrow's the final day. A mere 14 miles. And a good chunk of that is downhill.

This is going to be a piece of cake.