Walks in the surrounding woods and meadows are, weather permitting, part of my daily exercise routine. I tend to go out at times of day when hunting activity is low, so as not to provide an inadvertent target, and therefore I don’t often see wildlife. When I do have an encounter, I treasure it all the more.
On a warm, windless, foggy day I was on the mown path crossing a damp meadow when a strong animal scent enveloped me. I hesitated, unsure what it was. As I stood still, sniffing, a deer suddenly sprang to its feet out of the goldenrods and asters in front of me, almost close enough to touch. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or it. I had a moment to appreciate its beauty, and then the deer snorted once and bounded away.
Porcupines have crossed paths with me more than once, but I usually see them up trees, sleeping. On the ground, one large individual contested the right-of-way with me, only moving aside after I repeatedly stamped on the ground. Another one I nearly stepped upon when I was looking upwards while walking in the woods. Hearing a rustle by my feet, I stopped dead in my tracks, and looked down. The porcupine, inches from my toes, turned its back to give me a good look at its fine array of quills before lumbering off into the undergrowth.
Often in the summer I will hear the shrill alarm call of a chipmunk and glimpse one diving into a hiding place among fallen branches. The squirrels are easier to see, as they leap into the trees and survey me from high branches while chattering their displeasure. The raccoons are more discreet, and slip away unseen, although I will sometimes spot one slumbering in the fork of a tree.
It is not my habit to stand still for hours waiting for birds to appear, so avian encounters are rare. The woodpeckers have an uncanny ability to always be on the far side of the tree from me, so I hear them knocking, but can’t see who’s there. Occasionally a ruffed grouse will rocket up from the bushes, scaring the liver out of me. Chickadees are always around, but once they’ve reported my presence, they generally don’t stay close. An exception was made by one chickadee who allowed me to watch him inspect for hidden insects every curl of bark on the trunk a birch tree. Larger birds betray their presence in the woods by the whooshes of air as they flap invisibly away. However, I recently came face to face with a barred owl - about the size of a chicken - that was roosting on a branch overhanging the trail. It contemptuously ignored my attempt at owl-speak, “Who-ooo are you-ooo?”, and never blinked an eye or moved a feather as I sidled past.
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