PorcupineBy Bob Warren When our group left Carbondale, Colorado, under cloudy skies on July 26, 2005, for the public campground at the Avalanche Creek trailhead, we knew we might get some showers. But we weren’t expecting the deluge that hit just as we were trying to start the campfire to cook our evening meal of kielbasa sausage and jambalaya rice. We bagged the campfire and hung up a tarp to cover our cook-stoves, meanwhile pointing out tactfully to the boys from Florida Sheriff’s Boy’s Ranch that their smartly-pitched tents would do better next time if they were not set up in the natural drainage channels for the campsite. Fortunately, the next morning was cool, bright and clear, and after a couple of hours of sun-drying the tents and the wet gear, we packed up and hit the trail in high spirits. The first day and a half of hiking was travel-brochure perfect for scenery and general enjoyment, but then we hit the dreaded switchbacks that rapidly took us over 10,000 feet. By mid-afternoon, one boy and one adult were seriously out of gas. After resting, the boy was OK to continue with a lightened load, but the adult was in increasing distress and would need to go back down. Surprisingly, he was one of the youngest and fittest of the adult leaders, but his problem apparently arose from blood-pressure medication that kept his heart rate low enough that he couldn’t sufficiently oxygenate. I volunteered to go back down about 1000 feet with him to a small bivouac tent site along Avalanche Creek that we had noted on the way up. We made it in less than two hours, set up a tent and had dinner, and by morning my colleague was well-rested and ready to go back up. We left our packs at the tent and by noon had re-joined the main group at Avalanche Lake, where we all enjoyed a day of fishing and sightseeing. In late afternoon, the two of us went back down to our bivouac to await the descent of the main group the next morning. At dusk, after our evening meal, we explored the area for wildlife and were rewarded with good looks at mule deer bedding down in the woods along the Creek. However, there was more wildlife out there than we realized when we tucked in for the night. Around 4 AM, I awoke and gradually became aware of a soft, regular tapping noise. At first I thought of water slowly dripping on the tent, but then I realized that the noise was coming from the other side of the tent where my pack was leaning against a tree. I quickly (and wisely) put on my boots and slipped out for a look. The food bags were still hanging undisturbed, and my pack seemed OK, so what was the problem? But then I saw in the moonlight that a strange, round, white cloud was protruding from the bottom of my pack. What was that?? Then I realized that it was the backside of a large porcupine, and his head was buried under my pack cover! Momentarily frozen, I wasn’t sure what to do. Then, I stamped my boot hard on the ground (and said some stuff that I can’t repeat here), and the porcupine slowly eased sideways from the pack. When I had a clear shot, I put the sole of my boot into his backside, and he scooted off into the brush along the creek. When I checked the pack, I realized that he was gnawing on the straps for the salt. The shoulder strap and hip and back pad on the left side were pretty ratty looking, but I had fortunately caught him before he rendered the pack unusable. In the morning, my tent-mate had a good laugh recounting being awakened by what I yelled at the porcupine, and I needed my Leatherman pliers to extract the thicket of quills that were embedded as deeply as 3/8 inch into my vibram boot sole. I saved the quills for a show and tell with the boys that night. And on future hikes, my salty pack will be hanging from a tree along with the food bags. |
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