last WORD
last
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by
Rick Moody
Felix Sockwell
illustration by
Take a Hike
An indoorsman heads out to the desert—mountain lions be damned
Arizona’s Sabino Canyon offers the
kind of Sonoran topography that people
come from great distances to see: lots of
saguaro cactus, prickly pear, barrel cactus,
cholla, paloverde, and greasewood. The
hikes aren’t terribly difficult—as in “easy” or
“moderate”—and there are even roads upon
which a great number of visitors are driven
to and from the stupendous Sabino views of
the valley where Tucson has sprawled out in
its petroleum-besotted way.
Of course, on my recent trip to the Southwe st, I wasn’t interested in being driven
around Sabino, even if the tour buses represented a car-pooling initiative. I was interested in hiking. I was interested in hiking in
spots relatively free of the throngs at Tucson’s
most visited park; the remote latitudes. At
least that was my attitude until, upon paying
my entry fee at the gate, I was handed a bright
yellow slip of paper by the park ranger.
It wasn’t a receipt, which would have
been a reasonable assumption—it was an
alert! A genuine alert about the mountain
lions of Sabino Canyon. Mountain lions!
There had been sightings recently, the alert
informed me. Multiple sightings. And these
were mountain lions who had apparently
lost their fear of humans. These “bad” lions,
the alert went on, could easily attack, and if
you saw one of the lions while hiking, you
were urged—assuming you were as yet
in one piece—to contact the forest rangers immediately. A further inquiry at the
information desk made clear that the alert
referred to sightings this week.
What is the native New Yorker, an indoorsman, to do with this information? He has
some skills in the great outdoors: The native
New Yorker has a cell phone, and assuming
that there is cell coverage in a canyon, he is
willing to telephone for help. The native New
Yorker knows how to beat out someone else
for a cab. And the native New Yorker can maneuver expeditiously on a crowded sidewalk.
Maybe it’s not quite as bad as it sounds.
I did live in the Connecticut suburbs during
my elementary school years. There were frogs
in the stream that ran alongside the street.
There were vacant lots at the end of the road
rich in maple and birch. And for a year or so
in the early ’70s, I was even a Cub Scout. This
was very outdoorsy. I learned to tie a few useful knots. I carved some twigs with my Swiss
Army knife. I built a couple of campfires. My
mom was den mother, and she was an easy
mark in the promotion of Cub Scout badges.
This experience lasted until, in true suburban
fashion, my parents divorced, and my mom
returned to the workforce.
However, my scouting experience failed
to prepare me for the alert. The mountain lion
can jump 20 feet in the air and go from zero
to 35 miles per hour in just a few bounds. The
mountain lion likes to crouch above rocky
outcroppings and wait for prey. (Sabino canyon is composed of almost nothing but rocky
outcroppings!) Is the mountain lion following
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you? Is the mountain lion poised nearby, with
hindquarters quivering? Please do not bend
over and expose head and/or neck! Inform, if
you are able, rangers immediately!
Most people that day were opting for the
guided tour in the van, and they were not
only comfortable, they were safe. I hiked
anyway; with an eye on every outcropping.
Why? I don’t swim with great whites, nor
do I sled in polar bear country, but in the
great Darwinian competition for the West,
I vote for the mountain lion over, for example, another strip mall or another Circle
K. In fact, I’ve got a friend from Wyoming
who sends me news accounts of mountain
lion attacks; and while I feel badly about the
victims and their families, I feel good about
the mountain lions. They are performing to
type, proudly. And if that means they are
getting too acclimated to the mansions at
the edge of Sabino, doesn’t responsibility
for that lie equally with Arizonans?
Esperero, the trail I took, goes up and down
into washes and tributaries of the canyon, and
if I didn’t actually meet any of these “bad” lions,
I did try to imagine standing still and yelling
at them to stave off the first exploratory bite.
If I don’t have the jagged scar to memorialize
a close encounter, I do have the yellow mountain lion alert. I haven’t recycled it yet (though I
might). But I sure have recycled the story. ✤
Rick Moody is the author of The Ice Storm, Purple America, The Diviners, and other works.