An evening with the animals Sometimes we writers are prone to take a bit of artistic license, but this story is totally true and all of it happened one recent evening. Sometimes it’s merely being in the right place at the right time. Always, it’s paying attention to what is going on around you, listening and watching.

We had gone to the Loon Center for an informative and well-presented talk on the state of loons in New Hampshire. The slides were beautiful, achingly so in light of the problems that common loons are having just staying alive and reproducing on our lakes.

Between PCBs and other chemicals (including the chemicals that make our clothing flame retardant), many chick eggs are produced with lethal doses. The result: sterile eggs that don’t hatch. And adult loons continue dying from ingesting lead sinkers. Although small lead sinkers were banned on New Hampshire lakes a few years ago, larger ones are still legal and many fishermen continue to use both large and small sinkers.

Just recently three loons on Lake Winnipesauke died from lead poisoning. To look at those stunning images and then think of the horrors of lead poisoning left us feeling very sober as we walked out of the building.

When we got out to the parking lot, we heard a great crashing sound, very close by. It sounded like something was tearing up entire dead trees for kindling. Using my feeble flashlight to search, I suddenly caught the flash of eyes moving rapidly up a dead tree. This thing was moving!

Just as quickly, the eyes began heading downward. I realized only a bear could be climbing that fast, breaking off dead branches with casual ease. It was climbing on the back side of the tree and moving its head from one side to the other.
 
Within seconds the bear was on the ground, and we decided it was better to be safely in our car than stand there attempting to see a large black animal with my little light. The tree was no more than 10 feet off the parking lot and I had no wish to be that close to an animal so big with very sharp teeth and immense claws. Quickly we got into the car and headed out of the parking lot. Between loons and bear, it had been a most interesting evening.

Hours later, at home and in bed, I awoke to an odd sound. Was one of the dogs upstairs with me and having a bout of backward sneezes? No, the snorting, snuffling sound was definitely coming from outside. The clock read 4:30; there was some light in the sky, but not much.
 
I walked over to the window and looked out to see two dark shapes in front of the garage. They were too small to be bears and they didn’t move like raccoons. I flipped on the outside spotlight situated at the far end of the house, and saw two porcupines. They sat there, snorting and snuffling and slowly moving around each other in a slow, stately dance. Clearly they weren’t hunting for food. That area is hard-packed, and we’ve never found holes dug where skunks or other animals have scratched for grubs. How strange.

In time the movements took them away from the garage and out into the driveway. Late August seemed an odd time for mating (I read later that porcupines mate October through December with the young born in early spring), so what were they doing?

While I watched, a little one suddenly appeared and waddled over towards the larger animals. It paused, watching for a few seconds, then turned around and waddled back under the hibiscus shrub. Finally, one of the adult porcupines turned and headed up the driveway with the second in pursuit, still grunting and snorting. Eventually, the little one gave up whatever it had been doing and followed along.

When I did some research the next day, I learned that porcupines are solitary creatures and when they do encounter one another, they become quite vocal (with snuffs and grunts and snorts), letting each other know just where the boundaries are. Ah, parent porcupine and visitor were probably having a little discussion about whose territory this actually was and who should be thinking about moving away. I assume the visitor left first, as I doubt a mother would walk away, leaving a stranger between her and her young one.

As I climbed back into bed that early morning, I heard the final animal visit of the evening: a barred owl began to call off in the distance: Who-who-awhooooo. A good night in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire.
 
By Susan M. Poirier, Master Gardener

Posted September 29, 2010