On the Trail




 

 

Lessons from the seafaring tiger

After watching director Ang Lee’s visually stunning screen version of “Life of Pi” for the nth time, I still find it hard to accept that the Bengal tiger named Richard Parker is only a computer-generated phantom.

The tiger is portrayed so realistically that I cower each time the big cat takes a menacing swipe at poor Pi clinging to the lifeboat’s prow.

Shift the scene to the sedate suburb of Oak Park: There is a compelling metal sign posted along a paved, tree-shaded pathway that winds around the perimeter of one sprawling apartment complex. Printed in flaming red against a yellow background, the sign’s entire message is this:

“ Warning!!! Wild Animals!!!”

In nearby apartments, televisions blare; from the pool area, kids whoop in delight; and a friendly man walks by with his equally amiable “mini-doodle” dog named Barney.

Life goes on as usual, while unnamed wild animals lurk. No one I pass seems to have a case of the heebie-jeebies. I think of Pi, on relentless high alert with his accidental boat mate.

Only once have I found myself trapped in close quarters with a potentially lethal creature.

During a rough-and-tumble hike in the Zuma Ridge vicinity, I grew weary. Finding a clearing in the chaparral, I settled down for a rest in the warm sun, shucking off my shoes and socks.

What a sweet nap that was. I awoke refreshed, stretching my limbs and wriggling my toes. The sole of one foot brushed up against something cool and leathery.

There at my bare feet, gathered in thick circular pleats was a large, mature rattlesnake resting in the dappled shade of a buckwheat shrub.

As with Pi’s tiger, the rattler appeared to be making direct eye contact with me, but what it was communicating was beyond my comprehension. Had the snake been the intruder on my little mountain idyll, or had I blundered blindly into its lair?

In 30 minutes it was going to be dark. If the snake didn’t depart first, then I’d have to move my vulnerable extremity ity in order to extricate myself from this game of footsie with a venomous reptile.

Rattlesnakes discern the location of their prey via a temperature-sensitive device Nature implanted in their heads. Being slithery creatures, they are also highly attuned to ground vibrations.

Finally, rattlers are notorious for holding their ground and defending themselves when ticked off.

I didn’t stand a chance of talking my way out of the tense situation, but nonetheless I confided to the snake that I would be immensely grateful to not be bitten—much as Pi had implored that he not become the tiger’s last meal.

With excruciating slowness, I began to withdraw my foot. Sweat flooded my eyes, making the rattler and my toes a blur.

The snake remained alert and watchful but that was the extent of its reaction as I crammed my feet into my hiking boots.

An authentically wild and fearsome creature had granted me safe passage. I wanted to feel brave, even smug, as I started away.

Instead, I broke into a frantic run and never stopped babbling in relief until I was down off the mountain.

Glasser is a writer fascinated by the flora and fauna surrounding her home in the Santa Monica Mountains. Reach her at ranchomulholla@gmail.com.


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