Chapter Six – Porcupine
Hide and Seek
After
we’d gone to bed that evening it was sleepily silent in the cabin; the only
sounds being the familiar slow tide of Phil’s breath, and the occasional rustle
of my sleeping bag as I shifted position. A sudden noise made me start. The harsh
rasping sawed roughly through the dusk. The sound was alarmingly rodent-like,
but it was too loud to be a rat. I lay rigid as the horrible grating continued.
“Phil,” I whispered anxiously, hoping he wasn’t asleep,
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes," he replied.
“What
is it?”
“Probably
a porcupine on the porch,” he said, unzipping his sleeping bag liner and quietly
climbing down from the bunk above me. Knowing what was making the sound made me
feel calmer – that and realizing the creature wasn’t inside the cabin. I
recalled Phil mentioning that porcupines often frequent Topaz and Caribou Inn.
Quill pigs (Phil’s name for porcupines) are a nuisance for wardens because of
their tendency to gnaw on the painted wood of cabins and outbuildings. The
tin-reinforced privy door at Topaz, and the wire netting covered wood shed here
at Caribou Inn, attested to that.
As Phil put on his boots and laced them up, I unzipped my
sleeping bag as quietly as I could. I’d never seen a porcupine before and as
there was still light, this was my chance. I tiptoed across to the window
overlooking the porch and looked out just as Phil, dressed only in his boots
and boxers, burst out of the cabin brandishing an axe.
Just
as quickly, the porcupine scuttled across the porch, dropped onto the ground
and disappeared under the boards. I’d anticipated a small creature, delicate
and cute, but this was neither. A bulky, brown mass of long quills, it was disconcertingly
larger than my imagination had depicted. It was the size of a small dog but its
furtive movements were truly rat-like – the combination of rodent and pet made it
odd and repelling.
Not
having succeeded in chasing the porcupine away from the cabin, Phil came back
inside to wait for it to emerge from under the porch.
“The
pot-licker’s been gnawing on my pack boxes," he complained.
I
was now far too curious to go back to bed and watched through the window with
Phil.
When
sometime later there’d been no movement at all, Phil changed tack. Getting the
large flashlight and rake from the nearby tool shed, he crouched down at one
end of the porch. Shining the light underneath to check that the porcupine was
still there, he began poking the rake at the obstinate animal to try and make
it run out the other end.
It
was a good plan but I ruined it for during this time I’d gone to the privy and
as I walked back, the rodent, who was just poking his head out of the porch as desired,
saw me and quickly withdrew. Sensing he was on the verge of success though, Phil
continued poking around with the rake, as well as making a lot of noise with it
by knocking it against the underside of the porch. But apparently the thought
of seeing me again was worse than a jabbing stick, and the porcupine didn’t venture
out again.
Phil
didn’t berate for my poor timing, but he did assign me a job – joining him in
jumping up and down on the middle of the porch, hoping the porcupine would dash
out either side. Amazingly, despite the thunder of our boots on the boards right
above his head, the quill pig wouldn’t budge. It was probably having a good
laugh at our expense; certainly any hikers from the nearby campground out for a
late night walk would have.
I didn’t bother suggesting that we give up because I knew
as well as Phil that if we went back to bed, it would only be a matter of time
before the porcupine emerged from its hiding place and continued gnawing away.
So Phil implemented yet another plan. Again kneeling down by the end of the
porch, he used the rake to try to hook the animal by its quills. This
potentially messy plan yielded immediate success, but once the porcupine had
been dragged out it broke free of the rake and fled down the side of the cabin.
Still
clad only in his boots and boxers, and wielding the rake, Phil sprinted after
the porcupine in the dying light. It would have been hilarious if I hadn’t have
been a little freaked out by the sight of the porcupine as it moved in a kind of weird
swaying run like some horrible prehistoric reptile.
As
soon as they were out of sight I heard a nasty thud. As there were no
accompanying yelps from Phil, I concluded he had not fallen and as I had a fair
idea of what was happening I decided it was time I went back inside. I didn’t
need to add to the already outlandish scenes that had embedded themselves in my
memory – almost as firmly as the porcupine’s quills would have done in Phil’s
half-naked body if he’d tripped up while chasing it.
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