MIGHTY HOMINID HUNTERS

My friends who hunt with bows and arrows sometimes speak almost in poetic terms about the contest of wits between their ‘game’ and them. Unfortunately, a time honored tradition among hunters states that, “What happens in Elk Camp stays in Elk Camp” (unless Cousin Joe starts drinking too much and starts blabbing), so I’m a little sketchy on all the details. It is hard to imagine that bringing human weapons technology (state of the art carbon fiber compound bows, GPS positioning devices, two-way radios, house-size 4-wheel drive pickups and generous aliquots of ‘synthetic?’ elk urine) to bear on grazing herbivores can be considered a fair contest.

However, once, while in my canoe, I surprised a herd of elk coming to get water at the side of a lake and I’m pretty sure I caught the members of that highly organized gang “talking” to each other. The elk sentries, who hadn’t expected a threat to appear from the water, bugled a short series of commands in an efficient battle language, and suddenly the entire disciplined group simply vanished. Given this high degree of communal coordination, I figured that elk would almost certainly have an advantage in a battle of wits with me, even if I had an attack helicopter at my disposal.

Fortunately, a colleague at work (who has considerable biological expertise) sized up my capabilities and suggested a fitting challenge.

Me:
Arms: 2 (includes hands with fingers and opposable thumb)
Legs: 2
Brain: 1 (but it’s old and not as fast as younger brains – a scientific fact relayed to me by my younger colleague)
Offensive/Defensive capabilities (natural): Two eyes, a few canine teeth, fists, scratching or prying fingernails and three high school wrestling moves (one of which is an illegal head butt).
Offensive/Defensive capabilities (artificial): Clam gun, hip-waders, shovels, pot of boiling water, sharp knives and frying pans.

Clam:
Arms: none
Legs: none (but does have one foot)
Brain: none
Offensive/Defensive capabilities (natural): Can spit sandy water a foot or two, protective shell, good digger.
Offensive/Defensive capabilities (artificial): none

In this image, a clam taunts me.

Clam Slaughter Long Beach WA

Like some macabre gold rush, clam prospectors rape the beach of its natural resources. (…from the point of view of a clam anyway)




Through our species’ ability to share information, I am soon able to mimic my colleague’s effective clam capturing technique.

The ocean tries to cover the retreat of those few clams that still survive.

My colleague’s husband demonstrates that he is way smarter than a clam.

This human let his guard down for only an instant, and his clams made a break for it. He wrestles a handful back into their container.

The beach is pock-marked with craters, as if it has been bombed by a formation of Stratofortresses.

Then the real horror begins.

On the way back to Portland, I visit Cape Disappointment and its lighthouse.

The mouth of the Columbia – about seven miles across – and treacherous.

Dead Man’s Cove

Waikiki Beach

From the North Head Lighthouse, I watch a freighter cross the Columbia River Bar.

North Head Lighthouse

Seaside Thanksgiving

When I compare myself to Monkey-cam, the most striking difference I notice is that I seldom leave the house without pants. But the second most striking difference is a relative absence of bodily monkey-fur.

One line of thought suggests that in evolutionary terms, when we moved from sheltered forests to exposed African savannahs, we may have lost our fur as an adaptation to aid in heat regulation

But another line of thought entertains the notion that we very nearly returned to the sea like our mammal brethren – whales and dolphins – during some kind of aquatic ape stage. This would explain also why we cry salty tears and have a mostly dormant diving reflex – and also why I resemble Shamu when I try on wetsuits.

Maybe it also explains why the ocean is such a big vacation destination. Maybe in a way, going to the ocean is like going home.

Perhaps ancestral memories stir in the corridors of our subconscious and whisper of fantastic seafood smorgasbords...

... a magical place where we chase after animals that - it turns out - don’t have legs.

Did people ever really believe that the world was flat?

I wonder because when you see the sun sink below the horizon in the west, you have to wonder how it gets back to the east by morning. And what would the edge of the world look like? What would keep the water from running off? And wouldn’t people have noticed that the moon wasn’t flat, that it had dimension to it, and shading, like a round rock?

I wish I hadn’t been told that the world was round because I think I would have received a great deal of satisfaction if I could have pondered it for a while and figured it out myself.

Ghost birds under a full moon

Some twelve hours later… moonset.

With the return of light, the ghost-shift makes way for tangible birds

… mostly

…and evening’s nightmare trees are frozen in place - harmless

In a continuing campaign to conquer the earth, the ocean launches phalanx after phalanx in the first assault of a daily two-pronged strategy.

Aquatic monkeys find opportunities to play…

…and evolve

Crabs?

…not so much.

I saw this flower on Cannon beach, right about where the big haystack stands. Later, I found more of them at Hug Point, evidently part of the same bunch. Finally I found a bold message lying in the sand. It was spelled out in round pebbles - a command that said, ‘MARRY ME’.

Maybe it should have been a question?

A creek/river cuts its way to the ocean.

Looking southward across the expanse of Seaside Beach. In the background, Tillamook Head juts into the ocean.

There’s a kind of a river that cuts north through Seaside and then heads west toward the ocean just before it gets to Gearhart. I followed it to the edge of the ocean and watched it argue with the incoming tide for a time.

All the while, in the back of my mind, I kept picturing this ubiquitous warning sign.

In case of earthquake, I realized this would pretty much be the last thing I ever saw.

The full moon vies for attention at the Seaside community late Thanksgiving/Early Christmas parade.

And the ghost birds return, performing an exuberant crab dance well into the night.