The Raven Squirrel Smores Battle Of Campsite H8
On my recent expedition to Banff National Park I had the absolute pleasure of staying in the Tunnel Mountain Village Campground which is ran by Parks Canada. The awesomeness of that place is so grandiose that I am saving all of my best glowing adjectives and thoughts of complimenti-ness for a review post in the near future. Let's just suffice to say that I am inordinately fond of that particular place on the planet.
We traveled to the campground with our friends and their children. They had a 36 foot fifth wheel that could sleep us all, but the size of our party dictated that we must reserve two campsites. Thus, my husband and I decided to sleep in a tent at the second site, H6, that was directly across from the fifth wheel's site. There might have been a couple of reasons for this decision. If you had the option for dwelling alone in your own space with your partner or the option of sleeping on a fold out bed between the kid's bunks and the bathroom, which would you choose? I mean, a broken clock is still right twice a day so I figure my life-stressed gray matter gets a neuron cognitive connection correct in the reasoning department once in a while as well!
Husband of GK and I were tucked in our military sleeping systems for the night and listening to the sweet sounds of our slightly inebriated neighbors dealing with their three toddler and infant children. The sound of other humans dealing with such trials along with the fresh alpine air brought about a dreamless deep sleep of absolute refreshing bliss. The last thing I heard before drifting away was: "No Jenny! You cannot eat that! DALE! She is trying to eat the elk turds again! Do something!"
Bears are a pretty big talked about deal in the campground, and management takes campsite vigilance seriously. The camp hosts were dead serious about how you should keep your food and scented items properly stowed away and that wildlife does and will wander through the campground. Les Animaux presence was welcomed by me as I grew up surrounded by a plethora of bears, and was looking forward to spying a few familiar feelings inducing sights. That said, at around 5AM I was awoken to this shredding sound directly behind my tent.
I lay in my sleeping system quietly and listening to the building ruckus. Like many campgrounds across the North American continent, there was no shortage of squirrels. I kind of like the little floofy-tailed creatures. This feeling of fondness stems mainly from their ability to project their feelings through a series of noises that more times than not elicit a belly laugh from yours truly. The repeating wail that emitted from the squirrel behind my tent was as anguish filled as a romance novel heroine who just found out that her rogue hero didn't understand her deepest feelings the way that she thought he should. The volume of drama-anguish emitting from that little creature reminded me of a C-Span segment in the House during a debate on education funding. I could almost hear it saying, "It's for the children!" The hurt feelers were real!
Another squirrel lifted it's voice to the cause and by the amount of rustling that shredded through the shrubbery behind me I could tell that it was tornado-ing around the neighboring campsite in offended rage. It was then that I became aware of another player in the unfolding scene.
As a kid I lived near a town that was named after the sound that a raven makes: Klawock. You got to hand it to Tlingit tribe, they nailed that one! One of their elders used to bring us Tlingit art coloring pages to school and tell us tales about Brother Raven. This particular brother was acting a bit more like Rodrick off of Diary of A Wimpy Kid than St Francis of Assisi. Ravens also make a clicking sound when they communicate, and I am reasonably sure that it proceeded to call the two squirrels something that should probably never be uttered in polite company, let alone a Canadian campground.
The cacophony was ratcheting up in volume, and the two animals that I knew were out there were increasing in their"we are offended" volume. I was just lying there in an amused state when I heard a ripping sound that I just couldn't believe was emitted or caused by a small animal.
Hmm. I thought to myself, was there a bear out there? I didn't smell one, and they tend to make a lot of noise, for they are one of the least self-aware animals that I have ever met. They would not be welcome in a Jane Austen fan fiction novel scene. The ripping and shredding increased, the squirrel's agonized volume elevated, and the ravens were snap, crackle, and popping out mad rhymes with sick beats of their wings as an accompaniment.
Curiosity finally got the best of me, I left the warm cocoon of my sleeping bag and crept to the tent door, I slowly unzipped the door and stepped out to peer around the corner. I am not ashamed to admit that I woke my husband up with my laughter upon spying this scene:
The parents of the needy and busy small humans had left all of their smores making supplies out on the picnic table. The first thing my eyes spied was a raven hopping up and down with one end of a marshmallow bag in his beak. The other end of the bag was grasped by the greedy paws of one squirrel. Another squirrel had a chocolate bar and was running from another raven like he was on an a wildlife episode of COPS. Yet another raven was jackhammer-like pecking a box of graham crackers while yet another squirrel was calling the large thieving bird every obscenity uttered in the movie Logan all at once. I swear the thing was shaking it's fist. My laughter increased and the animals were so engrossed in their smores rave melee that they didn't even notice my mirth and mockery.
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