Home at Last

It was a humid Pennsylvania night, not at all like the dry heat of the San Joaquin valley I had just left a couple days before.  I was finally home after three wild months hazing problem black bears in the Sequoia National Park in California.  I had my Scottish terrier Duffy on my lap, and my two best friends from college were sitting in the seat next to me.  My dad was driving, and Will (the best thing I brought home from California), was sitting shotgun with the spotlight out the window.  We’d seen a couple nice bucks out in the field, two definite shooters, and I was excited because Will, having never been farther east than Colorado, was getting his first real look at whitetails.  Duffy woofed and tried to jump out the window every time the light lit up the eyes of a deer, thinking that he was some beastly killer of a dog, when in reality he is just a little black scruffer.  We like to let him dream.  The night was winding down and spotting hours were near over.  My friends, Mill and Leslie, inhabitants of the booming metropolis of Pittsburgh, were loving the outdoor exposure they usually don’t get to experience.  They always sit in the back seat during our adventures, just hoping Cliff Cessna will show us something wild or impart some valuable wildlife knowledge.  So far, we had spotted a crick and spent several minutes watching a snapping turtle hunt for fish, and we even got to see it snap its neck out and grab a catfish in the blink of an eye.  But of course, no night of spotting with the Cessnas could end with nothing but a couple bucks and a snapper.  On the way down the hill, an opossum crossed the road.  I knew what Dad would do before he even stopped the car.  He jumped out, sprinted across the road, and made a crazy leap up the steep bank after the opossum.  He disappeared under the brush for a second, and then came out holding the wriggling, angry creature by the tail.  So much for playing dead.  Dad brought it over to the car window so we could get a good look at its sharp teeth and pale pink tail. He let us carefully feel the fur on its back, and then he gently let the mad marsupial go.  The girls were ecstatic, even though the ’possum had flung a bit of drool on them while trying to get loose.  Will had heard the tall tale that my dad had won my mom over by catching an oppossum on their first date, so he was excited to see the legends of Cliff Cessna vindicated first hand.  I felt like with this classic Cessna event, maybe Will had been officially initiated into Pennsylvania, and into the Cessnas.  It felt pretty good to once again be able to show my college friends a few of the wonders of the natural world.  And it felt pretty darn good to be back home at last into the wild world that made me who I am today.  Oh, and don’t try to catch an opossum yourself, they can carry rabies–dad has had forty five years of experience.

Welcome to my first blog entry, there will be many more to follow on anything from stories like this, to old childhood memories of a life in the outdoors, commentaries on wildlife in the news, and updates on my life in pursuit of a career in black bear management.  The most important part of this though is to pass on an understanding of the wonders of the natural world.  My family and I have been blessed with the oppurtunity to have an intimate relationship with the wild through both hunting and wildlife rehabilitation, and my dad’s extensive knowledge on wildlife has created a passion within me that I hope will inspire others to let their love for wildlife grow and perhaps even inspire people to take part in conservation.  Thanks for reading….bear hugs all around.  -Dani

Wildlife fact of the day:  Occassionally you will see a deer antler that has grown to have a knob with a round hole in the middle of it.  This is because a warble fly laid an egg in the growing antler before velvet was shed. (The Deer of North America, Leonard Lee Rue III)