Lunch with a Hiker

The loud clanging of heavy machinery woke me up, followed, as if that wasn’t disturbance enough, by gunshots echoing through the upper reaches of San Antonio canyon, where I nest. I was just a hatchling when the humans started reconstructing the lodge at Manker Flats, seems like half a lifetime ago, so you’d think I would be used to the noise, but not so. Relaxing is not exactly a sparrow’s strong suit, and a good thing too because being nervous and twitchy is tantamount to survival in these parts; what with all the prowling, slithering, soaring predators out there, you have to stay alert, always on the move. Anyhow, I flew off before the first report faded into the alpine forest. I drifted past the parking area, straight up the eastern slope of the canyon, riding the gentle and warm morning breeze rising from the valley. I crossed the ski lift service road, vaguely following the path of the ski hut trail that snakes up the canyon towards the Baldy bowl. That’s where I nearly bumped into the hiker.

He was standing in the shade of a giant incense cedar, wiping the sweat off his brow, breathing heavily. Good thing his crimson shirt and ultramarine hat were hard to miss or I might have literally landed on him. Another reason why you can’t and shouldn’t relax out here; you never know what kind of obstacle is going to suddenly obstruct your flight path. After a swift bank and dodge maneuver, I hid on a branch above his head. Nothing like a bird’s eye view, in case you need to make a speedy escape, to stay ahead of the game or, as in this case, to spy on feeding opportunities. He unshouldered his backpack, which sent me scurrying further up the tree. I’d witnessed this kind of behavior before and it held great promise, so I decided to hang around, at least for a second. Sure enough, a moment later, the hiker extracted a bag full of trail mix and started munching. He was sloppy, dropping all kinds of crumbs around him. Even though I hadn’t had breakfast yet, I perched and watched patiently. When he finally proceeded up the trail, I dove down to where he was standing and I had myself a feast. It was the kind of homemade mixed bag full of nuts, a bit hard, dried fruit, yuk!, chocolate nibs, oh yeah!, and seeds, jackpot! Man, I liked this guy, he didn’t go for fruit, or worse, those protein bars that caused havoc in my digestive tract. Now, if only he’d included millet. My kingdom for some millet!

If you predicted that I followed the hiker with the scarlet shirt, you predicted right. Wouldn’t you? I mean, talk about a meal ticket. I knew that, by scavenging off of human sloppiness, I was upsetting the ecosystem. I should be breaking my wings  and scratching my beak pecking for seeds in my natural habitat instead, but here’s my theory on the subject: they ain’t going nowhere. They, meaning the humans, the carnivorous bipeds. In fact, from what my folks told me, whose folks had told them, and so on for generations, they are slowly but surely multiplying. Like it or not, they are becoming part of the natural habitat, at least for the time being, and as long as they’re being naturally wasteful, why shouldn’t I reap the benefits? I suppose you could make the argument that if they keep coming, they’ll eventually chop down so many trees, we’ll be fighting for a safe place to nest, like my sister and her flock whose home was felled when the park rangers crew built their new outhouse. She never misses a chance to excrete a load of uric acid on those shiny cars in revenge. She’s quite militant, understandably, and likes to warn anyone who will listen about a future of concrete, electric cables, air thick with lung-corroding particles, and fat, domesticated cats who’ll swipe at you just for fun. I have to admit that, judging by the stories our city cousin Tweetie tells, making a living in close proximity to throngs of men sounds like a nightmare. It shows too. I mean Tweetie looks sickly. Must be the diet. But I digress.

The only downside to this whole uphill journey with the hiker was that it took forever. He stopped three more times, but only to drink, and admire the views. I felt like telling him to hurry up, the real payola was the three-hundred-sixty degree panorama at the Baldy summit. On a good day, you could see as far as  the jagged contours of the Sierras to the north, Catalina island to the south, and the imposing figures of San Jacinto and San Gorgonio to the southeast. You should see what it looks like from up here!

He did finally manage to drag himself to the plaque that marks the summit. There, he snapped a picture and collapsed behind one of the stone walls that protect hikers from the often windy conditions. I found a thorny scrub a few feet away to hide under, and waited for scraps, playing it safe.  From the many sounds he was making, I gathered he enjoyed his lunch. He took a sip of a steaming liquid and burped loudly. I darted deeper into the bush. I wasn’t alone.

There was a fellow sparrow a few hops away. He was bulkier than me, but I wasn’t about to let that intimidate me out of a gourmet meal. I sprang towards him, tweeting as ferociously as I could, channeling my interpretation of feline aggression. He took flight. I turned my attention back to the hiker.

The man had put away his lunch and was scribbling in a sketchbook. He was sprawled on the dirt, and both his arms were totally absorbed in the activity. I decided to test the waters and hopped cautiously into the open ground that separated us. He glanced over, but paid me no mind. What could he be so absorbed in? After all, the Mount Baldy summit earned its name from being just that, a bald, rocky hump, not exactly a fit subject for great art, but what do I know? I spotted some bread crumbs that had conveniently rolled over to where I could reach them without being within the hiker’s reach. This was way out of my comfort zone, but I was thinking about the big guy I’d just scared off who was bound to return, and the tedious flight up the mountain. and the chocolate nibs. I had to go for it.

The hiker turned his head towards me. I froze. He froze.

“Hey buddy.” He said.

I could tell by the pitch of his voice he meant no harm. I scanned the dirt and pecked rapidly, like there was no tomorrow. He turned his sketchbook slightly towards me. That made me skip back a few hops. Skittish and nervous, that’s how you survive out here. He started scribbling again, looking up and down from his book to me in quick glances. That threw me off for a second, but I couldn’t see the harm in it. I pecked some more but then I got curious. I lifted off and was immediately swept away by the wind.

“No, don’t go!” I heard his voice receding.

Quick as a dart, I caught my balance, spread out my wings to brake and redirect, and soon escaped the wind gust.

A moment later I flew over the hiker and caught a glimpse of his work. As I suspected, there wasn’t much to it; the spot is not a subject for great art, and this guy was no great artist. However, something stood out in the middle of the pencil landscape, which at first I didn’t recognize because it wasn’t in the view I had of the same landscape. The familiar shape consisted of a half a dozen pencil marks at best; two roundish balls, one smaller on top of the other, a thick stick, a flat leaf maybe, protruding from the side of the larger ball, while a short ‘v’ extended out of the opposite side of the smaller ball. The whole thing was greyed in except for a spot on the smaller ball, near the middle, where you could see the white of the paper, except for a dot, right in the center, like a bull’s eye, or what I should have recognized as a bird’s eye, staring straight at me.

I landed back under the safety of the thorny scrub, scanned the surroundings for other threats and, finding none, resumed my feasting. I was soon joined by the hefty opportunist I’d scared off earlier. I didn’t say anything; there was plenty to go around. Unperturbed, we filled our bellies accompanied by the comforting, rhythmic, relaxing rumble of human snoring.

 

Walking Project 129_lunch with a sparrow – Mt Baldy from chris worland on Vimeo.