| Sandin Phillipson | | | | The fourth night, as dusk approached, I sat with the |
| The first Summer that I lived in Colorado provided | | | | window rolled down, waiting. After three nights in a |
| me with an opportunity to do some field work in the | | | | row, would the porcupine pursue his apparently |
| western Rocky Mountains. To reach my first | | | | insatiable lust for rubber? I was a trespasser in his |
| campsite, I followed a rutted dirt road along the bank | | | | territory, but I had my own goals to achieve. |
| of Hell Roaring Creek, and found a rocky path that | | | | Although not a charging grizzly, he had already |
| led to an abandoned mine. A cold, mountain stream | | | | demonstrated the capacity to leave me stranded in |
| gurgled and murmured within its narrow banks, at the | | | | the wilderness. I wasn't entirely pleased with what I |
| bottom of a narrow defile carved by furious erosion | | | | was contemplating because after all, the pistol was |
| to expose towering, jagged cliffs of maroon | | | | intended only for last ditch defense, the four-inch |
| sandstone on one side, and a more gently sloping | | | | barrel designed for a point-blank deterrent against |
| mass of granite on the other. By early afternoon, the | | | | in-your-face aggression, of either the four-legged or |
| maroon hills were softened by shadow, too steep to | | | | two-legged variety. I waited for dark. Then, |
| allow even the high Colorado sun to fully illuminate | | | | movement from the bushes as the giant porcupine |
| the bottom of the miniature gorge. I unfolded my | | | | slowly ambled into view. I gently shifted the revolver |
| double-burner Coleman stove, and placed it carefully | | | | into my right hand, my fingers pressing the |
| on the hood. As the twin burners hissed bright blue | | | | rough-textured rubber grip into my palm. My left hand |
| heat, searing mixed vegetables on one side and Dinty | | | | curled around my right in a gentle caress. With my |
| Moore on the other, I watched swallows dart after | | | | head motionless, and stare slightly averted from my |
| insects against the backdrop of the waning Rocky | | | | prey, I slowly brought both arms up and out in a |
| Mountain sunset. I basked, self satisfied, in the | | | | locked, extended position, aligning the short barrel |
| sounds of the gurgling creek, the ever softening | | | | roughly on the center-of-mass of the porcupine out |
| sunlight, lengthening shadows, and lilting, cool breeze. | | | | of the corner of my eye. With the trigger slightly |
| As dusk encroached, I settled in by flashlight with a | | | | depressed, my thumb found the gnurled, rough |
| Stephen King novel. I read, mesmerized as rain | | | | surface of the hammer and silently locked it to the |
| pattered on the roof and lightning flashed, | | | | rear. My eyes shifted along the length of the barrel, |
| momentarily revealing the churning mass of foliage | | | | aligning the sights. I began the slow squeeze that |
| around me and briefly illuminating the high cliffs, now | | | | would send the hammer hurtling forward on its short, |
| turned blood-black. | | | | inexorable course. |
| | | | The thunderous blast of the .44 Magnum exploded |
| After returning to camp at the end of a long day, | | | | off the cliffs a split second before I felt the familiar |
| during which the circling vultures seemed to take | | | | sensation of a fastball slamming home into my palm. |
| more than a passing interest, my thoughts were only | | | | As my eyes adjusted to peer through the smoke |
| of rest. Again just after dark, a scraping, rustling | | | | and gloom, I saw the porcupine scrambling back up |
| sound emanated from beneath my truck. I raced the | | | | the path, perhaps the first time in his long dominion |
| short distance to my vehicle, and a giant porcupine | | | | over this meadow that he had ever had to scramble. |
| rocketed from underneath. In the morning, I began | | | | No, I wouldn't leave a wounded animal, nor would I |
| to wonder why a porcupine would show so much | | | | repeat this debacle night after night. I leapt from the |
| interest in visiting my truck every evening. The idea | | | | truck and raced up the short, steep hill, feet |
| nagged at me, finally arousing my curiosity to the | | | | scrabbling for purchase on the loose, gravelly soil. As |
| point where I had to crawl underneath and determine | | | | I turned onto the path, there was the porcupine, |
| for myself what fascinations the undercarriage of a | | | | moving with amazing speed. I bolted after him, too |
| 1985 Dodge Ramcharger could hold. My amusement | | | | close to miss, my heart pounding with a mixture of |
| of the previous night quickly turned to shock as I | | | | blood lust and a desire to make an end of this awful |
| saw the frayed, inner cording of the lower radiator | | | | task. Another blast, like dynamite within the confines |
| hose, exposed where the rubber coating had been | | | | of the narrow gorge, and the .44 belched smoke and |
| gnawed away. Similarly, the rubber connecting hose | | | | flame enough for a line of musket-firing dragoons. |
| between the steel transmission cooling lines and the | | | | Quills flew and the porcupine dropped, twitching and |
| radiator had been gnawed to the inner wall. All three | | | | spent. One final blast for the coup de grace. I derived |
| fall belts had been gnawed through to expose the | | | | no enjoyment from the destruction of such a |
| thin steel wires. This was not quite so funny, and I | | | | creature, whose only sin had been an unnatural |
| suddenly was forced to consider myself in a | | | | craving for rubber, unfortunately at my expense, and |
| potentially serious situation, facing the prospect of | | | | ultimately his own. |
| being stranded in the middle of nowhere. | | | | |