At first glance, California's wild regions can appear lovely and tranquil. But look a little closer and see how impressions of tranquility are nothing more than illusions.
Natural history writer Sally Carrighar spent years opserving the animals at SequoiaNational Park's Beetle Rock. Her 1944 book One Day on Beetle Rock tells the story of nine different animals whose paths interesect—sometimes violently—during a single day.
Spermophilus lateralis
A golden-mantled squirrel made the mistake of jumping over a log without stopping on top to see what was on the other side. He came down at the mouth of the weasels' den. . . .
The two fought back and forth across the granite. The squirrel was larger, the Weasel faster; in fury they were matched. Every breath of the squirrel was a shriek of rage and protest.
Mustela erminea
In this battle the Weasel must really spend herself. Now the two are together, now apart, streaking away side by side. Together again, they claw and hiss feverishly; their teeth flash and grope for each other. The Weasel has caught the squirrel around the haunches. All her attention is given to coiling herself around his body. She shifts her hold until it is more and more secure and her teeth can approach the base of the squirrel's skull. Finally she sinks them in a precise and fatal puncture.
Sally Carrighar wrote other books recording her observations of wildlife. They include One Day at Teton Marsh and Wild Voice of the North, each one a haunting mediation on the inner life and outer behaviour of the creatures with whom we share the earth.
Despite the high cost of real estate, Californians need a place to call home, including Californians who aren't even human beings.
In One Day on Beetle Rock, Sally Carrighar descibes the daily routine of various animals living in SequoiaNational Park. Here, she describes the coming of age of a Deer Mouse who has to find a home within the cracks and crevices of Beetle Rock.
. . .The Deer Mouse was more than a fluff of a little being. She, as well as any bear or coyote, must have her established place at Beetle Rock. Among the boulders, brush, and trees must be one cranny recognized as hers. The wrecking of her motherís nest had made it necessary to find her own niche and her own life, but she was ready anyway, to cease the play of a young mouse and become a grown one. Before her brother left, he had raced with her on the boughs of the manzanita, and she had loved the swift motion as fawns love to bound down a slope, or chickarees to leap from tree to tree. Afterwards she sometimes had run through the bush alone, whirling herself exquisitely half out of her senses, but now a different interest had stirred in her, an impulse that soft speed would not quiet.
One Day on Beetle Rock was Sally Carrighar's first foray into nature writing. Following it's publication in 1944, she received a Guggenheim Fellowship to do field-work in the Arctic and wrote several books about her experience.
We often take for granted how we divide our days into seconds, minutes, and hours, the tick-tock rhythm that runs our lives. But away from the clock, time flows to a different beat.
In 1943, Sally Carrighar published One Day at Beetle Rock, a day-in-the-life narrative set in SequoiaNational Park and told from the points of view of nine different animals whose lives intersect there. Here, Carrighar imagines how a
The swing of the earth had taken the deer's grove to the point farthest from the sun. It was midnight in time; was the Buck aware of time? Perhaps he was more aware of it than human beings are. Hours and weeks are not measured in the wilderness, but the life there is determined by the sun's days and the moon's months even more than is the life in cities. The Buck must also adapt himself to nature's smaller movements, to winds, clouds, the lengthening of shadows, leaves' growth, the rise and fall of streams. Being dependent on such delicate transitions, might he not sense a change when the ground beneath him curved no longer away from the sun, but towards it. . . ?
Carrighar published many other books and articles exploring the non-human world, making her one of the most successful nature writers of her time.
Cyanocitta stelleri, stellar's jay in Yosemite National Park.
Household cats are not the only feline bird hunters, for even wildcats like to pounce on feathered prey—despite noisy distractions.
In One Day at Beetle Rock, nature writer Sally Carrighar describes a day in SequoiaNational Park. Here, a wild cat stalks a grouse, but she only gets frustrated by the clamor of the grouse's neighbor, a Steller's Jay.
. . . a flake of bark hit the earth, and a scratching of claws. Oh, let that be a predator for him to berate! . . . A wildcat was climbing the tree. The sight of her was like a poison that exhilarates. The Jay screeched taunts at the cat, so vigorously that four more jays flew in from other trees. Each seemed to try and makes his cries the most shrill. As the cat climbed, the birds kept pace. The Jay took the lead. He flew towards the cat's face, apparently meaning to jab his long black beak into her eyes . . . his raids were brave-looking, impressive gestures. Anger flashed from the cat, from her very fur . . . It was useless to go on; the jays' din made it impossible to surprise the Grouse. . .
In 1944, One Day at Beetle Rock established Carrighar as an exceptional nature writer. She went on to publish ten other books, including her autobiography and a play.
below to hear radio segment.
