Gone...

The baby birds are gone. The red jaguar is also gone. Yesterday I checked the trap again, and found a very young raccoon in it. (Although I took a picture of Mr. Procyon, the camera obviously malfunctioned: the picture wasn't on the SD card when I went to upload it here.) I released the raccoon at the same spot where I let out Didelphimorphia. I wanted to double check on the three hikers... if the red jaguar had still been there, I was going to at least call the park rangers and advise them; those three chicks probably weren't saavy-enough outdoorsmen (outdoorswomen) to have told anyone where they were going or when they'd be back. And since cell phones don't work back in the Madison Run ravine (that's why I always carry my ham radio) I wanted to make sure they made it out okay. Even though they were rude, I didn't want my conscience bothering me for leaving such three obviously-incompetent hikers out there in such a deep wilderness more than a day. But their car was gone, so I guess they made it out. Several people have asked: why did I put up with the abuse? Well, three things: first, I was hoping to get by them to continue my walk without having to brush past them or walk through the bushes... they were blocking my intended path. I waited, hoping they'd move and let me continue with my walk. Second, the entire thing played out in just a few seconds, probably less than half a minute. They'd apparently been discussing their situation for a while before I arrived. They were excited and hyperactive, and all talking at once, each sure she was right, and I really couldn't get a word in edgewise, and they cut me off pretty quickly. My experience with beautiful, sexy, well-tanned, well-toned, scantily-clad college women is that they have learned that males are primarily interested in one thing, and they can't comprehend that old men, even dirty old men, while finding that one thing still very interesting, can occasionally have their mind on something else, such as helping out persons who don't have a clue where they are. (I guess their frustration overcame their common sense that would tell them that someone else who shows up on the trail might possibly have a clue where he or she was, and how to find the parking lot!)Males have a reputation for not wanting to ask for directions, so I found it interesting that in this case, it was females, and each one of them was absolutely positive that SHE knew the right way and I guess it would have hurt her pride to admit that she might be wrong. I know at least one other female who displays this characteristic. And although I hadn't thought about it until my dad mentioned it, alcohol very definitely could have been playing a factor in their behavior. But again, it took me a lot longer to describe what happened that it took to happen. Third, ... well, ... um, to be honest, ... I was enjoying the scenery.