A Visit to Running Pig Ravine, and Other Tracking Stories

This week Native Eyes visited Venture, Gazos Beach, and our new stomping grounds just west of Cloverdale. We practiced observing and sketching animals at the retreat center, and learned more about reading the stories in the sand at Gazos. At the land west of Cloverdale, we discovered Running Pig Ravine.

We found many cool tracks in the beach sand at Gazos. Ravens in numbers were evident by their tracks, but conspicuously absent in person. Their short trails described their society of thieves and luminaries in sometimes baffling sentences. Raven phrases were punctuated by hard two-footed landings and wing impressions in the sand. At one point we found a surf-rounded rock that had been partly dug out of the sand, the surrounding beach positively boiling with raven tracks. Another look at the rock revealed that many pointed bills had dug out the sand around it -- or perhaps just one very determined bill. Why?

Coyotes also wrote their crisscrossings in the sand. Some of our instructors have been visiting Gazos regularly, and have been keeping tabs on "Lopsy," the coyote with lop-sided feet. Most canids seem to have pretty symmetrical feet, but Lopsy shows strikingly asymmetrical tracks with the heel pad squooshed to one side and the toes almost as asymmetrical as a cat's. Lopsy had been one of the more recent canid visitors to the beach, and we spent much time journaling the tracks. I also found these nifty bird tracks crossing one of Lopsy's trails. I love the arrangement of toes.

We also received a visit from one of last year's instructors, Will Scott. He's much missed this year, because he's taken his nature connection know-how on the road with a project called Beyond Boundaries. The Beyond Boundaries blog chronicles their journey. While he was back in the Bay Area, Will took some time to sit with us and listen to bird language, track the beach, and take a tour of the land west of Cloverdale.



When we arrived at the land west of Cloverdale, we broke up into hunting parties to search for pig sign. We started by considering wild pigs and their habits, and profiling the type of habitat that we were most likely to find pig sign. We divided those spots on the landscape up between our three parties, and were off.

Another woman and I first set off together, deciding to have an all-female group. One other man from a group of four ran after us, wanting to join up. "Alright, you're an honorary woman for the day," we shouted back as he ran to catch up.

We set off over the bunchgrassed mesa, walking over land uneven as a cobbled river bottom. Vole runways, bobcat latrines, bird kills, and badger digs abounded, and we did our best to stay focused on our porcine quarry. Our first find was still in sight of the driveway: a huge turd, easily two inches in diameter, composed of mostly brown shells and some grass seeds. We grinned at eachother. Our first pig sign?



We tried to beeline for an irrigation pond that we knew to be at the bottom of a big ravine. Beelining is never really possible in land cut repeatedly by east-west gullies, full of tangled coyotebrush and poison oak. We finally reached our ravine and began testing the edge of the tangled chaparral that guarded the way down.


We were about to give up finding a way, when we heard a snort and the snap of a thick branch. We sent one of our party down through the tangle, while the rest circled the lip and looked for a way further downstream. As our scout scrambled down, we heard the whip and snap of brush up the other bank, and long pampas grass waved at the passage of something large. The animal charged uphill and revealed itself on the opposite lip of the ravine: a massive, round-rumped swine. She (I think it was female, because it wasn't as large in the forequarters as the boars I know) was much larger, rounder, and generally fatter than the pigs pictured here. I pulled these photos from Wikipedia to illustrate the general look of wild pigs: big triangular ears, shovel-shaped head, and burly build. She ran so fast, and so far, that I could not get a serviceable photograph.



We eventually did find our way down to the pond, and what should be waiting for us, but a skull? It was big, shovel-shaped, and burly. We were stoked.



The skull lay under a tree by the pond, in a bed of dead pampas grass curls. We searched for a while to find the tusks, but were unsuccessful.





We clambered over the tule fringe of the pond, through blackberry vine tunnels, and over a raccoon-latrine log to finally make our way into the willows uphill of the pond. Once inside, the willows opened up into rooms full of deer sign and raptor whitewash. Where were the pig wallows? We'd found scat, a live animal, and a skull, but we'd been tasked with finding wallows as well. And we wanted at least one clear track.

Our party divided up in the willows, each pursuing their own curiosity. A rustling in the brush, and one of our members called, "Hey where are you all?" We each answered. "You're not where I thought you were! I just heard something over there. I saw something black move behind the willows there." The image of a wild boar in the thicket flashed across my mind's eye, and the world snapped into crystal clarity around me. For that moment I thought, in a sub-verbal part of my brain, that a boar was still present and could charge us. My senses took control of my awareness and I froze, scented the air, and listened. The gold-tinted willow leaves rustled in the breeze.

After that frozen moment we converged to check out the siting, and found something putrid.



A tunnel ran through the blackberry, its walls and floor exuding a stench of urine and musk. We poked around a bit, but the smell was so bad that none of us wanted to stay. We snapped a photo of our honorary member, though, wearing a wig (thus showing more femininity) and expressing the putrescence of the tunnel.



Backtracking out of the willow, poison oak and coyotebrush tangle uphill of the pond, we paralleled the water and found many now-dry mudholes. This one was full of deer tracks, but the next held some incomplete pig tracks and lots of bristles.



We headed back to Venture with our day's trophy and lots of stories to tell.

Feast of the Ancestors

For this class we journeyed down south to Tunitas Creek Ranch. I was sick with a cold, gummed up sinuses and the sore throat from Hell, but I came along anyway – this would be our celebration of the Feast of the Ancestors (an Odawa or Ottawa tradition whose real name I can’t pronounce, much less spell, brought to us by Peacemaker Paul Raphael from the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians), and I didn’t want to miss it. The Feast of the Ancestors had never really been explained, just mentioned briefly, along with the phrase “I ate soooooo much” and similar comments. We arrived, as always, in the evening, just ahead of the oncoming fog.

We lit a sacred fire, made and tended by the men only, and made a circle for the celebrants around it. The Cultural Mentors had set a special section for “moon women,” women who are menstruating, to stay out of the circle but still participate. I’ve heard that the theory behind such separation in other ceremonies is that menstruating women’s energy is too powerful, and will drive away the spirits that the ceremony is intended to propitiate. I don’t know the significance of separation here, but I suspect it has to do, at the very least, with respect for the Odawa origins of the ceremony and their traditions. Men tend the sacred fire for a similar reason.

Tonight it was the staff’s turn to feast us, the students. They had all come with their ancestor’s favorite foods, and greeted us and feasted us like family. As the tradition goes, any one of the guests may truly be the host’s ancestor, returned to feast with the family for the night, so all who come are welcomed as relatives. By the end of the night everyone’s sides were aching with laughter. Coyote yips and wails echoed the human revelry longer into the night – they probably smelled all our good food. Or perhaps our teachers really are part Coyote, and their ancestors had returned to join the feasting.

The next morning, we rose before the sun for a bird sit. As we found our spots, Robins and Flickers called continuously in mild alarm, high in the trees and mostly toward the North and East. Flocks of small birds moved West, or South, but never toward the Flickers and Robins. Lone birds also moved in a general Southwesterly migration. The birds sang very little – only Black Phoebes, the most agile flyers, and Bushtits, well hidden in their thickets, sang unheeding of the “Tseep!” and “Clear!” of the Robins and Flickers to the Northeast. Partway through the sit, Robins and some Flickers moved further up slope, south, toward us and continued their alarming. In the thicket behind me, Juncos, Golden Crowned Sparrows, Bewick’s Wrens, and Wrentits started up an alarm as well, perhaps 10 or 12 feet high in general, and continued for at least 15 minutes. Then the Robins and Flickers moved on a little ways South, and the smaller birds quieted, giving companion calls or feeding.


After breakfasting and bird-mapping, we set off to do some Cybertracking along the creek. We had no particular objective, but we knew that cougar sign had recently been found in the creek, and were excited to search for more. The first thing we came upon was an unmistakable cat sign – a scratching post. However, it was tiny for cougar, so our major suspects were bobcat or housecat. The slivers of the outer claw sheath that I found embedded in the shredded bark could have been the right size for either. The urine spot near the scratches was equally inconclusive.






Our next find was on a log stretched across the creekbed. It had been scoured clean of bark by the passage of water and animals, and on it’s smooth face, though there was no visible mark to show it, was a smudge of odoriferous deer musk. Apparently Blacktail and Mule bucks have scent glands on the insides of their hind legs that exude musk when the deer is in rut, and at this time of year the smell gets on everything the buck passes. A good sign to look – or scent – for.

We also came upon a very old carcass of a deer, mostly melted away into the creek bank. The skull was gone and the limbs twisted and haphazard, and no hide remained to show the method of the kill or the scavenging. One sign that was still present, though, was the ribcage with one side sheared clean off, like with a giant pair of scissors. Perhaps our cougar sign?

Under an overhanging clay embankment, we also found some unidentified rodent tracks. We discussed the gait, and length of the toes, the straddle and size, and the placement in the landscape. It was a toss-up between Norway rat (for the splay and shape of the toes and footpads) and chipmunk (for the size of the print and straddle, and the gait) What do you think? (Apologies for the blurry photos, it was an awkward spot.)

We continued up the mostly dry creek, until we came to a flock of Juncos fluttering and bathing in a still pool, and decided that instead of disturbing their afternoon bath we would stop for lunch and let the Juncos finish. As I ate, I watched a male dunk himself up to his neck in water and flutter wildly, spraying his flockmates and everything else in a two-foot radius, then hop out, his spiked feathers the envy of punkrockers everywhere, and with rapid wingbeats rise to the canopy to sun himself.

After the Juncos had all gone up to dry their feathers in the sun, and we had finished our lunches, we continued walking up the creek. Our next find was a small diameter tree covered with fairly fresh, long scratches, some on one side more vertical and some on the other side tending toward the horizontal, in sets of four or five that were about two and a half inches wide. Conversation ensued about whether the animal was climbing up or lowering itself down, and why such a large critter had gone up into such a small tree in the first place.

We came to a culvert, and climbed out of the creekbed. We headed upslope, to find the area where the coyotes had been calling the previous night, but got waylaid on the path discussing a track. Some thought it was more likely a cat (with somewhat long toes) some said it was the track of a “long-toed coyote” and others had other ideas. Eventually we found another track in the set, a far more obscure, but obviously five-fingered, left front track exactly next to the right hind track that we’d been discussing. The feint heel impression in the right hind track became clear, showing a five-toed plantigrade print with long fingers and short sharp nails. We also recognized this animal’s signature 2x2 gait, with right-hind foot placed next to left-front foot and left-hind foot placed next to right-front foot, and we had to revise our suspect list. With most of our group convinced finally of the animal’s identity, one still has to wonder… was it actually a long-toed coyote?



Jon was at the fire circle when we returned, ready to debrief our bird sit from that morning.
We discussed the patterns and various predator signatures. From now on, when we hear intense bird language like the junco-sparrow-wren cluster in the thicket that morning, we’ll get to go into thicket and find the creature that the birds were talking about.

Wednesday night was the second night of the Feast of the Ancestors. Each RDNA clan had a separate fire, where they were serving the favorite foods of the ancestors to all visitors. We were invited to join the instructor’s group walking from fire to fire, and were greeted and feasted, again, as family. The food provided was delicious, made most nourishing and flavorful by the family stories that seasoned each dish. By the end I couldn’t eat anything more, but I still went to the last fire to hear my classmates share their roots.