"FUZZLES"

"There, did you see that? It moved."  "What?"  "That moss hanging from the spruce limb, it moved."  "Probably the wind."  "It's calm."  "Aw, come on your seeing things."  

They turned and continued to walk along the game trail.  We call the moss old man's beard.  It's fairly common here in southeast Alaska.  Most people hardly notice it.

Behind their backs, the moss came alive and scurried about on the branches.  Lively bearded creatures giggled to themselves behind the two men's backs.  

One of the men felt a sudden sensation to look back so he whirled around.  Nothing there, nothing moved.  He continued walking, but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

The little bearded creatures again joyfully scrambled over the limbs laughing to themselves.  The Fuzzles, that's what they call themselves, live in the Alaskan rainforest.  No one knows of their existence, no one that is except me, and the animals.

The instant humans enter the forest they freeze.  Just hair-like moss hanging from a limb.  No other human has ever seen them moving about.  I love to sit and watch them play in the branches.  The Fuzzles talk to me about their secret lives and giggle constantly.  Their lives are a continuous joke played on people.

Never take any of the old man's beard home.  Fuzzles love to play tricks on people.  Even when camping in the woods they will mess with your stuff.  Like when your knife wasn't where you were sure you had left it.  
I remember the first time I saw them.  I was hiding under a thick spruce tree heavily camouflaged moose hunting.  I had fallen asleep for, I don't know how long.  I awoke to soft noises and the flicker of movement in the trees around me.  I didn't move a muscle, just my eyes.  These little bearded creatures were jumping from limb to limb softly giggling.  
I said, "Hello, who are you, where did you come from."  Instantly they froze becoming nothing but moss hanging from the trees.  
"I know you're there I saw you.  It's okay, I won't hurt you.  Please come out and talk to me if you can."  Nothing...  "I know I look like a bush, but I'm a man."  
A soft voice, "We can't trust you.  Humans are evil.  They kidnap us and we hear them talking about making medicine out of our bodies."
I said, "Look into my heart.  If what you see is good then you will know."  
Silence...  Then a movement here another there. Soon the little bearded creatures started moving toward me.  
"Let us see you," a soft voice said.  I took off my camouflage and sat up.  Voices everywhere.  "Eeee it is a man!"  
"Please don't be afraid.  I want to be your friend."  
"But you're a human."
"Yes", I said, "I know you have no reason to trust me.  I guess I'm asking you to have faith that I mean you no harm."
I stood up and walked out into the open.  The Fuzzles froze and vanished into moss.  
"Please trust me," I said.  You're all so wonderful."  
I don't know how long I had been standing there when I noticed a piece of moss hanging off my shoulder.  I didn't move.  A while later another piece of moss was hanging off my hat.  Very slowly more pieces of moss began to hang from me.  
"See I won't hurt you.  I want us to be friends," I said.  
Whispers all around me.  Then a giggle.  Then a movement.  "We've never let a human see us before.  You must promise not to tell anyone."  
I said, "Don't worry no one would believe me, but please, I would like to write a little story about you for my grandchildren.  A make-believe story as if you didn't really exist."
It took me a lot of visits with the Fuzzles before they finally agreed to let me write about them.  Though they trust no other humans we have become close friends.  
They have shared many forest secrets with me that I will never tell.  You have no idea all the things you don't see when you walk in the forest.  It is a wonderfully magical world.  At least in my mind.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren                    

        

POEMS
by Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

OTTERS

I saw two otters swimming in a ditch.
One called the other a son of a...

They got into a fight,
But neither could win.
So they forgave each other,
And continued to swim.

PERSPECTIVES

I saw.
You saw.
We saw. 
They all saw.
Among them all they saw it all,

But no one knew just what they saw.

My Song of Africa

In the predawn darkness, I lie on my cot secure in my mosquito net; the smell of night lingering in the air.  I hear the sound of a large white blossom falling from the baobab tree next to my hut.  The low buzzing of bees hum from their hives in hollows of its limbs.  The dawn breaks as the sun leaps into the sky, shattering the darkness with unexpected suddenness.
The silence, as well as the darkness, is broken.  Sounds erupt.  Baboons, my ever squabbling neighbors, start their raucous chattering.  A warthog grunts as it leaves its burrow to start foraging.  I hear a leopard cough and the baboons send a warning through the bush that he is still on the prowl.  The giant baobab explodes with shrieks and squawks as dozens of parrots fly from their nesting holes.
Birds and monkeys add their voices to the sounds but through it all, I hear my song.  Every day, all day long, I hear the song of the mourning doves.  Their soft cooing cuts through everything and touches my heart.
I emerge from my cocoon and start a fire.  There is still a chill in the air, but it will soon be gone.  By the time I finish breakfast the day will already be heating up.  The song of the mourning doves is the only sound that will remain… What song of Africa will they sing for me today?
As head of security for Coutada 5, District of Machanga, Sofala Province, Mozambique, I started my day hunting poachers in the mopane forest of central Mozambique, about thirty-five miles from the Indian ocean.  As I moved through the bush I cut the trail of a Nyala bull.  I decided to follow the animal.  The grass was about a foot high with scattered leaves on the ground.  As I slowly crept along the mourning doves suddenly ceased their singing, the bush fell silent. I froze.  The song of Africa had stopped. It is as if the birds and animals were warning me something was about to happen.  Everything was holding its breath and watching.  My heart pounded as I looked around.  Then, as if it materialized from nowhere, there it was, three feet in front of me.  The sinister coil of a huge puff adder.  Its brown and grey leaf pattern made it almost invisible.  They hunted by lying await in ambush.  One of the deadliest snakes in Africa.  In another step, I would have been dead.
The puff adder was as big around as a man's arm and four feet long. 
As I eased back and circled around the snake I heard the Nyala before I saw him.  The snake had distracted me, ruining my stalk.  He was a nice bull, and with his horns laid back he ran through the thick forest with amazing ease.  In a flash, he was gone, but I was still alive.  Bush sense had saved my life.  That and my doves with their song of Africa.
In Africa, there is no such thing as being “at the top of the food chain.”  Everything, man included, is both predator and prey.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

BEAR WITH IT

Every winter I go with a couple of my grandsons, Caleb and Jesse, to run their trap lines.  They trap marten, mink, beaver, and wolf to supplement their summer income.  I guess I better say something right now.  If you don’t approve of trapping stop reading, lest you be offended by my story.
Okay, so we made some beaver sets in an area of heavy beaver signs.  The beavers had built several dams causing flooding of the forest and road that led into the area.  Our traps are the type that kills instantly, not the leg hold type.  The boys had found a place back east that would tan and shear them at a good price.  They want to make hats and mittens from the pelts.
The boy’s made three sets along paths the beaver had traveled. They use unbaited sets called blind sets.  The animal simply blunders into the trap.  We were in dense alder thickets with large spruce and cottonwood trees.  The beaver had felled half a dozen cottonwoods for food and the dams were an engineering marvel.
We waited a couple of days then went to check the traps.  It was early December.  This time of year the days are short.  Once into the forest visibility wasn’t the greatest, but we are used to that.  I carried my .375 H&H rifle, just to be on the safe side, you know like wearing a life jacket in a boat.  Grandson Jesse had a .44 magnum revolver and Caleb was unarmed.  By December the bears have normally hibernated so we weren’t concerned.
The first set was empty so we moved on to the next one.  It was fairly hard to get to so Caleb and I waited while Jesse waded the stream to check the set. We couldn’t see him or the set so were surprised to hear him yell, “Hey, we got a wolf.”  We took off for the set.  This was really good news.  Wolf pelts are worth a lot of money.  Suddenly, at the same time, Jesse started yelling and a bear started bawling.  “It’s a bear, we got a bear in the trap.”  What, no way we could catch a bear in a beaver set.
Jesse rejoined us very excited.  We were all talking at once.  I went on high alert.  Caleb kept saying, “I’m never coming into the woods again without a gun.”  We carefully approached the set.  Sure enough, there was a brown bear with its right front leg in the trap.  The trap was too small to hurt the bear, but he couldn’t get it off.  The trap was chained to an alder tree that acted as a fishing pole.  From the looks of things, the bear hadn’t been in the trap very long.  The bear was young enough that the mother could possibly still be around.  We were in a very dangerous situation.  My head was like a swivel looking in all directions at once.
After a short conference, we decided to go back to the car and call the Fish and Game Dept.  It took over an hour for them to decide what to do.  The final word came down, “If you think it is safe enough would you go back in and dispatch the bear.”  We didn’t want the bear to suffer all night or have a brown bear running around with a trap on its arm so we agreed to “dispatch” the bear.  That’s Fish and Game parlance for “kill it.”
On the trip back in we decided to make plenty of noise in case the mother was still around.  We had found out that the day before, in this area, a bear had chased a couple that just barely got back to their car ahead of it.  Anyway, we sneaked up on the bear, it had stopped bawling and just sat looking at us.  With a heavy heart we “dispatched” the bear.  The boys skinned it and are holding it for Fish and Game to pick up.
The story continues.  Several miles away we also had a wolf set.  Upon checking it we found that a brown bear had destroyed the set, stole all the bait and had a picnic.  The ground was all torn up where he had buried what he couldn’t eat for a later time.
I remind you this all happened in early December.  They’re supposed to be sound asleep by then.
Marshall Kimbrough-Warren