About that summer pledge ...

As I mentioned a while ago, I promised myself that this year, I wouldn't let summer slip by without noticing it. Which is to say, I promised myself I’d do a lot of totally summer-like activities. After last week's immersion in heavy issues, this seemed like an excellent time to pay attention to the summer side of my life. And this was the perfect week for it. 

To start the week, I went for a walk with a friend in Eldorado Canyon State Park (which is most famous for rock climbing). We had lots to talk about, but that didn’t keep us from appreciating what a swell walk it was. We saw great scenery—we were in the woods for part of the trail, in meadows for other parts, overlooking Boulder valley in yet other sections. Along the way, we also saw a few late-summer flowers, some early fall berries, and a lot of dry grass. Then, we were walking along the edge of a meadow when I spotted a doe lying in the grass maybe 50 yards away (or less?). As we were watching her, we caught sight of two fawns. They all watched us, ears alert, as we walked by. I wish I had a picture to share—this is the one problem with cellphone cameras: feeble range. 

Along the way, the trail passed through several cuts in the hills, presumably made long ago for railroad lines or wagon roads. They had clearly been blasted out, leaving the many layers of uplifted rock exposed. For those of you who aren't familiar with this area, Eldorado Canyon slices through the formation that makes up the flatirons, Boulder’s iconic rock formation. All along this formation, which runs north to south just in front of the Rocky Mountains, the rock is tilted steeply upward. (Red Rocks amphitheater west of Denver and the Garden of the Gods west of Colorado Springs are also part of this formation). So these cuts we walked through exposed now-tilted layers of rock that were initially laid down horizontally. A while ago, I had a great (totally amateur) interest in geology, and I learned just enough to spot some interesting patterns here. Like layers that had once been mud—probably a shallow sea—interspersed with much thicker layers that likely had been sand. Other sections revealed what had probably been sand, layered in opposing directions (called “cross bedding,” at least in Utah), suggesting shifting winds or a changing landscape a few geological eye blinks ago.

When we were almost back to the car, we chatted for a while with a park volunteer. He seemed especially eager to assure us that it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the signs made it seem. We had noticed (but hadn’t given much thought to) signs warning of the possibility of bears and mountain lions in the area, and just behind this volunteer stood yet another, warning us of rattlesnakes. In truth, neither of us was particularly worried. I’ve hiked in Colorado my whole adult life, and I’ve seen only one black bear (running away). I saw a rattlesnake once in Texas and once in Utah. I’ve never seen a mountain lion, although after reading The Beast in the Garden, I admit to some trepidation when I’m walking alone in rocky, brushy terrain. All in all, a great walk, totally befitting my vow to myself to enjoy the summer.

A couple of days later, continuing this week of outdoor fun, I went with another friend to the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keensburg. We knew from the website that the animals sheltered here—large carnivores, mostly—have been rescued from an assortment of abusive situations. Some are from circuses and carnivals where they were kept in small pens or trailers and let out only to perform. Some were owned as “pets” and chained in backyards or kept in small kennels until they got too big and were at risk of being killed. Some were raised to be killed for their fur or as "trophies." All of them have lived their lives in confinement and couldn’t survive in the wild. The Sanctuary likely saved their lives, and it then became their lifelong home. 

Arctic wolves

The sanctuary wasn’t quite what I had imagined—although my expectations actually made no sense under the circumstances. I once visited the San Diego Zoo, where the animals are kept in vast tracts of land with hills and trees and flowing streams, and the humans view them by riding in small trains around the property. That’s sort of what I had in mind. But this is the Colorado plains—flat, dry, short-grass prairie, toward the end of an exceptionally hot and dry summer. So, instead of trees, streams, and rolling hills, we saw flat, dry land with stubbly grass and a few cottonwoods. The enclosures, though, are acres in size. They're definitely small compared with running free on the Serengeti. But these animals hadn’t been captured on the Serengeti. And these creatures couldn't survive there anyway. I reminded myself that compared with where they'd spent their earlier years, this space was expansive and amazingly free. Given a choice, I’m guessing these creatures would pick this place in a furry heartbeat.

A pack of eastern gray wolves

The enclosures are really thoughtfully designed. Each one has several dens dug deep into the ground. The tunnel into each den is designed with a hump—it goes down, then up a bit, then back down before reaching the den. This up-and-down design creates an air lock so that cold air doesn't pour down into the den in the winter. Since the dens are buried about 6' underground, they stay at about 60–65° summer and winter—a necessity out on the plains where it can get well below zero in the winter and up to 100° in the summer. You can see the animals by walking along an elevated walkway that stretches about a mile from the visitor’s center, skirting large enclosures for black bears, grizzlies, cougars, wolves, tigers, lions, and some other creatures that we didn't see (they were probably inside; it was really hot out), like porcupines and foxes.

A lion family rescued from Bolivia

The family of six lions pictured here had all been kept in a 6 × 12’ trailer. The youngest, the small male closest to us in the picture, has deformed legs because he grew up unable to move around. Now they have acres of open space. Or, when it's hot, they can lounge around inside, like they're doing here.  

In a shelter at the end of the walkway (where we saw these lions), we had a long talk with a volunteer. We learned about what they feed the carnivores (frozen raw meet mixed with eggs, vitamins, and green algae); about how hard it is to get water for the animals and for the few “water features” they have around the place; about the dental and veterinary care the animals all get on a regular basis; about their funding, given that their annual budget runs in the millions (mostly small donations); and about how they introduce the animals gradually from solo pens to group pens to larger social groups, the packs or prides. 

Here’s one particularly interesting tidbit: Obviously, it’s important that these creatures not reproduce, so all of the males are neutered. All, that is, except for the lions. It turns out that neutering lions ruins their manes, and the mane is an important signal in the social organization of the pride. So to protect their social structure, instead of neutering the males, they put all the female lions on birth control—the implanted version, that is. Not a daily pill.

As I write, I realize that I had mixed feelings as I wandered around this place. It seemed, at times and in spots, sort of zoo-like, and I can no longer stand to go to zoos. Still, I do believe they are doing marvelous work, rescuing these creatures from the sort of awful treatment that results from our completely imperious view of animals. Some of the stories of creatures’ past lives are heart wrenching. It’s hard not to celebrate a program that puts an end to that. Even if it's not the Serengeti. And even if they can only do it for a few animals.

Which reminds me of a familiar old story, apparently based on the writings of Loren Eiseley, that seems like a fitting closing for this tale. This guy was walking along the shoreline, picking up starfish and throwing them out to sea. After watching him for a while, another beach stroller approached him to ask what he was doing. “Saving their lives,” he said. The watcher said, “there’s no way you can save all the starfish that wash up on the shore.” “No,” said the star thrower, tossing another starfish beyond the breaking waves, “but I just saved that one.”