Peacock’s Sabertooth

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There’s a feeling you get in Grizzly country when you’re passing too close to what looks like a perfect location for a bear’s day bed. Maybe a thicket of huckleberries, maybe an island grove of cottonwood with plenty of downed limbs and new undergrowth. But whatever it is, you stop in your tracks. Silent alarms are triggered, your hackles rise to attention, you forget to breathe.

That’s how it feels to come to the end of Doug Peacock’s latest book, In the Shadow of the Sabertooth: A Renegade Naturalist Considers Global Warming, the First Americans and the Terrible Beasts of the Pleistocene. The challenge he presents, vividly and unapologetically, of just how to respond to the effects of our long and brutal war against our own climate commands our focus and demands a decision.

Peacock’s writings, in one way or another, always elicit such a response. The difference is, in his earlier books, Grizzly Years and Walking It Off, the alarm is vicarious. One reacts to his harrowing experiences in Vietnam and close-calls with charging bears, or to his memories of walking the fine line between life and death in a southwestern desert or Himalayan snowfield. In this new book, the danger is not in his past, rather it’s in our collective future. And it’s a future so looming and imminent, that if we are to survive at all, we had better accept the idea that it is our present.

In the Shadow of the Sabertooth lays out the story of the great adventure of the first Americans in a visceral way that only a true American adventurer could. But more than that, it gives us the profound and desperately needed hope that we, today, can learn from our ancestors. That we can choose to preserve the one thing that can possibly sustain us through this current upheaval: wilderness, that primordial memory of our evolutionary success that Thoreau rightly addressed when he wrote, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” And finally, that we can heed the threat of the sabertooth lurking in the shadows, and once again rise to the challenge.

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Tips for Successful Hitchhiking

I’ve been working on a book that digs up my old tales of being on the road, and as a consequence, I started listing tips for hitching rides that I’ve learned over the years. Here’s what I have so far:

  1. Don’t wear sunglasses. As Polly, the manager at the Winter Park hostel, told me the first time I hitched, “people need to see your eyes or they won’t pick you up.”
  2. Smile, though not like a lunatic, drunk or psychopath (a tricky feat after several weeks on the road).
  3. A small pack helps: too big a pack and people will think it’ll be a pain in the ass to stow it somewhere, and no pack seems like you are completely itinerant or a recent escapee from somewhere.
  4. Signs help. A sign with a town on it makes them feel that you have a destination, a purpose, rather than just being an aimless wanderer (which you are, knowing that “not all who wander are lost.”)
  5. Sometimes, a sign that simply says, “Please” works well.
  6. Make your signs neat, so you don’t seem like a lost village idiot. Use fat markers for thick, even letters. Bring several colors and a spiral bound sketch pad to make new signs for each leg of the trip. Get artistic. A fun and creative (but still readable) sign tells the driver you will be a fun and creative person to have with them for a while.
  7. Your thoughts are easily read by the people in passing cars. If you’re thinking, “Come on, you fucking prick, give me a dog-damn ride!” they never will. “If you’re thinking, “Hi! It sure would be nice to get a ride with you” they just might agree.
  8. When they do pick you up, your first job is to assure them that they didn’t make a mistake: you’re not a psycho or wack-a-do. Smile. Thank them. Try not to be too stinky; if you are, crack the window.
  9. Most people pick you up because a) they used to hitchhike and want to relive the adventure, b) they’re bored and either want to talk or want to listen. Pick up on the clues and either be a good listener, or be a good storyteller. People crave vicarious adventure; don’t let them down. But just as importantly, learn when to just shut up and enjoy the ride.
  10. If no one’s picking you up, sing. “Crossroads,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” “Big Joe & Phantom 309” are obvious choices, but don’t forget “Get Together” by the Youngbloods. If you belt out, “Come on people now, smile on your brother” with enough sincerity, they will.
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Old Poems, Tucked Away in Dusty Corners of the Internet

Having work published online still feels very strange to me. The poems flash like a blip on a radar screen, then disappear into the dark ocean of too much information flooding our brains, eyeballs and computer screens. However, the poems are still out there, floating in minuscule life rafts, surviving on emergency rations and albatross meat. Here’s a map to the coordinates of some of mine that haven’t sunk yet. Give them a visit, they must be lonely.

Fragile Arts Quarterly

GlassFire Magazine
http://www.peglegpublishing.com/glassfire12/grandpascarecrow.htm

Pirene’s Fountain
http://www.pirenesfountain.com/archives/issue_03/current_issue/beaudin_marc.html

(Okay, this search surprised me by just how many have sunk. It used to be a much longer list. If you come across any others, let me know. Thanks.)

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