Pedestrians and Peccaries

My morning walks up to the summit of Mule Pass have taken on an almost ritual aspect; an early morning trudge up to a whitewashed stone wall that I must physically touch in order for the exercise to be complete. The wall overlooks the western half of the pass, and about 400 feet below one can see cars entering and exiting the tunnel that connects Bisbee with the rest of the world. Some mornings I pause to take in the scene, but more often I simply touch it and perform a smart about-face to begin the descent home. A troop of regulars joins me in this ritual. About a dozen people perform the same walk every morning and every morning, depending on the time, I greet them going up or coming down the roadway. About two weeks ago I had a message to convey along with my salutations.

Javelinas (or peccaries) are pig-like animals that apparently find the Mule Mountains ideal habitat. Not really related to pigs, these tusked animals move in small herds which include large boars, smaller sows, and the cute little piglets that are generally born during the months between November and March. The boars can get pretty big, and with the ridge of stiff hair that grows from

their backs, they can appear to be a formidable adversary for any human that might come upon them. Apparently they do well in urban habitats, and they have been known to hang out in the suburbs of Phoenix and Tucson. The herd I stumbled across two weeks ago consisted of about ten individuals, who crossed the road not more than fifty feet in front of me as I stopped to observe them. Hardly a grizzly bear encounter, but I still felt obligated to inform my regular walkers who I met going uphill that the animals were ahead for them going down. The same thing happened to me last week, only this time I counted eight and had a walking stick in my hand, a precaution that I adopted after the first incident.

What is totally weird is what occurred last night as Jayne and I sat on our front porch. Jayne heard a rustling in the bottom of the concrete drainage culvert that runs between the house and the street, about twenty feet below the level of our porch. When we looked down to see the origin of the sound we saw yet another herd of these creatures stealthily emerging from the connecting draining tunnel into the main channel where, I am sure, they were lured by the vegetation and few stagnant pools of water that have remained into these warmer months. It was a fascinating reminder of the wildness that exists beyond (and sometimes within) the limits of this town.