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Puma
grew up in the wide open space of Camp Pendleton on the southern end
of the coastal range. He had inherited his realm from his father who
was killed by a rancher at the edge of the military preserve. Puma's
kingdom extended 150 square miles and was home to three females, each
roaming about 60 square miles, slightly overlapping into each other's
hunting grounds. In the last few years, open land was more and more
fragmented by the poorly planned development of Southern California.
Puma's
vital space was getting smaller, so the magnificent hundred-pound lion
began exploring north. One day he found himself in the upper reaches
of Coal Canyon. That evening in the falling twilight he slid along rapidly
toward the east end of the barranca. In the gathering semidarkness he
became an indiscernible shadow gliding through the chaparral.
As
night fell he reached a narrow ledge overlooking the freeway. Heavy
traffic could be seen and heard from his vantage point. The star-filled
sky faintly illumined the undisturbed wilderness beyond the frightful
flow of roaring machines. He watched motionless for about an hour, then
without a sound moved cautiously to a rise closer to the freeway and
sat there watching cars go by for the rest of the night, afraid, waiting
to make his move.
Puma's
ancestors had hunted this wilderness for centuries among grizzly bear
and countless deer, antelope, and other wildlife. Mountain lions coexisted
with early men who gathered acorns in the dense oak forests and went
hunting and fishing here.
As
he waited by the freeway, ancestral memories dissolved into his recent
trauma. When searching for broader hunting grounds, he had wandered
into a cul-de-sac and climbed a shady oak tree in a well-manicured backyard
to rest. He watched a man scurrying into the house looking very much
like prey. Soon after, steel monsters with flashing red lights appeared
and beamed fiery eyes at him from all sides. Puma was stung by a large
flying needle and stunned. He fell from the tree, growled once, then
foundered into drowsiness and sudden sleep.
Puma
awoke sick and alone in the chaparral. He roamed hungry, thirsty and
disoriented over unfamiliar ground. He entered a deep canyon and came
to a place where the wind could not reach and all was hush and peaceful.
A narrow stream opened into a quiet pool. He crossed a small meadow
and stopped by the side of the pool. With drooping head and half shut
eyes he lapped the cool water.
Beyond
the pool the land rose gently, covered by a blanket of green, velvety
grass. A cottontail moved. Puma froze and his body slowly sunk low to
hug the ground as his muscles vibrated with new life. On the slope blossoms
of manzanita wafted their spring fragrance. The air was sharp and light.
Butterflies drifted from shadows to sunshine like fluttering spots of
color. Puma could hear the drowsy hum of bees as his gaze stayed locked
on the rabbit who moved from morsel to morsel unaware of the ominous
presence. Occasionally the rabbit froze and its long ears quivered,
monitoring changes in the bubbling sound of the stream. Carefully, in
small spurts, it gradually moved around the pool, closer and closer
to the great, motionless cat. For an instant the rabbit's head lifted
and tensed with eagerness, trying to capture the almost inaudible sound
of a beating heart. In that instant the king bolted and leaped, his
deadly jaws breaking the small prey's back.
Food
and sleep restored Puma to full vigor. His sharp instincts returned
with the first whiff of a female whose irresistible scent he began to
follow along the narrow canyon until he reached the freeway. She had
successfully crossed the wide river of roaring lights and established
her range out there in that unexplored land beyond.
Puma
was now on the rise at the edge of the canyon, patiently waiting for
his chance to cross. In the chilly hours of the night preceding dawn
the traffic died down. With the first light of dawn a soft coastal mist
covered the wild hills like a veil. Every fiber of Puma's being was
impelled by his mating instinct to cross. A primordial perception quickened
his heart, the lure of virgin land, essential space, where he could
be all he was meant to be, a king mighty and free. There were no moving
lights out there, no deafening roars to shatter the starlit, musical
silence of the night.
He
patiently observed the traffic, slowly gathering the courage to cross.
Twice he rose to make his move, but thunderous speeding trucks made
him squat again. He must act soon while the shadowless dawn made him
indiscernible.
As
the first colors appeared causing the stars to shyly go into hiding
one by one, Puma, with pounding heart, cautiously tread onto the moist,
silent asphalt. He was past midway, almost on the other side, when he
heard the roar and saw the brute lunging at him out of the mist with
lightning speed. Screeching tires. An aborted leap. The deadly thud
of impact. He was violently hurled through the air and fell in the dirt
of the roadway's shoulder where the open land began. The dark killer
swerved to a grinding, squealing stop, leaving long sinewy tracks on
the pavement. Its driver dashed out, cursing. Then, recognizing the
lion, he approached cautiously and stopped at a safe distance to watch
the broken creature drag itself in dreadful agony into the safety of
the chaparral.
Now,
concealed by dense bushes, Puma listened to the machine's roar fading
in the distance until there was only the sound of his own heartbeat.
Torment choked his being. The fragrance of the spring breeze mixed with
the mating message was still there. He inched further amidst the shadows,
entering the morning of his last night. He stopped to vomit blood. The
innocent feral heart stemmed beating for a moment. The last call of
the wild stirred his wonder-filled memories, blending with the impermanent
silence of a desecrated land. From this imperfect refuge Puma entered
the timeless hunting grounds where the wind is an eternal caress and
the only roar is that of the immortal lion.
Who
can explain what makes human hearts insensitive to the splendor of the
earth, what blinds human eyes to beauty, what prevents human ears from
hearing the song of nature? This terrible disorder of the soul is a
menace to all life. This nameless fear that separates many from the
earth must be finally overcome.
From
the oceans, the mountains, the valleys, the forests, ever louder comes
the last call of the wild reverberating beyond the limits of the solar
system. A haunting, mighty appeal to save the very source of our humanity:
wilderness, where it all began, where what lies behind life itself can
be contacted. The last call of the wild is a mighty invocation of life
longing for itself.
©
1996, Aldo and Viktoria Vidali.
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