Yesterday Mr. P and I went hiking at the Blue Hills Reservation south of Boston. It was our first day of hiking since last October, and the 400-foot Blue Hills seemed a nice warmup of our dormant rock-stepping muscles before we head up to the 4000-foot White Mountains. I babbled incessantly as we trotted up and down the rocky terrain. Beautiful day, with abundant sunshine tempered by a cool breeze. About 1 1/2 mile into our 6 mile journey, we were descending a hill when we came upon a smooth, steep rock slab. I edged past Mr. P to plot my path down the tricky obstacle, when —
“Hisssssssss!” The noise in my left ear reminded me of an aggressive cat or snake, with a throaty malevolence that seized my body with panic. I whirled towards the noise and found myself less that a foot away from a pair of large, unflinching eyes staring boldly into my face. I screamed. I mean, screamed. If you think that you wouldn’t have screamed, then you are in denial about your humanness. I stumbled away from that noise and those eyes, my hands flailing to prevent the creature from ripping my face off. I thought I had disturbed a badger. Mr. P, who was equally as startled, thought it was a large raccoon.
After we calmed down, we were awed to be looking at a majestic owl who was extremely pissed off. It snapped its beak to make an odd clicking noise and bobbed its whole body back and forth. Its wings were spread and rotated forward, and its feathers were poofed up in a fierce show of force. It was a fascinating display of aggression. Mr. Pinault promptly began taking its picture (see below) while I heaved relief from a slight distance.
The owl may have been protecting a nest, but I find it hard to believe that an owl would set up house directly on a popular hiking trail. If she reacts like this everytime a person walks by, poor thing must be in near-constant hysterics. As a devout Twin Peaks fan, I can’t help but attach paranormal implications to the owl encounter. According to Twin Peaks mythology, my body will probably soon be inhabited by an evil spirit who will use me as a vessel to terrorize and kill beautiful women. Should I develop a compulsive need to dance and my hair turn white overnight, someone better call the FBI.
