Noises in the Night

Prior to heading out into the field, Catherine received an e-mail from Jon with a succinct list of must have items before we left the comfort of Adelaide.  We immediately became weary when securing some mouse proof totes was at the top of the list.  A quick run to a Home Depot equivalent, provided us with a mouse proof arsenal of plastic products with quick click security.  This was not my first face off with rodents.  I was not scared.  They are small and timid and only after a good left over scrap dropped at your camp site.  For a complete account of the mouse encounters of Jon and Christine (poo on food canisters, vermin in tents, half chewed bags of oats) check out Christine's Blog .

Oodnapanicken Hut was our first stop of the field season.  Having kicked off early from the small town of Leigh Creek, Catherine and I arrived at the hut at 8 AM in the morning.  Jon and Christine were gracious hosts providing a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge (oatmeal), and stories of wild mice that are not intimidated by a group of soft Americans.  Jon in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, relayed how most recently he felt a mouse burrowing under his Z-rest sleeping pad as he lay on top of it.  My eyes shifted around the camp wondering if Jon's stories were an exaggeration, a fluke or a regular evening occurrence in Australia.  

With no more than this passing thought, the group split up and headed into the field for a day of work.  The days are short in Australia this time of year as it is the southern hemisphere's winter.  The light does not start to turn grey until a little after 6:30 AM and shadows begin get long by 5:30 PM.  Our field work is limited by the daylight hours and so we found ourselves back in the camp for the evening.  The four of us compared notes of the day and relaxed around the campfire until exhaustion overtook us and we all retired to our tents.  I was still feeling the affects of jet lag and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow (well actually it was my fleece jacket balled up).  There is nothing more restful than a cool night camping in the middle of nowhere.  The air pushes you deep into the folds of your sleeping bag, while the peaceful surroundings lull you into a complete sleep that is impossible to replicate in any civilized environment.  

Such was the scenario, my first night in the Outback of Australia.  At 6 AM the following morning, I was awoken by the banging of pots and rustling movement in the area of our stoves and campfire.  I was impressed with Jon's industrious nature and contemplated extracting myself from my sleeping bag.  While appreciating my last few moments of warm comfort, something large moved right outside my tent.  Sitting bolt upright mummified in my sleeping bag, I consider the chances that Jon was walking around my tent.  That was when something rammed the side of my nylon shelter.  Despite my desire to exude a tough edge, I let out a girly squeak that Catherine later confided that she heard.  I fumbled at my sleeping bag zipper and scrambled for my headlamp unsure how light was going to rectify my situation.  The second assault occurred, and this time, I would define it as a definite body slam against the thin fabric over my head.  I swiveled around with my beacon of light flashing uselessly against the white interior of the tent.  Whatever it was that was taking a fancy to my tent was far larger than any mouse I had ever experienced.  Jon had not mentioned that the mice were not only gutsy and plentiful, but mutant, gargantuan and seemingly possessed.  

I turned to the door of the tent preparing myself for battle or at the least a quick escape.  That is when the light of my headlamp pointed straight into the face of a small cat.  I shouted at him, "Go away."  I assumed this feline must be wild, rabid, and starving.  I wanted him out of my space immediately.  He stared at me undeterred, yellow eyes reflecting my own light back at me.  I smacked at the side of the tent and repeated my request for him to leave in a louder more authoritative voice.  He slinked under the vestibule only to reappear on the other side.  I again flexed my strength and voice through the netting and he slipped away, but not without one more bat at the side of my tent.  I quickly dressed and got out of the tent to inspect the scene.  Once I was outside, I saw the cat, striped, and displaying markings very similar to my own lazy cat back in Vermont.  Now with me standing at my full height, the cat took one look and retreated into the edges of our camp's darkness. 

Once everyone else was awake and moving about, I retold my encounter.  Jon commented that he had seen the yellow eyes previously, but did not want to alarm anyone and so had kept the observation to himself.  It was decided that the cat needed a proper name.  All of the camp mice had been named after various villains, and so I decided that our camp cat, despite his unsettling introduction, needed a hero's name . . . and so Frodo became him given name.  Over the course of the next week, we spotted Frodo on a number of occasions.  Since my first encounter, all sightings were fleeting - yellow eyes blinking in the darkness, him scamping across our path, a face peering around the old scrap metal in the camp.  It is amazing how the fear of the unknown can so quickly be erased with a name.  No longer was this feline a beast to be feared, rather he was our camp pet Frodo that we hoped would visit each night.