On our spontaneous hike up a volcanic mountain in north California we enjoyed, among many things, watching tiny chipmunk-like picas nimbly navigating stark rocks beside our narrow trail. On our trip from Cairo, Georgia to Portland, Oregon by way of Niagara Falls and Guelph, Ontario (tent in trunk of our old Buick) we saw many chipmunks or picas, none quite as friendly as these. Now we were on our way home, taking in the sights of western USA. We saw a sign to Mt. Lassen, drove up to the parking lot, and decided to take the hike up to the crater of this quiet (hadn’t erupted since 1914) volcanic mountain.
We were struck by the absence of life on the mountain. The only living, breathing creatures we saw were the cute little striped picas.
We paused to catch our breath and munch on dried banana chips. The picas joined us, fearless and eager for a treat. They didn’t mind at all having a photo shoot. Their tiny sleek bodies were well fleshed. What did they eat on this barren mountain? The only vegetation we saw that day in July were scrubby pines and a delicate flowering plant growing in rock crevices. We saw no berries, nuts, or succulent sprouts.
Maybe there were worms, tiny lizards, insects the picas could find. Maybe there was some kind of mushroom we didn’t notice, or maybe they could eat the crunchy looking lichen growing sparingly on certain rocks.
There were very few hikers on the trail that day so the picas couldn’t depend on treats every day. But obviously they were cared for. There was something, even along the icy trail, to sustain them.
I was reminded that picas are equipped to survive where they are, just as are the iguanas in the desert, the penguins in Antarctica, the gazelles in Africa.
Years later, now, when we visit our son and his family in Mountain Brook, Alabama, we’re amused by the swiftly running striped chipmunks in their yard. The fact that they are pests, digging holes everywhere, doesn’t keep me from admiring their spunk. They have an easy life compared to their cousins on Lassen Mountain, but still a challenging one. They have to hide from swooping owls, cats, and, above all, my son, the sharpshooter with the pellet gun.
Pens and Needles 