Mythical critters
Don Coldsmith
Monday, June 4, 2007
LAST WEEK I wrote about snakes, always an attention-attracting subject. Snakes are mentioned in several religions, including Christianity’s creation story. There have been sects, even describing themselves as Christian, who incorporate poisonous snakes in their worship. I’m inclined to respect anyone’s religious beliefs, even if I don’t agree with their interpretation, as long as they harm no one else. But that’s not my topic today.
I know of no other subject which attracts such a wide range of human emotion as that of snakes. They are, depending on the slant of the discussion, beautiful, useful, disgusting, dangerous, ugly — choose your own adjectives. Many are true, but even some of the true snake stories are so incredible as to confuse with the tall tales.
I spent a few years in the field of outdoor recreation. There’s nothing quite like a campfire story in a remote wilderness to make everybody edge in toward the fire and cast anxious glances into the dark woods. The world becomes inhabited by an impossible menagerie of creatures, many of them snakes, of course.
I may have mentioned the snow snakes, very dangerous because they are pure white and virtually invisible in the snow.
Flying snakes are dangerous, of course. Actually, there are some species of lizards which really do have a broad flat appendage which enables them to glide. Where do we begin and end these campfire tales?
Maybe with the sidehill dodger, which has only one wing, so it can only fly in circles around steep, slender mountain tops. For this reason, it must also lay square eggs, to prevent them from rolling down the hillside. This partridge has a distinct call in the nesting season, which resembles a long and urgent “ouch!”
This is not to be confused with the mylamor bird. Another of the partridge family, this one is very shy and deludes itself somewhat. Apparently it has the impression that what it can’t see, nobody else can, either. It sticks its head in the sand and whistles through its tail and can be heard for a mile or more, hence its name, “mylamor.”
In the field of youth camping, there are usually several such creatures, mostly a specific one, associated with that particular camp site or organization. It can be useful in dealing with a group of pre-high school campers. The “wampus-cat,” for instance —
Somewhere along the line when that was my full time profession, I learned of a trick based around a cat-call — more accurately, a wampus-cat call. A gallon can, of which there will be plenty at any camp with a kitchen, is modified with a hole in the bottom, just big enough to admit a leather boot-lace. The can is placed between the operator’s knees, the open end aimed in the general direction of the intended recipients. The thong is drawn back and forth. Pretty spooky, and an excellent means to be sure all campers are indoors at bedtime. A skilled operator can almost make the wampus-cat talk.
One occasion is especially memorable, when I was youth director at the Topeka YMCA. We had a camp outside of town, Camp Hammond, named for the donor. It had an Army surplus barracks building from World War II, ideal for our purpose. We could sleep 20 or 30 campers, from Topeka’s school system, via our Hi-Y and Junior Hy-Y club programs.
About bedtime I’d drive out, park and walk on in, carrying the wampus cat call. At the designated time I’d turn the Wampus cat loose and we’d have the campers all inside in a hurry.
By prearrangement, I could go on home or come into tell some mossy old camp stories about wampus cats or other supernatural beings and my narrow escapes.
We never had much trouble with campers trying to slip outside to play pranks, though, thanks to the wampus cat.
See you down the road.
Author and columnist Don Coldsmith lives in Emporia.