By now I’ve probably hiked Beech Hill close to a thousand times. Most days seem the hill seems serene, peaceful—even in crazy weather. I might get wet and muddy, I might have to slog through feet of snow, but I return somehow restored to a sense of belonging on this patch of earth, at just this latitude, in tune with the birds and bugs and critters that also live here. On two or three of those hikes, however, I’ve returned unsettled—invariably because of the sudden, eerie voice of some unknown animal.

This day dawned sunny and cool and seductive. A little family of titmice were hollering out back, and the resident cardinals sang. For a Monday, it turned out to be a fairly quiet one at work. Got a lot done, and felt limber enough to head out on my customary bike ride. Gulls and crows and goldfinches everywhere. Pigeons on the rooftops in town.

During my ride, clouds moved over from the west, and it became even cooler. Sweet respite.

By the time Jack and I arrived at Beech Hill, the world had dimmed consierably. The woods seemed dark and just a little eerie. Crows and vireos calling. Not so many deer flies as usual.

As we turned left along the upper trail, I heard what sounded like a dog barking off in the distance to our right. I even asked Jack if he heard “that doggie.” He did. But about a minute later, as we came around the first curve through the poplar grove, the sound seemed louder. We stopped to listen. Right away I realized the barking had come much closer—a hundred yards away, at most—and it didn’t come from a dog.

The sound occurred every fifteen or twenty seconds, and it was a consistent call: a low growl on one pitch, followed by two falsetto barks. Although loud enough, it was quieter than I’d first thought—and therefore nearer. And whatever creature was making it was coming directly at us. Jack’s attention was high and fixed in that direction. And I suddenly felt a little chill. Clearly there was some kind of animal moving toward us through the undergrowth. And I had no idea what it was. Coyote? Bobcat? Surely not the black bear that’d been seen up here a time or two this year.

I actually thought for a moment about just standing there and waiting for it to reach us—but only for a moment. We took off in a hurry up the trail.

Didn’t hear the critter again after we started moving, but I’d memorized the sound. And it hung in the back of my mind as we climbed the dim landscape through cool air under an overcast sky.

The birds were being quiet and secretive. At the upper fields, I stopped to listen, as usual, and managed to catch sight of a yellowthroat and a catbird. Coming through the last patch of woods, a warbler suddenly began chipping sharply at us. I spotted it—a juvenile black-and-white. Motley-looking little thing.

At the summit, we met some people—a man, woman, and a couple teenaged girls—taking photos. We stopped nearby to scan the bay. Suddenly: a chill. Because I heard the spooky barking sound again. Now it was coming from down the eastern slope below us. I squinted and peered but saw nothing except the usual collection of crows. Seeking confirmation or something, I turned and asked the group near us if they heard the animal down the hill. Soon after they began to listen, it came again—and the woman shot me a glance with wide eyes. None of us had any idea what it was.

I don’t think it was a bear. Not a fox. Certainly not a bird. I know deer make some pretty odd sounds, but I doubt it was a hoofed animal of any kind. Could it have been a coyote? Whatever it was, it was moving at a pretty good clip. I have no clue.

Our trip down the lower wooded trail seemed a little creepier than usual. (It’s kind of dark down there even on a bright day.) We came upon a pile of dark scat. It was full blueberries.

Back home, I checked with my friend Paul Guernsey, who knows about woodland critters.The mystery interested him, though he didn’t have a ready answer. He suggested perhaps it was a fisher. I listened to fisher recordings online—and a couple seemed eerily similar, but mostly they were freaky, high-pitched screams.

It felt a little like some kind of ancient fairy tale. As they have been for humans for thousands of years, the woods can still be a spooky place sometimes.

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:15 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.

1. American crow
2. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
3. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
4. Eastern towhee
5. Cedar waxwing
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
7. Gray catbird
8. Common yellowthroat
9. Song sparrow
10. Black-and-white warbler
11. American robin
12. Eastern phoebe
13. Common raven (voice)
14. Herring gull (voice)

Elsewhere

15. Tufted titmouse
16. House finch
17. House sparrow
18. Northern cardinal
19. Rock pigeon
20. Mourning dove

Tags: American crow, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, gray catbird, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, red-eyed vireo, rock pigeon, song sparrow, tufted titmouse

This entry was posted on Monday, July 25th, 2011 at 10:49 pm and is filed under Lists, Observations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.