
Pittsburgh Zoo Parking Lot at about 1400 hours.
Alright…sped off this morning…forgot to checkout of my hotel AND more importantly forgot to document my morning departure from South Bend Indiana. It was light drizzly snow and overcast with near freezing temps.
Winter had struck the afternoon before while I was visiting the Pittsburg Zoo. A heavy snow began to fall and the effect was…nice. The zoo was rather empty…perhaps 50 other visitors.
Over the years I’ve gotten really good (in zoos at least…harder in aquariums or museums) of using the flow of the crowd and identifying checkpoints of popular animals and playgrounds that tend to distract children and allow parents to rest to enhance my own experience.
For my visit: Most of the animals were out. Or indoor viewing for some was available.
A young women with her two children stopped me near the Tiger enclosure and marveled at how much nicer it was to visit the zoo in the cool weather and how the animals were more active and how she had been worried there would be no animals…but she disliked the crowds of the summer. I told her yes…it is a well known secret among zoo enthusiasts that cool days, midweek and early often are the most rewarding.
Pittsburgh, the city, reminded me of a very large mill town in Connecticut’s Naugatuck Valley. Like my Bristol or our neighbor Waterbury spread out over miles. It was a nice feeling.
I was hoping to somehow put off winter until Montana, if not the Yukon…but it was coming either way. It was kind of interesting driving up from the sweaty low country of South Carolina up into the cooler Piedmont and watch in short distance autumn appear on the trees and not long after autumn passing nearly to winter.
Both zoos in Virginia were nice. Mill Mountain in Roanoke reminded me of the city park zoos of my childhood in New England. A few species and basic enclosure that afforded a pleasant diversion and a nice walk in the park. Milk Mountain may have, itself, started that way, but if so it survived, while the zoos of my childhood faded away (or in the case of Massachusetts also adapted). Mill Mountain’s entry fee of $10 was steep for what we saw…but it was just me. Two other visitors were in the zoo and there were more folks sweeping enclosures than viewing the animals.
A short distance away was Virginia Safari Park. Again I benefited from visiting on a weekday towards the end of the season…some species intolerant to chilly weather were not on view…but the Blackbuck were growing fluffy coats and the deer were in full antler and the Tigers and Cheetahs active and charismatic. It was a nice visit…and it knocked my pet peeve of having a good ratio of predators to prey right out of the park. Mill Mountain not so much, especially as their Tufted Deer was not on view. But for zoo nerds, Mill Mountain’s Eurasian Lynx and Pallas Cat were nice to see. And the Snow Leopard enclosure while small, had a viewing deck that put you at eye level with the cat when it was resting on its high point. The city of Roanoke spread out far below added to the illusion of the secretive mountain cat haunting the heights above the valley town. A ghost on the mountain…beyond the windows and the lights…it’s breath, the frosty air itself.
After the zoos I hit the Shenandoah National Park and saw about five deer. My entry to the park was free (I am a veteran…so occasionally…like three zoos so far…we get in for reduced or sometimes even no cost…a nice benefit to the service)…but the park ranger even as she checked my Alaska issued park pass…warned me of the possibility of inclement weather arriving soon on the mountain and that park might be closing and if I wasn’t camping I might get stuck behind their gates. I had three hours to get the midpoint (which put me just short of the big meadows where I expected to see many more deer and birds) and exit the park if, and before, they closed.
High on the mountain a familiar black shape lifted from a branch and soared out over a hollow and back again over me and then into the trees. Raven, my wife’s totem, and Alaska’s unofficial state bird…but it’s true one. The Raven is to the Ptarmigan what Denali was to McKinley. Raven, an old friend, come to check my progress.
His message to me seemed to be “hurry home.”
I consulted a Ranger at the next stop and he was 50% certain I could make Front Royal before the gates closed, but I chose instead to exit the park and return to the valley. I set a course for Somerset Pennsylvania in order to put myself in striking distance of Pittsburgh.
My drive took me through the dark along some lonely back roads and tiny gritty towns in the mountains of West Virginia and Maryland and southern Pennsylvania. Through a place were valleys and rivers held more allegiance to the people than the borders of their states. I passed state lines that ran along the fences of next door neighbors.
The air had frost in it and the snows came the next day. Raven is a tricky messenger who expects his calls to be more obvious than the effort he puts into them. “If you see me,” he seems to say, “than you know this is the way that winter comes. And you, my friend, are a long way from home…”