This edition features two short articles from May 14, 1896, edition of the RANGELEY LAKES newspaper.
Contemporary commentary found in italics.
The Wildcat and Porcupine
A large wildcat that had gone hungry three days sneaked down the big beech ridge above Balygump, Me., with its face screwed into as ugly a sneer as ever a wildcat wore. Beyond the ridge, where the ground sank into a gully-like swamp, the wildcat found a fat porcupine on the ground. The cat evidently found the porcupine tempting to look on, for it promptly went on the hunt with all the craft it could exercise. Behind a hummock, along a snow ridge, over a fallen log and through a sprinkling of bush tops the cat made its way and approached the porcupine. Then it sprang and gripped its claws on its prey. It sought to roll the porcupine over so as to bite it on the belly. It succeeded only partially and filled its jaws full of short quills from the porcupine’s side. The porcupine died quickly, but the wildcat, with its jaws distended with the quills, could not eat the meat, being able only to lap up a little of the blood. The agony to the wildcat was so great after a while that the brute rolled over and over in the snow, finally forcing a quill through an eye and into its brain. Sam Hansome, of Balygump picked up the carcass before it was cold.
I have never heard of “Balygump, Maine.” Have you? Anyway, I had the pleasure of working at the Maine Department of Fish and Wildlife for 10 years and in that time, I learned a great deal from my fellow colleagues. A biologist once told me that one of the only natural predators of the porcupine was the fisher. She shared that this rugged member of the Mustelid family (including marten, weasel, mink, and otter) grabs the porcupine by the nose, flips it on its back, and then quickly springs upon the un-quilled belly to dispatch it. Apparently, the above-mentioned bobcat had not perfected the technique. The next interesting “wildlife encounter” involves a very feisty Mainer who truly loves her pigs.
The Widow, Her Pigs, and the Bear
Greenfield, Me., April 23. Mrs. Nan Houston, a widow of this place, went to Old Town and purchased two shoats. A Downeast shoat is a pig that is six months old but has failed to grow for the last five months, so that it does not differ any from a sucking pig, except that it is older and has more experience. She started out to get one shoat, intending to pay about $6 for it, but when she found she could buy two for only $5, a trade was made at once, and the extra dollar was expended on boards for a pigpen fence. The shoats were brought home and put out in the new pen a week ago, and two days later Mrs. Houston had given them a buttermilk bath and trimmed up their hoofs so they looked three months younger. The night after Mrs. Houston had washed her pigs in buttermilk, she went to bed early. She was awakened at dawn studying out how she could do a washing, make soap, and clean house at the same time, when a sharp squeal came up across the gooseberry bushes from the direction of the pig-yard. A pig was squealing, more in anger than in pain, and in among the pig complaints was a grunting growl, which her trained ear at once recognized as the utterance of a vexed bear. Creeping out by way of the barn, where she secured a three-tined pitchfork, she reached the hog yard in time to see a bear dash across the enclosure, carrying one of her shoats in its mouth and closely pursued by the other pig. The bear reached the fence, sat up to climb over it, and was poising for a leap when the free pig grabbed it from behind and held on. Twice the bear tried to jump the fence, and twice the pig held it back. Then, turning upon its assailant, the bear dropped the pig from its mouth and ran about the yard, snapping and striking at the other pig. It was now time for Mrs. Houston to move up her forces. At a point when it was doubtful whether the pigs would be killed by the bear, Mrs. Houston and her pitchfork appeared and turned the tide of battle in favor of the pigs. The yard was bounded on three sides by the barn and outbuildings, leaving but one side where the bear could climb over. Stationing herself on this side, Mrs. Houston jabbed her pitchfork into the bear every time it went by chasing the pigs. By the time she had delivered five or six thrusts, the bear concluded it did not care for pigs very much and sat down. Then the pigs developed an appetite for bear on the hoof, and began to chase their visitor about the yard, giving Mrs. Houston an excellent chance to use her pitchfork. She had pitchforked the bear three times in the “second inning,” and had the weapon up for another thrust, when the animal leaped the fence in front of her while striking her on the shoulder and threw her to the ground. There she lay in the mud while the bear and one of the pigs passed over her. By the time she recovered herself the bear was half a mile away, and the pig was trying to get back with its sibling. She let the pig in, put up the fence, and went back to bed.
For two days Mrs. Houston was so crusty that nobody dared to speak to her. The third morning a neighbor came up from the woods and told her he had just found a dead bear down by the back pasture bars. After the skin was taken off the carcass was found to be filled with holes made by some long, sharp instrument. That afternoon she gave both pigs another buttermilk bath, and went about the house, singing Gospel hymns until bedtime.
Enjoy this beautiful Spring and the country life as you venture forth to create some wonderful Rangeley History of your own!