Why I Hate Marmots
Richmond, VA - Wednesday, 13 Sept 2017, 8am.
Tuesday night we were playing a social game at my company's offsite training program. We all had a "secret" for one person to find. Mine was "I hate marmots (ask me why)", and the person searching for me was flailing- and utterly failing- at finding me. As people filtered out at the end of the evening, I sat down with the last 5 or so colleagues remaining and told them the tale.
I began with a bit of background, as it was clear from numerous people who told me about my hapless hunter that not everybody knows what a marmot is:
Marmots are small animals akin to groundhogs. They live in the high mountains of California and Colorado (that's where I've encountered them, at least) where they are adapted to the short growing seasons at such high altitudes. They hibernate for up to 9 months a year. During the summer when the snow is clear you can see them crawling around over grasses, rocks, etc. They seem like curious animals, as they'll often stop to watch what you're doing nearby.
Next I described my first, passing encounter with them in the wild:
Years ago, back in the late 90s sometime [update: it was actually July 2000], my wife and I were going on a backpacking high in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. Guidebooks warned us that marmots were active in the area. Warned, because they've disabled numerous cars at the trailhead we were parking at! Marmots are inquisitive, and they're attracted to the residual warmth of the cars' engines. They crawl right into the engine compartments from underneath. Then they chew on the hoses, because antifreeze and other fluids smell sweet to them. Numerous visitors have been stranded at this remote trailhead after their cars were rendered undriveable.
Indeed, as we pulled up to this remote trailhead at 7,500' elevation, we saw several marmots in the parking lot crawling in and out of people's cars, squeezing between the tires and the engine compartment. Some visitors had brought rolls of chicken wire and wrapped it around their vehicles' undercarriages. One guidebook had suggested that, but we thought it was a joke!
The closest thing we had to protection was a large hand-puppet of a Red Tail Hawk, so we perched that in the window of our car, hoping that the sight of a predator would be adequate deterrence, and set off up the trail with our backpacks. Still, we feared coming back to our car with marmots swinging on the windshield wipers.
The kicker comes from what happened next. And no, it wasn't returning to busted car.
We got up to a beautiful lake at about 10,500' elevation- two miles above sea level, with rocky ridges soaring even higher above us- and found a camping spot on a small granite bald near the lake. It was picture postcard perfect. After setting up our tent we jumped in the lake for a quick dip and came back to towel off. We stretched our towels out on a sunny rock to dry as we changed clothes to explore the rocky rim high above the lake. That's when I saw marmots start poking around our packs and tent.
We didn't want mamots poking around through our stuff, possibly tearing our packs or tent looking for food, so we tried to scare them off. Making loud hoots and hisses and waving our arms scared most of them, but one little guy was pretty stubborn. He sat there on a rock next to my back and wouldn't leave. I threw a stone at him to chase him away. The stone went high- I wasn't trying to hit him- but he just sat there swiveling his head to watch the stone fly over. The cheeky little bugger was mocking me.
I threw a second stone, aimed to hit. And it would have been a direct hit, but the marmot- sitting up on its hind legs by this point- dodged it like THIS. (I bent at the waist to show how the marmot twisted to avoid it.) The bold little bugger never broke eye contact with me. This was a FIGHT.
My next shot was low. The marmot looked down at it as it hit the ground several feet in front of him, again as if to mock my poor throw. But my grounder was deliberate. The stone bounced off the rock slab and popped the marmot straight in the face. It finally scampered away from our camp, beaten.
That's not the end of the story, though.
Though that marmot had lost the battle he did not give up the war. He took revenge. When we returned from hike a few hours later I found a marmot turd on my towel.
And that is why I hate marmots!
The group loved it. And before we filed out of the restaurant, I swore them to secrecy. And verified that none of them have fast tennis serves.
Tuesday night we were playing a social game at my company's offsite training program. We all had a "secret" for one person to find. Mine was "I hate marmots (ask me why)", and the person searching for me was flailing- and utterly failing- at finding me. As people filtered out at the end of the evening, I sat down with the last 5 or so colleagues remaining and told them the tale.
I began with a bit of background, as it was clear from numerous people who told me about my hapless hunter that not everybody knows what a marmot is:
Marmots are small animals akin to groundhogs. They live in the high mountains of California and Colorado (that's where I've encountered them, at least) where they are adapted to the short growing seasons at such high altitudes. They hibernate for up to 9 months a year. During the summer when the snow is clear you can see them crawling around over grasses, rocks, etc. They seem like curious animals, as they'll often stop to watch what you're doing nearby.
Next I described my first, passing encounter with them in the wild:
Years ago, back in the late 90s sometime [update: it was actually July 2000], my wife and I were going on a backpacking high in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. Guidebooks warned us that marmots were active in the area. Warned, because they've disabled numerous cars at the trailhead we were parking at! Marmots are inquisitive, and they're attracted to the residual warmth of the cars' engines. They crawl right into the engine compartments from underneath. Then they chew on the hoses, because antifreeze and other fluids smell sweet to them. Numerous visitors have been stranded at this remote trailhead after their cars were rendered undriveable.
Indeed, as we pulled up to this remote trailhead at 7,500' elevation, we saw several marmots in the parking lot crawling in and out of people's cars, squeezing between the tires and the engine compartment. Some visitors had brought rolls of chicken wire and wrapped it around their vehicles' undercarriages. One guidebook had suggested that, but we thought it was a joke!
The closest thing we had to protection was a large hand-puppet of a Red Tail Hawk, so we perched that in the window of our car, hoping that the sight of a predator would be adequate deterrence, and set off up the trail with our backpacks. Still, we feared coming back to our car with marmots swinging on the windshield wipers.
The kicker comes from what happened next. And no, it wasn't returning to busted car.
We got up to a beautiful lake at about 10,500' elevation- two miles above sea level, with rocky ridges soaring even higher above us- and found a camping spot on a small granite bald near the lake. It was picture postcard perfect. After setting up our tent we jumped in the lake for a quick dip and came back to towel off. We stretched our towels out on a sunny rock to dry as we changed clothes to explore the rocky rim high above the lake. That's when I saw marmots start poking around our packs and tent.
We didn't want mamots poking around through our stuff, possibly tearing our packs or tent looking for food, so we tried to scare them off. Making loud hoots and hisses and waving our arms scared most of them, but one little guy was pretty stubborn. He sat there on a rock next to my back and wouldn't leave. I threw a stone at him to chase him away. The stone went high- I wasn't trying to hit him- but he just sat there swiveling his head to watch the stone fly over. The cheeky little bugger was mocking me.
I threw a second stone, aimed to hit. And it would have been a direct hit, but the marmot- sitting up on its hind legs by this point- dodged it like THIS. (I bent at the waist to show how the marmot twisted to avoid it.) The bold little bugger never broke eye contact with me. This was a FIGHT.
My next shot was low. The marmot looked down at it as it hit the ground several feet in front of him, again as if to mock my poor throw. But my grounder was deliberate. The stone bounced off the rock slab and popped the marmot straight in the face. It finally scampered away from our camp, beaten.
That's not the end of the story, though.
Though that marmot had lost the battle he did not give up the war. He took revenge. When we returned from hike a few hours later I found a marmot turd on my towel.
And that is why I hate marmots!
The group loved it. And before we filed out of the restaurant, I swore them to secrecy. And verified that none of them have fast tennis serves.