2004: Sherwood Beast to get new teeth after prowling Haunts of Harriman
 |
Chapter Five in the Sherwood Beast Tales
By ELIZABETH LADEN
Wet snow stung Eagle’s feathers as she perched on a pine tree not far from the Island Park News office and listened to the night. Owl hooted and Eagle soon saw its dark form sweep some ducks sleeping near the Henry’s Fork. They quacked irritably and slipped into the stream. A string of big trucks churned past, stifling the eerie songs of coyotes roaming Harriman State Park.
Eagle was grateful for her full belly, thanks to the easy hunt early last evening. It had been a snap to pluck the tired trout out of the river that an angler had caught and released late in the afternoon. She had eaten so much that she was still full and sleepy. She had to fight to stay awake – her friend was coming, and she did not want to miss its visit.
More trucks went by, and soon the local traffic would pick up and first light would drive her back into the safety of the forest. Where was her friend?
Eagle began to nod, but suddenly a loud crunch could be heard over the traffic, and then a huge splash. She honed onto the noise and saw immediately that, at last, Sherwood Beast was plowing across the river! In no time, it was on the shore, searching the trees and sniffing the air. Eagle lost sight of her friend for an instant when the school bus whizzed past, and then saw it waddle clumsily across the highway. She swept down and greeted Beast with a friendly scream.
“Oh S. B., you’re here at last! I’ve been watching for you for days! You promised to come early this year!” Eagle tickled S. B’s snout affectionately.
S. B. belched and stretched, ignoring Eagle’s touch. Although it felt wonderful, S. B. had an obligation to maintain its beastly personality.
“Good to see you, Eagle,” Beast growled. “I almost didn’t make it. But thanks to that Tim Vollweiler, I’m here. In fact, I just got back from checking things out at Harriman. If the weather improves, Harriman Haunts should be fun this year!”
“First things first — how do you know Tim Vollweiler,” Eagle demanded.
“Oh, I follow him around a lot,” S. B. replied. “Like I do some of the other guys with big trucks that make giant holes in the earth. Their rock piles are great for sleeping. Tim has the best ones of all, now that he has a gravel mine over off Yale-Kilgore Road. I was sound asleep in this really neat pile of round pebbles — burrowed in real good — when he came along and started piling them into a truck. They were so comfortable, especially when I rolled around in them. Did my arthritis some good.”
“Now tell me about Harriman. I planned to fly over there yesterday and hunt Silver Lake, but I found a gourmet dinner right across the way in the river,” Eagle said.
Eagle followed S. B. as it walked along the Old Highway and stopped to claw at the giant trout n front of Last Chance Lodge. S. B. roared joyfully at the screeching sound its claws made, and Eagle shook her white tail feathers in disgust.
“Be still, they’ll hear you all over Last Chance,” she scolded.
“But it feels so good, and it makes the lodge folks so mad when their trout is all scratched up! They think it’s a bad paint job.”
“You’re forgetting to tell me about Harriman,” Eagle said impatiently.
S. B. loved to ruffle Eagle’s feathers. “Oh yes, Harriman. Those folks make a beast proud. Their Haunts of Harriman is going to be spookier than ever this year. They are going to scare the daylights out of the kids with all their costumes and games and shenanigans.”
“Are you planning to be there?”
“You bet. Even though, as you know, it is a day before the Actual Feast. I wish the Haunts fell on Halloween Day more often, but at least it’s just one day before, not almost a week like last year!” S. B. threw back its ugly head and snarled.
“You have to get over it. They have to have it on a Saturday so the kids can all come,” Eagle said. “I was fishing by the Short kids and the Eby kids last week and heard them talking about their costumes. It’s an important night for them, the Haunts of Harriman!”
“Speaking of kids, what do you think of that Harold Bishop who lives up there at Mack’s Inn?” S. B. growled. “Did you read what he wrote about me in the Island Park News last year?”
“Yes! Good story – I heard Harold got a scout badge for writing it. And they’re reprinting it this year.”
“Since I’m standing here in front of you, you know the story isn’t quite true, don’t you?” S. B. grimaced.
“Well, yeah, since you weren’t really killed. But then, what is that stuffed animal they had at Sherwood Museum for so long?” asked Eagle.
“I’ll tell you my secret, Eagle. That beast is my twin. Nobody ever wanted to believe that there were two of us. The story reports that the beast killed 30 or 40 cattle in two or three years. Even in my prime, I couldn’t eat that much in 10 years. My twin’s killer was a braggart.”
“So all those stories about you coming alive are not quite true then, are they?” Eagle said sardonically.
“No. My stuffed twin never left the Sherwood place, and never leaves the Museum of Natural History in Pocatello. I visit it — that part is true. But I could not bear to accept its death, so I pretended that it was alive. Now you know. There are two of us. One stuffed, and the other destined to haunt Island Park for a long, long time.” Beast howled until the lights went on at Henry’s Fork Realtors.
“That’s sad, S. B.” Eagle said. “We better make a run for it. You’re waking everyone up!”
They crossed the highway and wandered over to a clump of willows near the Last Chance Fishing Access. The day was dawning and it was still snowing.
“So, since you plan to go to Haunts of Harriman, are you going to scare the kids this year?” Eagle asked, trying to get her friend to think of something more pleasant than its twin’s death.
“Only if I can growl from the shadows and not be seen. I look awful.” S. B. sat on its hind legs and scraped off a clawful of scraggly fur.
“My goodness, you’re not looking so good, now that I see you in the light — even by beastly standards!” Eagle quipped.
“My hair’s falling out, my eyes have lost their yellow glow, and my snout is filling out – I’m all neck!” Beast snapped.
“What are you eating these days? Diet is everything! My feathers don’t let me glide so well after I’ve eaten only whitefish for a few days,” Eagle said softly. “There’s nothing like a good rainbow trout!”
“My teeth are rotten. I had to quit eating cows and elk and deer. I’m lucky if I can capture a field mouse. I can’t even grab those silly poodles, pugs, and Bichon Frises the Californians bring up here anymore!”
“That’s desperate,” Eagle sympathized. “Even I can snag one or two of those every summer. So what do you eat?”
“Sagebrush, weeds, bark. It’s all bad.”
“Hmm,” Eagle whispered. They were silent for several minutes, and then Eagle leaped into the air, flew high into the sky, screeched with joy, and landed on a branch above Beast’s gnarly head.
“I have it!” she said. “Does your twin have teeth? Its original teeth it used to help you kill all those cattle with?”
Why yes, it does! And I see what you’re thinking, my friend,” S. B. replied, looking hopeful.
“All you have to do is catch a ride to Pocatello underneath a car or bus, sneak into the storage area, and steal your twin’s teeth. I am sure it would not mind helping you that way!
S. B. walked in circles, mashing down the willows and making itself so dizzy that it fell over.
“Look, I can fly over you all the way there. I hate going to the valley, but I would do it or you. I can scream warnings at you if you seem to be in any danger. We can fish the South Fork on the way back here,” Eagle said excitedly.
“But I could not come back up to Island Park,” S. B. reasoned. “They’re hauling cows out this week. I would have nothing to eat.”
“You could go as far as the wildlife management area outside St Anthony. Easy pickings there of elk, deer, moose. And no hunters!”
S. B. scratched its itchy fur and pondered. “We have a plan, “it said after a few minutes. “Only we cannot leave until after Halloween. The Haunts of Harriman Saturday and the Actual Day Sunday.”
“You’ve got a deal!” Eagle chortled.
Beast drooled all over itself, thinking of the succulent elk dinners it would have in a short time.
“Dreaming of all the wild meat I will soon eat is sure making me hungry,” it moaned. “I wish someone up here had an elk or deer hanging outside his house. Hunting has been bad this year so far.”
“I know just the thing to get you through the next few days,” Eagle said. “Follow me.”
Eagle flew across the highway and north a piece. S. B. followed, skulking from shadow to shadow, until it caught up to its friend perched in a tree overlooking the garden behind the Chalet.
“Matt an Willie Caldwell grow the best vegetable garden in Island Park, Eagle told Beast. “Look – even under the snow you can see radishes, lettuce, and maybe some spinach. I am sorry I do not know the vegetables that well.”
Beast clawed through the remains of what must have been a very productive garden, eating its fill and growling in delight.
“I’ll be back next year in my prime,” it squealed to Eagle. “I bet I’ll look so good I’ll be able to scare the heck out of those kids at Harriman!”
Who knows — if you don’t see Sherwood Beast this year, you may hear it growl, so don’t miss the Haunts of Harriman from 6:30 to 9 Saturday night, with hayrides, games, a haunted house, a carnival, and trick or treating at the park’s Railroad Ranch Historic District. Wear your warmest costume and be prepared for an evening of spooky fun. For more information, please call Harriman State Park at 558-7368.