Whew!!

Pinion pine trees of the Panaca Summit area bear good nuts and more often than most other places. Through the years this has been the country we come to most often to gather pine nuts. Long ago, when my brother Grant was about 7 years old, we went with Dad up into these hills to pick nuts. Dad owned a Model A Ford, a one seater with a trunk in back. They were good outfits if you kept them in good running order and new rubber on the wheels. They had high clearance, good gas economy, and considerable power for that day and age. The road to Panaca was all dirt then, just a 2 wheel track that meandered through the trees and over the hills. We turned off north, east from the summit a ways. Wheel tracks led us up a big draw 2 or 3 miles to where some cattlemen had fixed up a trough into which ran a trickle of water. The pinion trees round about had lots of cones on with nuts falling onto the ground. Dad set up camp in some trees about 100 yards beyond the spring so as not to spook the cattle from the water.

I always like to go camping with Dad, but we didn't do it often enough. The bark of the little gray foxes, cry of night hawks and serenade of coyotes all made time around the campfire with Dad more memorable as he told us things about his life. Breakfast time was fun too, but the long day of nut picking became tiresome and dreary for us boys. That morning we took 2 or 3 gallons of water with us in a 5 gallon square tin can for drinking purposes. As the day wore on we boys fizzled out and about 2 PM Dad sent us back to camp and told us to take the can with us. There was still a couple quarts of water in it but I didn't bother to pour it out.

Our route was down the bottom of a dry wash that passed close to camp. We were talking about what we might find to eat at camp and feeling glad that we didn't have to pick pinenuts anymore that day, when from up on the big bank above us came the most ferocious snarl!!! It sent shivers of terror running up and down my body. I looked along the bank expecting to see a mountain lion poised, ready to leap down on us. Seeing nothing, I carefully set the can on the ground and picked up 2 large rocks with which to defend myself.

Grant had stopped nearby and asked: "What's the matter?"

"Didn't you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That snarl."

"I didn't hear nothing."

I kept looking around for that terrible animal as I quietly told Grant what I had heard. He looked here and there and got some rocks for defense purposes, too. Finally I picked up the can and we quietly went on down the wash hoping that mean critter had been growling at something else besides us. As we climbed out of the wash near camp, I bumped my knee against the side of the can. That sound! That rumbling, growling, snarl, created by the water and the hollow magnification of the can. This time I knew where it came from. Boy, was I relieved. A heavy burden of fear lifted up from my body.