An edited version of this piece was first published in The Times Argus, Montpelier, Vermont, December 13, 2009.
Last winter in deep snow near my house, I encountered a set of large prints by the creek. I followed the trail, my head bowed toward the ground, until I noticed the tracks disappear into scrub. I stopped, leaned against a hemlock and peered into the brush. Seeing nothing, I turned and almost tripped over a big, fat porcupine, bunched up in a snow-blown spot against the tree trunk.
He shrank as close to the tree as possible, quills puffing up and then flattening on its round body as it breathed. I laughed at my tracking skills, which led me to nearly fall on top of one of Vermont’s more dangerous wild creatures.
Last spring, on a walk with my puppy, we came upon a decaying porcupine carcass, and like any self-respecting dog, he gave the kill a close inspection. Later in the evening, in the bathroom with tweezers, Rescue Remedy and an Internet printout on quill removal, I shared my first medical experience with my pup.
Porcupines are tempting to any dog, and the dog usually gets the worst of it. A friend of mine had to euthanize hers after an encounter in which her dog had more than 300 quills in his face alone; it was the poor animal’s sixth confrontation. Porcupines also create problems for the logging industry. They eat the bark around trees thereby killing them and also feast on the new tree shoots. They prefer coniferous trees but they’ll eat deciduous tree bark too. Outdoorsmen also have their beef against the rodent. A trapper I knew out West was once stranded 50 miles from civilization after his truck was immobilized thanks to a porcupine who chewed on the vehicle’s road-salt coated wiring.
In search of salt, porcupines will gnaw on just about anything, from tool handles, to sweaty clothing, to the dirt on salted winter roads. In their natural habitat they eat sodium rich plants like the yellow water-lily and animal bones and shed antlers as well as the inner cambium bark of trees. Like other herbivores, they need large amounts of salt to keep their blood chemistry in balance.
A century ago, to help protect valuable forestland, the states of Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine placed a killing bounty on porcupines. It was in effect from 1909 until the 1950s. But the states wanted a better solution. Predators of the porcupine include wolverine, coyote, and mountain lions, none of which Fish and Wildlife were about to champion. Their other natural predator, is the fisher-cat.
Fishers, the size of large house cats, are members of the weasel family. Valued for their thick and silken fur, they became virtually extinct in the 19th century due to unrestrained trapping and loss of habitat as woodlands gave way to farmlands.
Vermont was the first New England state to reintroduce the fisher-cat in the 1950’s to curb the porcupine, releasing 125 animals which were live trapped in Maine.
Currently flourishing, fishers are blamed for chicken killings and cat-snatchings across New England. Many people now consider fishers more of a problem than ever hated the porcupine. The truth is, the problems with porcupines and fishers both are mostly overexaggerated anecdotes. A case of the squeaky wheel getting intrusive and expensive grease.
But fishers are skilled hunters. They regularly travel 20 miles a day, and often as much as 60 miles on a hunt. They hunt at dawn and dusk, and through the night, as their vision is excellent. They stalk and kill a porcupine by tiring it out with their superior athleticism. During an attack, they leap over the porcupine again and again, forcing it to keep turning around and flare its quilled tail at the fisher.
After a dozen or so spins, the porcupine is exhausted, and the fisher scratches at its face until it bleeds to death. The fisher then flips the porcupine and feeds on its quill-less belly.
I paused during my own encounter with the porcupine at the hemlock and tried to seem unthreatening. I wanted to connect with this reclusive animal who spends most of winter close to his den or sleeping. The porcupine’s breathing slowed, and he slowly turned around, his huge eyes round and beautiful. We looked at each other for a long moment. I whispered, “Thank you,” and left this complex creature to its winter nap.
From the warmth of my house I watched the snow start to fall again and wondered how many fishers, curled up in trees, waited for nightfall to stretch their limbs; waited to hunt my porcupine. Though I didn’t want my puppy subjected to another fight with the porcupine’s quills, nor did I want the quilly beast with the doleful eyes ripped apart for dinner. But nature does what nature will. I curled up with my dog and turned the radio off, waiting to hear a fisher-cat howl.
