COLUMN BY MATT PRANGER

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Beware of albino slugs

Wind is whisking the maple leaves off the branches. Rain is splattering the windows. Black ice is creeping across the roads. Ducks, geese, and wingless snowbirds are cruising south. Winter is closing its grip on the San Juan Islands as sure as frozen turkeys are filling up grocery store freezers.

Weather experts say we're between El Nino and La Nina influences. Thus, they're predicting so-so weather this winter. It's been awhile since the San Juan Islands were slammed with a harsh weather and some islanders are predicting a particularly nasty winter.

One of those prognosticators, life-long islander Ted "The Rock" Hedd, is adamant that islands are in for a severe stretch of winter. "We ain't had a respectable nor'easter since 1990. We're passed due," Rock said, driving home his point by spitting out a glob of chew juice and nodding his noggin. That year was my first on San Juan Island. And though Rock's memory doesn't always agree with official records, the winter of '90-'91 howled into the islands wet, windy and cold. Trees with saturated root balls toppled like Lincoln Logs smacked with a Tonka truck. Water pipes froze or burst, electricity was knocked out for days, even a couple of weeks for some islanders at the end of the grid. Friends and family, huddling in homes with wood, kerosene or propane heaters but inadequate bathing facilities, spent more time with each other than should be legal.

Shuddering at the memory, I ask Rock if he's seen any indications of impending, particularly inclement weather. "Several clues. Dog's been burying more bones than usual. The bunion on my left heel, ya know, the one shaped like Shaw Island, is flaring up. And I've seen my first giant albino banana slug in nearly a dozen years," Rock says, scratching his stubble chin.

"But the telling-est sign is the sheep are growing into weird shapes. I was just out on West Valley Road near Yacht Haven and there's a whole flock of oddest durn sheep I've ever seen. They's got long legs and necks and eyes like aliens."

I explain those aren't deformed sheep, they're alpacas, a sure-footed pack animal from the Andes Mountains of South America.

"What good are they?" Rock asks. "They're too scrawny to carry much. Besides, there's no mountains here. Even Mount Young is really just a big bump and there's nothing here that really needs carrying anyway. Shoot, they're ain't much meat on them, either."

They are prized for their wool and top breeding stock fetches thousands of dollars, I say.

"$15,000 and more for a critter no bigger than a German shepherd? Shoot, it better produce a golden fleece as soft as a new-born lamb's bottom," Rock declares with a shake of his head.

Breaking Rock out of his indignation, I ask him how he's preparing for this nasty winter he's predicting. "Oh, the usual. I'll stock up on Spam and other canned grub, fill up some big jugs of water, buy more batteries and candles."

Gazing at a meager pile of wood, I suggest Rock better start dropping some of the deadwood on his property or his cabin is going to be chilly when the power goes out.

"My pile's rarely bigger than that and I keep toasty all winter long," Rock says. I tell Rock he's hardier than I thought, that he must have the constitution of a polar bear.

"Nah, I've got Blaze," he says, indicating his faithful companion, a mottled, large Lab and St. Bernard mix dozing with its tongue lolled out.

The dog can't keep you warm when you're out of your bed, I say.

"Heck, that hound hasn't slept next to me for a few years. He got the boot after his snoring began rattling the bed more than the Nisqually Quake.

"Don't tell anyone but Blaze is a one-of-a-kind retriever. Before dawn, I drive my pickup and Blaze gathers wood.

So, he pilfers other islanders' woodpiles, I say.

"I don't really know where they come from. He just fetches nice big sticks. He's a retriever, I told ya."

Pointing out that Rock didn't toss the sticks to be fetched seemed pointless. I made a note to keep an eye out for giant albino slugs and a Cordwood Retriever eyeing my woodpile.

SAN JUAN ISLANDER © 2008

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