Theo's Zoo Visit-From a Falcon to a Reindeer

 Traveling with a gangster cat isn't easy. Sometimes we have to bribe Theo with treats, but not this time. From Theo's point of view, there's nothing that beats going to the zoo. 

Dan, Theo and I go to the Philadelphia Zoo all the time. We've visited the zoo in Washington, DC to see the elephants. We've hung out with the koala bears in San Diego. We've been to zoos all around the world--Rome, Beijing (to see the panda bears), Hawaii, London, and even the Schonbrun Zoo in Austria.  

Of course, since we're in Anchorage we must go to their zoo--founded in 1969 to conserve the Arctic species--and see animals we don't usually see up close and personal. How will Theo react to animals he's never seen or sniffed before? That is the question. Who will his favorite be?

The air is cool, and the sun is almost shining. It's the kind of day that when you take a deep breath, you taste the power of Mother Nature at her finest.

First stop is a Peregrine Falcon, which has an interesting history. Human have hunted these falcons since 2200 BC in China. Even William Shakespeare enjoyed the sport. The peregrine was always admired and reserved for hunting with royalty. These falcons themselves hunt all kinds of birds and are the fastest birds in the world (we're talking 238 miles an hour) when in pursuit of prey.

Peregrines declined in the USA due to DDT pesticide (banned in 1972). Falconers helped to breed and release over 5,000 peregrines from 1974 to 1999, when they were removed from the endangered species list. 

Theo is all agog. After all, the Peregrine Falcon is a bird. His fondest wish is to stalk, sniff and hopefully catch a falcon. Ha. Ha.  We literally have to drag Theo away from the falcon.

"There are other animals to see." 

We spot what looks like a buffalo but is really a Tibetan Yak and Theo is instantly mesmerized by this glorious animal with the funny horns. 

"Theo, this is a domestic yak. The males weigh up to 1200 pounds and can live for 25 years. In contrast wild yaks live between 14,000 and 20,000 feet in cold, oxygen poor air. They have extra red blood cells for carrying oxygen and two extra rib pairs for deep breathing. Less than 10,000 wild yaks remain alive as compared to twelve million domestic yaks who live on the Tibetan Plateau. Yaks fear hunters, cross-breeding efforts, disease from the domestic yaks and livestock grazing that push wild yaks from grassland habitats.

 

Theo has no comment. He wants to get closer to the yak and at one point reaches his paw through the fence. Unfortunately, the yak is conked out (mid-morning snooze) and doesn't react. 

A Bactrian Camel is next. This is the second time we've seen a camel in a zoo, but their wild brothers live in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia and China. The desert has harsh conditions--rain once every three years and sandstorms that can blow the paint off a truck. But the camel has long eyelashes, clear eyelids, ear hair and nostrils and lips that seal shut. They can survive temperatures of 40 degrees below zero to 120 degrees above zero, can drink salt water, and have survived nuclear testing in the Gobi Desert. 

The domestic camel can carry 600 pound loads for 30 miles a day. 

There is something intoxicating about a camel. Theo and I took a camel ride in the Sahara Desert and we met a baby camel in Morocco so Theo has no fear. He cat walks up to the fence and meows. "Just let me sniff you," he seems to be saying. But the camel prefers not to. 

Next up is a Caribou. "Look at those antlers, Theo."

Why does a Caribou look like a reindeer?

Answer: In Alaska caribou is a wild reindeer. In Europe all wild and domestic caribou are called reindeer. Geez. They can adapt well to Arctic conditions. Their fur is hollow and well insulating. Their hooves are hard for ice traction. They can live up to 20 years in captivity and 10 years in the wild. They weigh between 300 (females) and 600 (males) pounds. An adult reindeer can eat twelve pounds of plants a day. 

We can't resist talking about Santa Clause and the reindeer. Theo listens patiently, rolls his eyes only a little and as soon as we're finished, lobbies for a snack. One more thing--we talk about how climate change has affected the animals. 

By this time his cat eyes glaze over.

He's right. We need a break. As we're walking to the very small cafe/counter where there's food, I have to ask him. "What's your favorite so far?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "The falcon."

Of course. Birds on the brain always if you're a cat.

Eagle Eyed Theo Spots Salmon

 Theo, the gangster cat, and I disagree on one thing--salmon. He loves any kind of salmon--chicken and salmon, salmon by itself, tuna and salmon . . . while I eat salmon religiously once a week and can only do so if I cook it in an air fryer and smother it in a tangy teriyaki ginger sauce. 

Nevertheless, we're both keen to watch the salmon run in Anchorage which occurs May through June for the chinook salmon and July and August for the hatchery seeded coho salmon.

I know little to nothing about salmon. Experts promise that in August you can see literally thousands of salmon making their way up Ship's Creek, which lies in the industrial heart of Anchorage. Ship's Creek runs through the port and alongside the ocean waters of Cook Inlet. 

So, of course, after a delicious lunch we trek to Ship's Creek, following a touristy kind of map which is mostly accurate, but not really. I'd like to say that it was our superior navigation skills that land us in the right location so we can look down from a kind of boardwalk and see the salmon, but that isn't true. I can only attribute our success to Theo and his amazing sniffing ability. 

Amidst the mud and sledge flats, fed by ocean waters, the salmon run. But here's where seeing the salmon gets tricky.

Dan and I are there in exactly the right spot (according to Theo) but see nothing. Theo, however, is intently looking down, his tail wagging a mile a minute, and we fear that soon he'll decide to jump off the boardwalk into the water. He has that stalking look on his face. And he's bouncing up and down, as if ready to pounce.

He sees something. We see nothing.

According to the experts, coho salmon are a dark metallic blue color with greenish blue backs in the ocean, but when they enter the creek they go through a hormonal change and turn a deep dark muddy green or charcoal gray color. That's what we're looking for--green or gray.

The sun is shining brightly. Dan grabs ahold of Theo and holds on to him for dear life. We're not amateurs when it comes to this gangster cat who will stop at nothing when there's food involved. 

"Theo, Theo," I hiss, "Do you see anything?"

Theo, ever patient with mere humans who can see yet not see--when it comes to those things most important--points his sleek paw at the precise spot in the water where we should see something. 

A miracle happens. Suddenly the water isn't just water anymore. It's chocked full of what look like long narrow black fish, crammed together (yes, like sardines in a tin can). 

We stay for a long time watching the salmon run. Eventually Theo realizes we're not letting him jump into the water and get swept away. He relaxes somewhat (if that's possible) and watches the show. We learn that it's not unusual for the salmon to appear black in the water. We can thank Mother Nature who's designed what they call "countershadowing" to camouflage the fish if the All Fishing Prohibited sign doesn't work.

If you see one up close and personal, they appear almost silver with black spots on their back. The fish meat inside is orange colored. 

When we finally walk away, I feel like a salmon expert. Theo, on the other hand, squinches his cute face, rolls his eyes, and meow whispers, "Dream on."

Theo Sniffs Totem Poles

 We arrive in downtown Anchorage, Alaska, which I can't describe as a thriving metropolis, but it is Alaska's biggest city. Finally, you feel like you've returned to civilization as we know it, the good and the bad. 

Anchorage is home to half of Alaska's population. James Cook arrived here in 1778 on his search for the Northwest Passage. At that time Russian fur trappers lived here and traded with the local natives. The Gold Rush of the 1880's and the Alaskan Railroad in 1915 brought more settlers.

We decide to visit The Alaska Native Heritage center in Anchorage, even though the moment we mention "museum," Theo puts on his saddest pout face. We lure him with snacks. 

"There'll be plenty of snacks along the way," we promise. "This museum is special," we tell him--marketing is key in this kind of situation--because it not only has indoor exhibits (Theo ho hums his disapproval) but also a model outside of authentic Eskimo dwellings and customs. 

First the inside where we glimpse rare finds of eskimo art and totem poles, which Theo sniffs. We can't resist telling Theo that totem poles tell us a lot. The carved animals and figures are a kind of family crest and represent ancestral spirits and supernatural beings that connect to the village.

In a time when there was no central heating in a colder than cold climate, we see what kinds of clothing the natives wore:

Outside, we wander along a path and see what a native village would have looked like a century ago. The only thing we know are igloos, that the natives built in the snow. We have a lot to learn.

Since Alaska is 14.2% water, measuring 94,743 miles (the largest total amount of water in the USA) fish was their staple food--they built racks to dry the fish on:

Theo trots over to sniff the rack.

The locals stored their food high off the ground so the animals couldn't reach it:

Theo needs to sniff the poles.

The villages were tight-knit for survival, focused on hunting.

The native people built large communal spaces for the men to meet. It was used for ceremonies, dances, council meetings and where the men and older boys worked, ate and slept.

Individual families lived in smaller sod-insulated houses which were built underground using whale ribs, driftwood or logs and heavily insulated with layers of sod to combat extreme Arctic winds and sub-zero temperatures.

Theo had a field day sniffing the communal houses.

The locals also invested time in building tunnels, heavily disguised, that they could use to escape the village in case of an attack. These tunnels also connected dwellings. They could be 72 to 90 feet long.

Theo trots ahead of us as we try to imagine what life was like back then. The local people fished for whales, seals, and used the blubber to light and heat their homes. They melted water from the frozen rivers around them for drinking water. They used kayaks for traveling. 

We can't resist walking through one of the tunnels to see where it leads. This escape tunnel ended outside the village, near a waterway.

As we're leaving, we pass one more totem pole (which, of course, Theo sniffs). "Remember what we told you about the totem poles."

Theo sighs.

"Well, would you like living out here, Theo, a hundred years ago?"

"Would I have snacks?"

"No, probably not, but there would be plenty of fish."

He nods.

"And, of course, plenty of totem poles to sniff."