Question of the Day | 03/30/2009 12:00 am

What is the most exotic creature (animal, bird or insect) you have ever seen in its natural environment?

Under what circumstances? Join Joan Ganz Cooney, Cynthia McFadden and the wOw women and tell us below …

Joan Ganz Cooney | 03/30/2009 3:20 pm

Joan Ganz Cooney's Fearless Mother

Rattlesnakes, when I was kid at our summer house in the Arizona mountains. My mother, who was utterly fearless on her own behalf but anxious and frightened on behalf of her children, used to say, "Stand back, children," and then she’d hurl boulders at them until she had killed them.

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Julia Reed | 03/30/2009 4:00 pm

Julia Reed: Natural Habitats, From Africa to Mississippi

Almost every creature in its natural environment knocks me out, whether it is a leopard in Tanzania or a Southern leopard frog at home in Mississippi. The leopard is one of my favorite animals — so bad (one of the few predators who kills more than they can eat) and lazy (lolling around among the branches all day) and totally beautiful. But when you see them in those branches, as I did during two glorious trips to Tanzania and Kenya, what is most striking to me is how much less "exotic" they look when they are where they are supposed to be — all those dazzling golds and tangerines seem to fade away and they are literally one with the tree bark. I don’t think I’m ever any happier than I am in Africa.

On my first trip, my friend McGee and I spent all our time roaming around in open Jeeps and drinking Tusker beer and taking in all these amazing sights, and then we realized that was pretty much how we’d spent our youth, except the exotica we were looking at from my Mustang convertible were mostly horses and cows and rattlesnakes, not to mention the ubiquitous possums and armadillos.

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Cynthia McFadden | 03/30/2009 5:35 pm

Cynthia McFadden on One of the Most Thrilling Experiences of Her Life

A year ago I had the opportunity to sit in the nest of 18 mountain gorillas while shooting a story in Rwanda. There are only a few hundred of these magnificent creatures left in the world, and the group we visited was kin to the gorillas Dian Fossey died trying to save. It was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. Sitting five feet from one of the females, I had the real sense she wanted to communicate with me. I certainly wanted to communicate with her. I did learn something very interesting — we were warned by our guide that the senior male, "the boss," would most likely charge us when we approached as a way to indicate his dominance. We were instructed to sink down to our knees and expose the nape of our necks to indicate to him we bowed to his superiority. It worked. I only wish I had learned this technique years ago. Could have been very helpful at work.

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Joan Juliet Buck | 03/30/2009 8:00 pm

Joan Juliet Buck on 'Cougar' María Félix

In 1980 in Deauville, I met the Mexican movie star María Félix at the Royal Hotel. She was living with a man described as a former room-service waiter. She wore giant necklaces in the shape of snakes — one emeralds, one diamonds. At 66 or 67, she had long, black hair, wore a poncho and smoked cigars. I knew I was looking at a cougar, a jaguar, a queen of the jungle, a merciless raptor and an idol of millions. And Deauville — home of gamblers, louche aristos, soldiers of fortune and babes of all stripes, was her natural home.

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Liz Smith | 03/31/2009 8:40 am

Liz Smith, Ann Richards and 'Wally': A Wild Experience

In spite of growing up in Texas amid rattlesnakes, armadillos, road runners, jackrabbits, horned toads and the like, I have never really encountered an animal in the wild close up.

I did once work with a cheetah on an NBC-TV show, but a trainer had it first on a chain, then let it loose to prove it could outrun a car at 60 or 70 mph and cautioned me to remove my lipstick or the cheetah might attack, thinking I was wounded.

But I did have a delightful, wild experience on the beautiful restored Connecticut River where I sometimes visit my godson. When he was about six or seven years old, an “immature” American eagle would come nightly to sit directly on the flagpole at the end of the dock. The little man of the house named him “Wally” and this eagle arrived like clockwork every evening just as the sail- and motorboats came back up the river from Long Island Sound as the sun was setting. While cocktails were being shaken up, “Wally” would perform, leaving his perch sometimes to catch a fish and gobble it up before our eyes.

One morning, however, when the late Ann Richards was visiting as a houseguest, we saw “Wally” early in the morning, on the flagpole. With the stars and stripes blowing below him, “Wally” seemed to have a broken wing. He appeared to be struggling to stay atop his perch. We watched him with alarm and then Ann went into her emergency mode, calling the Environmental Protection Agency, the local ASPCA and every wildlife group she could find in the yellow pages. “Wally” continued to flap one wing as if it were useless and he was teetering, but Ann couldn’t get any results and this made the governor very upset. We watched “Wally” with binoculars as he dragged one wing and Ann demanded help from the local police and everyone else. “We have a magnificent,
rare American eagle here and it is in trouble!” roared Ann.

Suddenly, “Wally” quieted himself. He seemed to know he had gathered an audience. Then he reared up, clutching the top of the pole with his claws, the flag flapping underneath him. He threatened to fall, dipped, then fluttered both wings and took off, soaring out over the river and back through the enormous treetops and over the house. He circled, gave us a good look, then turned, flying off toward the I- 95 bridge, and disappeared like the all-American he is.

We all felt utterly foolish, but Ann Richards, the eternal optimist was cheering. “Never mind; he’s OK,” she said, hanging up on the police chief of Old Saybrook.

We couldn’t really understand it, but we supposed “Wally” was just showing off because eagles are a big factor in the Connecticut River Valley and even have certain “eagle” celebrations annually. And eagles in that part of Connecticut are not rare; only much loved and protected. We discovered that “Wally” was described as an “immature American eagle” because it would take four years for him to mature.

This is the summer for “Wally” to come back in his maturity. And I often think, if only Ann could come back too.

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Candice Bergen | 04/04/2009 11:30 am

Candice Bergen's Adventures in the Jungle

Jeez. I had just been so daunted by Ms. McFadden’s response of sharing a gorilla nest that in my long moment of hesitation, the time has passed. I did, just by the way, have some good animal encounters — baboons rattling my door; crocodile nests; baby gorillas; sitting to pee on an upturned elephant jawbone at night when a lion, unseen, next to me behind a fence, suddenly roared so loud I fell off; hippos charging a canoe from underwater; charging elephants at close range; riding an ostrich and biting the dust; spending the afternoon next to lions sitting beside me, nuzzling my leg.

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Everything is relative … right? Exotic … after coming off the tailend of one of the worst Canadian winters on history … I feel justified in saying that the most ‘exotic’ animal I have ever seen in it’s natural habitat … that’s quite a qualifier … anyhow … the exotic animal in question was spotted just this weekend when I saw a gopher … now, I’m not being silly here, writing from a village that experienced weeks on end of subzero temperatures hovering around minus thirty … but … please understand … a gopher, where I live, is a sure sign of spring … and, within the context of minus thirty … well, this little guy qualified as exotic …

By Harriet Shoebridge on 03/30/2009 12:39 am

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Bengal tigers, cougars and other big cats at Cedar Cove - Feline Conservatory not too far from my home. Seeing the big cats from just a short distance away, was incredible.

The conservatory was started by a Vietman vet who fell in love with the cats while in Vietnam, and is used for education purposes, rather than being a zoo. I never realized before how huge tigers are, or ever seen a tiger push his nose through the bars just to give his trainer a kiss.

Hey, this is Kansas, when you really do not have any geographic locations to excite you, the cats will do. Occasionally we have deer in the neighborhood that stray out of nature park a mile away, but that is about it.

By Linda Myers on 03/30/2009 1:18 am

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Black Water Beetles found in the rivers in Southern China on the border with Viet Nam. They have big wings and itty bitty legs, and they were being served as a local delicacy at dinner. They actually didn’t taste that bad stir fried once I was politely informed that one yanks their hard shell wings off before eating and wash them down with a potent plum brandy.

By C A Rose on 03/30/2009 1:37 am

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Thou art far braver than I…

By Frannie Em on 03/30/2009 9:31 am

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Driving north in California from Santa Barbara in December, I saw an enormous bird lazily gliding on the air currents and I looked closer and recognized that it was a California Condor. I was driving by a forest in Atascadero. I was really stunned at how large it was. The wingspan was at least eight feet. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_Condor

It crossed my mind that Alfred Hitchcock would have enjoyed seeing these birds in flight, and maybe he did.

By Elizabeth Bennett on 03/30/2009 1:54 am

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Elizabeth … this year we were fortunate to get the world’s most close-up photo of a condor out of the window of a private plane where he was flying alongside, and matching our speed. I wish WOW would print it. As California condors are rare and marked, this was Number 46 in case the scientists are wondering where he disappeared to. It was such a thrill to be yards away. In the southern Andes in the Patagonian portion of Chile, we would often see Andean condors with the longer 10 foot wing span, and males with their pretty ugly faces that were prettied up in yellow, orange, and red to be the most desired male for the breeding season competition for the ladies. Frankly, I would say as a female "NO WAY" — but there is no explaining tastes in men — as we as women know too well. Inexplicably, among the snow covered mountains, but where we stood below, the trees were filled with brightly colored parakeets in beautiful colors, guanacos (similar and yet different than llamas) and their darling babes, and beautiful foxes scampering around as icebergs floated on the turquoise blue waters. Paradise.

By joan larsen on 03/30/2009 5:42 am

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Elizabeth

Aren’t the condors amazing?

By Frannie Em on 03/30/2009 3:28 pm

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Truly spectacular. Since there are less than 200 in the wild, it was a rare privilege to see this one. I will look for them again, next time I drive through Atascadero, maybe I will bring binoculars and stop for a while.

By Elizabeth Bennett on 03/30/2009 4:09 pm

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Rocky Mountain sheep - crossing a highway!

By canuck canuck on 03/30/2009 4:10 am

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Canuck I saw the most beautiful white curved horned rams or (mountain goats?) in Glacier national Park.

By Kay Sara on 03/30/2009 11:22 am

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Imagine being in a small raft for four floating in one of the most beautiful days the world has ever seen, but among the uninhabited islands closest to the North Pole in Svalbard (Spitzbergen), 600 miles above Norway. In a bay surrounded by stunning ice-covered mountains, calving icebergs into the lagoon with a suddenness totally unexpected, we were in a bluest-of-blue sky paradise. Total silence . . . until the base of a large glacier inexplicably dropped off into the waters, breaking up into smaller bergs that caused a tidal wave to roll outward with the subsequent waves causing an extreme tippy "is the raft going over experiences" for some minutes as the tidal waves rolled outward.

Our "leader" had a wonderful idea: why don’t we corral a very small iceberg, tie it with our rope and drag it after us back to the ship. We will be the delight at cocktail hours when everyone will have pieces of blue iceberg a thousand years old in their glasses. Something to talk about forever. We agreed it would be a sensational idea.

Our minds on finding one small enough to tow took our attention and we were soon up to our elbows in ice water trying to tie it up so the slippery ice would not get away …WHEN I looked up to see a polar bear also out in the bay, standing on a piece of iceberg and intently watching our struggle to restrain the piece we already had.

Frankly, I don’t think he was as curious on how we made the ties with the rope as he, I believe, was looking at us like a convenient next meal. A dive off the little berg and a short swim and dinner was "us".

As all of you know, women are brave as they come. Still a long way from the little ship, we were the binoculared eyes of all on the boat as we made our choice. We began to tow the iceberg, but it would melt a bit and slip out of our cleverly arranged ropes. One eye on the polar bear - wondering just how hungry he could be - we would again have half our bodies now in the water, retying it as it got smaller and smaller. . and would start off again.

The boat by this time had lowered a cargo net to bring the iceberg on board for cocktail hour. The polar bear had his head up and pointed as he pondered his next move. They swim fast. Polars bears had been everywhere, but never on an iceberg bit so close to us in a raft, for gosh sake. How many people could live to tell this story.

We stopped, retying the decreasingly big piece of iceberg (large) until we were quite wet ourselves, as the bear watched intently, never taking his gaze off these delectable women, deciding which one he would dive for first. My bright red polar outfit somehow seemed like a beacon!!

How long did this go on? Probably at least 45 minutes before we got to the cargo net, with the polar bear also floating along our way on his berg. Needless to say, we were applauded as heros (heroines?) as the ice was lifting onto the ship — and thanked for some of the best close-up-and personal videos of a beautiful polar bear in the same frame as that of four wet polar explorers who gave their all for some blue cocktail ancient ice. . . and lived to tell about it.

This was not to be my last close-up-and personal encounter with a bear with an appetite, but it IS the one that is also remembered as one of the most beautiful days of my life - and well as a first-rate experience. Hard to top.

By joan larsen on 03/30/2009 5:15 am

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Joan Larsen: No offense, but - please explain further.

I have been reading your submissions for a good while now. Always with the greatest interest and always with eager anticipation and expectation of learning something I did not know. No matter what the subject of the thread may be, your expected comments cause me to eagerly search out your signature so I can enjoy your views and analysis, and probably learn something significantly new.

However, this last batch of entries has me confused. I am wondering just what it is you are about? If you were a male, I would quickly wonder if I was reading another page from Major Hoople’s diary. All these adventures you describe. The places you’ve been. The things you have seen. The people you know. What an interesting life you lead .

Unless I have been missing something, and unless the other WOW members have knowledge of your adventures, I would truly like to know more about you. What actually is your profession? Are you another Richard Halliburton? Or Pearl S. Buck. Or Frank Buck?? I really feel some of us would appreciate any further clarification you would not mind sharing with us. How about it Joan. I know you would not be lost for words.

By Lauriate Roly on 03/30/2009 12:09 pm

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Lauriate - I felt so sure that my daughter, who writes here, would have written today as she really has stories also - another adventurer - and tell what she thinks of her mother. But both of us are at work and I am on deadline … so later tonight I will get something on. Very often people who write me begin with: "Dear Adventuress" - so, you see, this just happens to be the love of my life and has been since childhood so — every chance I get, I am gone to remote places the tiniest dots on the globe. Joan

By joan larsen on 03/30/2009 3:18 pm

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Lauriate … I am writing ONLY if you promise that you will do the same … as we get bits and pieces of the lives and past lives of our writers on WOW … but just enough to get us more curious. How did this person get from here to there? Where did the great writing ability come from? Are they famous people with pen names? Doesn’t Joan Larsen look like she got her start in adventurous wild travel on the knee of Richard Halliburton??

It isn’t until we are so much older that we realize how much we have been molded and shaped by our parents. How did we get from here to there? A love of learning filled my home, and not only was Halliburton, Lowell Thomas, et al, on the shelves where I couldn’t miss indulging, but I was taken to lectures of these early explorer/adventurers each time they were in town. We travelled to the Yucatan, to Cuba, more — and Halliburton’s writings had convinced me to be a risk-taker, a traveller to remote places. So now it was a matter of scheming, planning specific faraway trips, saving money, and in many cases, charming men into allowing me to do some of my most dreamed-of things absolutely free. My kids had flown the coop by the time I was 39 - and our second life began, heavy in all sorts of travel, but heavily nature travel that would get me into places few had been. Once hooked — well, what’s a girl to do? One of my goals - to get to every dot on the globe in the polar regions - has been largely successful and totally wonderful. This involves taking risks at times, gambles, but aren’t we on this earth to get the most out of each day? I am doing my best. That is the very short of the travel end - my close calls would fill a book.

I had parents that gave me the love of life, the confidence, and the advantages — and the gift of saying that I could be anything that I wanted to be, no holds barred. Strong words and I followed them. Accepted at the U of Chicago at age 14, I zoomed through college in 3 years, was on Seventeen magazine Advisory Board at 16, asked to be in the Mademoiselle writing program - or whatever it was called back then. These things did not fall at my feet. . and I never received applause at home - never. But it proved to me that if you try, there is a good chance you can do very well.

Quickly, and I think you know, I have been in my state political offices for 30 years - promising myself that the first time I don’t get the highest vote count, it will tell me that I am losing my touch. I will stop cold. But I love all the things I have done. Especially at Christmas, I get the big cards from the big politicos addressed to "The Honorable JL" and I laugh at this outdated language. Today I filled out the required forms that asked if I did all sorts of things considered illegal for an elected official for the umpteenth time, and tomorrow it is notarized — and I am in the clear for another year.

We all write… . but I can’t stop writing. . for newspapers, magazines, a constant stream … and I usually have a book I have done with someone or I have partially ghostwritten out. Right now it is "Pieces of my Heart" - and I named the book and a chapter or more is devoted to me by my very good friend. In June, one on green housing will be out, written by a famous author and called for now "The Cul de Sac Syndrome", again with a chapter on me mainly. If you know of the now dead great photographer Galen Rowell (and a few other who do coffee table books) you can find my pictures in them - as we travelled to the really really remote places on earth. I loved Galen Rowell, who died on the way home in a private plane crash but was wonderful to me.

That is the short of it. I am told I have too many balls in the air . . . but we should never judge another’s life. I squeeze the most out of every day — as my family did also. I love every minute and I think my happiness shows. And now it is your turn, Lauriate. YOu can start in telling me how you got that pretty first name??? And then continue. Promise.

By joan larsen on 03/30/2009 11:52 pm

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joan larsen - In no way did I expect you to go into such detail about your exciting life but I am certain other WOW’ers appreciate your discourse as much as I do. Thank you.

Details about my life experiences and qualifications do not come even close to yours so I cannot fulfill the promise you expect of me. However, I will tell you about my “pretty name”.

Lauriate sounds that way, but it’s not meant to be pretty. Actually, the first born in French Canadian families who are in any serious way attached to the arts, have this name passed on to them. My father was a Lauriate, deservedly so, and because I am his first son, I carry the name.

By Lauriate Roly on 03/31/2009 5:12 pm