Around the time that I matriculated, my aunt sent me a Sports Illustrated "Bloopers" blurb in which my new school was highlighted. The headline? "Dartmouth Crew Practice Cancelled After Coach Attacked By Otters," or something like that (maybe it was beavers?). "I hope you know what you are getting yourself into," my aunt had written on the clipping. Thanks, Aunt Celia.
Looking back, I think that blurb was very telling. Not (thankfully) because I have had to worry about New Hampshire's vicious otter problem on the daily commute to class, but the incident illustrates the inevitable communion with nature Dartmouth students face on a daily basis, albeit in less life-threatening ways.
Even if you chose "Nature Watercolor" for your DOC trip and haven't slept in a sleeping bag since, you probably have noticed that Hanover flora and fauna find ways of making their presence known. We can't claim Hanover's place along the Appalachian Trail without some encounters with the wild, after all.
Receiving the most hype within the subject of nature is our weather, of course. And, yes, it's difficult to ignore the slush sitting in your Uggs throughout your 2A, or negative temperatures if you considered 40 degrees chilly at home. But such annoyances represent only the beginnings of the Hanover wilderness experience.
The local wildlife presents its own challenges. Consider Lily Macartney's '08 long-term stand-off with a skunk she affectionately named Marvin after their third rendezvous.
"I usually meet up with my friend Marvin around 2:10 a.m. after trekking down the West Wheelock hill from the library," she said. "After numerous near misses, I think we have come to an understanding and stay out of each other's way. Now I just say, 'Marvin, evening to you.'"
Elisa McCarthy '08 reached a similar separate peace with her new Tri Delt roommate, a squirrel she and Lindsay Leone '08 named Delta Bobby.
"I remember opening my sweater drawer one morning about two days before I eventually met him, and thought I was going crazy when I saw a rat-looking thing jump out of my drawer and run under my bed," Elisa recalls. "Soon after that I noticed leftover Valentine's Day candy kept disappearing. I finally found him while I was cleaning one afternoon. My friends and I decided that he had to be a flying squirrel. He matched the Wikipedia article picture perfectly -- bulging eyes and webbed arms and everything. After chasing him around my room for about an hour, Lindsay and I decided to ask Bernard Haskell, [assistant director of residential operations], to come get it."
Nature, however, is nothing if not persistent. "He came back two nights later, through my chimney," McCarthy said.
[On a separate note, I'm quite certain the squirrel proved a better companion than the bat we briefly lived with at Tri Delt over sophomore summer.]
There are two kinds of wildlife particular to this region, the leaf peeper and the through hiker. The former may be spotted getting off charter buses around 4:30 for dinner at Molly's; the latter, stocking up on GORP at Omer and Bob's. Both can add color to the average Tuesday in October.
"The through-hikers are a little odd," Meg Whicker '08 said. "They always take on trail names and introduce themselves that way, like 'Hi, I'm Leaf.' No, you're not. Your name is George or something similarly average."
A good rapport with the animals around Hanover is essential. Don't make sudden movements around Marvin. Don't tell through hikers they smell. Don't honk at peepers going 15 miles below the speed limit. Even after navigating such interactions, one still has to watch out for Hanover's hidden pests.
Even the most idyllic of locations can hold unwelcome surprises. Think Occom Pond is something right out of a Thomas Kincaid poster? Heed the warnings of your elders.
"Over sophomore summer, my secret fling and I went out to Occom for our tryst," reported one '08 female (name understandably withheld). "Not a good idea. A few days later, we were both covered in poison ivy -- he had it on the tops of his arms and the front of his legs, and I had it all down my back. It was, um, a little obvious what had happened."
Itchiness notwithstanding, we really can't complain too much. I don't mean to wax Emersonian, but the (sometimes drunken) sight of a snow-covered Green at 2 a.m. or the smack of the river post-rope-swing makes the permanent salt stains on my favorite boots seem like an acceptable sacrifice. Or at least, slightly more acceptable -- the salt stains still make me a little sad.
In fact, I would argue that Dartmouth's laidback, somewhat silly ethos stems in large part from the environment in which we live. You spent an hour on your hair? The wind will wreck it. You just bought new heels? The hills will break them. And don't even get me started on what sub-zero temperatures can do to water bras. Even the girliest among us has to face facts. At Dartmouth, the look is au natural. Just be yourself: It's all the New England wilderness will allow. And watch out for those otters.
Jean Ellen is a staff writer for The Mirror.
