The campfire had been burning for some time evident by the large mound of glowing embers under the flaming logs. Dinner long over and smores demolished, we sat in chairs around the fire talking and laughing. I do not remember the exact topic of conversation, but with kids it usually jumped around quite often. One of their favorites was trying to come up with scary stories or retell ones they could remember.
The difference this night would be something seen vaguely in my peripheral vision. It was a sudden and momentary movement just beyond the light cast by the fire. For just a second, something was there and gone. A few minutes later, I saw it again appearing to move in a different direction. I soon began to suspect it was not my imagination. Something alive and elusive was toying with me knowingly or not. Through the laughter and boisterous talk of the kids I picked up another sound seeming to occur immediately after each appearance. It was similar to the noise created by lightly slapping an open hand on a picnic table.
Interrupting the conversation circling the fire, I asked if anyone else had seen or heard anything. When prompted, I described it in more detail resulting in a reaction not altogether unexpected. Convinced I was making it up in an attempt to get them spooked, the kids did not believe me and returned to their youthful laughter. For the next hour or so, I kept seeing it – almost – and hearing that faint slapping noise. With my flashlight, I looked and looked, straining the beam into the nearby trees where I could have sworn I just saw it.
Remaining elusive, I was about to wonder if indeed I was losing my mind when the faint sound broke through during a momentary break in everyone’s voices. All eyes looked at me and then peered into the darkness. Almost in unison, there was a mad scramble as flashlights were scooped up and beams of light resembling searchlights quickly illuminated the woods around us.
After much searching of branches and dark recesses of possible thick–leaved havens, lights slowly went off as things returned to normal. Nothing else odd was seen or heard that evening. I believe whatever it had been was scared off by the “Fourth of July” illumination of its dark world. Its night vision was probably screaming in agony.
Cup of coffee in hand in the early morning light, I looked through a couple of my field guides in order to explain the previous evening’s visitor. I knew what I had seen was not my imagination running rampant and wanted to prove it as best I could.
The answer discovered was a little known or thought of creature. It did not come to mind because I had never seen one before. In fact, guess I never really saw this one either, just a glimpse of it’s flight.
I came to the conclusion it was a Southern or Northern flying squirrel. Though both are less than fifteen inches long, the latter is the largest of the two. They do not really fly but can glide nearly 80 feet by using the flap of skin between the fore and hind legs. Alighting lightly, they immediately dart around to the opposite side of the tree in case their landing was followed by a predator. This would explain why we saw nothing, no matter how many times I thought we were shining the light on the correct tree.
The former is more common in the lower 48 states with its range extending from Oklahoma and Texas up to Minnesota and east across the country from Florida to New England. The Northern species is found mostly in Canada but also in the extreme northwestern states, Great Lakes area, New England, and a long finger extending down into the Smokies along the Appalachian Mountains. Both species eat mostly nuts, acorns, seeds, berries, and some insects though they have also been known to eat smaller animals. Their call is faint and quite often mistaken for birds.
Next time darkness creeps upon you and sounds of something lightly slapping trees is heard, do not let fear get the best of you. Remember it is more than likely one of the nocturnal aviators of the wild.
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