“Well the raven is a wicked bird
His wings are black as sin
And he floats outside my prison window
Mocking those within
And he sings to me real low
It’s hell to where you go
For you did murder Kate McCannon”
(Kate McCannon, Colter Wall, 2017)
When we got to the Visitor’s Center at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon this fellow was giving me the evil eye from a low hanging perch on a nearby tree. He was croaking some kind of a challenge at me. He probably wanted me to acknowledge his suzerainty over the whole South Rim of the Grand Canyon. These ravens are enormous and don’t caw like crows. They croak and bellow. And anything you leave loose in your campsite is fair game. They’ll steal anything smaller than a duffel bag that’s interesting looking, especially anything shiny or edible. And just about anything is one or the other from their point of view. One sat in a tree above our campsite and serenaded us with abuse at sunset and again at sunrise. All in all, a very impressive creature. Almost thirty years ago I read a book called “Ravens in Winter” by a guy named Bernd Heinrich. He was studying ravens in Maine. He described how intelligent and social the birds were. I’ve always wanted to see them up close. Now I’m jealous of those living in the west where they are very common.