The Great Possum Hunt

I was recently in Seattle for a visit to friends and family. My first day up, I went into town to see hotshot photographer Chase Jarvis and crew and have lunch in their supercool studio space in Wallingford. Turns out timing was really good because the next day he was off to another far away place to shoot for 3 weeks. I can’t disclose in case he does one of his ever popular Room With(out) A View blogs where he shoots one random shot from his location and the readers have to guess where it is.

As I was taking note of the well stocked bar, Chase pulled down a bottle of vodka I had never seen before (rare, I know) and told me the story of the “possum hunt” cocktail. This particular vodka is from New Zealand and this flavor is not sold here. It’s called 42 Below and it’s feijoa infused. What the hell is a feijoa, you ask? I asked the same thing. It’s some kind of fruit that grows in NZ. I ask what it taste like and the best description he could come up with was the “good part of cough syrup.” I’m intrigued. He mixes me a Possum Hunt with the stuff. Basically, when he and the crew were shooting in NZ, they came up with this drink and had to give it a name. Apparently there the possum is a sort of love/hate thing so the name seemed appropriate. I taste it and yep, it’s got an odd medicinal edge. But not in a bad way. It’s dry but citrusy, clean but flavorful. These could grow on me.

It reminded me that I had a bit of a run in with a possum recently. We had a little possum hanging around the backyard raiding the cat food dish. Though not cute in a traditional sense, he was kind of fun to watch as he clumsily waddled around the patio. Then one evening he slipped into the garage while the back door was open. Not knowing any better, I closed up the garage and went off to bed that night.

Possum are night creatures. I found out the hard way. The next morning, something was wrong in the garage. A few things were misplaced, the cat food bag was missing and there was a funk. Like a gamey animal smell that was certainly not cat. Great. Something now lives in the garage. After a brief strategy planning session I venture into the garage and open up the doors and make a clear path to both of them. The path, I realize is meant for either me or the possum, whoever should need it first. Then I methodically eye the garage and decide, If I were a possum, I would hide . . . over . . . there, in The snowboard and hiking gear of course. So I begin moving the bags and gear piece by piece.

Sure enough, there he/she/it is. Curled up and snoozing under my duffle full of winter gear. I give it a poke with a stick and I’m surprised that it doesn’t do much. Not even look up at me. This may be harder than I thought. Another poke, this time a little harder. It’s head is up and it’s looking a little dazed and confused. This is my chance I think. Startle it and get it up and running toward the light of the door only that’s not what happens. The possum turns toward the dark recesses of the garage and runs. “NOOOooaaaarrrhhhahhhhrrrg!!!” comes out of my mouth and actually surprises me. What the hell? Did I just channel Ted Nugent? Then I see that it actaully had an effect on the little guy.

He’s looking intimidated and I am not relenting. I begin to growl and bang on nearby paint cans with my hand, all the while poking at his hindquarters with a stick. Possums are tenacious. He stands his ground and bares his catlike teeth. They are way longer and sharper than I’d imagined and are a bit menacing. I am suddenly wondering if possum can leap. I pick up an Igloo cooler lid to shield myself just in case.

More yelling and banging. He’s slowly making his way toward the back door and I am just waiting to get him close enough to give him a good slapshot out with my stick. Instead he does something I hadn’t thought of: He climbs straight up the shelving and disappears into the rafters of the garage. Now I am very cautious because he has the drop on me. I grab a step ladder and pull out a flashlight. He’s gone. Really. Like illusionist rodentia, he’s vanished and all is still.

This is when I realize that my entire knowledge of possums is limited to hearsay or cartoons. And I’m standing below a magical disappearing possum that is feeling threatened. I look down at my hand and it’s bleeding. I examine the cut and it’s deeper than I think. Great, now he can smell my blood. I scan the rafters from the step ladder and still see nothing. I am hoping to catch the gleam of its eyes with the flashlight but I see nothing but dusty wood. Then I hear something come from a shelf near the door. I bang furiously on the shelves while growling and hissing and jabbing my stick around at nothing. If any of the neighbors were walking past at this moment, they would certainly have reason for concern, or to walk away faster.

Then it’s quiet. I wait for movement, pull a few things away from the shelves and see nothing. Vanished again. But this time I have a feeling he made his way out the door. I walk out into the bright daylight and Rufus the cat is looking into the shrubs of the backyard with great alarm. This is a good sign. I assume that the little guy ran out of the garage and into the bushes up the hill in back and Rufus saw the whole thing. It would be great if I could get some kind of confirmation from him but he just looks at me and blinks.

The possum returned for a couple more nights but could only raid the cat bowl. I have been diligent about keeping the garage closed up since. After having experienced both the cocktail version and live-action version of the “Possum Hunt” I’ll take the libation any day.

~ by Gary Allard on July 14, 2008.