[at-l] Of Mice and Parapackers

[sevy@conknet.com]

	Milo Garcia had a big heart for the little things in the world.  Perhaps
this is what drew him to the little 39 inch parapackers  and what saved the
3 inch mice.  Yes it was Milo who'd scoop the little bobbing mice from the
big 20 quart fondue pot as Warren Doyle would just be pumpin the ole MSR
faster and faster.

Tuesday Morning 3:00 AM:

	Eeeeee-ck Ding, Eeeeeee-ck Ding came the noise from Speck Pond Shelter.
"Not Again !" fumed poor Milo as he threw the heavy wool blanket off and
staggered over to the lean- to in his Hudson Bay  Point boxers.  "War- win
is that you?" said little Juan as he sat up and looked at the figure
approaching the shelter.  "No, you silly little parapacker, Warren is not
meeting us until the Andover B-Hill Road." "It is me,  Milo Garcia. "

	"Oh, hi Mi-wo, is it time to go?" " No, no ,  Little Juan, it is the
middle of the night."  Then another Eeeee-ck Ding came form the corner as
both Little Juan and Milo turned to see a mouse fly headlong out of Little
Enzo's mouth and hit the roof of the shelter.

	Milo had finally discovered the source of the noise that had steadily
gotten more and more frequent over the past few weeks.  Apparently the mice
would scamper and scurry over the 50 parapackers arranged tightly in rows
of 5 deep across the floor of the shelter.  Every now and then one of the
little mice would fall into the little crevasse that was a parapacker
mouth.   Just when their little mouseyes would nearly burst and their
little mousepaws would be losing their grip on the paralips, the pressure
would send them skyward with such force that the fur would lie flat on
their backs and their feet would arch back. 

	Milo could only admire the tenacity of his little mammalian brethren as
they scampered quickly back ocross the parafield after  landing with a
hearty thump.  

	Milo also knew that he had to do something to discourage the mice.  The
days had passed and he started to notice more mice bobbin  in the fondue
and more and more mice hanging about in the shadows of the lean-to.  He
also began to believe that mice were following them from shelter to shelter
like some sick little groupies hoping that they too would catch the big air.

	The parapackers were starting to show signs of what Warren Doyle had
coined "mic-oralphobia -pm" or the fear that mice have been in your mouth
at night.  Some hikers will only sleep in tents or bivy-shelters because of
this phobia according to Dan Bruce.

Thursday 2:00 AM

	Milo positioned his chaise lounge with the multi-colored webbing directly
in front of the shelter and sat waiting in the dark in his boxers and
wearing his Cabela strap-on night vision binoculars.  Yes, the number
peaked at about 20 an hour and he swore the mice were enjoying their hang
time. 

	Warren would know what to do.  In the meantime Milo couldn't sleep but
could only wait and watch the mice flight as he puffed on his big cuban cigar.
	
The Bamaman AT'81	
	
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