Mile 660. Beetle orgy.

I’ve walked into a scene from a National documentary.   - or maybe it’s an Alfred Hitchcock movie.   - or maybe it’s both.   

Black beetles have taken over the Trail.    They are black and juicy, with a sheen of green if the sun can catch them long enough.

They are fast.  Their legs scamper, directionless.  Or so it seems.

They are clear about one thing.   Sex.    Beetle sex.   

The beetles climb aboard each other.  Mostly two, and many times three.   The more the merrier.   It’s a beetle orgy.   

Each step I take disrupts their pleasure.   They scamper - ten at a time - running for cover lest their day of debauchery is discovered.   As they run, their hollow legs echo on the rocks - click, click, click, click.  

The crows hover in the mangled magnolia trees.  Salivating.  Leering.  Cawing.  Flickering their wings.  Waiting for me to leave so they can enjoy their beetle buffet.

Step. 

Scamper.  

Click, click, click.

Caw! Caw!

Flicker.

Step.  

Scamper.  

Click, click, click.

Caw! Caw!

Flicker.

For miles.

The symphony of scampers, clicks, caws, and flicks sends shivers down my spine.  

What had started as an easy slow day turns into a sprint down the Trail.