Llama hiking

When we found out we were going to Massachusetts, I assumed we would do certain things, but never anticipated that hiking with llamas would be one of those things. I didn't even know it was a "thing." But, turns out, there is more than one farm that offers this interesting activity. Enter: Hawkmeadow Farms.

I was excited. Didn't know what to expect—do we ride them? do they carry our stuff?—I didn't really care, I just wanted to hang with some animals!

As a naturalist, Richard made an excellent guide, pointing out features of the land that we might not have noticed. Like the large beech tree, called a "babysitter tree" because mama bear sends her babies up it while she forages, hence all the claw marks on it's trunk. Or the area of freshly dug earth, indicative of a bear rooting around for grubs. Or dissecting some scat, revealing rodent bones, to determine just who's scat it was. Coyote, likely.

The llamas made interesting and unique hiking companions. When my llama, Picasso, wasn't munching on every possible thing he could reach (which was a llot, his neck is llong), he engaged in an activity called "pointing." I would notice the slack in the lead tighten, and would turn to find him stopped, and looking, pointing, intently into the forest. I would follow his gaze, as Richard said this often would lead to a sighting of some sort of wildlife. But I never saw anything, which actually started to freak me out after a bit. Especially after Richard kept pointing out fresh evidence of bears and coyotes.

By the end of the hike, Mark and Happy Jack were besties, and his llama would rub it's face on Mark's arm. But note Picasso's distinct lean away from me. He would have none of it. But I love him anyway. How could you not love those big eyes and prominent underbite? And did you notice the spot on his left eye is shaped like Africa? How cool is that?!