The Acorn Ambush, Nature Fights Back!

Nature is wonderful, and sometimes vindictive.

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Last Friday, I wrapped up an 18.2-mile ride on the Indian Head Rail Trail here in Southern Maryland. It was one of those perfect fall days—sunny, cool, blue sky—and I felt good.

Beat my last time for this same leg of the trail by 5 minutes, so I was feeling pretty good, legs were rubber, lungs were working, a quick cool down and a cold drink of water were needed before jumping in the truck to depart.

I had backed the truck in, like always, so nobody would clip the bike rack in the trail head parking lot.

It is a hitch style rack; it sits right at the tree line when I am backed in.

To load and unload the bike I’ve got to step down into a little ditch. So, I rolled it back there, lifted it up, got it secured, stepped out of the ditch, and stopped to stand in the shade by the back wheel well of the truck on the driver's side.

There I stood, water bottle in hand, standing in the shade, drinking some water and that’s when it happened.

Ping. Something smacked the top of my hat.

An acorn. Well, that made sense—I was under trees, after all.

I shrugged it off, moved a little further from the trees, and lifted my water bottle.

Ping. Another acorn. This time right on my shoulder.

This one seemed to have not dropped, but had some angle to it! Now I was suspicious.

I moved a couple feet again, figuring I’d stepped out from under the canopy.

Ping. Another acorn, again hitting my left shoulder almost in the same spot as the last one!

Okay… now I was scanning the trees and looking into the woods for any movement.

Was someone hiding up there in the tree and thought this was funny?

Was there someone throwing them from within the woods at people stopped at the trailhead?

And that’s when I saw him.

About 30 feet up, a big gray squirrel.

Sitting on a branch, chewing an acorn, staring right at me.

And when I stared back, he froze. Looked me dead in the eye.

Then—like something out of a mob movie—he fluffed his tail, chattered at me, and chucked the half-eaten acorn right at my head.

Almost a bullseye, I barely moved quick enough.

No windup, no warning, or telegraphing of any sort, just a quick little flick to fast to see, and an acorn was hurling at me like an artillery round.

I yelled up, “Hey, squirrel!” (as if he understood).

He bristled even more, chattered louder, and started jumping from branch to branch like a furry acrobat.

Then he tossed a full acorn. It landed only a few inches from me and rolled across the gravel.

This wasn’t random. This was personal.

At this point a few people had walked by, and slowed a little, obviously wondering what I was looking and shouting at. I paid them no attention; I kept my gaze locked upon the grew assassin!

At one point, another squirrel joined him on the branch. They chattered back and forth for a minute—looked like a strategy meeting, or a disagreement on engagement tactics—then the second squirrel hopped away, leaving the big one to finish the fight.

By now I’d retreated to the front of the truck, a good 20–30 feet from the tree. I figured I was safe.

Nope.

Just as I was about to get in, another full acorn landed inches from my feet.

I picked it up, tossed it back (not very effectively), and the squirrel went nuts—jumping, chattering, tail snapping like a whip.

I retorted something about him being lucky I didn't have a sling shot, or better aim, and how he should take his time crossing the street. He just continued to bristle and chatter.

I climbed into the truck, shut the door, started to pull away…

Whack. An acorn hit my windshield.

No damage—just a parting shot. A warning. A reminder from the vindictive little sniper in the tree, that I was in his home turf.

I’ve been through hornet wars, bomb scares, and government bureaucracy… but this?

This was my first acorn ambush.

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