Real tigers

Now that the circus is ensconced, I was intrigued by the idea that there were elephants in Prospect Park. The circus encampment is highly visible and porous-looking; surely I could spy an elephant just by sneaking around the perimeter.

As I crept up alongside the hastily-constructed fence around the circus trailers, I felt like a naughty 8-year-old boy. Speaking of which, where are all the transgressive urchins of Brooklyn—home watching video games, when they should be scaling fences in search of a free peek under the big top?  I was pretty much alone in my pokings-about, a 50-year-old lady pursuing the work of the Little Rascals. Finally, amid the boring shuttered trailers, I found one with hay spilling out and two tiny white ponies munching. Nearby, some larger performers were also relaxing. I skedaddled with my camera after the tacky lace curtain in a trailer window moved and someone rapped angrily from within. I did not fancy running afoul of circus security, which was of the "man-mountain sharp-suited bouncer" variety.

However, I couldn't resist circling back for another look behind the blue tarp that shrouded the fence. As the emcee worked the happy crowd inside the tent ("Where you from? Brooklyn's in the house! Where you from? Harlem's in the house!") I heard some curt Spanish and a hair-raising chuffling sound. A few minutes earlier, the audience had been urged to "give it up" for some Colombian tiger trainers. Yes! Perched low in a tree, I craned my neck and saw them wheel a cage up to the ramp of a vented trailer right in front of me. There was a flash of orange and black flank, and then a snarl and roar. Not a cartoonish roar, but a casual, let-me-rip-your-face-off basso profundo, about six feet away from me. I just about fell out of my tree.

The crew, annoyed by me and the few other curious souls who had gathered outside the fence, snapped the vents down after three big cats were restored to their cages. I felt the guilty thrill of being a tiger paparazzi. This is the best shot I could manage through the fence, a nice tail-and-hind-legs shot.

Content with my forbidden glimpse of tigerosity (and having forgotten all about elephants), I followed a steep and unfamiliar path up above the Concert Grove. A young man with a German accent asked sheepishly, "How do I get to Eighth Avenue? I am sort of lost." I pointed him back in the direction of the setting sun, but had to confess I was pretty disoriented myself; down below was a deep forest and glinting lake, and it took me awhile to figure out that I was looking at the Lullwater. For those few minutes, I could have been in the Adirondacks. In the distance, a willow was greening up amid the bare trees; robins fluted overhead. Behind me, the strains of a gospel choir from the circus tent were borne over by the cold wind.

Walking home past the lake, I was struck by the fact that ducks are awfully interesting until one has recently seen a tiger.

Comments

[Amarilla]

I really enjoyed reading about your adventure, reminded me of being 10 years old snooping around construction sites. Good times! Glad you didn't get eaten.