The Great Labor Day Marmot Heist

Labor Day was practically engineered for marmot misconduct. It had everything they needed. The end of summer. Exhausted humans. Crowded trails. Picnics. A long weekend. And, most importantly, the rapidly approaching realization that winter was coming.

For the marmots of the high alpine meadows of Rocky Mountain National Park, Labor Day wasn’t really a holiday. It was a deadline.

By mid-September, the first serious frosts could arrive. The alpine meadows would begin losing their summer abundance. The days would shorten. The nights would get colder. And eventually, the marmots would disappear underground for nearly seven months.

This meant one thing.

Eat.

Not grass. Not flowers. Not the usual respectable alpine vegetation. Those things were still available. The marmots wanted the good stuff. Potato chips. Crackers. Cookies. Sandwich crusts. Trail mix. Anything containing salt, fat, carbohydrates or enough mysterious ingredients that Dr. Helena Burrowtail would later describe it as “nutritionally indefensible”.

The final high reward foraging window of summer had arrived and the marmots were ready.

 

The Operation

Near the sun-drenched shores of an alpine lake, an unholy alliance had been struck. Cap’n Cheeks McSnatch and his High Alpine Marmot Pirates had joined forces with Lt. Butterball’s elite Alpine Marmot Commandos. They were staking out the main trail, bypassing the native grasses in pursuit of pure, high-calorie loot.

Lt. Butterball crouched behind a boulder overlooking one of the most popular picnic spots near the lake. His scarred left ear twitched. Below, hikers came and went along the trail. Most carried backpacks. Some carried water bottles. A few carried disappointing quantities of food.

Then Snackpaw spotted it.

A family. Five humans. Mom. Dad. A tween. A near-tween. And a baby. But it wasn’t the baby that caught Snackpaw’s attention.

It was the food.

A massive picnic spread had appeared beside the lake. There were sandwiches. There were crackers. There were fruit slices. There were cookies. There were bags of chips. And there was one enormous basket that appeared to contain enough food to sustain a small expedition. Possibly two.

Snackpaw whispered into the rock. “Target acquired.”

Lt. Butterball looked. His eyes widened. He raised one paw. The Commandos went completely still. Behind them, several marmot pirates were already becoming excited.

Cap’n Cheeks McSnatch emerged from behind a rock, his cheek pouches bulging with reconnaissance materials of questionable origin. “Arrr,” he whispered. “That be a mighty fine basket.”

Quartermaster Crumbbeard sniffed the air. “Potato chips.”

Cheeks’ eyes narrowed. “How many?”

“Many.”

The Cap’n straightened. “Then today be a holiday, me maties.”

First Mate Biscuit Blacktail pointed toward the trail. “What’s the plan?’

Cap’n Cheeks grinned. “Same as always.”

“What is that?”

“Take all ye can. Give nothin’ back.”

“And if there’s a problem?” Lt. Butterball asked.

Cheeks considered this. “Take it faster.”

Lt. Butterball sighed. This was going to be one of those days.

 

The Distraction

The Commandos moved first. Whiskerblade slipped silently through the grass. Snackpaw positioned himself near the two older children. Mittens took up a position that no one had assigned him.

Within seconds, the children noticed the marmots.

The near-tween pointed. “Look! Mountain cats!”

A marmot was standing on a rock. Then another appeared. Then another. The marmots moved across the meadow with suspicious enthusiasm. The children followed.

“Come back!” Mom called.

The marmots continued. The children followed farther.

“Don’t get too close,” Dad warned. “They could have rabies!”

The marmots stopped. That was unacceptable. The children stopped. Mittens rolled onto his back. The children laughed. Mittens sprang up and ran. The children ran after him. The parents followed the children.

For a few glorious seconds, the entire family was moving in precisely the direction the Commandos wanted.

Lt. Butterball gave the signal. “Go!”

The pirates attacked.

Cap’n Cheeks and Pegpaw Pete grabbed the edge of the largest picnic basket. Quartermaster Crumbbeard shoved from behind. Biscuit Blacktail grabbed a discarded trail sign that had been lying nearby.

Together, the pirates slid the basket over the sign.

“Hoist ye loot!”

The basket moved. Slowly at first. Then faster. Then considerably faster. Then the basket began sliding down the slope at an ever increasing speed.

Cap’n Cheeks climbed aboard. “Full sail, ye scallywags!”

The basket disappeared downhill. The two older children saw it catch air, passing over an outcropping of rock. The younger one screamed.

“The food!”

They ran after the mysteriously accelerating basket. The parents ran after them. The marmot Commandos ran after everybody.

For several seconds, the alpine meadow became a remarkably inefficient parade.

 

The Problem Nobody Had Planned For

Nutmeg McChunky was foraging by the lake, not paying attention. He had been distracted by a squirrel that crested the tree line. This was somewhat unusual. Nutmeg had complicated feelings about squirrels. On one paw, he admired them. On the other, he was convinced they knew something about food storage that marmots had somehow forgotten.

He was still contemplating this when he noticed something near the edge of the lake. A human baby, sitting on a plush blanket near the lake’s edge, happily gurgling at the sky. The family had become so distracted by the fleeing picnic basket and the older children that the infant had been left behind for a moment.

Nutmeg stared. The baby stared back.

Nutmeg’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

He looked around. Nobody was coming. He looked up. Clear. The baby made a small noise. Nutmeg gasped.

“You’re all alone. The wind must’ve blown you off your ledge.”

This was obviously an emergency. Nutmeg had squirrels rescue him once. At least, that was how he remembered it. He had been found in a bad situation, having rolled down the slope into the tree line.

The squirrels had saved him, therefore, Nutmeg reasoned, this was his opportunity to become the squirrel. He waddled over, picked up the baby and carried it toward Marmot Rock.

 

Marmot Rock

Mossback McGrump was sitting on his favorite ledge, contemplating complaining that the sun was too bright and the shadow was creeping too close when Nutmeg arrived.

Mossback looked at Nutmeg. Then looked at the baby. Then looked back at Nutmeg. “No.”

Nutmeg blinked. “No what?”

“What are you doing with that thing?”

“I saved it.”

“You stole it.”

“I rescued it.”

“You are holding a human baby.”

Nutmeg looked down. The baby looked up. Nutmeg smiled. “Yes.”

Mossback stared at him. “It doesn’t even have fur.  This is why we shouldn’t’ve started this.”

Nutmeg sat down beside him. “The baby was all alone.”

“It was alone for about thirty seconds.”

“That’s enough time for a hawk.”

“There wasn’t a hawk.”

“There could’ve been.”

Mossback rubbed his face. “What are you going to do with it?”

Nutmeg gave the question no thought. His answer came immediately. “Feed it.”

Mossback closed his eyes. “Of course.”

“And teach it to hibernate.”

Mossback opened his eyes again. “What?”

“That’s how squirrels do it.”

“Squirrels don’t hibernate.”

Nutmeg frowned. “Do, too.  With food.”

“That’s not hibernation. That’s a couch potato.” Mossback looked at the baby. Then at Nutmeg. Then toward the distant trail, where the lake was and the rest of the family was still chasing the sailing picnic basket. “This is bad.”

Nutmeg shook his head. “No. It’s good. I’m being responsible.”

“You stole a baby.”

“I rescued a baby.”

“You don’t even know what it eats.”

“Alpine grasses and wild flowers.”

“No.”

Nutmeg thought about this. What did humans eat? “Trail mix?”

Mossback groaned. “It’s too skinny.  It won’t survive the winter.”

 

Meanwhile, at the Picnic

The pirates had reached the lower slope. The basket was intact. The snacks were intact. They lost the family chasing them.  Cap’n Cheeks was ecstatic. “Arrr! Secure the treasure!”

Quartermaster Crumbbeard began sorting the haul.

“Chips!”

“Excellent.”

“Cookies!”

“Magnificent.”

“Sandwiches!”

“Acceptable.”

“Apple slices.”

Cheeks stared at him. “Throw those back.”

Crumbbeard hesitated. “Where?”

Cheeks waved dismissively. “Davy Jones.”

“Pegpaw!” Crumbbeard called out. “Throw these into the lake.”

While the pirates sorted the loot, the Commandos had doubled back. Snackpaw had found the smaller basket. Mittens had found several loose bags of chips. Whiskerblade had acquired a sandwich.

Lt. Butterball looked over the haul. “Everyone back to the burrow. Double time!”

 

The Rangers Arrive

Back at the lake, the family had finally realized something was wrong. The older children were accounted for. The picnic was gone. The baby was missing.

Within minutes, Ranger Lopez and Ranger Kim arrived. More ranger vehicles appeared along the trail. The family tried to explain what had happened.

The story was difficult to follow. There had been marmots. Then there had been more marmots. Then the picnic basket moved on its own, running away from the marmots. Then the children chased it. Then everyone chased the children. Then the baby disappeared.

Ranger Lopez stared at the lake. Ranger Kim stared at the trail. Neither spoke for a moment.

Finally, Lopez said, “I tell you, it’s those damn marmots.”

Kim looked at him. “You don’t think they’d try eating the baby?”

Lopez shook his head. “I didn’t think they’d set the mountain on fire, either.”

Kim considered that. “Fair.”

They began searching.

 

Operation Return the Baby

Back at Marmot Rock, Ol’ Whiskers came out for some afternoon foraging. He looked at Nutmeg and Mossback. He looked at the baby. Then at Nutmeg. Then back at the baby.

“Before trees learned how to stand,” Ol’ Whiskers began, “there was a young marmot who made a similar mistake.”

Mossback groaned. “Not now.”

Ol’ Whiskers ignored him. “He attempted to adopt a pika.”

“Was it a baby?” Nutmeg asked.

“No.”

“Then it’s not similar.”

Ol’ Whiskers continued, “The pika objected.”

“The pika was an adult,” Mossback said.

“Details.”

Nutmeg looked worried. “But I rescued the baby.”

Ol’ Whiskers nodded solemnly. “You did.”

“So I can keep it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Ol’ Whiskers looked toward the baby. “Because the baby belongs to the monkey family tree.”

Nutmeg’s ears perked up. “The monkey family tree?”

“Indeed.”

“Are monkeys like marmots?”

“No,” Ol’ Whiskers said. “They’re noisy and sling their poop.”

“Do they eat grass?”

“Some do.”

“Do they hibernate?”

Ol’ Whiskers paused. “No.”

Nutmeg’s expression fell. “What do they do in the winter?”

“Watch sports and eat. A grown couch monkey can eat in one sitting what we eat all winter.”

“Then this is a serious problem,” Nutmeg declared.

“It is.”

Nutmeg looked down at the baby. “But it needs someone to take care of it.”

Ol’ Whiskers smiled. “Yes. Other monkeys.”

Nutmeg sighed and reluctantly handed the baby to Mossback.

Mossback immediately handed it back. “Not me!”

 

The Ranger Line

By now, the mountain had become a maze of ranger vehicles. Rangers searched the trail. They checked the lake. They spoke with hikers. They questioned the family. A helicopter passed overhead. Nobody had seen the baby, but suspiciously the apple slices were floating in the lake. The picnic baskets were missing.

The marmots watched from the rocks. Lt. Butterball studied the situation, focusing his binoculars on the empty blanket in the middle of the chaos. “This is going to be difficult.”

Whiskerblade nodded.

Snackpaw pointed toward the ranger trucks.

Mittens grinned.

Lt. Butterball did not like that grin. “No.”

Mittens grinned wider.

“No.”

Mittens pointed.

Lt. Butterball sighed. “Fine.”

The Commandos moved. They slipped behind rocks. Through grass. Under bushes. Behind a ranger vehicle. Then another. Eventually, they reached one parked off to the side.

The baby was carefully carried forward.

Watching from atop the high vantage point of Marmot Rock, Mossback muttered, “This is the worst rescue I’ve ever seen.”

The Commandos reached the truck. Snackpaw opened the passenger door. The baby was gently placed in the seat. The door was pushed closed. As silently as they came in, the Commandos blended into the grass and disappeared among the rocks.

 

The Truck

Ranger Lopez was standing several yards away when he heard something. A faint mechanical sound.

He turned. “Did you hear that?”

Ranger Kim looked up. “Hear what?”

Lopez stared at the truck. “The engine.”

They walked back to find the truck was running. The passenger door was closed. The baby was sitting safely in the passenger seat. Both rangers stopped.

Kim stared. “I’m positive I shut off the engine when we got out.”

Lopez looked at her. “I believe you.” He opened the door. The baby stared at him.

Kim carefully picked up the infant.

Lopez looked around the empty mountain. Nothing moved. Except a marmot. Then another. Then a third. Lopez narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you little…”

The marmots vanished behind the rocks.

 

The Labor Day Haul

By sunset, the colony had assembled in the burrows beneath Marmot Rock. The pirates had brought back the large basket. The Commandos had brought back the smaller one. There were chips everywhere. Crackers. Cookies. Sandwiches. Fruit. Trail mix. And one mysterious package that nobody could identify.

Cap’n Cheeks stood proudly atop the large basket. “Arrr! A successful Labor Day raid!”

Mossback grumbled. “It was a disaster.”

“Successful disaster,” Cheeks corrected him.

Ol’ Whiskers nodded. “Back before the snow learned manners, Labor Day was known as the Day of the Great Basket.”

Mossback stared at him. “You weren’t there.”

“I have been there for many things.”

“You weren’t.”

“History is complicated.”

Nutmeg sat quietly nearby. He looked thoughtful. Ol’ Whiskers noticed.

“What troubles you, Nutmeg?”

Nutmeg looked into the distance. “I think we did the right thing.”

Mossback raised an eyebrow. “About the baby?”

Nutmeg nodded. “It wasn’t a marmot.”

“No.”

“And it couldn’t hibernate.”

“No.”

“And it ate too much and slung poop.”

“Yes.”

“So we had to return it.”

“Yes.”

Nutmeg thought about this. Then he smiled. “Some things belong in burrows and some things belong with monkeys.”

Mossback nodded. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day.”

Nutmeg brightened. “Thank you.” He reached into the basket, pulled out a bag of potato chips and opened it. A moment later, he was asleep in a pile of crumbs.

Mossback looked down at him. “That’s also the most predictable thing you’ve done all day.”

Across the rocks, Cap’n Cheeks raised a chip into the evening air. “To Labor Day, me maties!”

The colony whistled.

Cheeks took a bite. “To hard work!”

Everyone chewed.

Mossback frowned. “We didn’t do any hard work.”

Cheeks considered this. “Exactly. To a pirate’s life!”

The colony whistled again.

And somewhere down the mountain, Ranger Lopez was still trying to explain to his supervisor how a marmot had apparently started a government vehicle.

Labor Day was over. The baby was safely back with its family. The marmots had eaten well. Winter was still coming. And, for the first time all afternoon, there was peace on the mountain.

Then mittens tumbled into the burrow. “Cooler!” he squeaked.

“Oh, no,” Mossback grumbled. “Not again!”

Cap’n Cheeks grinned  “Arrr! Round two!”