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- - - - - - - - - - - - May 21, 2001 | Forget the treadmill. Scott Carrier prefers to run across the Utah plains, in pursuit of pronghorn antelopes. Under a relentless sun, Carrier, his brother and his friends fan out in formation across the scrubland, carefully select an antelope and start running. Except for a cheetah, nothing runs faster than a pronghorn antelope, he tells us, and there aren't too many cheetahs in Utah. They run. Ten minutes pass, the gap between the antelope and the runners widens, then half an hour, the sun gets hotter, the gap wider, the antelope gets away. Always. Forming the framework of his first collection of nonfiction, "Running After Antelope," Carrier's attempts to catch antelopes appear throughout the book, interspersed with other articles previously published in Harper's and Esquire. Also included are several broadcast pieces from his 18-year stint as a contributor to National Public Radio's "All Things Considered" and Public Radio International's "This American Life." But Carrier's pursuit of antelopes provides the narrative thread of the book, and the essays that deal with it are the most captivating, honest and heartfelt. Early on, Carrier shares with us the origin of his obsession: Back in 1983, his vertebrate morphologist brother tells him that, during exercise, humans can breathe when they want to, unlike other mammals whose lungs are connected to their spines and are inflated automatically with each stride. Carrier's brother believes this biological feature gives humans an advantage over other mammals by providing greater strength and stamina; he finds historical accounts of tribes that run for days tracking deer, antelopes or kangaroos until the animals tire sufficiently to be caught and killed. The tribes include the Goshutes and the Papago of America's West, Australian Aborigines, Mexico's Tarahumara and, also from Mexico, the Seri tribe, which Carrier visits. Slowly, over the years, he becomes transfixed with the thought of running down an antelope.
"When I drive across the desert I look for pronghorn standing by the highway. One time, on I-80 in Wyoming, I saw three of them outrun a freight train," he writes. Together, Carrier and his brother enlist anyone willing to put their theory to the test; patience, perseverance and a good pair of lungs are the only requirements. Carrier has been writing for Esquire since the late 1990s, from various far-flung locations referred to simply as "really fucked-up places." These and other pieces see him traveling to Cambodia before and after the fall of the Khmer Rouge; to war-torn Kashmir, shelled from either side daily by Pakistan and India; and from Salt Lake City to New York and back again, hitchhiking, in two days. "Running After Antelope" is populated with lonely truckers, Muslim Kashmiri insurgents, schizophrenics and ex-Khmer Rouge lieutenants. Moody and evocative, Carrier's word slinging reminds us that America's Wild West is still very much alive, as are wilder places still. Carrier recently spoke with Salon. What do you think readers have connected to in "Running After Antelope"? The idea of pursuit, the idea of a chase; it's biological. Have you managed to catch an antelope yet? Not yet. I haven't tried lately. It would take some serious effort of more than just two guys. I'd say if we had four, and spent a couple of months working at it, maybe not every day, but it's been done. I believe in it. I think it's possible. The main problem is not the running; the main problem is knowledge of the terrain and the animal itself. Primitive hunters did it. I mean, we got a pretty good story with the Seri down there in Mexico, and so many other reports. They're all so similar in the technique that it makes me think that it has been done. And I think also probably a certain amount of dancing has put the animal into some sort of trance. That's usually part of it, from what I've read, and the Seri said that too, that they would mesmerize the animal with a dance. I don't know how many groups actually were runners or ran things down and did stuff like that, because there's only three or four good stories in the records. You included some historical accounts of this hunting technique in "Running After Antelope." How did you find them? My brother found some of them when he was doing research and then I found a couple more just by looking through the ethnographies. There are some Indians in Canada who would go after deer in the snow, with snowshoes, but that's different. In deep snow the animal can't go anywhere. Why are there so few surviving accounts of these hunting techniques? You know, I think it's something that anthropologists missed. When there were primitive cultures intact, they didn't really ever go out hunting with the guys. They sat in camp and waited for them to come back.
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