Moose Encounters of the Close Kind
Kass Wood
©
Copyright 2023 by Kass Wood
|
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
I
can’t truthfully say I’m an avid hiker. Not compared to
my sister, Laurie, who will hike anything, anywhere at anytime there
is anything resembling a trail. But I usually say yes to an
invitation to hike with her or other friends who invite me. But for
not being an avid hiker, as I review many of my vacations they were
spent hiking the Tetons, Jasper, Pagosa Springs, Valley of Fire,
Zions National Park, Banff, Glacier National Park, Yellowstone and of
course, my own backyard, the stunning Wasatch Mountains in Utah.
It
only makes sense that I would encounter deer, elk, moose and the
barely-seen bear. But the operative word here is “encounter.”
Of course I see these
magnificent creatures on many of my alpine hikes. We consider
ourselves lucky to see them. From a distance. Perhaps across the lake
we’ve stopped at. Perhaps as we approach a meadow or up a
decent span of the mountain. Those are nature’s treats and we
scramble for our pocket binoculars and gasp with delight watching
them munch foliage or stroll in slow motion through the forest. It is
a gift to spot a wild creature when you are a healthy distance from
them. But you can zoom your camera lens to later post on social
media you were much closer to them than you were. It’s only
natural and I’ve done it more than twice. But nature has a way
of making you pay for your false claims. If you say you were within
yards of a bull moose, she will put you within yards of a bull moose.
Or five.
One
afternoon in mid September, I headed up a beautiful trail in the
Wasatch mountains with my sister, Laurie and her husband, Reed. The
mountain was saturated with aspen and heavily dotted with pine trees.
The gradually steep incline was made more gentle by wrapping the hike
in the golden amber light and crisp temps typical of early fall in
the Rockies. The smell of sweet rot from fallen leaves crunched
between my boots and damp earth. The sunlight couldn’t stay
put, playing with the breeze in the trees. Staccato chirping of some
unseen rodent, boots chomping the path, uneven breathing, and distant
twigs snapping created a sensory intoxication that often happens to
me on a trail. It’s the absence of my adult life. It’s
nature accepting me to be there in a respectful way. It always buzzes
me.
I
do this thing when Laurie and I hike together. I name flowers. I
don’t ever know their real names, although you’d think by
now I would have learned them. No…I make up names that are
ridiculously silly and usually clever: Fairy’s Parasol,
Muggle’s Wart, Alpine Sparkle, Timberline Toadstool, Diva
Daffodil. We laugh at our own doltish innocence and share our
updates as her husband hikes ahead of us taking flawless photographs
with his digital Pentax and finding no humor in our self-assigned
silliness.
As
we approach the lake destination, a returning hiker and his buddy
warn, “hey, there’s bull moose at the lake, just so you
know.” We thank them but hear that on almost every hike, and
if we see them, it’s usually safe. Usually.
Years
ago, I was hiking with several friends and we were anything but
quiet. Someone was recalling a story that was hilarious and we were
all laughing and chiming in with our own memories of it. But as we
turned a traverse on the trail, we came face to face with two
enormous female moose. And that is not figuratively. I was in front
position and was face to face. Within six yards. Everyone scattered
but I froze on the trail. I am not one of those cool, granola types
who instantly assesses the situation and confidently knows what to do
in a crisis. I’m the one that gets paralyzed with fear. A
career as a paramedic or emergency nurse would have been short lived
for me…and probably my patients. Through primal survival
instinct, my feet finally heard my screaming brain and slowly, almost
undetectably, I moved behind the huge tree right next to me. I
remembered moose don’t see well, but their sense of smell is
keen. I hoped I didn’t stink. The moose followed but didn’t
appear to actually see me. My heart defied medical explanation and
moved behind my eyes while simultaneously staying in my chest. I was
certain she could hear it. She continued to munch grass by my
sanctuary tree. As she moved around the tree, so did I, keeping out
of her sight. I could have reached out and touched her rump, where
two horseflies had landed and I was oddly tempted to swoosh them off.
I heard her heavy breath with occasional snorts, her grinding and
swallowing, and at one point, I saw the whites of her huge eyes
protected by heavy, thick lashes. It was terrifying. It was
exhilarating. I kept moving around the girth of the trunk and she
finally moved on and up the mountain. My boots had apparently rooted
to the earth and I remained there.
My
friends had had their own not-as-close encounter with its partner and
when we felt safe (well, safer) we met up and screamed in hushed
tones with excitement and exhilaration. I felt a bit transformed and
decided right then and there that the moose must be my spirit animal!
In
another experience, while hiking the Tetons years ago, my hiking
companions and I were alerted to some moose wading in the river that
followed the trail. About ten minutes later, we encountered six young
bulls in or around the water. So had about eight other hikers. They
had stopped to observe this amazing presentation. One guy had set up
a tripod and mounted a very expensive camera with a lens the size of
a Dachshund. I never figured out if it was the congestion of
spectator-hikers, the thick mosquito cloud around the moose, or the
testosterone of all the young bulls, but several of them became
suddenly agitated, then aggressive, then almost frantic. They churned
the water with their antlers, they ran up and down the bank, they
snorted and twisted. Within seconds, three of them charged up the
slight hill from the river right at us. It was like a magic trick.
They were at the water, then they were approaching the trail…and
it looked like it was blood they were after. We must have looked
like bowling pins getting hit with a strike ball. We all ran in every
direction leaving our packs, hiking sticks, water bottles and even
the expensive camera left helpless on a tripod whose legs wouldn’t
carry it to safety. I think even the men screamed. I felt ashamed of
myself for just running to safety with no regard for my husband,
Laurie and Reed, or the other hikers who were less agile. It was
survival mode and it did not flatter me but I discovered we had all
“run for our lives!” I think the only casualty was the
guy’s camera, but I will never, ever
underestimate the speed of a moose. Or it’s tolerance level.
So,
after these specific moose encounters (as well as many other wildlife
episodes,) we heeded the hikers warning. As we arrived at the lake,
good to their word were bull moose. Five of them.Two of them on the
trail. Also two cows. Also, it was mating season. We bushwhacked
around them to a sheltered spot about 20 feet from the lake shore for
our traditional hiking dinner. After a not-thought-out discussion of
staying or heading back down, we slowly and quietly pulled out our
wine, cheese, salami, crackers and fruit and cautiously began to eat.
Minutes
into our mountain meal, two of the bulls became agitated. It seems
the cow was flirting, sort of teasing the males. She was prancing
through the water looking very sassy and sure of herself. The bulls
seemed twitterpated by her. The other female must have been older
(and wiser) because she stayed on the far side of the lake and took
no interest in the antics of these hormone-driven creatures.
The
other three bull moose took this personally and trotted across the
trail and lake to participate in the wooing ritual. This mating
dispute was within 30 yards of our secluded patch. Their wide dull
antlers dug at the ground and they moved their enormous bodies
effortlessly to paw the earth, creating dust clouds that we could
actually smell. There was snorting, pawing, and charging each other
only to stop short with a head toss. I hid behind the large bush and
wondered if we had not chosen wisely. Reed warned to keep quiet and
still and I was thinking, “Seriously?” Except for my
heart, which much have sounded like a kettle drum, I once again,
froze, but observed acutely, in spite of fear.
The
ritual was fascinating and forced me to relinquish control of the
situation. There was no reasoning with the bulls, no way to
interfere, no way to prevent harm to the younger bulls, no convincing
the cow to just choose one for crying out loud and let the other’s
leave peacefully. No. I had to just watch. And I did…in awe
and powerful respect.
The
courting went on too long and it started getting dark. But the trail
was blocked and even bushwhacking out would signal invasion of this
competition.
As
dusk approached (and we still had to return down the trail), the
victory was apparently awarded to the larger bull. The younger bulls
admitted defeat and spread out in different directions hoping for
another shot tomorrow.
With
three bulls still near the trail, we respectfully and reverently
headed down. It had been a grand adventure and a wild experience. We
needed our headlamps to finish the trail which created mythical
shadows and conjured creatures along the way. We passed two of the
rejected bulls a ways off the trail but we knew their defeat made
them more docile. Probably. Hopefully.
We
regaled our story all the way back to the freeway where they dropped
me off at my car. I was buzzed with wildness. It was nature
blessing itself and we witnessed it.
I
had taken some pictures on my phone. I did not zoom in because I
didn’t need to. The moose were
30 feet away and I did not need to exaggerate when I posted them on
my page. Nature will sometimes give you what you want, if you are
diligent. So, when you elaborate on having a close encounter, she is
listening and will very likely give it to you. So, be ready. You
can bet I will be from now on.
I’ve
always had a deep respect and love for all wildlife, which usually
keeps nature-goers safe! In my many encounters with moose, these
three take the spotlight in my wilderness memories. It was a delight
to craft it into words with the hopeful possibility of sharing and
perhaps even plugging into other’s similar experiences.
Kass
Wood began story telling and writing at the age of ten after reading
the Box Car Children. Her stories, novellas, poems, lyrics and
journals have been shared for years by her Cedar Chest.
Excluding some freelance writing and proofing for Salt Lake’s
premier local monthly magazine, on-line and in-person writing
classes, she has considered her writing a hobby. However, after
encouragement of friends, she recently began working on a compilation
project with the intent of publishing. Her working background ranged
from managing a metaphysical bookstore, administrative assistant,
marketing, high-end retail and a decade working with profoundly
disable children and young adults. She is currently retired,
living in Salt Lake City, Utah with her husband, dogs, family, and
enjoying a life of her own design.
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