Moose encounters

LVMOOSE.  That's what my neighbors license plate says.  I love moose too, most of the time.  I especially like them when I have a freezer full of sweet fatty meat... and not so much, when the meat is smelly and lean.  Luckily, this year we were graced with the most amazing meat from a bull who was sporting 24 cows in his harem.  Thanks Neil.  Thanks for the meat and the memories.

Most years we prefer to eat wild sheep and goat and caribou and black bear, to supplement our salmon and home-grown chicken.  But this years windfall is a real treat, and a rare one.  Its not often that we get a fat moose, and even rarer to get one that's not smelly.  Yum, yum, yum.  Here's a photo of 25 pounds of chops from one backstrap, that I butchered and sent home with Neil to share with his family.

I can think of another reason to be not quite so fond of moose.  Its called early spring... when the sun is coming back in force, but there's a winters accumulation of snow.  The cows still have last years calves hanging around, and they're heavy with the new years babies.  

Travel is difficult once you get off the trail... and those long-legged moose don't want to posthole in the snow any more than you do.  Plus they're extra grumpy after a long, lean, cold winter... not to mention the awkwardness of the last months before giving birth.

You can never predict what a moose is going to do, but you can pretty much bet that in early spring you better watch out for those cows.  Three encounters come to mind... ones I'll never forget.

The first happened on a trail outside of Bozeman, Montana in the winter of 1994.  I was finishing my last semester in biology that year and went out for some wonder and exercise with my faithful dog, Sancho.  I came around a sharp bend on my skinny skis and there was a cow and calf... right there, maybe 15 feet away.  

There was no time to react as she came at me in full force, spit and snot flying out of her mouth... there was no way to get away, nothing to do but hold my ground.  I held out my ski pole like the sword of King Arthur and pointed it right at her rapidly approaching eyeball, and said "I'm not gonna hurt your baby!"

She approached within an inch of that lance, and just as quickly spun around.  So did I... at least as quickly as you can spin on skis.  That was enough excitement for me... back to the truck I went with my dog at my heels.

The next moose adventure came some ten years later.  I was walking down the trail from our cabin to our parking area, and a moose charged me from quite a distance.  I jumped off the trail and immediately fell in the soft snow, and she kept coming... until I was under her belly and just waiting for that first blow from her razor sharp hooves.  But it didn't come.  She too ran off, as quickly as she came.

I had to feel a little sadness for her... I recognized her as a cow that had been hanging around the area most of the winter.  A few days earlier she had gotten separated from her last years calf... a cute little bugger, who curled up and died under a spruce tree right next to the trail.  Poor heartsick mama.

The third and most recent memorable encounter happened that same spring... maybe 6 or 7 years ago.  Again I was walking down to the bottom of the mountain, and was almost to my Subaru.  There was a pretty wide plowed strip there, and a moose who didn't appear bothered by my approach- that is, until she was chasing me into my car.  If I'd have been a second or two slower, she'd have got me too.

Yeah, moose.  Ya gotta love em.  They're goofy and gorgeous and, I think, noble.  But you better watch out.  Whether you're driving on the highway, skiing in the backcountry, or walking a neighborhood trail... be on the lookout.  They can come out of nowhere and change your life in a heartbeat.

Comments

[Jolene]

Oh the excitement of living your life! Thank you for sharing your amazing journey! Oh how worried Ben's mama must have been with a sick babe. Taslyn comes from a long line of strong womenfolk!

[Scott]

Your stories remind me of growing up in Alaska. Every winter, moose walked through our back yard; digging through all the gardens, I think...