Moose: A Family Curse (Part 3 of a Story for My Son)

Conclusion

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

My last moose encounter was in Alaska, not far from Anchorage. I had just pulled into a parking area and was pondering if I should take the lowland trail that went past a marshy area (likely moose habitat) or take the mountain trail that followed a soaring, vertigo inducing, knife-edge ridge into high country (likely grizzly bear habitat), when another vehicle pulled in next to me. The driver turned out to be a friendly, attractive college-age woman who was a seasonal worker at a local state park.
    “Which trail are you taking?” she asked.
    “I’m thinking about heading up the mountain. How about you?”
    “I’m staying down in moose country. A grizzly killed two people up the mountain trail a few years ago. I don’t want to risk going up there.”
    “Well, I have much better luck with bears than moose, so I’m definitely heading up the mountain.”
    She looked at me hard, taking stock.
    “This is no joking matter. People have been killed up there. Do you really have good luck with bears?”

    “Yes, I do. Have been within a few feet of them and never even had to use pepper spray, much less a gun. But I really do have bad luck with moose.”
    “I would love to do the mountain trail. Do you mind if I tag along?”
    “No problem. I would love the company.”
    And so we went, climbing steadily skyward, on a trail along a ridge so narrow it felt almost like a workers catwalk along a dam or a tall bridge. We had been having pleasant conversation, such as we could as the climb took away our breath; maybe two miles in I noticed she was suddenly silent and dropping back.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    She shook her head yes, but her look said no. Pointing at a small swale of brown grass, she said, “I’ve been told that right up there is where the two people were killed. They surprised a bear guarding a kill, and it killed them.”
    “Do you want to turn around?”
    “No. It’s only a half-mile to an outcrop with a fantastic view. Friends have told me about it. I want to see it.”
    So we moved on, cautiously, making plenty of noise, laughing off our concern, and making gallows humor jokes about who tripped who if we had to run from a bear. We both knew better than to run, but the ageless joke, “You don’t have to outrun the bear, you just have to trip your hiking companion,” is just too good to ignore.
    Past the spot where a bear reportedly had killed the two people, and maybe a quarter-mile from our objective, we rounded a bend. Two grizzly bear cubs were digging around a rock less than 50 yards ahead and only a few feet from the trail. I stopped abruptly and my hiking companion bumped into me. “What” she asked? She peeked over my shoulder and I felt her hands grab each of my biceps. “Oh no, no, no.”
    The cubs hadn’t seen or heard us. Just as I started to say, “Let’s back away slowly,” a female grizzly that looked to weigh 500 pounds or so popped out of the brush on the left side of the trail, spotted us, and started trotting our way. It wasn’t a charge, but it was an aggressive stride that could turn into a sprint and put her on top of us in less than two seconds.
    “Oh no, no, no” was all I heard, as I felt fingernails begin to dig into my arms. In bear country training, this is where they tell you to look big, maybe get one person on the other’s shoulders so you can look tall and intimidating, and so on. In this situation, with a bear twice our combined size already accelerating as she came downhill at us, looking big and intimidating wasn’t an option.
    “Hey girl,” I said to the grizzly mom, “nice day. Beautiful cubs you have. How about those blueberries, are they good?” Have you ever had one of those moments where you heard a voice talking and it took a while to realize it was you, and you had no idea what you were saying or why, but you knew that you better keep talking or else, because that was the only hope? This was one of those moments.
    As I babbled on about whatever, trying not to grimace at the fingernails now cutting through my skin, the mother grizzly stopped maybe 15 feet away. I thought briefly of reaching for my pepper spray but feared any movement might break the spell, so I just kept talking. After the proverbial eternity, the bear stood on her back legs, clicked her jaws once, and dropped back onto all four feet. Experts will tell you this is where the attack happens, but I just knew – really felt like I just absolutely knew – this was going to play out differently. The sow huffed once, backed away 10 feet or so, then turned and headed back up the trail. She and the cubs stood in the trail a minute or so, all on their back legs, staring at us. Then they calmly walked back up the mountain.
     “Oh my god,” my companion said. “Oh my god. I thought we were dead.” I felt her nails ease and then she said, “Oh no! You’re bleeding! I actually cut you with my nails. I’m so sorry.”
    “Better you than the bear,” was about all I could come up with. “Want to hike on up to that view?”
    “No! Let’s get out of here while we are still alive. This story tops any I might tell about some great view. That was just unreal.”

I took this photo the next day, when I went back up
the trail. I was alone and moving quietly, and the bear
allowed me to follow at a distance of 50 yards or so.
My logic, I think, was “if she was going to kill me, she
would have done it yesterday, so going back today is
probably as safe as it gets.”
The bluff charge happened within 200 yards of where
a bear killed two people two years earlier, on almost
the same date.
Looking back, it is eerie to think it could
have been the same bear that came at us.
It would have been incredible to have the bluff
charge on film, but such epic situations are
seldom captured as they happen.
Sadly, it is usually impossible to take photos
when your full focus is on staying alive.

    Heading back down the mountain, our mood and conversation shifted rapidly between serious and wild, solemn words about how we would always stay in touch, raucous laughter about who would trip who if we saw another bear.
    About a half-mile from our vehicles I looked down the mountain and spotted a young bull moose moving slowly along a small stream as it fed on alders and grasses. Its path would take it straight toward where we were parked.
    “How fast can you run a half-mile?” I asked. “A downhill half-mile?”
    “What? On the track I probably do a half in three minutes. Out here, I’m not sure. Why?”
    “Because we have a slight lead on that moose and if we start running now I think we can make it to our vehicles before it does.”
    “Are you serious? You just stared down a grizzly and you are going to run from a moose that hasn’t even seen us?”
    “Yes. Yes, I am. If you will.”
    “You have amazing luck with bears. Is your luck with moose really that bad?”
    “Yes. Yes, it is.”
    “Okay then. Let’s go for it!”
    As we ran down the mountain, I saw the moose occasionally, through the trees. It wasn’t running, but it seemed to be moving ever faster toward our vehicles. When we hit the paved trail 50 yards from safety, I was not at all surprised when the moose burst out of cover on our left and gave chase.
    “Oh my god! You weren’t kidding. That crazy moose is chasing us!”
    “Not us. Just me. I’m diving under my van until it goes away.”
    “Me too.”
    That is how our hike ended. Two of us lying under a van while the moose circled three or four times then wandered into the woods.

And that, son, is why, when you see your first moose, you need to look for the closest tree that is small enough to climb, but big enough that a moose can’t reach you, or knock it down.

Copyright © 2020 by Paul Clark