Silly Moose

Silly Moose - a story from two perspectives

It was a normal July day. I woke up, stretched and rolled out of my sleep, yawning. There was a little frost on the grasses, but the sun was bright, and the sky was blue. Chilly air shocked my nose, but it would warm up soon as it always did at this high altitude in summer. Leaving home, I lazily walked down to the lake to get some fresh water. I had the trail all to myself at this early hour, although I could hear the buzzing of mosquitoes as I approached the shore. They never really bother me, but I find their droning sound annoying. The pebble beach was covered in tiny blue butterflies who seemed to be enjoying a drink of shallow water among the muddy rocks. The lake reflected the tall, gray-blue, Rocky Mountains. They still had a lot of snow at their glacial tops. This was good news for someone like me. In the last few years, the snow had melted too early, so the rivers ran dry by midsummer, and the lake shores became crowded by everyone forced to come to my lake to get water. I'd rather not share, as I do not like crowds. I bent down and took a long sip. The water was icy cool, so I stopped before completely quenching my thirst. I thought I would go for a bite to eat and then come back for more when the sun had warmed the surface a bit. I noticed a moose at the far end of the lake. I sat down on the pebbles and watched him drink for a few minutes. "Silly moose," I thought, "like to drink their water while bathing in it!" That morning, I found it particularly puzzling. It's not that I don't enjoy a good swim, but it seemed so cold. I, too considered taking a dip, but not until later in the day when the air was warmer. "Ah well, to each his own."

Breakfast called me to the hills. I wandered back up the trail and found some huckleberry bushes hidden among the tall pine trees. The berries were tiny, black, and sweet. Delicious, but not very filling. I ate quite a few, but I really wanted something more substantial. I thought I should head up and over the hill to the stream on the other side. It has shallow water and a rocky bottom. Sometimes I can catch a brook trout there. On the way up the hill, a strong breeze started blowing. It parted my hair and let the cold air get to my skin, giving me a chill. I began to wonder if I should expect a storm today, but the blue sky seemed to say no. When I got to the stream, the water was rushing over the rocks. I must have slept through quite a lot of rain last night, I thought. Whitewater made it harder to see the fish than usual. I stood there for a while watching for someone to swim by, but I had no luck. It didn't seem worth it to wade into the snow-chilled waters with such poor visibility. I did observe several large birds flying overhead, getting a better view of the stream. One was a bald eagle who seemed to have better luck with the fishing than I had. I was a little jealous of her cutthroat trout, but I can't fly, so I guess the eagle and her chicks get to eat the meal I wanted. "We each have our talents", I thought, and walked away from the stream.

Since the fishing was no good, I decided a meal of some less-traditional forage would work. I followed the stream downhill for a little while and found the area that had that big forest fire last summer. Not much was growing there, except beargrass. It's funny. Despite the name, bears don't eat beargrass, and it's not even a grass, but a lily! Still, their roots are quite delicious! I could smell them from quite a way upstream. Their aroma was soft and sweet but smelled more like perfume than food to me. They were a little past their prime. On the other hand, I have often used this burned pine patch for a quick meal this summer. No one else seems to have found the bounty of this place. That's OK with me. I'd rather not share the rich supply of grubs that are slowly breaking down the dead trees. They may look squishy and slimy, but they taste nutty and slightly sweet. I stayed in the fallen forest until I was nearly full, then decided on a quick nap among the beargrass, as the sun had warmed the dark soil to a perfect temperature. "Today hadn't turned out too bad after all," I thought as I rolled over on the soft lilies and closed my eyes.

When I awoke, satisfied and relaxed, I noticed the sun was starting to go down behind the tallest peaks. I stood tall to stretch, look around, and take a deep breath. "Huh. No new bears in the area today." I decided it was time to head back home. I would take the long way there. There was a nice path that led down to the lake where I had stopped this morning, and from there, I could take another little spur that went back to my place. I needed to stop for some water before going home anyway. As I approached the trail, a mule deer came running at me with a fearful look in her eyes. She took one look at me and darted off into the pines. I wondered what she was running from, but I didn't see or smell anything that concerned me in the area. I shrugged and sauntered toward the path to home.

Just before I got to the lake trail, I noticed a smell that must have come from whatever the deer was running from! It smelled terribly strong and acrid, like nothing I had encountered before. I stopped to sniff the air and try to figure out how to avoid whatever smelled that bad. At that moment, a man rounded the corner. He was a large, older man, with a backpack and two walking poles. Briefly, I questioned his intent with those poles. "Would he try to hurt me with them?" When he noticed me, he gasped and began walking faster. At first, I assumed he smelled the foul odor too, but as he went past me, I realized HE was the one who smelled so bad... almost like pine trees, but not in a good way! I backed up a bit to let him pass before I joined the narrow trail. It took me a second to catch my breath, but I walked far enough behind him that we didn't feel pressured to interact, and I didn't have to deal with his scent. I'd rather be alone on the trail, but at least he seemed content to let me be. "He must be a loner, too," I thought, happy to know there were others like me.

When I got to the spur to go down to the lake, I heard some commotion and realized the spur trail had quite a few people on it. I was thirsty and wanted to remain alone, so I cut the corner and stayed in the underbrush until I got close to the lake. As I crossed back onto the trail, I saw two more men. These two were younger and looked stronger. They didn't carry walking poles or smell the way the first man did, but I questioned their intent as well. They stopped and looked at me, but didn't seem to want to engage me. Thankfully, they let me pass to follow my own path. A few seconds later, I was back on my pebble beach with the blue butterflies and annoying mosquitos, enjoying a deep drink of cool, refreshing water. I decided now might be a nice time for a swim. As I eased myself into the shallow water, I noticed that silly moose was standing in the lake again, drinking his own bathwater! "Ah well, to each his own."

Meanwhile...

It was an exciting July day! I woke up near Glacier National Park. The RV was warm, but there was frost on the ground when I went out for a short walk. When I returned, I woke up the three generations of my family who traveled there with us, and we made breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and best of all, coffee. When everyone was ready, we drove Going-to-the-Sun Road. It was unbelievably beautiful. We stopped many times to take pictures and even had a snowball fight on Independence Day! My family is from Indiana, and this is never a possibility in July at 700 feet above sea level and 39 degrees North latitude. But at nearly 7,000 feet and nearly 49 degrees North latitude, snow in summer is no surprise! After some rock skipping at Lake McDonald and a stop for lunch, we headed back to camp.

My sister is a professional photographer, and she had offered to take my family's pictures while we were on this trip. Today was the day! Back inside the RV, we got dressed in some clean clothes, and I tried to do my hair as well as can be done while camping. My parents, sister's family, and brother were planning to stay at camp while the rest of us went to the Many Glacier part of the park for some pictures. Then we would meet up at the Cattle Baron restaurant in Babb, MT for a nice dinner to celebrate my youngest son's fifth birthday and the end of our trip to Montana. We were looking forward to a nice, relaxing hike. That was the plan, anyway.

When we arrived at Many Glacier, we parked and trotted down the trail. It was a profoundly beautiful place with every turn of the trail revealing some new mountainous vista or pine forest view. The adults were all snapping pictures, while the two boys climbed trees along the path. We saw almost no one on the trail, which was a nice change from the very populated Going-to-the-Sun-Road where we had spent the start of the day. There were mountains, streams, waterfalls, beargrass, and pine trees everywhere we looked. We posed for many pictures. It was late afternoon and the light was creating beautiful alpenglow on the mountains. Photographers dream of locations like this.

As we got further into the forest, we found a spur trail with a sign that said it went down to a lake. Just before we got to the still sunlit lake, the quiet of the forest was broken by a hum that sounded like either a very small helicopter, or a huge number of mosquitoes! We had completely forgotten our bug spray. We decided to snap a few pictures on the little beach at the lake, then head out before we got eaten alive by those critters! My youngest son noticed a gathering of little blue butterflies all over the smooth colorful pebbles, and we all tried not to step on any of the tiny beauties. My sister took a few pictures then we turned to head up to the main route back to camp since the oldest child was starting to get bug bites.

When we approached the main trail, my sister decided to take a few individual pictures of me. I put my camera down to pose and sat on a log to smile. She straightened my hair and I positioned herself to get the lighting just right. The boys were patiently watching, but wanted to explore some more. Suddenly, I noticed my husband must have stayed back at the lake. He does that a lot, falling away from the group while hiking because something caught his eye. "He must have seen something he really wanted to take a picture of," I thought. We decided we'd wait for him there. Surely, he'd be coming along soon, and it was a comfortable, picturesque spot to wait, anyway. Little did we know, things were not as they appeared.

After about a minute of waiting on my husband, a large, older man with a backpack and hiking poles, whose smell of strong mosquito repellent preceded him, suddenly appeared at the intersection of the main trail and the spur trail we were on. He looked frantic!

"There's a grizzly bear coming your way, get out of here now!"

"We're waiting on someone. We'll head out in just a minute."

"No, you need to leave NOW!"

He hurried off, clearly too startled to stick around and help our group of two women and two children. It quickly occurred to me that our five-year-old would be the most likely victim of a bear attack, so I threw him on my back, hoping the bear wouldn't notice his small size.

"Go down the trail and warn your father." I said to the sixteen-year-old with my heart pounding at the thought of putting him in danger, "but don't run or it may chase you!"

My sister and I headed up the trail and saw fur and rustling leaves at about eye level next to us, as a large grizzly bear lumbered past, just out of our direct view. I was so terrified, my feet moved faster than they ever have before, despite the fifty-pound child on my back. All the while, I tried to turn back to watch and see that my oldest boy was OK. But he was quickly out of my sight. When we got a little way down the main trail, we anxiously stopped to wait for the other two.

Not a minute later (but the longest minute of my life), my husband and oldest son came jogging up the trail. After giving them both big hugs, I said, "let's get out of here"! We hiked quietly and quickly for a while, but soon the fear subsided a little and I regained my curiosity and composure. I asked the men what had happened. It turns out, after the bear lumbered past us, it crossed their path, nearly fifteen feet away. They froze, not daring to make a sound or take a picture. I asked what the bear had done. They said that it paused and looked at them, then went on toward the lake. Then I asked why my husband had not stayed with our group.

He laughed and said he had stayed back to take a picture of a silly moose standing in the lake, taking a bath while drinking the water. "Ah well, to each his own," I thought.

Part 1 of the story above is fictional. Part 2 is entirely true and occurred in 2012. People encounter grizzly bears very rarely, and grizzly bear attacks are incredibly rare. Most occur when people approach a bear and catch it off guard, or get between a mother and her cubs. Being "bear aware" on the trails in a place like Glacier National Park is incredibly important. This means making noise while you hike to alert bears to your presence. Bear spray can also be carried and sprayed at a bear as a deterrent in the case of an attack. The encounter we had gave me a much deeper respect for bears and made me consider the grizzly's perspective. In most of their range, they are constrained by encroaching human activity. When bear/human interactions become problematic, bears are relocated at best and euthanized at worst. Protecting large wilderness areas is vital to the survival of bears.