Moose on the Loose

Close encounters on the trail.

It was a classic Montana winter day, with azure skies, blindingly bright sun, and sparkling snow that measured in feet instead of inches. With the trail packed down by early-rising hikers, I headed out with my two large canines, Poppy and Henry, not knowing what adventures were waiting for us.

After several blind twists and turns, we reached a valley overlook on top of a large hill. Henry had gone out ahead around another bend, and suddenly gave a sharp bark. A second sharp bark, and he appeared, followed closely behind by a full-grown moose.

Henry had a bit of a grin on his face, his tail held high, while the moose appeared to be following him without a care in the world. Moose are notoriously cranky creatures, and extremely dangerous if provoked. One strike with a hoof can be deadly. And—oh yeah—they are enormous.

I immediately began screaming and waving my arms, which, I was informed later, was the absolutely wrong thing to do.

“Henry, come here! Come! COME!” I screamed.

I began walking very quickly back down the trail, legs shaking with the adrenaline rush, nervously glancing over my shoulder, certain the moose was right behind us.

With the moose now directly in front of me, I was vaguely aware that if I could see her eyelashes, I was probably too close. Close enough to see that her coat was a beautiful blend of short brown, black, and blonde hairs. And that face! Surprisingly, it was very much a horse’s face, with the same long nose, and a hump on her back, like a camel. This lady was not the slightly homely, goofy-looking Bullwinkle cartoon character; she was a beauty.

My observation lasted only seconds. After deciding she wasn’t interested in the screaming, arm-waving creature, she cantered off.

I began walking very quickly back down the trail, legs shaking with the adrenaline rush, nervously glancing over my shoulder, certain the moose was right behind us. Meanwhile, Henry and Poppy trotted along, unconcerned by the whole encounter.

I warned other hikers of the moose. “She was the size of a dinosaur! Bigger than an elephant!” I was still quite shaken up and babbling; once I had gotten over the eyelashes and pretty-coat thing, the lasting impression was of her massive size.

Later, I decided that this moose was really a Disney character. She should have had little butterflies and bluebirds flitting around her head, a heart-shaped mouth painted with red lipstick, doing a little tap dance. With mascara on those beautiful black eyelashes. And sure enough, like Prince Charming, meeting the bride’s father, a few weeks later I ran into Daddy.

Moments later, I caught a glimpse of the dogs, followed by an enormous, fully-racked bull moose hot on their heels.

Same trail, same type of glittering Montana day, several more feet of snow, with me foolishly thinking that lightning couldn’t possibly strike in the same place twice.

Both dogs suddenly took off at a full run down the heavily forested side of the hill into the deep snow, where I could not see them.

Moments later, I caught a glimpse of them, followed by an enormous, fully-racked bull moose hot on their heels. The dogs were trying desperately to climb or swim through the soft, deep snow. The moose’s nose was within inches of Poppy’s rear end, but the ungulate was so heavy he was sinking while trying to run. Henry reached the packed trail first, followed by Poppy and the moose.

My first thought? You dogs are on your own. Next thought? Get behind a tree and stay quiet! (This is actually what you are supposed to do).

With a sigh of relief and the adrenaline burst fading, we continued hiking.

The moose stopped about 15 or 20 yards from me, shaking his gigantic head with those satellite-dish-sized antlers, steam pouring out of his nose, and the hackles along the ridge of his back standing straight up. No doubt, he was pissed. He snorted and pawed the ground, while I kept peeking out from behind the tree, hoping his notoriously bad eyesight would prevent him from seeing me very well. I had no clue where the dogs were.

A few minutes ticked by, with the moose pawing and me peeking, before I discovered my troublemaking dogs hiding behind me. Finally bored, Daddy Moose bounded back down the hill, his ridiculously long, Tinker-Toy legs flying through the deep snow, likely to resume his mid-morning snooze that my dogs so rudely interrupted.

With a sigh of relief and the adrenaline burst fading, we continued hiking. Only later, would I realize just how lucky we are to live in an area with these magnificent animals right out our back doorstep—and to sometimes share the trails with them. And yes, lesson learned, the dogs are now kept under control when we head into the forest.