Moose-led Walk

I open my eyes to the light of a September dawn filtering through tent walls. Slush in my water bottle confirms that the temperature at our camp in the forest near Yellowstone’s Electric Peak dropped below freezing overnight. Trying not to wake Mary, I wiggle out of my warm sleeping bag, slip on sandals, and crawl from the chilly tent. I stand, yawn, stretch, and watch my breath drift skyward. I start walking warily toward the bear pole one hundred yards away. Secretive shadows stalk thick woods on either side of the trail. "Yo, bear. It's just me," I announce to the shadows. No reply. Thankfully.

I reach the bear pole. Mary’s boots and backpack hang from one rope; mine hang from another. As I lower my gear, Mary’s voice drifts from the direction of our tent. I guess I did wake her. She is saying something that sounds like, "Hey Rigg, mooo.”

“What?” I yell back.

"Moo. Obe dere,” she replies.

“I can't understand you.”

When Mary doesn’t reply, I shrug and begin to lower her gear. A moment later an out-of-breath Mary grabs me from behind by both elbows. She turns me to face the Gardner River and says firmly, “Moose."

I stare to where she points. Three sets of eyes stare back. A family: bull, cow, and calf stand across the river that looks more like a small creek. They are framed by willows and just twenty-five yards away.

“Oh,” I say, “Moose. Over there. Now I get you.”

The bull lowers his head and swings it from side to side. His massive antlers cut a large swath. His nonverbal message doesn’t feel friendly and the presence of a calf to protect cranks up my nervousness.

As I continue lowering Mary’s pack and boots, I whisper over my shoulder, "If the moose cross that river, we’re out of here.” Mary, eyes wide, nods agreement.

As if he heard me, the bull splashes into the river, heading toward the spot where we stand and gawk.

"Here they come," says Mary.

"Grab your stuff!" I yell.

I throw my pack over one shoulder, my tied-together hiking boots over the other, and, still in sandals, hustle toward a trail that bisects a nearby meadow. Mary is right behind, gear dangling, blonde hair flying. As we scuttle through frost-covered grasses, my sandaled feet quickly turn wet and cold.  

When we reach the trail, we stop and look back, panting. The whole family, dad leading the way and mom bringing up the rear, is charging up the same trail where we stand frozen. If I didn’t feel so threatened—moose have chased people in Yellowstone—I’d laugh at their ungainly gallop.

Instead, I swivel my head left and right seeking sanctuary. There! On the other side of the meadow a thick stand of conifers! Maybe dad won’t be able to get his big rack between those tightly packed trunks.

I point toward the trees and shout, “Let's go!"

Mary and I run clumsily, gear bouncing noisily. We must look as funny to the moose as they do to us. We reach the trees, slip between the tight trunks, stop, and peer out. We breathe loud and visible sighs of relief as the moose family trots away from us along the same trail we had sought.

Standing there, cold and relieved, we burst into laughter. Evidently, we had the same escape plans as the moose.

[This story excerpted from a chapter of Deep into Yellowstone: A Year’s Immersion in Grandeur and Controversy.]

Indie author Rick Lamplugh writes to protect wildlife and preserve wild lands.

His award-winning Deep into Yellowstone and best selling In the Temple of Wolves are available signed from Rick or unsigned on Amazon.

A signed copy of his forthcoming book, The Wilds of Aging, can be reserved.

Photo of Yellowstone moose by Rick Lamplugh