ESTESBOG

IF YOU MUST SLAP A MOOSE….

 

by Peter Walker

(photo by David Walker)

 

Once again I am taking you back to my native state of Maine. I knew a young game warden (for the purposes of this story I’ll call him Danny) when I worked there about 30 years ago who began his outdoor career as a 6-month seasonal state park ranger. After three years as a ranger, he transferred to the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife.

 

As a ranger Danny was assigned from May through October to Baxter State Park, a very remote 180,000-acre tract of mountains, clear northern lakes, and boreal forest in northern Maine. Baxter State Park is a remarkable natural treasure that was accumulated by a wealthy bachelor governor, Percival Baxter, who bequeathed the property to the people of the State of Maine with the proviso that it remain forever wild.

 

The centerpiece of Baxter State Park is a huge chunk of granite rising about 5,000 vertical feet out of the spruce and fir forest and known as Mount Katahdin. Its peak is the highest point in Maine, 5,260 feet above sea level. That doesn’t sound like much of a mountain to folks living in or near the Rockies, but at that latitude and in that cold climate chilled by the Labrador Current, much of Katahdin stands above timberline and is covered with tundra. It’s a mountain all right.

 

Baxter Park and, especially, Mt. Katahdin are extremely popular recreation destinations. On any given day in the summer months, scores of visitors, or “pilgrims” as the rangers call them, set out at daybreak to climb Katahdin and enjoy the incredible view.

 

Now Ranger Danny had a sense of humor and the spark of a hell raiser in his eyes. Always quick to spot an opportunity to tease, his ornery side could be applied to critters as well as unsuspecting members of his own species.

 

One June morning Danny had already been to the summit up one trail and was partway through his foot patrol down another trail when he heard rocks rolling above him. He was in the timberline transition zone where the trail entered a dense belt of stunted balsam fir thickets no more than 6-8 feet tall. Through gaps in the thickets he could tell the disturbance was caused by a cow moose coming down the same trail that he was on.

 

Having spent so much time on Katahdin’s trails, Danny recognized the moose as a barren cow that hung around that side of the mountain and pretty much ignored human beings. She was cautiously picking her way down the very steep, slippery slope with legs splayed.

 

Moose in Maine are of the Canadian subspecies. They are fully one-third larger than the Shiras moose of Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado. Their noses are longer and droopier. Textbooks call them “majestic.” In truth they look like a government committee’s attempt to design a horse!

 

As the old gal eased her way down like a semi using its Jake brakes, Danny decided to pull back into the bushes and see how close she would come to him. He snuggled back into the fir thicket only inches off the trail and held his breath as she approached. Seconds later the nose, then the ears, then the chest of the huge beast lumbered past the motionless park ranger less than an arm’s length away.

 

In that split second Danny had an impulse and acted upon it. As the moose’s ample caboose wobbled past, he grabbed the Smokey Bear hat from his head and slapped the animal on the near haunch while yelling, “YEEEE-HAW!”

 

The poor cow moose was taken completely by surprise. In half a second her adrenal glands took over her body, emptying their entire contents into her bloodstream. As her little pig eyes rolled in their sockets exposing the bloodshot white parts, her brainstem assumed control of her fright response and pulled the throttle out to the stop. Her rear half then attempted to outrace her front half and off the huge critter went in an uncoordinated gallop down a nearly 45-degree slope, rocks, twig tips, and moose saliva flying in all directions.

 

There’s an old adage that says you should always think things out before you act. If Ranger Danny had restrained himself in that instant and not provoked the moose, things might have come out differently. But once done, there was no taking it back.

 

At the base of the grade down below, the trail flattened out onto a wooded shelf. At that moment, making their way across that terrace was a group of pilgrims laden with packs of overnight gear. They’d already climbed several thousand vertical feet that morning and were doubtless feeling the consequences of their exertion. Saving their energies, conversation amongst themselves had pretty much ceased.

 

Ranger Danny had no idea the hikers were there just 150 yards below him. His first clue was a loud human scream. This was followed by many more and the sounds of breaking branches and pots and pans clanging as backpacks flew apart or were flung in panic. An equally terrified, wild-eyed monster had just charged straight through the group like an express train and doubtless continued steaming down the track without looking back.

 

What to do? Danny’s sense of duty told him he should go down and offer help. But once the pilgrims recovered from their shock, someone was bound to remember hearing a loud “YEEE-HAW” just prior to the stampede. His ill-conceived prank could cause his dismissal. That was bound to have considerable influence on his potential selection to the Maine Warden Service where his application was pending.

 

Danny remained embedded in the relative security of his fir thicket and listened carefully to what was going on down below. For several minutes he heard bits and pieces of excited conversation as the hikers gathered and repacked their gear. There was no indication, as far as he could tell, of anyone having suffered an injury. He decided to take the coward’s way out.

 

As quietly as he could, the young ranger traversed his way across Katahdin’s slopes until he was some distance from the trail and completely out of sight. There he waited without moving until he heard the pilgrims pass by on their continuing trek towards the summit. Once the coast was clear, he resumed his traverse around the mountain until he struck the next trail, then turned downhill towards the base.

 

Moral of the story? Think twice before you spank a moose.