Sunday, September 16, 2012

M-M-Moose charge

The other night MM and I took the Beebs out to Propect Heights trailhead. It was an awesome evening, cloudy and still, the air smelling of fallen leaves and that distinct, sharp, clear smell of autumn. We ran up Southfork Trail, around a few others and then up Powerline Pass to the Flattop trailhead. It was up, and up. And up some more.

It was a darkish, moody evening, and the air was filled with a calm energy that made me feel happy to be alive, happy to be running through trails inhabitated by no one but us.

Well, there was someone else around. Namely, this moose.

Now tell me: Doesn't she look kinda friendly?

We passed this cow on the way up Powerline Pass. We slowed down, she paused and glanced at us, we paused and glanced at her. Then she went back to eating and we went back to running.

Later, running back down, we came across her again. This time she was with her calf and they were in the middle of the trail, so we had to stop and wait.

We waited. And waited. We stood in the cooling air, as night began to settle around us, and still the moose refused move off the trail.

Finally, they both inched a wee bit off the trail. They were eating. They looked preoccupied. I said to MM, "They look preoccupied."

"I don't think they are," he said.

I ignored him. I foolishly decided to go for it.

I would have made it, too. Except the calf perked up its ears and trotted over at me, all excited. It ran up to me like a kid running up to other kids at a playground. I think it wanted to play.

We didn't get a chance, though, because Mama Moose looked up, noticed I was close to her calf (But the calf came to me!) and charged.

You cannot believe how fast a moose can move.

I eyed an alder tree and thought, 'Oh please, don't let her chase me up that alder tree.'

She chased me up the alder tree.

Then she went after Beebs, who managed to veer away.

MM smartly stayed his distance. He wasn't charged. He didn't have to climb a tree.

The morale of this story is: Think like a man even when you run like a woman.

After all the excitement, we headed back down the trail, and it was all downhill from there, and I mean this literally: The trail went down and down and down, as the sky dimmed and darkened and suddenly became dark.

We're down to about 12 hours of daylight. It's actually dark by 8:30 p.m., and we're losing four-five minutes of light each day. So, so sad.

This is the song I sang in my head post moose charge, which I think is the perfect running song, no? (And Nancy is pretty sexy, even if she does have big hair.)


  1. Wow! That is scary. Do you have all dark at some point? Are you that far north?

  2. No, we don't have all dark, thank god, but in the worst of winter we only have about four to five hours of light, and it's a stingy, obstinate light, too.