Thank goodness moose aren’t startled by the smell of urine-soaked down feathers.
I’m not a hundred percent sure where the notion comes from, a
notable comedian, some witty author, a parent or other sage relative, but I
firmly subscribe to the thinking that the trick to surviving life is finding the humor in
things; and the sooner the better. Just a few years ago I was able to laugh
about getting poison ivy in some unfortunate places as a child; after nearly a
decade of keeping that tale under wraps, I now freely volunteer it to people
having a bad day. Last month I was able to giggle about the way that poop
promptly freezes after departure and before landing at -50 Fahrenheit; five months
ago I was still wrought with anxiety about zombies stowed away in the hole beneath. And
today, this morning really, I’m already laughing after waking up in a pretty
precarious scenario that occurred moments ago; I’d say I’m getting close to
perfection – though I can assure you that had I laughed aloud at the time of
incident I’d surely be unable to write this out now.
Two weeks ago I offered this review for a recent purchase from
REI:
Wait I should probably back up - but not too far because I want to stay relevant.
A project I've always wanted to undertake is to develop a sort of graphic device that lets you know when food is about to spoil in your fridge. Since beginning to purchase and maintain my own sustenance I've become much better at keeping track of my food stores - when I started at OSU, looking in my fridge you'd think that I was researching the variety and quality of mold cultures one can create with Kroger produce. Today however, just shy of a decade later, I eat most things before they spoil fantastically in a blaze of furry mold, with the exception of one thing:
Carrots.
I cannot see for the life of me how one person is supposed to eat a whole bag of carrots before they go squishy and limp. Last week I had a little experiment: I'd buy a bag of carrots and try to eat the whole bag without letting a single one fall to biological casualty, or becoming oopma-loompa colored in the process. So I started early and ate one in line at the check out of Fred Meyers. and then, excited by the taste, another in the parking lot on the way to Larry. A third enjoying the crispy goodness in my driveway and then roughly one a day with my evening salad. Still they spoiled. How can one POSSIBLY be expected to consume 18 full sized carrots in less than a week; its impossible - our food distribution system is wasteful.
Well all these sad carrots must go somewhere, and never having setup a proper compost pile I hustle the bag (quickly so as to avoid liquefied carrot from dripping out - high-five to you dad from all your Juicerator days with carrots, I must admit I still cant drink the liquid) out on to the front porch where I fling them out into the yard. Indiscriminately mind you. I cant have too many per square foot because I prefer a nice distribution of my decomposition.
Now back to the Hammock tent. (I assure you, this will all make sense shortly) For the past few weeks I've been taking advantage of the wonderful temperatures (day and night) and spent quite a bit of time outside in this wonderful device. It has a nylon base with integrated rain fly and screen mesh that you enter via a side zipper. Living in a certifiable tundra bog I can say that having a mesh enclosed outdoor space allows one to really enjoy the Alaskan great outdoors without lathering up in DEET - an important consideration when running water isn't at your fingertips. I've been reading in it, and watching sunsets, and doing crosswords and sleeping.
Sleeping is what I was doing until an hour ago.
At approximately 1:39am Alaska standard time. I woke to a crunch. It's been drizzling all night, with the occasional bout of heavier droplets, and the lull of that noise has kept me sound asleep.
[CRUNCH]
And now the rain fly draws taught, I can hear the fabric stretching under strain, and then pangs loose again. Not the type of reaction wind would elicit so I rally to open my eyes, peering groggily over the lip of the hammock,
and find the source of the
[CRUNCH]
two feet from my face.
well the knees of the source.
a moose is standing beside my hammock.
last winter in Anchorage with a friend I saw a moose 15 feet away from a car window, and wanted to run up an hug this massive squirrel that was standing in someones front yard.
The situation, which for weeks felt more comfortable than any other prior suddenly took a turn into panic. The 18 or so inches I can see of moose muscle, below the rain fly and above the hammock base, are knotting and moving. My heart caught firmly in my throat I watched this massive head, half as long as the human boy wrapped in a sleeping bag next to it, dip into view, and then down out of it.
[CRUNCH - CRUNCH]
Now every muscle in my body is bound up in anxiety as I watch the thousand pound hairy Volkswagen Beetle standing next to me.
The head comes up and I can see little orange bits falling from its massive masticating jaw. Carrots! I have been camping in the center of a field of moose bait!!! The [as I soon discover] momma moose on my right takes a step forward and the rain fly guy wire catches her leg, startled she high steps it quickly away from my head an moves off towards my "foot" end of the yard. Behind my head I hear twigs snapping in surround sound. two smaller, much smaller, brown shapes fill my peripheral vision on either side. Tiny pony sized moose are making their way around my suspended, down sleeping bag bound body, eating the scraps of carrot that mom didn't pick up or had missed.
Now I'm really panicked. and realizing the enormity of the situation. When I first moved here I perused a bit of local literature; this book was on the list: http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Get-Eaten-Dangers-Animals/dp/0898869129
I focused mostly on the Bear and Moose section as they seemed the most likely to be encountered. I will at this time quote several excerpts - all of which were racing through my mind:
[pg. 71]
"...Don't approach moose. Like other animals, moose have an area around them that, if entered, will cause them to fight or flee. If a wolf, dog, bear or human enters the 'personal space' of a moose it might charge..."
[pg. 71 cont'd]
"...Give cows with calves a wide birth. Cow moose are extremely protective of their calves. they'll defend their calves from a grizzly bear, so they wont hesitate to charge after you. If you see a calf but no cow, be extremely careful - you may have gotten between them. Try to locate the cow and move away without drawing her attention. Be aware that the 200-400 pound calves can be dangerous by themselves. They're far less assertive than adult moose, but they are capable of injuring people in hammocks..."
- ok admittedly I added that last bit -
[pg. 72]
"...[alaska cows] are 6 feet tall at the shoulder... average 800-1200 pounds..."
"...can run 30-35 miles per hour..."
"...sense of smell is excellent but cannot detect the faint smell of urine droplets saturating down insulation"
[pg. 75]
"...if a moose charges, your best bet is to get up a tree..."
check. up a tree.
"... sometimes moose will simply run off after knocking a person down. Other times, they stomp and kick with all four feet..."
The scene looked a bit something like this complete with the triumphant music (you can skip ahead to 2:01)
After what seemed like hours of the trio eating their way through my front yard, they wandered off into the neighboring woods. I'd lost almost 10 pounds in water weight through my pores, and by other methods and slowly climbed out of my tent, each notch of the hammock zipper unclasping ringing in my ears.
And now here I am, still wide awake from nervousness and excitement. The hammock-tent outside strung between two trees. My damp sleeping bag crumpled by the door, the rain softly falling on the rooftop, and a smile stretching ear to ear.
What a beautiful way to start the week.
