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A Moose Encounter

The setting of this January, 2005 essay is Virginia and Ben Crawford’s Alaskastadir Farm. I was then working as a winter caretaker. Siggi, the second horse that Pete and I purchased, was then seven months old. The following incident happened shortly after I decided to take him for a walk.

I live in Southcentral Alaska, where, in the winter months, moose seem to be everywhere. Like their human counterparts, the long-limbed critters prefer walking on hard ground to trudging through soft snowdrifts. Fortunately, local horseback riders keep one another informed as to the ungulates’ general whereabouts. At the same time, area horses and dogs also let their human counterparts know when the moose are on the move.

I recently learned that paying close attention to sighting information is extremely important. I dismissed a series of cautionary asides, and this nearly cost me dearly. I was lucky—fate intervened. I now have an interesting story to tell. Hopefully, it attests to the importance of being attuned to the observations of both humans and animals.

A few days ago, Virginia Crawford, who owns Alaskastadir Farms (where I work as a part-time caretaker), mentioned that earlier that evening, a female moose and her calf stepped out in front of her car, ran down the driveway, and disappeared into the woods. I, of course, agreed that I should be careful when venturing out onto her mile-long driveway.

The next morning, I distributed hay, then began cleaning out the run-in shed. Lysa, Virginia’s palomino lead mare, sidled up next to me, stood still, then raced off to the far end of the main pasture. Minutes later, Virgina’s two young Icelandic dogs raced down the road, and began barking.

Done mucking, I prepared to take Raudhetta, my chestnut filly through a self-constructed obstacle course. Raudi pranced over the foam, danced through hose coils, and bolted past an overturned bicycle. Her inattentiveness dictated my next move—rather than take her for a walk, I returned her to the pasture.

I made a salient observation. All ten Alaskastadir Icelandics were extremely jittery. Were there moose in the area? I scanned the driveway and adjacent fields—nope, I didn’t see anything unusual. The wind must be putting the horses on edge.

I next decided to take Siggi, my six-month old blue dun colt for a walk. If say, a mound of snow fell off a spruce bough, Siggi would plant all four feet firmly on the ground. This would be fortuitous – exposing him to falling snow would further desensitize him.

I planned to walk the quarter-mile to the Crawford’s guest cabin, and turn back. But because Siggi was so amenable, I kept going. Cjarne, Virginia’s eight month old black-and-white Icelandic pup joined us.

I lapsed into a daydream. Siggi was mellow, highly social, and eager to please. I envisioned our first summer trail ride together – undoubtedly, he too would enjoy the soft summer breezes and the muted twitterings of area songbirds.

A squirrel dashed across the trail and stopped. Although I was tempted to urge Siggi on, but I knew that I ought not push it. If he grew apprehensive, our training walk would be for naught. Plus, I had yet to tend to the chickens. We did an about-face 200 yards distant from Clark-Wolverine Road.

Musings about chickens lead to musings about cleaning the chicken coop, which lead to musings about compost, which lead to musings about gardening. Cjarne’s barking brought me back to the present. I speculated that the neighborhood dogs had set him off: however, I didn’t speculate as to what had set the neighborhood dogs off.

Siggi and I rounded the first of two bends. A crashing sound on our left caused us both to jump. A gangly bull moose shook his ungainly head. Siggi snorted. I gasped. The moose’s bulbous nose, floppy ears, and unsightly throat wattle gave him a deceptively comical appearance. Deceptive was a key word. The whites of his eyes and flared nostrils said – back off, kiddo.

I clambered over the waist-high snow berm. Siggi tapdanced sideways. The massive animal lumbered in our direction. If I pulled the horse up beside me, we might both be trampled. I released the lead rope. Siggi spun around and bolted in the direction of Clark-Wolverine Road. I staggered over to a nearby spruce, and grabbed a limb. The moose disappeared. I leapt back onto the road and tore off after Siggi.

I ran a few hundred yards, then panting, slowed to a fast walk. I started to remove my down jacket, but decided against it – it was 5 degrees. If locating Siggi took time, I’d risk becoming hypothermic.

Although it was a straight shot to the Clark-Wolverine Road turnoff, I couldn’t see a thing – the afternoon sun was shining right into my eyes. I glanced at the snow-packed road. Moose tracks ran alongside Siggi’s silver-dollar sized hoof prints. He WAS ahead of me. I sprinted to the intersection. On my left, a quarter of a mile away, two pick-ups were parked side-by-side. My heart beat wildly, as one of the two vehicles went into reverse. I feared that the driver was going to tell me that my beloved Icelandic horse was dead. A few days previously, I’d read in the Fairbanks Daily News Miner that a horse in the Interior escaped from his enclosure, ran into the road, was hit by a truck, and killed. I wondered how the equine’s owners, as they raced towards the accident scene, felt. I now knew; you barter with fate. I told God that if Siggi was alive, that I’d make a donation to the Alaska Equine Rescue Association.

I ran over to the truck’s driver-side door. The driver rolled down the window.

“My horse,” I wailed, “Is he . . . ?

“He’s fine,” the man said. “A moose was chasing him down the road. I ran interference. Climb in, I’ll give you a lift.”

I hopped into the truck, then, less than ten seconds later, hopped out, and ground to a halt. A tall man was who was wearing a bulky Carhartt jump suit was looking warily at the tiny Icelandic, who was sporting a thick, mouse-gray winter coat.

The miniature mastodon lowered his head and sniffed the Michelin man’s left white bunny boot. Cjarne reappeared and sniffed his right boot.

“These your animals?” the hapless individual asked.

“The horse is mine. The dog accompanied us. He belongs . . .”

“Here,” the fellow said, thrusting the lead tope into my hands.

“You live around here?”

“No. I board my two horses at the place at the end of the road.”

The driver of the first pick-up truck interjected that if I wished, he’d wait at the Clark-Wolverine Quaking Aspen intersection, because, he surmised, the moose might be lurking in the woods. The driver of the second pick-up truck said he’d be willing to do the same. I accepted their offer because, well, you never know. The behemoth could stumble back onto the road and resume the chase.

I asked the two drivers to wait a minute. I wasn’t carrying a cell phone. If Siggi was injured, someone would have to contact Sandi Ferris, my veterinarian. I ran my hands over his body, then beckoned to him to walk on. Siggi complied.

“He’s fine,” I told the pair. I’ll meet you at the corner.”

The incident hadn’t phased Siggi, who, ambled along, head down, in a relaxed fashion. But I, who had been spooked, was now moose phobic. I listened for the tale-tale sound of snapping twigs. I also kept my eyes peeled, for any sign of movement. Most importantly, I paid close attention to Cjarne’s whereabouts. When Siggi and I arrived at the now infamous turn, Cjarne, perhaps sensing that I was apprehensive, stuck close.

When, finally, the main pasture came into view, we three stopped and took in a most unusual sight. The Icelandics, who in the early afternoon, usually stand loosely at the far fence, were standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the near fence. The last time they’d taken such a stance was May 12, the day Siggi was born. Undoubtedly, they were wondering where he was.

I stood, dumbfounded. Hindsight is particular to humans, and with good reason. Without it, we’d continue to err in our judgments. I was glad, at least in this instance, to have learned a valuable lesson. In the future, I’d be more observant, especially when the collective word was that moose were in the area.

Alys
Pete
Raudi
Siggi
A MooseEncounter
Around the Loop
Backing Siggi
Siggi’s Big Day
Tinni
Bootleg
Rainbow
Jenna
Goats
Chickens