I feel like I need to lead into this with a disclaimer of sorts. I am a firm believer that if one goes traveling into the wilds of Alaska (and in some cases the concrete jungles of Los Anchorage) one should always have a firearm. I personally like to carry my .357 while hiking, and along with that you can often find me toting an airhorn. I usually give the airhorn to one of my kids, so that if the noise doesn't deter an angry bear, I can be ready with some lead pursuasion. Teamwork.
This morning as I was getting the farm chores wrapped up and getting ready to load Kimber up in the Ranger for our daily walk, I neglected to grab my pistola. I always have an airhorn in the glovebox of my ranger, but it is only part two of my two part self protection system. Part one being my loaded gun. I didn't sweat it when I parked the Ranger and realized I had ambled off without part one of two. I shoved the airhorn in my pocket and we went on our way. A good two miles into our walk Kimber spooked a bull and cow moose who were laying in the tall grass. Had I been walking alone along the path I would have never even known those two were there. The moose was about as startled as I was, me walking mindlessly down a path we walk everyday, and him canoodling with his lady friend. Now both of us keenly aware of one another. Kimber did not help ease the tension either, as she growled and barked feebly at the animal fifty times her size. Moose in general don't scare me per say, but running into an agitated bull in the thick of 'the rut' is no bueno.
So here I stood, thirty-six and staring down my childhood nightmare. With every exhale the steam from his flared nostrils hung in the brisk morning air. As I glanced around I realized I was in a grassy field with hundreds of spruce saplings, not one tree big enough to embrace and test my juvenile theory. I started talking to the moose in a soothing voice, as if they knew what I was saying. Somehow it made Kimber feel better, as she slid in behind me using me as her human shield. My mind began to wander...What was the last thing I said to my kids this morning? Did I tell Sully I loved him today? I hope if this moose tramples me my dog doesn't eat me. You know, rational thoughts. As I backed away slowly, whispering sweet nothings into his general direction, I remebered I was not empty handed. Reaching into my hoody pocket I retrieved my weapon. Grasping ahold of the cold cylindrical can I steadied my pointer finger on the trigger. Sully's gun safety monologue ringing in my ears, "Never put your finger on the trigger until you intend to shoot." The bull must have realized the tables had turned, because he started to snort and paw at the ground, moving towards me...almost taunting me. Challenge accepted. I aimed the blue muzzle squarely between his eyes and depressed the trigger...releasing an obnoxious siren blast across the tundra. As it bellered, I found myself wishing I had earplugs. Both moose took off in opposite directions, and subsiquently so did my dog. I can't say that had I not had my trusty airhorn with me today, I would be mamed somewhere miles from civilization, dinner to my canine. But I can say I am glad I had something, cause it sure felt hairy there for a few minutes.
While we finished out our walk, I couldn't help but wonder if I should really entrust my life to small can of ear-splitting noise. Would I be so lucky with a grizzly bear? Or would they find my remains clutching that puny canister. I am glad I didn't have to find out. If only there hadn't been a plethora of spruce chicken land mines the rest of the way back. I am sure those little cluckers took years off my life. If you've never spooked a covey of spruce hen, it sounds how I would imagne a bear would sound crashing through the forest in hot pursuit of a pork chop. It is terrifying. I clutched the airhorn the whole way back to the Ranger, refusing to waste precious horn juice unless it was necessary. The final straw was on the Ranger ride home, when I am sure nature had decided to band together for my demise, I was birch slapped in the face.
Another day, another dog walk, and I lived to tell the tale.
This morning as I was getting the farm chores wrapped up and getting ready to load Kimber up in the Ranger for our daily walk, I neglected to grab my pistola. I always have an airhorn in the glovebox of my ranger, but it is only part two of my two part self protection system. Part one being my loaded gun. I didn't sweat it when I parked the Ranger and realized I had ambled off without part one of two. I shoved the airhorn in my pocket and we went on our way. A good two miles into our walk Kimber spooked a bull and cow moose who were laying in the tall grass. Had I been walking alone along the path I would have never even known those two were there. The moose was about as startled as I was, me walking mindlessly down a path we walk everyday, and him canoodling with his lady friend. Now both of us keenly aware of one another. Kimber did not help ease the tension either, as she growled and barked feebly at the animal fifty times her size. Moose in general don't scare me per say, but running into an agitated bull in the thick of 'the rut' is no bueno.
Back when I was a child walking to the school bus stop, in the pitch black Alaskan darkness chilled by the -20 degree weather trudging uphill both ways, I had nothing better to do than to run through scenarios in my mind of how I would react to being attacked by some viscous predator. Don't let their cute little faces fool you either, moose fit into that catagory. I had surmised that if I was about to get stomped to death by a moose I would hug the nearest tree. Seemed logical at the time.
So here I stood, thirty-six and staring down my childhood nightmare. With every exhale the steam from his flared nostrils hung in the brisk morning air. As I glanced around I realized I was in a grassy field with hundreds of spruce saplings, not one tree big enough to embrace and test my juvenile theory. I started talking to the moose in a soothing voice, as if they knew what I was saying. Somehow it made Kimber feel better, as she slid in behind me using me as her human shield. My mind began to wander...What was the last thing I said to my kids this morning? Did I tell Sully I loved him today? I hope if this moose tramples me my dog doesn't eat me. You know, rational thoughts. As I backed away slowly, whispering sweet nothings into his general direction, I remebered I was not empty handed. Reaching into my hoody pocket I retrieved my weapon. Grasping ahold of the cold cylindrical can I steadied my pointer finger on the trigger. Sully's gun safety monologue ringing in my ears, "Never put your finger on the trigger until you intend to shoot." The bull must have realized the tables had turned, because he started to snort and paw at the ground, moving towards me...almost taunting me. Challenge accepted. I aimed the blue muzzle squarely between his eyes and depressed the trigger...releasing an obnoxious siren blast across the tundra. As it bellered, I found myself wishing I had earplugs. Both moose took off in opposite directions, and subsiquently so did my dog. I can't say that had I not had my trusty airhorn with me today, I would be mamed somewhere miles from civilization, dinner to my canine. But I can say I am glad I had something, cause it sure felt hairy there for a few minutes.
While we finished out our walk, I couldn't help but wonder if I should really entrust my life to small can of ear-splitting noise. Would I be so lucky with a grizzly bear? Or would they find my remains clutching that puny canister. I am glad I didn't have to find out. If only there hadn't been a plethora of spruce chicken land mines the rest of the way back. I am sure those little cluckers took years off my life. If you've never spooked a covey of spruce hen, it sounds how I would imagne a bear would sound crashing through the forest in hot pursuit of a pork chop. It is terrifying. I clutched the airhorn the whole way back to the Ranger, refusing to waste precious horn juice unless it was necessary. The final straw was on the Ranger ride home, when I am sure nature had decided to band together for my demise, I was birch slapped in the face.
Another day, another dog walk, and I lived to tell the tale.
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