Notes from the Klondike, Part II of II – A North Woods Bestiary And An Instructive Tale: During the course of our journey from Anchorage to Seattle, my son and I saw many wild animals. In fact, we rarely drove more than ten miles without coming upon a traffic sign warning of the presence of some massive and potentially dangerous brute along the highway, especially moose – and we did encounter several “Bullwinkles,” most of which were the size of a pick-up truck. We also saw a few bears, and my son even stopped once so that I could photograph a cub, though given my skill with a phone camera, you are not likely to see the picture in “National Geographic.” We were lucky enough to see bison, elk, and even a lynx, along with a few porcupines, though only in the form of road kill, since the porcupine is the Canadian equivalent of the armadillo in Arkansas. I will now relate a beast-related anecdote from our trip, and I selected it from among many candidates because this story so clearly demonstrates the almost universally accepted truth that fathers are far wiser than sons. My son and I were walking along a trail in an Anchorage city park. A gentle rain had become something just slightly less than a downpour, but my spirits were nonetheless high, since the woodlands were filled with exotic flora and there was a hint of brine in the air, carried by a breeze coming off nearby Cook Inlet. The boy suddenly tugged at my sleeve and pointed to our right. There, no more than 100 feet from us, was an enormous bull moose. I immediately said, “Let’s leave,” but he assured me that there was nothing to worry about. The huge animal then looked at us and I repeated, more insistently, “Really, let’s get out of here.” My son, detecting the increasing note of anxiety in his craven/prudent father’s voice, tried to reassure me by saying, “We don’t have to worry unless the moose puts its ears back.” No sooner had he made the remark than the immense beast did, in fact, put its ears back – and at the same time its eyes seemed to flash fiery red, though the rain in my own eyes, not to mention the terror in my heart, might have distorted my perception a bit. “Just back up slowly,” my son said, “and if he charges us, hide behind a tree.” I looked around for a sturdy pine, but as ill luck would have it, all the trees within sight appeared to be toothpicks with leaves. We slowly worked our way up the trail, and my cruel son kept mocking me for turning around to check on the moose roughly every five seconds. After a short time, his heckling inspired me to elaborate an “escape from the moose plan” that involved my kicking him in the knee, but then I remembered that the truck key was in his pocket, and I did not feel like standing around in the rain, waiting to retrieve it from the ambulance crew, and so, as I had on many previous occasions, I comforted myself with pleasant memories of my halcyon, childless days of yore – memories that are perhaps the greatest treasure of every father burdened with sons.
Posted on: Mon, 26 Aug 2013 13:40:24 +0000
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