Foreigner In Grizzly Country or The Quest For Moose Continues

This summer's thirst for backcountry expeditions took Rob and I to Glacier NP in northern Montana. My experience there of unadulterated wilderness has moved Glacier to the top of my list of favorite places traveled to - and I am hesitant admitting this publicly since it poses the threat of increasing the parks' popularity.

Our first endeavor in Glacier was a backpacking trip to Lake Isabel which led us steeply 2,600 feet up Two Medicine Pass and back down another 2,800 feet in about 12 miles in the first day. Admittedly, we didn't have too many options for backcountry destinations in late June since many of the trails were either impassible due to snow or grizzly bear activity. So Lake Isabel it was, despite the fact that it wasn't remote enough for the likings of my much sought after bull moose.

Glacier is grizzly country. While I like the thrill of knowing that I may spot one of these guys in the wild, I'm not particularly keen on camping in their territory for two reasons: 1) I don't like the possibility of getting attacked because I wasn't making enough noise or smelled like the dinner I ate hours earlier; and 2) grizzly country backpacking is restricted to designated sites, meaning that you can't just camp on any little clearing that you like. Since grizzlies have an incredible sense of smell, cooking must occur at designated areas away from sleeping sites, as does defecation. Clothes that you cook in should be hung up on tall poles along with all food and toiletries. It's quit an ordeal, but it's necessary since grizzlies aren't like the brown bears of Yosemite who can be scared off with some yelling and rock throwing.

Needless to say, I am always nervous the first few days, and especially nights, in grizzly country. I don't even like daytime trips to the bathroom by myself. Despite my fears, on about our fourth evening out, Rob insisted I make the trek from the fire to the outhouse alone. After all, there was still a little light and I had traveled the path enough times.

And that's when it happened.

Out of nowhere, along the path intersecting mine, a massive horse-like, dog-faced animal came charging at me from the darkness of the forest. I had no time to think about proper reactions. I delivered my best girl scream, turned and sprinted back to the fire.

After Rob's brave investigation of my report, we found that my deer-horse-dog animal was in fact a baby moose. It wasn't too far away from where I had encountered it, playing peek-a-boo nervously around a tree. I had scared it as much as it had scared me, to the extent that I had separated it from it's mother. It didn't take long for Rob to spot the seven-foot tall mother in the other direction calling for her five-and-a-half-foot tall baby.

And so my quest for my grandpa's spirit animal was complete.

A few days later we spotted a mother moose and her baby along a popular hiking trail. We spent a long time checking them out and taking photos. Hikers passed by with blase responses when we pointed the moose out, saying things like, "Oh ya, we saw them on the way up." While the fire of my excitement was somewhat extinguished, I held onto my earlier encounter with the baby thinking that grandpa would be happy to know that my first meeting with moose was unforgettable.