Bear Mauling

A man attending a BBQ at Eklutna Lake outside of Anchorage had a few too many drinks and rode off on a bicycle. He took some of the BBQ meat on a stick with him. Before long he encountered a bear and apparently thought it was a good idea to share his food. He threw some at the bear. The bear ate it. He threw some more. Then something ticked the bear off. The man was found torn up but alive. He was ticketed for feeding the bear that mauled him. 

Which reminds me of the time we had a rather close call with a grizzly. Food was involved but it wasn’t ours....

It was a fall day. We were hiking around Gunsight Mountain hoping to see some moose in rut. We walked a few miles over rolling terrain seeing nothing but birds. Quite a few birds, actually. Ravens, magpies, bald eagles. The ravens were teasing Sam, our blue eyed dog, attempting to lure him off the trail. I mentioned there must be a carcass somewhere with all the scavengers in the area. 

Another mile traveled and Bob stopped to watch an eagle. I was watching Sam just ahead of us. He was air scenting something in the willows next to the trail when a dark looming figure rose up from the brush. It took a moment to recognize that it was a bear. A huge one with little eyes in a big teddy bear face standing on its hind legs. Sam was at its feet looking straight up. A healthy seventy pound dog, he appeared tiny and certainly helpless next to the big bruin.

The dog yelped in surprise and I calmly said “Wow. Look at that.” I was still processing the situation and felt awe, not panic or fear, oddly enough. 

Bob looked then and immediately yelled “Bear! Run!” Well, unless you are sure you can outrun a grizzly that is not the best thing to do. He doesn’t know why that was his first inclination; he knows it is utterly the wrong thing to do. But no one can really be certain how they will react until actually faced with a situation.

I grabbed his arm before he took off. We backed slowly away. Sam, an experienced wilderness dog, peeled off without a commotion. The bear was content to see us leave and, thank goodness, returned to the brush. The day could have ended in a bloody mess.

We worked our way around to a rock outcropping to watch the bear. It was scratching the ground, mosses, willows and all into a pile then flopping down on top. Scratch, scratch, flop. Over and over. It was a big pile of brush and we saw the antlers of a bull moose sticking out at the bottom of it. 

We had just interrupted a grizzly caching a moose! A seriously dangerous situation. Did the bear just kill the moose in a great battle or did it finish one injured by a hunter? We would never know. 

We watched for half an hour before the bear got up. It looked around to make sure nothing would disturb the cache and took off towards the river. I don’t know how much ground a bear covers in one stride but it is a lot. Three long strides and it was out of sight. 

In a few days Bob returned to find the stinky moose under the brush, bones crushed. It was smashed flat as a pancake by the bear’s great weight. 

Something Different

Here is a story from my time working with moose in Alaska in which I recall an encounter with an enraged moose.

It was summer, after the calving season, and this day started out as just another damp, gray morning except for the odd distant cries. I really wasn't sure I'd heard anything, but maybe something was happening in one of the fifteen acre pens down the road. A mud hole had formed there and I wondered if it was possible a moose could get stuck in it. Curious, I tugged on my Xtratufs, jacket, cap, and left my cozy cabin. 

It was drizzling and the trail was muddy from days of rain. The cries were plaintive, getting louder.  

Something stopped me cold. 

I saw the one I called Psycho Moose. A smallish, fine boned moose with a thin, bony nose. She hated people, was known to attack without provocation and at the moment she was extremely agitated about something. I was in the pen with her, a dangerous place to be, but as yet unnoticed. 

I saw she wasn't stuck in the mud at all. She was frantically pacing the fence line with two small calves in tow. That was strange because she had given birth to only one calf that year and it was, I clearly saw, on the wrong side of the fence! How they became so separated is still a mystery, considering now this moose’s devotion to her calf. Soft cries and a stirring in the trees at the edge of the clearing revealed the distressed mother of the confused twins. 

Somehow Psycho Moose had lost her calf but she was not to be without. She had kidnapped another moose's calves! 

She was desperate and I needed to get out of that pen before she discovered me. I turned back to the gate, but running in the slick mud wearing sloppy rubber boots was not easy. I slipped and fell flat on my face, mud covered, head to toe. 

There is something I hate about mud, even today. 

But I was younger and game and sprang up like a bop-a-doll, fully expecting the blows of moose hooves to knock me flat again. I reached the corner of the pen and scrambled over the tall hog wire fence. If memory serves correctly it was seven or eight feet high. More than a hop, skip and jump for sure.

Climbing fences is a good way to rip your pants, a silly thought as I flew over. But I was safe. For the moment. How was I to get the calf back before a bear killed it, and then return the twins to their rightful mother?

 I ended up on the same side of the fence as the lone calf and thought to herd her to an open gate and then to the pen where she could find her mother. A good plan, but Psycho Moose saw me now and did not consider me a savior. If she would stay calm there was a chance of pulling this trick off, but as it turned out she would not cooperate. The furious moose swung back and forth along the fence, charging wildly, doing her best to protect the calf. I’m not sure what I was thinking as I approached the calf, but now I wonder if  even a bear would risk challenging such a moose. 

It was all too frightening for the little calf. She startled, running straight towards a low four wire fence attached at a right angle to the tall hog wire fence that was the only thing between us and her mother. She ran smack into that low fence and flipped over it. With thin legs entangled in the wire, hanging upside down, she was helpless. Time stopped for a moment. 

I was horrified. 

The moose was horrified.

There was no turning back. The calf must be rescued.

The moose, just inches away, was steaming mad, and she was looking at me! Screaming, eyes bulging, rearing up, crashing against the fence, she would kill me given half a chance. I do recall that I thought about dying at the hooves of this maniacal moose as I frantically pulled at the wires to free the struggling calf before the fence collapsed and the enraged moose came crashing through. Your life sort of flashes by.

But suddenly the calf was free, all legs, loping towards the open gate! 

The mother moose forgot me, now guiding her beloved to the opening. The twins were abandoned, no longer needed. Their real mother left the safety of the trees to retrieve them. 

I breathed a sigh of relief as the world came right again. It was not my day to die after all. 

Bird talk around Homer is that a group of Whimbrels being seen around local beaches is actually Bristle-thighed Curlews! This calls for diligence in carrying binoculars to spot the telltale buffy-orange rump and unmarked light belly. No sign of them this morning on our Spit walk, but the Semi-palmated Plovers are finding nesting areas on the rocky ground above the high tide line and making a big show of leading us away from them.

The grass seed we spread on the bare areas of the yard last week is quickly being consumed by Golden-crowned Sparrows. Here is a shot of them under the spruce outside the kitchen. Little devils.

 Another low tide today and people were clamming in Mud Bay. The limit for razor clams is down to the first 25 dug. No picking out the big guys. There has been a serious decline in abundance of razor clams, the lowest on record at Ninilchik Beach since 1990 when the surveys began. Not very good news. 

Then there was this surprising photo of a ten pound fish leading the Homer Jackpot Halibut Derby! I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Do we have a replay of the collapse of the Atlantic Cod fishery here?

Photo from the Homer Tribune

House selling and sunny days

Memorial Day weekend 2013: sunny weather, good clamming tides, opening day of Saturday Market and a three day weekend. The perfect storm for tourists. Sunny, but still a chilly 48 with cold north winds on the Spit. Who cares? Not Alaskans!

House For Sale

Today was the first showing of the cabin, and it was 60 degrees here! We worked our butts off getting the place cleaned up and cleared out, and it looked pretty darned good when we were done. This need to maintain cleanliness for short-notice showings is the hardest part of selling and stresses me the most. If the temperature were warmer I'd suggest taking the trailer camping somewhere until a good offer comes in, then we could go back to living like normal slobs. 

The Endeavour Leaves Homer - finally

It took three tries, but at 8:30 a.m. Friday, the Endeavour-Spirit Independence jack-up rig left the Homer Deep Water Dock.   (Link to story in Homer News)

The rig arrived in Homer on August 24 last year and was scheduled to stay only seven days. It spent 218 days at the Deep Water Dock accompanied by much controversy. We'll be happy not to have it in our view, but I predict within a few years this will be a common sight in Homer. Too many people in local government have visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads over the $500,000 harbor fees collected. Then will come the big box stores and that will be the beginning of the end of this charming little fishing town and pristine Kachemak Bay.

Down the hole where Spider waits