Moose On The Loose

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Often, while in the hills, I look ahead for danger. The rule is this: stay alert, use the senses to probe the environment, and have a plan. Seems simple to remember, right? Human beings are creatures of habit, especially with eyes designed to peer forwards, a nose to catch odors in the breeze, and ears for hearing to the side. Well, all plans are subject to change... without warning. Sometimes dangerous things come from odd directions.
One Fall day, while hiking high in the hills over the bay, I just happened onto a Bull Moose and Cow Moose near the side of the trail. Nothing unusual about that except it was mating season. Still, If was I careful, walked slowly by, and continued down the trail, everything would probably be all right. Not me; just had to have that shot of those two herbivores. So, here was my so-called plan: circle around near the small stand of trees, staying just out of reach, and getting that desired picture.
The cow was nearer, laying down and resting by a tree; the bull was further back, but eying my approach with interest. He seemed undecided towards me, while the cow merely laid there without any concern. I decided to keep a lot of small saplings between myself and the two moose, walking on a outcrop that overlooked the flat plot of ground where the moose were. The saplings formed a barrier closely bunched together. "Perfect," I thought to myself, "Protection from the horny beasts." However, as I advanced nearer to the cow, the bull moved slowly towards me. A bull moose has a certain look when he is in an aggressive mode: the hair along the neck bristles up, and his head lowers towards the ground. But first, he covered the open space inside the little grove, and once reaching the edges showed his intent.
So far, my plan was working; the moose, head down and antlers in attack position, tried to come through the barrier of thin, closely packed trees. He got stuck, but not stopped. Once the bull worked his antlers free, he sailed through the sapling spaces with deadly intentions of stomping me. I ran a circle around the small saplings, heading for a large spruce tree to hide behind. Then a sudden surge of adrenaline kicked in, but I slipped on the ground with the beast ten feet away. He stopped, satisfied I was no longer a threat, turned and went back to his love affair. Lucky me, I suppose I had learned my lesson, right? Probably not, but my risk taking was changed somewhat for future reference.
Afterwards, I walked down the trail, wiser for my wear and tear, thinking only the beauty of a Fall day high up on the slopes of golds and reds. The country wore a garment of changing colors, and the quiet in the air mixed with cool freshness. Again, the the silence was shattered behind me on the trail with the excited sounds of other hikers; "must be the bull moose," I thought. I could imagine how the hikers back there being ambushed, thrown about like rag dolls, and getting stomped by the kicking front legs of the angry moose. Then a silence... I wondered if I should go back and investigate. However, as I looked back, two terrified moose came running up over the hill behind me real fast. "Shit!" I ran along a narrow trail, bordered by steep slope above and with thick, nasty rose brush below. The two moose, seeing me ahead of them, stopped while I made more distance between us. I realized then that the hikers had scared the moose, which had then rushed down the trail, and came up over the hill where I was walking. Another lesson for the day: Danger is not always ahead; sometimes it comes from behind too fast to stop.