Tag Archives: ranger

Grover and the Moose

Posted on by
Reply

Horses hate moose. It’s a fact.

 

When I was a Wilderness Ranger in Meeteetse, Wyoming, I rode horses, and saw moose. There were lots of moose/horse stories being told, but I never thought that I would be in the middle of one of them.

My horse’s name was Grover, because he looked like a Muppet: shaggy, one color (black in this case), and a bit wild. Being the low man on the Totem Pole, they let me ride Grover…

It was a rainy, late September day; the kind of day when even a 27 year old can feel in their bones the advancement of winter. The kind of Wyoming winter where it is 30 below zero, and you have to chop the ice on the water tanks for the livestock. As a kid, I used to chop the ice for my dad’s cattle back in Indiana.

Grover and I were headed up the Greybull River trail. Before we got to Venus cabin, there was an opening with a huge bull moose standing at the other side. The moose had antlers that were bigger than anything I had seen in my life. I patted Grover on the neck, knowing that he must have already seen the moose, and that me being on the horse, the moose would quickly walk away. But the moose didn’t.

We were headed toward the moose at a nice horsey pace. Grover’s head was bobbing up and down, as they do when your mount is working hard up in the mountains.

“I’m sure you see the moose,” I said to Grover.

Grover walked along, kind of dopey like. Doo dee doo. Doo dee doo, his head bobbing up and down.

We were about 80 yards from the moose.

“I’m sure you smell the moose,” I reassured Grover, knowing that horses have a keen sense of smell, and can detect danger long before humans. Doo dee doo. Doo dee doo went Grover, walking up the trail with a soggy ranger on his back. We were about 50 yards from the moose.

Another pat on Grover’s neck for a reminder, and then, “I’m sure you can hear the moose milling around,” I said a little louder. It seemed like an urgent reminder, knowing that horses are animals given to fear and running away. We were now about 35 yards away, and the moose wasn’t interested in stepping out of the way. Being a very brave, very stupid ranger, I kept the course. Doo dee doo. Doo dee doo went Grover’s head, bobbing up and down.

Suddenly, Grover’s head jerked up, his eyes grew wide, and he jumped about two feet straight up in the air. He yelled, “A MOOSE!” He spun around, 180 degrees in the air, and hit the ground with all four hooves spinning. The race was on.

If we had been in the Kentucky Derby that day, we would have won by about 4 lengths. That old cow pony pulled speed out of his hind end, and set it on fire. We were flying down the trail, and that horse was wearing Nike horseshoes.

Now I never considered myself a great rider, but I knew one thing: You don’t fall off of a speeding horse up in the mountains. You could get killed, and if you don’t get killed, you might just lay there, all busted up until you die. Your chances of having a grizzly bear come along are as good as having another person show up and look at your from their horse, wondering what you are doing, laying there all crumpled up, and soaking wet.

So I hung on for all I was worth. Narrow, winding, mountain trails at full speed require a certain amount of anticipation when riding a scared, wet horse. You lean inside the curves like a Can am motorcycle racer, and you flop to the other side before you even get to the curve. All the while I was shouting “Whoa! Whoa!”

After about what I estimated to be half a mile, Grover and I rolled to a stop, about like a Land Speed Record holder car would at the Bonneville salt flats. Grover stood there, trembling. His sides heaved in and out as if he had just finished the Boston Marathon, or won the 1000 meters at the Olympics. Grover turned his head back toward me and said “Why didn’t you tell me there was a moose!”

Stupid horse. Wait ’till you hear the grizzly stories…

Phantom Chicken Vibrations

Posted on by
Reply

 

It’s hard to know exactly when the phantom chicken vibrations began. Perhaps it was on a Monday during a particularly low air pressure system. In any event, they have only grown stronger…

When I was a Wilderness Ranger in Wyoming, I would travel through “the largest road-less area in the lower 48 states” for 10 days at a time. Although I had brushes with raging rivers, grizzlies, and poachers, I didn’t have a radio or a cell phone. They were worthless. And I loved it.

Teaching skiing in the 90s I guided clients and students down some of the most amazing ski runs in North America. Sometimes we found waist deep powder, steep tree runs, chutes, cliffs, and all kinds of snowy challenges. And I didn’t carry a cell phone. Fantastic.

When cell phones became fairly popular I poo poohed them. They were unnecessary. My ski clients almost universally carry them; friends and family live with them; and it’s almost assumed that you DO have a cell phone.

“What’s your cell number?” they ask as they hold up their phone, ready to add me to their address book.

“What makes you think I have a cell number?” I sometimes reply. They usually don’t know what to say.

Now my summer job requires me to carry a company cell phone. I’m a heavy equipment operator for a prestigious excavation company in the Aspen area. Which leads me to the phantom chicken vibrations.

As an equipment operator, it’s difficult to hear a phone ringing over the din of the machinery, the construction site, earplugs, and a radio set on volume number “30”. So a wise coworker helped me set my cell phone to “vibrate”.

Scrolling down the preset ring tones, I picked out a rooster crowing. Boy, is that rooster crowing popular with the temp laborers. When I go into the temp agency to pick up some help for the day, sometimes the phone goes off on maximum volume. There I am, standing in my black Carhartt pants with a rooster crowing loudly. 30 or 40 guys from not the US are all staring at me, smiling. I look at them and say “Wake up! It’s time to go to work!”

Elvin began to call my cell phone “Cheekin Leedle” and the name stuck with the other workers.

Now, whenever someone calls me, the phone vibrates against my right thigh muscle (the phone slides neatly into my Carhartt leg tool pouch) and crows. This brings me to the medical problem known as phantom chicken vibrations.

Sometimes, I go to answer the phone, only to find that there is no one there. I’m sure that I felt the phone vibrate over the bouncing of the machine. And didn’t I hear the rooster crowing? Maybe that was just a soundbite of Hillary Clinton on the radio. Similar pitch and tone.

Now I feel phantom chicken vibrations while driving my car, shopping for cheap milk, and laying in bed. Are they real? Am I just paranoid that I’ll miss a call? Who knows.

I know of a guy who was a professional trucker his entire life. His wife once told me that he used to shift gears in his sleep. Maybe I’m in good company. I’m just glad that I don’t throw knives for a living.