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Show jV by ftan Chalat Moose encounters of the third kind It is hard to believe that these mornings which have dawned so clear could be so cold. After being tantalized with the hint of a January thaw this return to the dead of winter win-ter is disappointing. We knew that a cold front had moved in long before the first morning weather report. Since we don't have central heat, sub zero temperatures become immediately apparent. ap-parent. The first clue is that it is almost impossible to get out of bed when the alarm goes off. When it is really cold I manage to wind our flannel sheets around my ears and neck like a scarf. It takes a while to get untangled and by that time I have noted my steamy breath in the moonlight and the wisps of frost on the inside of the bedroom window. It would be a lot easier to crawl back under the covers than to face the possibility that the pipes in the kitchen have frdzen. The dread of frozen pipes, however, is enough to inspire further investigation. In the kitchen there is a sheet of ice in the dog's water dish and its owner is curled up on the rug with her nose tucked under her tail. She is not at all interested in going outside, which is another clue that we will probably hear the chilling news of record-breaking cold temperatures tem-peratures in Northern Utah. For several seconds after I turn on the faucet there is only a dry rattle. I have just enough time to review the horror of a morning morn-ing without coffee or a shower before a small trickle finally starts. It was close. I am now on full winter alert. It's me against the elements. As the first fool out of bed it is also my sacred responsibility to build a fire. There is no time to leisurely reread my favorite parts of Whaddya Know while krinkling up paper for kindling. This is serious. The success of this project carries all the high suspense of Jack London's short story "To Build a Fire." Will the fire start or will they freeze to death? Happily, the fire catches. The dog yawns, stretches and moves closer to the wood stove. The sun rises and begins to melt the frost on the window pane as the weather man announces that a neighbor of ours called in a low temperature of 20 degrees below zero. Even with the sun up it is a long time before the mercury moves up to a tolerable zero. We have planned a ski tour that day but we are not in any hurry to set out. Then a friend stops by with a report that he has seen a moose in trouble. She was lying right by the trail, and hadn't moved when he skied by several days ago, he says. The possibility of seeing a moose always excites me and I thought she might just be exhausted and hungry. It was a naive assumption but still I pack up bread, fruit and vegetables and head up the canyon. My ski partner spots the first moose, the first she has ever seen in the wild. She is lurking at the edge of a rancher's barnyard in a stand of scrub oak and gazes up at us with the self-assured look of soon-to-be-very-large adult moose. After sizing us up she lowers herself down onto her front knees and then lets her back end follow in much the same way a camel would lie down. It is noon. Time for a moose siesta. Not much farther up a second full-grown moose stands up and attempts to head for higher ground. We ski away in the hope that she will stop running, and she does. But each time we turn to look she starts up again. We hurry out of sight. Following our friend's directions we turn onto the upper fork of the canyon along the creek. We approach quietly with the dogs following obediently behind, but we are too late. She is lying under a pine tree, half covered with snow, frozen. By moose standards stan-dards she is small but still large enough to command respect in the forest. I realize then that I would not have known how to feed such an awesome creature and that the offering in my day pack would have been hopelessly inadequate. Suddenly all the reports of starving starv-ing deer and elk hit home. Perhaps it is the natural order of things. Wild populations ebb and grow. A harsh winter win-ter thins and strengthens the herd. But I can't help wondering if our tampering with the balance of nature has made the suffering greater, and if the real problem is that we are trying to support too large a population of hunters. |