The Moose of a Lifetime
"My 91 Year Old Father Has Never Seen a Moose"
Marcie took her grandfather on a trip every year. It was their special time together to stay connected and build memories. This year was his 91st. His legs weren’t quite as capable, his energy level not as high, but his spirit was strong.
Marcie had hired
RMNPhotogrpaher Tours to show them the wonders of Rocky Mountain National Park, and as we headed into the park she whispered, “My grandfather has never seen a moose. If you could find us a moose…”
It was a wonderful afternoon together. We made it up the Alluvial Fan where he listened intently about the flood of 1982. On Old Fall River Road, we walked to the cabin in Willow Park where a bull elk strolled through, likely searching for a harem to gather this time of year. At the Alpine Visitor Center, he stood in awe of the view, asking the name of each peak.
Driving down Trail Ridge Road, I hoped we might find a moose, maybe at the Beaver Ponds or Sheep Lakes where an afternoon moose feeding in the lake was not unusual. The bulls would dip their heads in the water to find the moist grasses, lifting up as water rained down from their antlers. That, I thought, would be a treat for this 91 year old traveler.
As we rounded the curve at Hidden Valley, I looked into the opening of the grassy area. There, moving from the trees was a huge bull moose, its antlers a tint of red from the shedding of velvet. He trotted into the opening as I slowed, pointing for my guests.
For a moment he paused, and Marcie gasped, lifting her cell phone as she snapped images of the massive bull. Then, just as quickly, the bull turned running forward into the golden Aspen trees. Her grandfather was bouncing in his seat, excited to have seen a moose. Not just seen, but this one had been fairly close and impressive.
“I know where he’s going.” I told her.
At the next pullout, I turned around, and Marcie looked at me curiously. “I know where he’s going.” I told her.
Going back, I turned into the Hidden Valley parking lot, driving about halfway down the lot, and parked. There, we stepped outside of the vehicle, and Marcie helped her father with the big step down. I told them, “Stand here beside the truck. There’s a stream right down there that I think he’s following. If we’re lucky, we’ll see him move through there.”
A moment later, I saw the tip of his antlers moving along the creek. Pointing, I said, “Watch right there.”
As we watched, from the creek appeared the bull. Massive and dynamic, he came over the rise, his chest with a powerful thrust as he walked. His antlers were huge and intimidating.
I heard Marcie’s gasp, then her father said, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He was moving back and forth on unsteady legs, his cell phone up as he pushed the button. “He’s so big,” he exclaimed.
For the next few minutes we watched him walk through the grasses, back down near the creek, around the junior ranger station, and head up the valley. He had been magnificent. All the while, my 91 year old traveler went on about the moose. Excited over his size and presence, had given a 91 year old man the thrill of a lifetime.
Marcie thanked me and her father asked, “Are they all that big?” I answered him truthfully. “Sir, that was the moose of a lifetime.”
