Incaution ...

Incaution isn't a word, I don't think, but I will use it to describe the state of consciousness I found myself choosing in a certain encounter with a moose I had this evening.



This encounter was at greater distance than previous ... 16 yards (instead of 12).  Other particulars are as follows.  I was walking along a ridge when we met.  He saw me first - he was on his way to dinner, likely a pea field some three-quarters of a mile distant.  I was in his path.  I could say he was in mine - except I had no definite destination in mind at the time - I was just looking around for elk, and so on.  He stared.  He seemed to raise his head - elevating his antlers (unusually high).  He was out of velvet - meaning - he no longer had to protect his antlers - in fact, now they could be used for - and in fact are meant to be used for - battle.  And then, though unexpected, yet in some sense (yes) expected (in concert with previous encounters), he started walking directly toward me.  Head lowered, antlers in front.  And, no, not feeding.  Straight toward me.  I think he is testing me.  Who is boss of this hill?!!!  And so in incaution I am taking pictures.  More pictures.  I am taking it all in.  In an earlier encounter I couldn't quite get my mind around the whole thing - but now I am more engaged.

Operating my camera is requiring both hands - as I am having to disengage and reengage the auto flash.  My rifle is slung over my shoulder.

Incaution isn't a word, I don't think, but it describes the state of consciousness I chose as the encounter continued to unfold. 

This moose is pretending to feed straight toward me.  But his `battle gear' is down - and he could at any instant charge.  He could attack.  I know on one level that an attack could unfold, if it were to, so quickly that the distance between us would disappear instantly.  For the first time in my life my `firearm' might need to be a weapon.  The palm of the antlers flash white; the tines are no longer rounded on the end, but sharp.   The construction of moose antlers is such as to simultaneously spear, shovel, and cast away. Conventional wisdom would dictate alarm - but I choose to leave my weapon slung on my shoulder - and continue shooting my camera.  Moose season is open - this is a hunted animal - and not afraid.  I am in his path - and unafraid.  I don't think I'm afraid.  But I was starting to consider some concern.  Two streams of thought compete - one of - this is very interesting - and - this is (supposed to be, anyway, quite) dangerous.  But I chose incaution.  `Incaution' - if I am the first to use it - is not a state of being inundated with caution - but instead - I'll probably attract rebuke in admitting it - choosing a dismissal of (presumably mainstream)  ... caution. 

The animal is now closer.  To unsling my rifle would mean possibly one shot in an attack; unslung means no shot at all.  Actually, the animal is now so close that a rifle would provide very marginal defense, at best.  My only defense would be to `counter attack' - stand my ground, maybe even advance, with one, final, bluff of full face counter confrontation.  And get him to break off his.  In an actual clash my words would be no match against his antlers, head, neck, and the remainder of his half-ton frame.  My rifle is still slung over my shoulder.

But deep inside I know it will not end in an attack.  At least I think.  Our world is a reflection of what is going on inside of us.  I am at peace with this animal.  I mean the only way to avoid such encounters - is to not go into the woods at all - or perhaps go in with a cowbell - or singing as I go.

At one point he raises his head, turns it to the side, and fills the forest with a loud ... for lack of better words to describe it - blast of a snort, or something.

He now knows I am not running off, nor am I there to hurt.  He breaks off the advance and goes around me.  Up and over the skyline, and on to where he was headed.

I think about what has happened as I wander about looking for elk in the last few minutes of light.  What has just happened?  Did I do the right thing?  Am I crazy?!!!  Is this intimacy with BIG game animals dangerous?  But what is the right thing?  Maybe I should have unslung - maybe even shouldered my rifle, at the very start.  And forget about taking pictures. 

In class today I told my students that the demand of science is the repeatability of our research, our work, our `encounters'.  But the outdoors, adventure, are (by nature ???) quite the opposite.  Part of me is scolding me - I am getting too close, too unprotected?  Must I break off this relationship (love affair) with big game?  But what is the right thing - if it is something that cannot be repeated, cannot even be predicted?  Can I flow with a situation like this as it unfolds - or must I reason my way through it? 

...

This whole event troubled me - but only slightly.  I can turn off my computer now and retire - as I remember turning left off the main highway onto the road this afternoon to go to my spot - and the potentially dangerous traffic condition it caused.  And I am reminded: turning on and off the main highway is more dangerous than any encounter I will have with wildlife.