|
The
moose stood, not a muscle twitching, poised for my next move.
Although I was about 40 yards away it seemed to hear my movements:
the crinkle of my winter snowmobile suit, the musical notes
of my camera coming to life.
I
checked behind me; the sturdy outdoor washroom facilities were
a
more welcome site than usual. In case I had to run there would
be a steel door between me and the moose. Once again I aimed
my camera, watching the large brown creature become a miniature
in my camera LCD screen. He turned. Another animal, moving slowly,
emerged from the pines.
To
my right, Big Springs gurgled with the spring's first run-off.
I knew the moose went down to the water's edge to drink: I'd
seen their droppings in the snow, as I wandered the snow-tramped
path around the bridge. I wondered if the animals were thirsty
now, or hungry.
Hungry.
The first moose turned deliberately into the trees, his head
bobbing as he yanked mouthfuls of green pine needles from the
lower trees. The second seemed weaker-it had been an average
winter in West Yellowstone with around a hundred and fifty of
inches of snow, which no doubt made their lives more challenging.
The animal was, I guessed, a female, ready for the melt that
came with the 50 plus degrees of the day's warm sunshine.
I
was miles away from roads. Miles away from houses, farmyards,
and the amenities of civilization. I was in the Gallatin and
Targhee
National Forests around West Yellowstone that spread through
Montana and Idaho, not far off the Continental Divide, and only
a short drive from Yellowstone National Park. I was in one of
winter's most beautiful spots-where the only way in was on a
snow machine or snowshoe.
I'd
started from West Yellowstone, one of the gateways to Yellow-stone
Park, heading out by snow-mobile to explore the winter won-ders
of the area. The Two Top Loop took me to the highest elevation
of that part of the Rocky Mountains at 8200 feet, with its panorama
of snow, mountains, and evergreens. I stood on top of the world,
an ex-plorer with a helmet in my hand. (CONTINUE...)
|