I settled in my lounge chair and gazed around the small clearing where we sat. Dick and I were at Tucker Lake for the weekend. We’d enjoyed a busy but rewarding day and now found ourselves relaxing.
This is the same Tucker Lake on which we’d spent a year in 1969 and about which I’ve written a book. However, due to survey conflicts, etc., we were not on the exact same location as the one in my book. Also, fifty-one years later, we were staying in a small trailer instead of a tiny cabin. Our dog was a pug not a malamute, but it was the same wilderness and the sounds and smells, the very “feel” was the same. I was delighted.
Now as the day grew to a close, I reflected its activities. The mosquitoes had been horrible, but they were also inconsistent. They would suddenly disappear, giving us a break and raising my hopes, but reappear with a vengeance.
Mr. Magoo was adapting to this new activity very well, considering his 15 years. We brought his doggie bed and his 3-step stairway to help him in and out of places. Now, he lay between us, as we sat and reflected.
A loud birdcall sounded and I looked up as a hawk flew over. “Looks the same as the one that flew over this afternoon.” I commented.
Dick wondered if there might be two.
“Maybe this is their territory.” I speculated. As it turned out, one did a flyover the next day, so we figured we just might be part of a hawk’s pattern whether it was a pair or just one.
One of the things I like best about being in the wilderness are animal encounters or sightings. The hawks were part of that, but I was hoping for more.
We sat, absorbing the forest. I felt relaxed, almost ready to nap when I heard a small sound, maybe a twig breaking and looked up towards the path to the lake.
There she was—a large cow moose, not 30-feet away. “Moose!” I alerted Dick in a quiet voice.
We stared at this huge brown animal. Her pace never wavered, but her long legs continued down the path. She turned her head once, gave us a brief look then calmly continued on her way until she disappeared, obviously not concerned with our presence.
I was awestruck and thankful. I had my animal encounter.
Leave a Reply