Local prancing moose offer traffic hazard lessons

JIM CRAIG

June 12, 2008 at 3:22PM AKST

Clutching my morning cup of Joe, I was driving north the other day past the Safeway to the airport. It wasn’t easy finding my way through the fog that seems to have fallen in love with Seward this early June.

Up ahead I spotted a young moose as it dashed out of the trees by Resurrection River and scampered through a line of traffic to the meadow at the west end of the runway. Narrowly missed by a big green trash truck and a huge RV, the lumbering beast wore a worried expression as her hooves slid on the pavement.

Then I noticed a wide smile break out on her face, her chest popped out proudly, and she pranced into the trees like she had just finished first in the Mount Marathon race. I turned into the airport entrance, got out of my car and followed her trail through the wet grass.

As I crept closer I swear I heard applause.

Yep, that’s right, applause. What is the sound of many hooves clapping? I didn’t have to be a Zen master to know I was watching something weird. I crouched behind a bush and pulled aside a leafy branch to behold an amazing scene.

At least 20 moose (or is it meese? I can never remember) were standing in a circle next to a sign that read: Welcome to Seward Highway Survival Tactics, Day Four: How to create your own Operation Chaos. There were even refreshments laid out by the local Chamber of Commerce.

The moose were cheering the performance of the youngster I had just seen dashing across the highway.

“Let’s hear it for Mildred. You go, you homely goddess of moosey madness. You had those drivers wetting themselves.”

Big Larry was running the class. He was an impressive bull, over eight feet tall with an imposing rack. His coat was brown and crusty with numerous scars on his long chunky legs, and he wore a smoky bear hat slanted at a cocky drill instructor angle. That funny thing hanging under his chin bounced as he talked.

“Listen up, you recruits. I ain’t passing on all this knowledge just for the fun of hearing myself grunt. Too many of our brothers and sisters are mistiming their dance steps and finding out first hand where the rubber meets the road. That ain’t good. Now huddle up!”

The first step, he explained, is to hide in the trees and time your leap. Wait until the driver looks distracted and then spring straight out in front of them. Land straight-legged on all fours and open your mouth wide in a silent scream with the whites of your eyes bulging. You’ll see them start to panic and slam on the brakes.

Wait for the car to turn and then take one step in the same direction. They’ll swing the wheel the other way. Take one step the same way and stop. As the car slides and spins, march proudly across the road and enter the trees with your backside swishing a contemptuous flair.

For an added touch of class, drop a snarky snicker with a backward glance at the tourists fumbling for their cameras.

And don’t miss next week’s class: Flash and Crash: How to pose so they’ll smash together every time.”

Now, gentle readers, you may think I’m not being serious with you. You may be doubting that such an episode truly happened in the peaceful woods next to the Seward airport on a recent foggy morning. But I swear to you that this story that I just made up is as true as the weather forecasts you’ll find in the Anchorage newspaper.

But maybe all that fog was in my head. I did notice that the more I sipped on that High Rev concoction from the Essential One gas station, the more the moose seemed to fade away.

One minute they surrounded me munching on donuts and Diet Green Tea and then I was alone again daydreaming about how a scenic flight pilot might make a living on the rain-choked coastline of Southcentral Alaska.

Jim Craig flies air taxi and scenic flights from the Seward airport for Scenic Mountain Air. His new novel, “North To Disaster,” is available locally or at www.bushakpress.com.