#god I forgot to write into this rambling weird ass post that I was clinging to a roll of TP the whole time I was walking to the pit toilet

[harpsicalbiobug]

Ok, so! Normally my nightmares are pretty convoluted and arise out of the mishmosh of daily stressors, and they aren’t very plot driven. They’re usually a little gory and existentially awful and there’s not much to learn from them, but yesterday while reading at the marshy state park campsite we were staying at, I looked up from my book and made direct eye contact with a cow moose and her cinnamon perfect baby calf who were ambling straight towards me and were, at that point, less than 15 feet away.

“Oh, fuck, what?” I said intelligently. Dimly, I thought how moose are my least favorite species to encounter on the trail and much louder my brain asked what one does when pleistocene megafauna enter your campsite and calmly flick an ear in your general direction while you and your squishy primate body are within trampling range. Strangely, I felt less fear than indecision, as my stupid brain took in the fact that the 900 lb calf defender was currently calm, so of course she’d remain calm, obviously, that’s how wildlife work (it is not).

Then my partner yelled at me to get in the car and I bolted. The moose and calf ignored me. The cow delicately sniffed an open can of Wild Basin Hard Seltzer™ (Yumberry flavor, it tastes ok) and the baby peed in the beautiful sunset grass, while my partner set off the car alarm on purpose and I alternated yelling, “MAMAM PLEASE LEAVE,” and barking (? I think I was reaching for a scary non-human noise?) at her to try to startle her away. No startles were achieved. Eventually the pair walked off into the brush, but it was with the reluctance of animals that are far far too habituated to humans Later we learned from other campers that these moose had been eating trash off other people’s campsites (this is why you don’t leave out food or food smelling items folks, Leave No Trace, a Fed Bear Moose Is A Dead Bear Moose, etc) and then even later on it it was the middle of the goddamn night and I had to use the bathroom. Except the moose came by, cracking sticks under hooves, and looming in and out the dark shapes that I struggled to differentiate between waving foliage and wandering moose. I kept my headlamp off and opted to let my partner sleep through another close encounter of the cervid kind. The pair did leave eventually but I needed to get to the pit toilet down the road and I had no idea how far off they had gone. This will be fine! I lied to myself. I will be on the road in a populated campsite, which will of course dissuade the human acclimated trash eaters. I’ll walk real loud! I thought, as I put sandals over my socks and flipped on the headlamp. Headlamps always throw weird shadows. The foreground of your vision ends up looking like a photo where you’ve left on the flash, while the background is full of shadows that jitter with your head movement. It’s great for avoiding tripping when out at night. It’s not great for a pattern sensitive visual primate who is now jumpy about deer of unusual size. I did walk loud. I walked scritchy scrapping my sandals across the gravel road, kicking up puffs of dust that wavered in the headlamp light. It’s only eight campsites up, I thought. The shadows bounced among the living and beetle killed lodgepole pines with each step, and the LED light bounced back from parked cars at each campsite.  The baby moose calf moved like a cinnamon teddy bear on spider legs. I saw it unfold in a second and lurch into the trees. I made a sound that was more groan than scream and sprint stumbled into the ditch in the opposite direction. I did not turn but listened for cracking branches, the animal movement of the mother charging, as I stared into the dry dead trees hoping I could climb or at least shelter in any of them. There was no crash of maternal protection. It was quiet, and the calf was gone, and the stars were still overhead. I stood in the muddy ditch, ruining a little freshwater habitat with my feet. My socks are soaked through, I finally registered. I still need to get to the pit toilet, I thought. The return trip was nerve wracking but uneventful. My shoes dried outside the tent. I watched the shadows outside the tent until I fell asleep. So! It turns out I can have plot driven and specific nightmares! The rest of the night I did not have gory, byzantine dread filled nightmares. Instead, I dreamt of one thing: a cow moose, pursuing me at all costs. Up concrete stairs, charging after high speed cars, lunging out of the woods, hooves slipping on linoleum as she emerged from elevators, head lowered and ears tucked in threat, rushing at me.

She was relentless. My brain made her relentless. These few moments of alarm and environmental context mixed with my risk assessment and subconscious made me dream a terminator moose to re-enforce that I Should Avoid Moose. A lesson I had already fully learned, but that some part of me decided needed a little reinforcement, given barrage of moose encounters I was clearly not avoiding. Avoid Moose. Thanks brain.