My First 50 Years!

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been around for half a century now. What a journey it has been. Lots of ups and downs, with sudden turns and thrilling speeds. Much like a good long roller coaster.

I have experienced so much that it’s hard to fathom. I’ve witnessed everything from the creation of home computers to cell phones, Walkman cassette players to Discman CD players to mp3 players. Brick mobile phones to hand held mobile phones and pagers. Flip phones to smartphones. DOS systems to Windows. PC’s to Laptops to Tablets. VCR’s with BETA or VHS to DVD players to streaming movies and TV. From rabbit ears to cable TV to Satellite TV to IPTV. From encyclopedias, dictionaries and phonebooks to Google, Yahoo and Bing search engines. From Commodore 64 with floppy disk drives to Pentium processors to iPads and Tablets. From Pong, to Atari 2600 to Nintendo to Playstation, to XBOX to Wii. From Pac-Man and Asteroids to Mine Craft and Halo. From Bell Bottom Jeans to Yoga pants. From Sears and K-Mart to Walmart and Target to Amazon. From Taxis to Ubers. From Station Wagons to SUV’s to Electric Cars.

I remember prayers in school. As well as yardsticks on knuckles and paddles on behinds. I remember chalk erasers upside the head. I remember big hair and Aquanet spray.  I remember cabbage patch kids and pound puppies.  I remember AM radios and 8-tracks. I remember the America’s Top 40 Countdown every week. I remember the launch of MTV and ESPN. I remember Elvis Presley and John Wayne. I remember Michael Jackson and the moonwalk. I remember Nixon, Ford, Carter and Reagan. I remember the Vietnam War and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. I remember Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. I remember the Miracle on Ice.

Six days after I was born, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I remember the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding on live television. I remember drive in movies with speakers on our windows. I remember Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader and Star Wars. I remember Muhammed Ali and Rocky Balboa. I remember Drakkar Noir and New Coke. I remember the first Chicken McNuggets and Air Jordans. I remember the eruption of Mt St Helens and the assassination of John Lennon. 

I remember a shark called Jaws and a sick kid named Ferris. I even remember the Rubik’s Cube.

I remember Lassie and Beaver and Little House on the Prarie. I remember Sunday nights with Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and the Wonderful World of Disney. I remember the Muppets, The Electric Company  and the Bloodhound Gang. I remember Knight Rider and Manimal, Different Strokes and Welcome Back Kotter. I even remember who shot JR.

I’ve seen a lot more in my 50 years. I have seen the world advance faster and faster as each year passes. I’ve seen my life change from boy to man, from single to married, from a couple to a family. I’ve watched my family grow a whole new generation. I’m grateful to know that I touched the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, 2000’s, and 2010’s. Such wonderful memories in each era. To have been born in the summer of ’69 is awesome. I grew up in a world of ever-changing technology and mind blowing inventions. I experienced the greatest eras in music, movies and television. I grew up before technology could interrupt or replace the magic of playing summer baseball, swimming in the city pools, gathering the neighborhood for football games, building forts and other “get out and do things” activities.

I’m thankful for my health. Grateful that I can still play basketball and hike and fish. Here’s to the next 50 years. I hope I’m able to live to see twice as many new things as I’ve already seen to date. With the love of my life by my side, and with my kids and grandkids too, I plan to watch it and live it to the fullest. Bring on decade #7!! 

The Tracks Of Life

When I was born, you sat under shade of a chôm chôm.

Fighting for our country, in the jungles of Vietnam.
You returned to the nation you love, and to the family you'd been missing.
Though I knew you not, you picked me up, and plastered me with kissing.

We moved around as you searched for work, managing the great Red Steer.
You let me choose my own drink, mixing Dr. Pepper with root beer.
In the mountains we spent much time. You taught me the fishing knot.
You showed to put upon the hook the grasshoppers I had caught.

You tightly held my banana seat as I learned to ride a bike.
You cheered at my achievement. I'd no longer need a trike.
You taught me competition, and how to throw a ball.
You encouraged me to always, get up if I should fall.

You showed me when mistakes are made, if some we do offend.
That even though it hurts, we must quickly make amends.
So many years have passed, into a man I now have grown.
Today I am found raising, a young boy of my own.

My journey has but only started, there is much that lies ahead.
Happiness and hardships, yet forward I will tread.
The pathway windily traverses, adventure it never lacks.
Sometimes our load is lightened, sometimes heavy on our backs.

I look forward to what may come, to the future how it lay.
For this father and his son, will together make their way.
Tracks of life behind us. Before us endless more.
The rails keep us moving, toward our heaven's shore.

By Horace R Hallenberger II

“Wolves never lose sleep over the opinions of sheep.”

I love this. A wolf is smart. He knows what he wants. He makes a strategic plan and then, with exactness, executes the plan with the help of other wolves in his pack. He doesn’t let anyone distract him from his goal.  He lives without fear. He never fails. He may have setbacks along the way but he will never quit and thus ultimately always wins.

Listening to all the many sheep would make him a follower, succumbed to a life of being chased by dogs nipping at their hooves during the day, herding them into groups and keeping them within imaginary fences. Then they spend sleepless nights trembling in constant fear of every noise in the night.

If you know what you want, just make a plan and execute it. Don’t get caught up in the opinions of others. Especially if they aren’t living their own dreams. If your goal would bring you happiness and purpose, then all that matters is finding a way to accomplish it.

Dream big. Dream often. Find a pack of like-minded “wolves” and make your dreams come true.

My Grandma and Those Damn Yankees!

 

This baseball postseason, as the Dodgers made their way into their first World Series in 29 years, had me thinking a lot of my sweet Grandma Hallenberger. My Dad's mom loved baseball. My Grandpa played semi-pro baseball and I loved the stories they would tell me like when he batted against the great Satchel Paige. But it is my Grandma that I credit her for feeding my passion for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Not the way you might think however.

My Grandma was a die-hard Yankees fan and absolutely hated the Dodgers. She remembered the Dodgers residing in Brooklyn and the many World Series battles they had against her beloved Yankees.

The Yankees were the most powerful team of her day and beat the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1941,1947, 1949, 1952 and 1953. Two of those series went the distance with the Yankees winning in 7 games. The Dodgers finally broke thru to beat the Yankees for their first World Series Championship in 1955. It took all 7 games to capture the title.

In 1956 the Yankees reclaimed the throne, beating the Dodgers in a thrilling 7 game series in which the Dodgers had a 2 games to none lead. This was the series that saw the Yankees' Don Larsen in Game 5 throw the very first no-hitter in World Series History.

The next year the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles and the rivalry continued as the two clubs met yet again in the Fall Classic of 1963, where the Dodgers would crush the Yankees in a 4 game sweep.

This brings us to the 1977 classic. I was 8 years old and my Grandma tried her best to get me to like her favorite team. She would tell me all about the great history of the New York Yankees. From Babe Ruth to Lou Gerhig, from Yogi Berra to Mickey Mantle to Jo Demaggio. In 1977 all she talked about was Reggie Jackson. For me, I loved her passion for the Yankees. I loved the stories she would tell. But I loved to tease my Grandma and at the tender age of 8, I began the art of trash talking. To my own Grandma.

I was relentless in talking up the Dodgers. They were going to destroy the Yankees. Keep in mind that I actually knew very little about the Dodgers, besides the fact that Grandma loathed them.

Well, as it turns out, Grandma's Yankees won that series in 6 games. And it was Reggie Jackson fueling the victory with a Game 6 clinching performance of 3 home runs. Grandma was all kinds of happy and even did a little trash talking of her own towards her cocky grandson.

In 1978 it was on again! This time I dialed up my assertion that the Dodgers would pound the Yankees. I have to hand it to my Grandma though, she didn't flinch on her confidence that her team would prevail. And once again, the Grandma was right. Yankees beet the Dodgers in 6 games.

It would be a few years before the two teams would meet again in the World Series. The 1981 series was one that I actually remember well. I was a full Dodgers fan now because I loved how it got my Grandma going. I was quite a bit more knowledgeable of the game at this time too, so my trash talking was more valid. This year I would get her as the Dodgers beat the Yankees in 6 games.

Since that 1981 series the Dodgers have only won a single World Championship. That came in 1988 with the famous Kirk Gibson home run that sparked the upset against a powerful Oakland A's team. The Yankees on the other hand would go through a rough patch for many years until returning to glory in 1996. They would again win in 1998, 1999, 2000, and 2009. My Grandma was still around for each of those victories.

This year, I was thinking of Grandma as we were so very close to another Dodgers vs Yankees World Series. Even though it was weird to be rooting for the Yankees in game 7 against the Astros in the ALCS, I sure would have loved to rekindle this great World Series Rivalry. I know my Grandma would be watching every game as well. And she would be smack talking from heaven and I would feel it for sure. And I'm sure I'd have shouted out to the skies as well, letting her know that I bleed blue!

Today I'm thankful for baseball. And I'm especially grateful to my Grandma. Thanks for instilling in me a passion for baseball and competition. Thanks for teaching me what it means to be loyal to your team. Even when the Yankees were in the dregs of Major League Baseball, you always wore your stripes with pride. I have taken that gauntlet myself and am a die-hard faithful fan of my Dodgers, Lakers, and Rams. I love you Grandma! I miss you!! I hope you enjoy watching me as I cheer on the Dodgers in the World Series this year! GO DODGERS!!

Phobias. Are they real?

I’ve heard that some people are born with phobias. I am not one of these people. I do have three phobias of my own but they are fears that are directly attributed to a specific experience in my life. They are phobias that were not found in me prior to these experiences. They are real and they are beyond my control.

There are many phobias out there that I do not understand because I have not experienced them personally. I can empathize with people who do, however, as I know that there is a reason for their fear and that they cannot just ignore it.

I have met many people who are claustrophobic. They have the fear of being in a confined space. My wife has this fear. She will have panic attacks if she is in a small dark room or an overcrowded space for too long. I have never been claustrophobic but I do not doubt the deep fear that overcomes her in those situations.

Other phobias I have witnessed in others are mysophobia – the fear of germs, glossophobia – the fear of public speaking, monophobia – the fear of being alone, aquaphobia – the fear of water, coulrophobia – the fear of clowns, and many more. Some phobias seem very silly to those who do not suffer from them. Like samhainophobia – the fear of Halloween, which is kind of an oxymoron, in my opinion.

My three phobias are arachophobia – the fear of spiders, acrophobia – the fear of heights, and trypanophobia – the fear of needles. Let me explain now how I acquired these fears.

My first phobia that plagued me is tryanophobia. This fear entered my life in 1974. I was 5 years old living in Pocatello, Idaho. My younger brother, Michael, was wanting me to play with him but I was busy working on my “homeschool” activity that my mom had assigned me. I was cutting out Fat Albert characters doing different activities that I had drawn. I was working intently and was proud of my work. I didn’t have time to play at that moment and I was getting frustrated that my brother wouldn’t leave me be. Michael was also getting frustrated because he was 3 years old and had a one track mind.

After asking him to leave me alone and eventually even pushing him away, he did. I don’t know where he went and I lost myself in my work again. Suddenly out of nowhere I felt a sharp pain in my leg. In horror I looked at my brother who was grinning as he held the butt end of a pair of scissors in his right hand. The blade of the scissors was buried in my thigh, just above the knee. It began to gush blood all over where I was sitting.

I screamed and my mom came running from the next room. Michael released his grip on the scissors and they remained stuck in my leg. She removed the scissors and placed her hand on the wound. She picked me up and took me into the bathroom. Using a towel she wrapped up my leg and took me out to the car. She said I needed stitches and we were going to the hospital.

At the hospital we were taken back into an examination room. Mom lifted me up and set me down on the long chair with the thin paper covering it. The doctor said he needed to numb the area so that he could stitch the wound without inflicting any additional pain.

I’d always been okay with needles and doctors. I would sit quietly and receive my shots. I wouldn’t say I liked it and I don’t think that anyone does, but I could at least take it without any issues.

The doctor wiped my wound with some iodine to clean the area. Then I watched him fill the syringe with the lidocaine. He made sure all the air was out of the tube and flicked it with his finger. He told me there would be a little pinch. The next thing I remember the pinch became an intense burning pain throughout my body. The needle had gone too deep. It must’ve hit a nerve and my leg kicked up involuntarily. I could feel the needle, still in my leg, as scraped against my femur bone. I screamed in pain and tried to get away from the chair. The doctor was quick and was able to hold me in place. He apologized but said he still had to finish numbing my leg and stitching the wound. I tried to fight but a nurse and my mom held me down as the doctor finished his work. He eventually finished and we were able to return home.

It’s been 43 years and I can still feel the needle scraping my bone whenever I think of it or if I have to get another shot. I get worked up and full of anxiety whenever I have blood drawn or receive injections of any kind. This is why I have avoided going to the doctor for many things that probably could have used professional medical care.

I once went in to receive my immunizations required before attending my high school in Homer, Alaska. My stepmother, Becky, decided it would be wise to have my younger siblings, ages 2 and 4, receive their shots at the same time. She told them to “watch big brother, he’ll show you how easy it is”. Big mistake. I told her that she did not want them in the same room as me because I didn’t know how I would react. Watching me just scared the kids.

I had to give blood as part of a life insurance policy requirement. The lab technician came over to our house to draw blood from both my wife and me. As she worked on my wife she asked her, "Is he okay?" She must've noticed that I was pacing back and forth and breathing erratically. 

I’ve never had a bad experience since that time I was 5 years old getting stitches. Then again, I’ve never had stitches again. My wife asked me to get a vasectomy. Once. That conversation ended quickly, although she continues to rib me about what a wimp I am.

My next phobia that entered my life is my fear of spiders. This phobia is a little different than what others experience around spiders. I can be ok around spiders if I see them first and they are a good distance away. I do not like when I am startled by them creeping across the ceiling over my bed or especially when I feel one actually crawling on me. Yuck!

The funny part of this story is that as a kid I spent most of my free time playing with anything that had six or eight legs. I would catch them and place them in jars. I loved watching two different bugs fight each other. My favorite pairing was the praying mantis versus and spider I could catch. This included wolf spiders, hobos, brown recluses, garden spiders, cat’s eye spiders, and the dreaded black widows. I think my mom was afraid to even enter my room at the thought that one of my captives might have escaped their jar.

One afternoon I was attempting to corral a big fat black widow into a quart-sized jar next to the building behind our home. Using the jar’s lid I tried to coax him into the jar, which I was holding in my other hand. I almost had him inside the opening when the spider grabbed the outer edge and flipped itself onto the base of my thumb. Before I could even react, I felt a slight prick on my hand. I flicked my hand and the spider landed on the side of the building. I kicked up my foot and smashed the spider on the wall. I slid my foot down scraping the spider along the wall and watched a trail of blood and guts form behind.

I looked at my hand and figured nothing was wrong. There was a small red mark where I’d been bitten. I wandered around the back yard for a few minutes looking for something else to catch. After about 20 or 30 minutes my hand began to ache. Slowly the pain moved up my arm and into my shoulder. I began to get sweaty. I wasn’t feeling well at all. I walked into my house and downstairs to my bedroom. I climbed up onto the top bunk and laid down and started to cry. The pain was working its way into my entire body. About an hour later I was experiencing the worst pain of my life. It felt like I was dying. Every muscle hurt tremendously. My chest was convulsing and my heart raced.

My mom came down sometime later and saw me and asked if I was okay. I said that I was feeling sick and wanted to rest. I never told my parents what happened. I didn’t want to get into trouble for playing with spiders again. For a couple of days I was sick in my bed. Knowing what I know now about black widows, I would have begged to go to the doctor’s office, but my fear of doctor’s may have kept me home anyways. 

Since that day I cannot bring myself to get too close to any arachnid. The thought of experiencing that pain again is always at the top of my thoughts. I actually winced when the spider bit young Peter Parker on the hand in Spiderman. I couldn't watch the movie Arachnophobia. I even screamed and jumped on a dresser during my first week of marriage. My wife had to kill the little creeper on the floor. 

My third phobia is attributed once again to my little brother, Michael. My brother and I did everything together. We played football, hot wheels, games, teased our sisters, and more. We also liked to climb trees.

One summer when I was ten years old, we were camping up at Irish Flats campground at Arrowrock Reservoir. Michael and I decided to climb one of the tall pine trees. Dad was getting dinner ready so we had plenty of time to see how high we could go. I went up first and my 8 year old brother was close behind me.

I remember hearing my dad holler up at us from the ground to not get the sap all over us. It was too late for that. My hands were covered in it! We continued to ascend until I reached a point that I was nervous that the tree was getting a little too thin to support my weight. I looked out over the reservoir and watched the boats and skiers enjoying the hot August sun. While staring out at the beautiful views I noticed I was beginning to sway back and forth on the tree. I was startled and it dawned on me that there wasn’t even the slightest breeze that day. What was causing me to sway?

The swaying was happening faster and harder. I clutched onto the tree with all the strength of my young hands. I could hear Michael laughing and enjoying the scary swaying of the tree. I looked down at him and realized it was he who causing us to sway! He was gripping the tree and pushing and pulling as hard as he could. I couldn’t believe how movement he was able to create. Harder and harder he went and I swayed further and further back and forth. My hand were getting sore from gripping so hard. I began to think of the tree breaking and the thought of flinging my little body down to the campsite was too much. I screamed and cried uncontrollably. I remember hearing my dad yelling at Michael to stop but it seemed to never end.

My legs latched around the tree and my feet clasped to keep my lower body from flinging off. I remember thinking that this was the end. Either the tree or my grip would break. At some point the swaying had stopped but I didn’t notice. I was still gripping that tree with everything that I had. I opened my eyes and looked below. My brother was laughing still as he descended down the tree. I saw my dad on the ground. He was trying to talk me down. I remember how my hands and arms hurt from being engaged in survival mode for so long. Slowly and carefully I climbed back down.

I have never been the same since that day. I seem to face this fear of heights more than any other. At times it is a barrier that I cannot pass as if it were a brick wall. It has caused some humor amongst my family, especially my wife. She loves to watch me on a Ferris Wheel or at the top of the Space Needle in Seattle. I usually like to make her laugh, but not when I am petrified with fear.

Spiders, needles and heights. Those are my fears and they are real to me. I wasn’t born with them, which means that maybe someday I can overcome them. However, those childhood memories are etched deep and may remain throughout my life. I can live with them. They help me to understand others in their fears. The fear in my life gives me empathy towards people. I view that as a gift. A gift that has created many friends throughout my life. Friends that will always be there when I am afraid. Just like my wife was there for me so I could climb off the dresser. 

It’s Time To Go

When I left home some time ago, 
Tears were shed, my departure slow.

Scared to vacate my loving home,
Unsure to be anywhere all upon my own.

Mother smiled and kissed me on my head.
Tenderly she took my hand, to the door she led.

I had to go, I knew, for I had chosen this very path. 
The only way to have, what my Father hath.

My brothers cheered, my sisters cried.
 I could hear them all as I stepped outside.

Assuredly, my Father winked, and nodded it was time. 
He took me in his arms, that moment sublime.

I told him I was frightened, but that I’d do my best,

To keep myself in favor, to overcome the test.

He spoke to me softly, in a mild and loving tone,

“Remember when you’re lonely, you’ll never be alone.”

Then my closest brother, stepped up and joined us there,

He pulled me very close, into my eyes he stared.

The family gathered round us, everyone wanting to see.

But when he finally spoke, he whispered just to me.

The lump deep in my throat, turned to sobs and I shuddered,

As I listened so intently to my older brother.

“You are valiant and so special as all of us do know,

You are loved here immensely, but now you need to go.”

“You will struggle much at times, and often you’ll feel pain,

But I promise you much joy, if righteous you remain.”

Then he took my shaking hand, and placed in in his palm,

And I felt total peace inside, his next words were so calm.

“I did that for you, when I too left this abode,

Because you are my brother, I will lighten up your load.”

My fingers felt the scars, my fears faded away,

I embraced him tightly then, knowing what to say.

I stepped back and looked at him, and my Father too.

Then confidently exclaimed, “I have a work to do!”

“I will return one day, to this home so filled with love,

Just like my older brother did, who’ll be watching me above.”

“I thank thee my Father, for sending me this day,

For allowing me the choice, to learn and grow this way.”

“Watch over me I pray, and keep me close at heart,

Help me to find the path, and I will do my part.”

“I will return a worthy man, though I’ll begin as just a boy.

And when I see you next, It’s then I’ll have my joy.”

“I love you my Father, now send me down to earth,

To be like my brother, Jesus, on this day of my birth.”

- Horace Hallenberger

A Game of Cat and Moose

Alaska is famous for its wildlife. Most recognizably is probably the moose. The moose is somewhat of a symbol for Alaska and I grew to love the aura surrounding them. They are a majestic animal, growing up to fifteen hundred pounds and nearly seven feet tall at the shoulder. A bull moose can carry an antler set spanning over six and a half feet across. Coming across one in the wild is breathtaking. For me, in some cases, those incidents were down right terrifying.

I already mentioned the encounter with the two young bull moose that my dad and I had while fishing one afternoon. I had three other encounters that weren’t as pleasant of an experience.

The very first week that I moved there my dad and I went to an area of Homer where there was a new neighborhood of homes being built. At one of the homes we met a big man whose name was Buck DeGraffenried. He was obviously good friends with my dad. Buck was a builder and dad had done some finish carpentry for him. Apparently dad and Buck had made an arrangement to pick up a dog that Buck was needing to find a home for.

The dog was a beautiful chocolate lab named Pepper. She was a couple of years old and she was mild mannered and obedient. I was happy to know that we would be having a family pet. It would help me take my mind off of my little dog I’d left behind in Idaho.

Pepper was a lot of fun and my little brother and sisters just thought the world of her. She would let them ride on her back like a small horse. John and Heidi liked to use her for a pillow in the middle of our family room as they read their books. I don’t know if I’d ever seen such a good natured dog before.

Pepper liked to play outside most of the time and had free run of the forest around our home. We kept her food dish on the front porch so she could eat whenever she was hungry. Sometimes I would watch her through our only window as she would try to chase away the little “camp robber” gray jays that were giving us fits by plucking the clothespins off of the line and dropping all the clean laundry onto the ground. It was interesting how well Pepper knew how much we disliked those flying pests!

Birds were about the only things Pepper would chase off. Other animals like dogs, bears, porcupines, wolves, and moose could wander onto our property anytime they wished. One night, like clockwork, I awoke around 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning and needed to take a leak. My dad and I were lucky to be guys and we appreciated the fact that we didn’t have to walk all the way out to the outhouse unless our business required us to be in the sitting position. This was nice because, like this particular night, I really had to pee and don’t think I would have made it without our shortcut. We would walk right out onto the porch, turn to the side and let it fly.

That night I nearly cracked my head onto the roof trusses above where I slept. My bed was wedged where the roof came together with the upper floor of our little cabin. If I tried to sit up too quickly, let’s just say it would leave a pretty good mark on my forehead. I rolled out of my bed and crawled away far enough so that I could stand up without harming myself. I hurried down the steep staircase, which, to be honest, was more of a large ladder. At the bottom of the stairs I made a quick turn towards the door. I opened the door as quietly as I could while still maintaining my urgency. I was wearing a pair of shorts and socks and nothing else and the cool Alaskan summer night breeze was a little chilly on my bare skin.

I walked outside onto the porch and turned to my right so I could relieve myself onto the tundra below. About the time that I let out my typical sigh of relief I overheard a weird crunching sound just to my left. I turned to my left and through my groggy eyes, I slowly focused in on the origin of the sound.

Instantly I was wide awake and my heart rate tripled. My urination then ended prematurely. I stood there frozen in place holding my manhood in one hand as I stared eye to eye with a full sized bull moose. The noise I had heard turned out to be the moose chewing on a mouthful of Pepper’s dog food. The moose stared at me without a care in the world that I had just interrupted his dinner with a show not likely to win an Oscar. He just dropped his head and used his big lips and tongue to scoop out another mouthful of Alpo. He lifted his head again and began his chewing motion once more. He stared at me again and I slowly put myself back into my shorts and tentatively backed away toward the door, which was, thankfully, still ajar. I slipped in and closed the door.

I walked over to the window and gazed out upon the porch. The moose was finishing off the last of Pepper’s food and then with his nose, he pushed the dish off of the porch and onto the ground. He sniffed around the porch looking for some more food before turning around and slowly meandered away. I turned around and headed back up the stairs and to my bed. For some reason I didn’t feel the need to pee anymore.

A couple of months later we were heading back home from Homer after a church function. It was evening and dark as we drove up the Sterling Highway. We were in our little ’79 Subaru wagon and we were following our good friends Brian and Rhonda Owens. They were also driving a Subaru wagon that was a few years newer than ours. About half way home we saw the Owens’ brake lights come on and they were slowing down fast. Dad hit the brakes and as we were slowing down we saw a horrifying sight in the beam of our headlights. Over the top of the Owens’ Subaru came four legs and a very large animal. It came completely over their car and landed on its side just behind the car. Almost immediately we recognized it as a large female moose. The moose laid there for no more than a second or two and then jumped up and ran off the road and up the mountainside. We watched it run up the hill and then turned our heads towards our friends’ car.


The damage was devastating. The entire roof of the car was flattened down. The thought of what we’d find inside the car was sickening. They had broadsided that moose at close to 50 mph. The car was crushed.

Dad got out of the car and ran to the passenger side of the car. He place both his hands on the car and peered inside. His head dropped and the image of decapitated bodies flashed through my head. Then he looked up and turned his head back towards us. He held up his thumb to notify us that the Owens family were all ok. It was a miracle.

That was the incident that convinced me just how powerful a moose was. The car rammed into the side of that moose at a pretty decent speed and that moose got up and ran up the mountainside under its own power. I’m fairly certain that it suffered internal damages that more than likely caused it to die, but the sheer fact that it walked away at all is mind boggling.

The following spring, in 1986, my school bus dropped me off along North Fork Road at the corner of Lichen Street. I got off the school bus and began to walk alone down Lichen St as I did every other day. I only had about a two-thirds of a mile walk to get home. About a thousand feet or so from the house I looked over to my left and saw two cow moose lazily grazing on the branches of some Quaking Aspen trees about twenty-five yards away. I watched them, fascinated, as I strolled by carrying my books under one arm. They looked at me nonchalantly as they casually chomped away on the leaves.

It seemed that moose never had a care in the world. Nothing around them concerned them. They were often seen meandering around town like they owned the place. No matter how many people or cars, moose would just do their thing.

Moose at McDonalds in Homer, AK

These two moose didn’t appear any different. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining brightly in the wide open Alaskan sky. Patches of fireweed could be found spotted alongside Lichen Street, adding a beautiful contrast of pink and violet among the many shades of greens in the Alaska forest. It was a majestic view to behold and I soaked it in as I made my way.

Fireweed

While I was taken away in deep thought, I was startled back to reality by a sudden movement by one of the moose in my scene. I watched her ears lay back and her head lift up and then quickly back down in an aggressive manner. She was looking right at me. The fur on her shoulder hump stood up like I’d seen on the back of the neck of an angry cat. My heartbeat skipped and then began to pump a much faster rhythm. I stopped for a second with my eyes trained on the horse size animal. She just stood there with her eyes intently trained directly on me. Normally I would enjoy a competitive staring contest, but at this moment, I was more than happy to lose if it would get me out of that uncomfortable situation.

I took a step forward thinking I would just hurry and get myself home before something bad happened. That was the wrong thing to do. As soon as that first step hit the ground, the moose grunted and lunged forward. In a split second I was running for my life with the moose in hot pursuit.

I had always been pretty knowledgeable when it came to animals. I studied them often as a child. I don’t remember ever reading about how fast a moose can run. That giant beast gained on me as if I was running in mud. At this point, I have to express my deepest gratitude for the many trees that heavily populate the area. As I heard the stomping hooves get louder and louder, my instincts kicked in and I shot into the trees. At some point I had also began screaming at the top of my lungs for my dad. It was a normally quiet “neighborhood” and I was hopeful he would hear my desperate cries for help.

Once I was in the trees, I ran to the largest one I could find and grabbed it with my hand and swung myself around to position the tree between me and the charging moose. The moose was violently angry and tried over and over to get past the tree to me. I was quick on my feet and dodged effectively and then jumped behind a different tree. The moose followed my every move trying intently to harm me.

This went on for about an hour. Okay, maybe not an hour. It was more like 45 seconds. But that’s what happens to your judgment of time when a full grown angry moose is chasing you.

Thankfully my Dad was home and had heard my terrifying shrills. I saw him speeding up the road in our old Subaru. He drove as close as he could to where the moose had me pickled behind the tree. I jumped around another tree and as the moose lunged to follow me I sprinted to the car. I hurried around the car to the passenger door and jumped in just as the moose came around the same side. Dad was laying on the horn and trying to scare the moose away but the moose just lowered its head and used it to butt into the car.

Once I was inside Dad hit the gas and we sped away. The moose followed for a short distance and then stopped and watched us flee. We went a little further to a point where we could turn the car around and back towards home. We slowly began driving and as we approached the area of battle we saw the moose walk away from the road on the opposite side from where I had first spotted her and her friend.

We proceeded slowly keeping a close eye on the moose just in case she decided to make another run at us. As we passed by we noticed she stopped and bent down as though she was going to eat something off of the tundra floor. It was on the tundra there that I saw the small form of a moose calf laying down. It reached up and its mother licked its face in a most tender and loving way.

My realization of my mistake caused me to shake my head. I had unintentionally walked directly between the mother and her calf. It was that one step that had put me in a position that blocked her view of her baby and cause her to panic and act protectively. It was a known rule that I was made aware of when I had first arrived in Alaska. It was unavoidable in that situation and it provided evidence to me the magnitude of danger found in Alaska’s wild.