I was hiking late, trying to make it to a shelter before the rain started as well as haveing to pull out my headlamp, and I came apon a beaver pond. As I rounded a corner and started to walk just under the crafty dam, I came upon a large bull moose. I frightened him a bit, but I was in his path of exscape, so rather than bulting off, he remained with an anticipation to high tail it. I slowed down and began coaxing him with a mild voice, while I was trying to grab my phone to take a piture, when he made it clear that if I did not keep my hands where he could see him he was going to split. So, I settled for second best and just stopped and had a pointless conversation. I told him he was a grand moose, and that I was just out for a hike minding my own business. He told me that he really did not want to be bothered while he was eating, but if I would be on my way he would not cause a ruckus. Well it was all good, when suddenly Mr. Beaver thought he would put an end to this useless jibber jabber, by surfaceing and smacking the hell out of otherwise a perfectly calm pond. Well Mr. Bull Moose about hit the moon while leaping up and over the dam, while just about trampling me, and I nearly wnt into the marsh, while balanceing on a small log. This was my first Moose encounter, and boy what a good one it was.
Vemont was a wet state, and some people call it Vermud, understandable but not near as muddy as Maine.
