0115 PNW

Snowshoeing along the mountain trail, dark clouds rolled overhead.

Visiting the Pacific Northwest from my Alaska home, I knew how the weather could change in the mountains in a minute. Different climate than Alaska, but I had the skills to handle it. My planned route was provided to the rangers; I had an avalanche beacon and was outfitted for deep snow and negative temperatures.

Right before sunset, as the day was darkening, I smelled the snow in the air; I set up my bivouac. Branches of ancient fir trees hung low, heavy with wet snow. Dusk dropped, turning day to ink within this snow-laden forest.

Crunching noises awakened me. My watch read 0115. No moose or bear - must be a deer because birds are sleeping. Nearby noises, but it is always hard to find where they are coming from, even in daylight. Birds on a branch? A mouse under the snow? Deer are usually quiet. I felt my hair go up on end; then my nostrils detected an odor so horrid I covered my nose with a ski-mittened hand. I rolled to my hands and knees, using my headlamp to peer around.

Next to the bole of the tree, it stood, watching me, in matted shaggy fur. Crouching down, locking eyes, it flung a large rock at me.

I stood. It stood. Its head reached the lower branch nine feet up. Gasping, I watched him silently disappear.

Awake, nerves shattered, I shivered through the night, despite my mountain gear.