I was sitting at my desk today and came across this old Polaroid. On the surface it doesn’t really say much, but the story behind it is, I feel, worth sharing. So here we go:
I grew up in Alaska. Anchorage, to be exact. One summer’s day my friends and I decided to drive down the coast after work to do some early morning salmon fishing near Kenai.
The Glenn Allen highway is (or was in my day) a very long stretch of un-illuminated deep forest mountainous road thriving with wildlife. I’ve seen wolves, bear, porcupine and yes, moose. Moose, in Alaska, are like pigeons; they are everywhere. On streets. In peoples’ gardens. Roaming downtown. After a while you just tend to accept them as daily life and coexist. For the most part if you ignore them they ignore you.
Males weigh on average over 550 kg (1200 lbs) and females often more than 400 kg (900 lbs). New born calves weigh around 15 kg but quickly increase in size, around 300 or 400 pounds by its first winter. An Alaskan moose, one of the largest sub-group, discovered in 1897 holds the record for being the largest known modern deer. It was a bull standing 2.34 metres and weighed 816kg. Its RACK (or antler spread) was 199cm.
Height at the shoulders generally ranges between 6 ½-7 ½ feet (over 2 metres).
On this particular night I was driving a 1982 Subaru GL wagon. Standing approximately 54 inches high (just over 4 ½ feet) and pulling inn a curb weight of 1,700 pounds, this care was not the most fabulous or comely of vehicles to hit the streets in 1992.
But it saved my life. Specifically an ornery headrest. But I’ll explain that a little later.
During this particular trek I was traveling at approximately 50 miles per hour at night. I heard stories about people coming over a hill or around a bend and nearly into horses, able to swerve at the last moment because of the reflection of the light in their eyes. Well, here’s a science fact for you: a moose’s eyes don’t reflect.
I saw a flash of two shadows in the road, so close that avoidance of a collision was impossible. One shadow stood much higher than the car. The other was much smaller. I knew then that it was a cow moose and a calf, and I had to make a decision: hit the mother or hit the offspring. Logically, I turned towards the offspring.
I hit the mother.
All 1000 pounds of her.
Her belly was higher than my hood. I clipped her legs, causing her to topple into the windshield. The brunt of her weight in concert with the speed of the car sent her body at me like a catapult. The next time you sit in your car, look up to where the glass of the windshield meets the metal frame outlining the screen. Now imagine a 1,000 lb side of beef hitting that exact spot at 50 mph. There’s a good chance it’s not going to just bounce off.
She came through the windshield at full force. My foot was already on the brakes and without ABS, I skidded into the ditch along the side of the road. The top of the car was peeled back and in (see photo) past the steering wheel. The initial impact struck me in the brow, just over my left eye, causing an instant concussion. My mouth was open (presumably in mid-scream) so I swallowed a considerable amount of safety glass. I wasn’t sure if we were still moving at this point – adrenaline had taken over so I was, for the moment, feeling no pain. All I knew was that something BIG was on my hood and it hurt. But it wasn’t over.
She kicked. Out of reflex, panic or anger I am not certain. All I know is she threw an incredibly strong hoof into my face. It caught me square in the bridge of my nose, breaking it. In a fit of rage and panic, in an attempt to do anything to get her off my hood and to stop kicking not only myself but my passenger, I did the only thing I knew. I punched her. Now, I am no superman but I was high on adrenaline and fury, and perhaps the car had chosen that particular moment to come to a halt, but she slid off of my hood. For the moment, we were safe.
I remember looking over to my passenger and hoping he was just unconscious. My second passenger, who was lying in the rear seat, was all but unscathed. From what he says, I was unresponsive yet awake for several seconds, rocking back and forth, lost in some sort of shock. I managed to shake it off and realized I had one HELL of a headache. My front passenger moaned and stirred. He had survived as well.
I changed my CB to the emergency channel (9) and keyed the mike. The machine exploded in a shower of sparks. Back then, none of us had cell phones. I managed to get out of the car and lean against it, foggy headed and bleeding….
Remember how I said that one ornery headrest saved my life? Well, hours earlier it was in the highest position. I pushed, pulled, and screamed at it but could not lower it an inch. In the initial impact, my head snapped back – into the headrest. When she kicked, my head snapped back again – and again into the headrest. Had that cushion been in the lowest position (where I wanted it) it would have easily snapped my neck.
As I stood there, contemplating this and looking at the device, it fell, of its own accord, back into the lowest setting. As if to say “my work here is done”.
My head was bleeding, my nose was a fountain and all four knuckles on my right hand were bare to the bone. Ahead came some headlights and we managed to flag them down; a travelling carnival on its way from Homer to Anchorage. From there we got an ambulance, medical attention and a ride home the next day.
Weeks passed and we managed to get the car home. The car was mechanically sound, only one small dent in the hood (other than the top of the car being peeled back like a sardine can) so why pay for a tow? I drove it back. Aside from the moose hair, it was a fun ride.
You’d think that was the end of the story. It’s not. But I’ll leave a little to your imagination. After all, where would be the fun in telling you everything?
In the end I am convinced that the Subaru GL wagon, specifically the 1982 year, is the safest car on the road. The engine never quits and the body can take one HELL of a beating and still get you where you want to go.
However, if you go moose hunting, I suggest you use a more practical means of taking down your game.
Or wear a helmet.
And adjust the headrest accordingly.
Peace.