Breckenridge sits at 9,600 feet above sea level. The Tenmile Range – consisting of ten prominent peaks – defines the immediate skyline surrounding this picturesque town. It was my first time in the Colorado Rockies and I was dizzy with excitement. I was also dizzy dizzy. Altitude sickness, despite drinking water like a dromedary. This too shall pass. 

“The Daves” were visiting Don and Angie, friends from our San Diego days. Don is a retired businessman who bikes, hikes, goes off-roading, and skis like Spider Sabich (before he met Claudine Longet). Angie is a cyclist, skier, and professional wildlife photographer. So yeah, Breckenridge fits these two like a Savile Row suit. 

Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom

Before our trip, Angie had treated us to photographs she’d taken of some of the “locals.” Red fox. Mountain goats. Moose. 

Moose?  

Yes, moose. I never associated these enormous, antlered beasts with Colorado. I thought they only came with Canadian citizenship. Or Maine. But as sure as shootin’, they’re there. I was hoping to see at least one of these creatures during our seven-day stay in the Rocky Mountain State. I got my wish. In spades.

We settled in, changed our clothes from airplane mode to mountain mode, and headed out to the rear deck of their house. While being shown the backyard, a neighbor stopped by to greet the visitors from California. 

It was “Foxy.” 

A female red fox who considers their backyard her second home. She even climbed a few stairs to investigate the newcomers, giving me the chance to get a closer look at her. Which one of us was the curiouser? Hard to tell. 

Beautiful animal. Wonder if Jimi Hendrix ever visited Breckenridge.

Bullwinkle Would be Proud

After the initial excitement with Foxy, we hopped into Don and Angie’s car for a quick tour of the area. I admit I do not have the best sense of direction. I get lost on the way to the bathroom in the wee hours of the night. So don’t ask me where we were in relation to the center of town, but we weren’t far. And then, there it was.

A moose. 

A young one. 

Crossing the road like it owned the place. And in a way, it did. After the sighting, we pulled over and parked. 

Hey, there’s another one! Two young moose, and I’ve only been in Colorado for what seemed like minutes. (By the way, yes, the plural of moose is moose. I think it should be meese, like goose and geese, but I was overruled by Noah Webster.)

Where there’s baby moose, mama moose must be close. She wouldn’t dare allow her kids to roam the neighborhood unsupervised. They’re not Baby Boomer or Gen X kids, for crying out loud. And sure enough, there she was, like the good helicopter parent she is.

We, of course, maintained a safe distance, for the sake of the moose as well as ours. When it comes to moose, there’s something called “The Rule of Thumb.” The name is quite literal: if you extend your arm out straight in front of you and give a thumbs up with one eye closed, your thumb should completely cover the moose. If it doesn’t, you’re too close. How reliable is this rule? I’m no Marlin Perkins, but I give it a thumbs up. (Sorry.)

After spotting mom and kids, I thought we’d seen it all. But then something else caught our eye. Standing by the side of the road, not far from the others. A bull moose. A huge bull moose. With an enormous rack of antlers. A long, peanut-shaped face. And the casual indifference of an animal that knows perfectly well he’s the biggest, baddest OG in the neighborhood. 

And unless I was Paul Bunyan, the Rule of Thumb was not going to work with this guy. He was right there, staring straight at us, like “You got a problem, pal?” I snapped a quick pic from the safety of the car and we were off like a prom dress.

I’m guessing that bull was Dad, but it could’ve been some interloper. Or maybe some moose mom met on Hinge. Who knows. 

But what I did know was this: I’d been in Colorado for only a few hours, and here I was, looking at moose in the wild. Up close. Animals I’d previously associated with Boris and Natasha, the opening credits of Northern Exposure, and the occasional bottle of Moosehead beer. 

It was extraordinary.

Oh, Crap

With my birthday the next day, I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my mountain vacation. Unfortunately, the moose scat had already hit the fan. 

Remember that piece of plastic in the road? We found out what it was, and I was none too pleased with the discovery. 

I had a feeling Enterprise Rent-A-Car wasn’t going to be either.