Dances with Cows

The spot is less than eight miles from the nearest road and no more  than two miles from the nearest trail, but in all the times I've been there, after leaving the trail, I've never seen anyone that wasn't a part of my own party.  We were planning to camp there for a few days while we explored the surrounding area.  But on our first day there, after a swim, my friend slipped and fell while climbing out of one of the pools and wrenched something in her back.  After two days of resting, her back was still very sore so I transferred what I could from her pack into mine and we hiked out, leaving her pack behind. 

Now I was dayhiking in to retrieve her pack.  I reached the trailhead around noon and figured it would take about two hours to hike in and two and a half to hike back out, so I could hang out at the creek for about three hours and still get back to the car before sundown.  As I headed up the steep rocky part of the trail not long before the creek crossing, I began to hear an occasional metallic clanking noise.  I assumed there were boy scouts up ahead with their cooking gear lashed to the outsides of their packs.  When I reached the creek and left the trail to head downstream, I discovered that the tintinnabulation was actually the sound of cowbells. The meadow was being trampled by at least two dozen cows.  I grumbled to myself about the stupidity of allowing cattle grazing in wilderness areas and headed on down the creek. 

I wandered around a bit, found the pack, went for a swim, laid in the sun, and decided I could spend an extra hour there and still make it back to the car not too long after sunset if I hurried. 

Much too soon, it was time to leave, so I shouldered the pack and headed up the creek.  When I reached the meadow, the cows were gone.  I started heading down the trail and just as I reached the steep descent, I found the cows.  They were standing around, tightly bunched: a bovine gang blocking the trail.  They were not moving.  There was no way around or through them.  I tried reasoning with them.  "Listen, cows: you've got to move.  I'm in a big hurry here.  I didn't bring a flashlignt with me so I need to get back to the trailhead before dark."  No response.  "This is a wilderness area.  You don't belong here.  You should be in a grassy pasture far away.  I know it's not your fault, but you've got to go!"  They pretended not to understand.  Perhaps they really didn't; cows are not very bright.  I remembered Annie Dillard's comments about cattle in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "They are all bred beef: beef heart, beef hide, beef hocks.  They're a human product like rayon.  They're like a field of shoes.  They have cast-iron shanks and tongues like foam insoles.  You can't see through to their brains as you can with other animals; they have beef fat behind their eyes, beef stew."  So I tried her ploy: I ran toward them, waving my arms and shouting "Lightning!  Copperhead!  Swedish Meatballs!"  It got them moving; not quickly, but at least they were heading down the trail.

After a few minutes the trail widened a bit and I was able to get around half of them before it narrowed again.  Now I was in the middle of the herd and they were still ambling along painfully slowly.  "At this rate, I might make it back to the car by tomorrow morning," I thought.  Time to do more motivational yelling.  "C'mon you cows, pick up the pace!  Move it!  Move it!  Move it!"  It worked.  They sped up to a comfortable walking pace.  I continued shouting and they kept speeding up.  Suddenly it dawned on me.  Here I was in the middle of a near stampede, running down a steep rocky trail.  There's a lot of momentum in a cow.  If I stumbled on a rock and fell, the cow three feet behind me wouldn't stop, couldn't stop.  If the cow three feet in front of me stumbled, the cow three feet behind me wouldn't stop until it crashed into the cow in front of me, with me in between.  I imagined myself in the middle of a major traffic accident: a ten cow pileup. It was time to stop shouting and concentrate on staying upright.  I hoped the cows in front of me were doing likewise.

After several tense minutes and only a few close calls, the cows and I made it to the bottom of the hill unscathed.  The cows dispersed into the forest and I was able to make my way back to the car as it was getting very dark.