Did you know more people are injured by moose than by bears? We didn’t either, until we got to Alaska.

Follow this authorJim Geraghty's opinions

On the bus tour, we technically see Dall sheep and a golden eagle. I say “technically” because to the naked eye, they’re specks in the far distance, although our guide has a video camera with an impressive magnifying lens. We also see a fox, but big deal — in our neighborhood in Fairfax County, foxes are so commonplace that they snatch hot dogs off under-supervised backyard grills.

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My wife and two teenagers are itching to get out and experience stretches of Denali on foot, so we get off the bus. We’re about two-thirds of the way up the Mount Healy Overlook Trail when my younger teenager announces he needs to pee. I figure I’d better not let him get out of sight — not a matter of precognition so much as thinking it’s best to keep an eye on anyone who goes off a trail in the wild. The ground is soft and spongy, because of the permafrost, absorbing the sound of footsteps.

And then, a few moments after my son begins his business, I see it, about 40 feet away and moseying in our direction: a moose. Or, as some people apparently call it, a “murder horse.” It has no antlers, so it looks like the Black Stallion on a rigorous steroid regimen.

We’re no more than 20 feet off the trail, have been off it for barely a minute and, despite the long odds, have just run into wildlife that absolutely dwarfs me, and I’m 6-foot-2. I can’t tell whether this is a female moose (I guess the absence of antlers means it is), and thus more likely to be dangerous at this time of year. It doesn’t seem agitated or angry, but I’m not a moose psychologist.

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Now, before our guide’s moose-awareness talk, I would have been more fascinated than worried, and probably cracking Bullwinkle jokes. But now I know my family and I are having a close encounter with an animal that our guide — someone who’s also run into grizzly bears several times — seemed genuinely worried about.

I call out to my family, my voice about one octave higher than usual. It’s less primal fear than a sudden, intense realization that I cannot control what happens next, and the odds of an angry-moose incident are suddenly greater than zero.

My son and I retreat to the trail. Our massive moose friend comes out, too, and then turns down the trail, headed toward the four of us. It doesn’t seem angry, but it is clearly........

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