Clinton BC Moose Rescue, Winter 1958/59
Some stories arrive in our lives like well-worn treasures, passed from one friend to another until they feel like part of the town itself. This one came to me from Douglas Carnegie, who first heard it years ago from long-time Clinton resident Doug Wakefield. In Doug’s telling, it was the winter of 1958 or ’59—an ordinary day that turned extraordinary when a young moose and a small-town septic tank crossed paths in the most unexpected way.
It was the kind of winter where the snow squeaked under your boots and the air nipped hard at any skin you dared expose. Clinton, British Columbia—a historic Cariboo town known for its Gold Rush heritage and tight-knit community—was still talking about the fire that had taken the Clinton Hotel the May before. Doug was in Grade 5 then, living just down the street from the school and only steps from the outdoor skating rink.
It must have been a Saturday or Sunday, because there were no school bells, just the distant shouts of kids and the muffled crunch of boots on snow. That morning, the air felt charged—news was traveling faster than any telephone could carry it. From every direction, kids were converging on the old Clinton fire hall, scarves flapping, toques askew.
A glimpse of Clinton’s Main Street in the 1950s, when vintage cars lined the road and the community bustled with small-town life.
“A moose fell through the septic tank!” someone breathlessly told Doug, eyes wide with the kind of excitement only small-town misadventures can muster.
In a town like Clinton, BC—surrounded by forest—wildlife sightings weren’t unusual. But even by Cariboo standards, finding a moose in the septic tank behind the old fire hall was extraordinary.
Behind the hall, the scene was unforgettable. A young moose stood chest-deep in trouble, nostrils puffing clouds into the cold air, eyes rolling in confusion. Around it, the volunteer firemen—the pride of Clinton—huddled in thick coats, boots planted in the snow, trading ideas on how to get the animal out.
“If we dig, we’ll be here ’til spring,” one man muttered, stomping at the frozen ground.
“Can’t pull it by the antlers,” another said. “Might snap ’em clean off.”
Then Fire Chief Bill “Red” McAllister let out a bark of laughter. “We’ve got a tow truck in town, don’t we?”
Heads turned toward Jim “Towbar” Hensley, Clinton’s one and only tow operator. Known for solving problems without many words, Jim simply nodded. “Strap’ll do it,” he said, already heading for his truck.
When Jim returned, the real work began. The strap had to go under the moose’s belly, a risky job in the icy, cramped pit. One wrong move, and a well-aimed hoof could send a rescuer flying. The animal’s long legs flailed in protest, sending up little sprays of slush.
For a tense moment, it looked like the strap wouldn’t reach. Then someone remembered the spare harness hanging in the back of the hall. Minutes later, the harness was spliced in, snug and ready.
Jim eased the winch forward, the cable whining in the still air. The crowd—now a mix of children, townsfolk, and curious passersby—held its breath as the moose began to rise. Water and muck streamed from its hide. For one heart-stopping second, the strap slipped an inch, but Red’s quick knotting held firm.
And then it was over. The moose landed awkwardly on the hard snow, legs splaying before it found its footing. It shook itself, showering the nearest onlookers in a mist of icy water, then trotted off toward the forest—likely the subject of herd gossip for weeks to come.
Today, the Clinton BC moose rescue has joined the ranks of other local legends you’ll hear in our cafés, antique shops, and at community events. For visitors, it’s a reminder that Clinton isn’t just a stop along the Cariboo Highway—it’s a place where history, humor, and heart are part of the everyday landscape.
