The following appeared in the October 30, 1997 Point Reyes Light.

BULL MIGHTIER THAN HOT AIR

I was treed by a bull on the Giacomini Ranch in Pt. Reyes Station while bagpiping on Monday, October 20, escaping after a half-hour with my life—and pipes—intact.

I was practicing along Paper Mill Creek, near the site of the former dam, when the cows were turned out to pasture about 5:30 PM. I didn’t think anything of it, except that they were wandering into the pasture right along the levee, not one of the other pastures I’d seen them in before. After a while, though, I noticed that one of the cows wasn’t grazing like the rest, but staring at me. Then it started bellowing at me, then walking in my direction.

As the animal approached, it became apparent that it was actually no cow at all, but a bull with a low opinion of bagpipes.

I think he must have figured I was another bull sounding a challenge at him. He was big and black, and though he had no horns I could see that he could easily knock me down with one toss of his head and then trample me. When I realized his attitude was poor, I loaded my pipes in the basket on my bicycle, and got ready to ride off. But before I could hit the saddle, he was over the levee and practically on top of me, so I scurried up the nearest tree.

As I watched, the bull started nosing at my bicycle. That made me nervous. If he got too aggressive I was going to have to grab a stick and try to drive him away from the pipes perched precariously in the basket. I slapped my cap against my leg and yelled at the bull until I got his attention.

The bull spent the next half-hour pawing the earth and bellowing under the tree I was in. I tried everything. I turned my back and ignored him, I yelled at him, I threw twigs at him. At one point he let me touch his nose and scratch his ears, but then went back to throwing up dirt and bellowing.

Finally the bull got distracted scratching his fly bites on the lower branches of the tree, and I made a break for the bike. He just stood and watched as I got on and started off. I thought I was in the clear until I looked back, and believe it or not, the SOB was charging me! I thought ‘Oh, no (or words to that effect), I’m going to have to dive into the creek,’ but I was able to pick up enough speed to get away from him. By the time I made it to the fence he’d given up. But all the way back to town I could hear him back there, bellowing his head off.

I still practice out by the dam, but with one eye on the pasture: when the cows come out to graze, I find something else to do.