Sight unseen

A quest to spot the elusive moose takes our reporter into the heart of the Maine wilderness

by Chris Wright

Of the many enigmas surrounding the moose, the most baffling is that so many of them get hit by cars. Unlike other animals, moose are able to move their eyeballs independently -- not only can they look both ways at the same time, they can look up, down, sideways, and around and around.

Despite their ocular dexterity, however, moose are just terrible at crossing the road. Maine alone sees more than 600 incidents a year involving the unhappy union of car and moose. Perhaps the majestic, mysterious animals are simply dumb as posts. Or maybe they are large enough that they see a car and think, "Screw you, pal. I'm a moose."

Moose are the SUVs of antlered animals -- the largest members of the deer family. An adult male can stand seven feet tall at the shoulder and weigh as much as three-quarters of a ton. If you hit a moose, you know it. And yet whenever I'm driving through the New England countryside and one of those yellow MOOSE signs crops up, I don't think, "Careful, now." I think, "Here, moosey, moosey, moosey."

For years now, I have been obsessed with the idea of seeing a moose. I have traipsed countless acres in search of them. I have scrutinized roadside woodlands until my eyes bled. Once, camping on Maine's Saco River, I heard what I imagined to be a moose-like lowing off in the distance. Hands trembling, I scanned the horizon with my binoculars. And then I saw it, then another, then another, then a whole herd of them: cows.

The longer I go without seeing one, the more desperately I want to. My wife, Nina, once wrote me a poem:

Did you see that?
We gotta turn back!
I think it was a moose
just running around loose!
I can't believe we missed it.
Maybe he likes brisket --
we can catch him with a noose.

Recently, Nina and I were invited up to Kezar Lake in Center Lovell, Maine, to spend a weekend with Barbara and Jim, Nina's aunt and uncle. Lake Kezar is one of the most gorgeous spots imaginable: green mountains enclosing a brooch of shimmering blue water, the melancholic cries of loons, the scent of pine pitch in the air. So idyllic is the area that multimillionaire author Stephen King has made his home on Kezar's shore.

But I'm not interested in soft breezes, glorious vistas, or crystalline waters. All I want is to feast my eyes on the lumbering, knock-kneed, jowly-faced beast. No, not Stephen King -- moose. This time, I say to myself, I will see one if it kills me. So, girded with newfound determination, I do some research.

Maine has a moose population of 29,000. Center Lovell, it turns out, is not exactly in the moosiest section of the state (the real action is further north), but the moose are there. The tricky part is knowing where to look.

Now, I know enough about moose to know that they don't like brisket, and that they are not easily caught with a noose. But my expertise stops there. So I call a couple of specialists for advice. The first person I speak to is Phil Bozenhard, a Maine wildlife biologist. "When you want to see one," he says, "you don't."

Right. Thanks, Phil.

---

A good time to look for moose is in the spring, when the sodium-craving animals assemble at roadsides to lick up what's left of the winter's salt deposits (lick, lick, wham). The month of May, when female moose give birth, is a particularly good time. Each day, a lactating moose must eat about 60 pounds of browse -- early-growth leaves and twigs -- which entails a good deal of tramping about. In May, all you have to do is follow the munching sounds.

Another good time is in late September and early October, the mating season. "When they start to rut they become a little more mobile," says Bozenhard.

The best time of day for moose-watching, Bozenhard continues, is "around five, five-thirty." I'm often up before noon, so that shouldn't be a problem. No -- five in the morning. Oh. Any other good times? Early evening, Bozenhard says, audibly rolling his eyes. I should find an area where moose are plentiful, he says, and "ride up and down the road."

I have to say, I'd imagined something a little more rugged. I'd pictured myself stooping to appraise broken twigs, pinching moose poop to gauge its freshness. I certainly hadn't pictured myself sitting in a Honda Accord, riding up and down the bloody road.

"You may be keen on seeing a moose, but they aren't keen on seeing you," explains Kim Morris, a moose-project leader with Maine's Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. "They are much less bothered by someone in a vehicle." If I must get out of the car, she says, I should head for marshes, ponds, and clear-cut areas, all of which provide the kind of food moose enjoy. But bear in mind, she adds, "they may be big, but they can hide amazingly well."

And they have good reason to hide. Though moose have few natural enemies, men with guns pose an increasingly serious problem.

A hundred years ago, Maine's moose had been hunted nearly out of existence. In 1935, in response to the crisis, moose hunting was banned in the state. By 1980, the population had recovered, and limited hunting was reinstated. Last year, 2619 moose were killed during Maine's week-long hunting season, and many Maine residents, citing the "nuisance" factor, would now like to see moose-hunting licenses increased.

Aside from their tendency to cause traffic accidents, moose are fairly harmless to humans. There are, however, two kinds to be wary of: new mothers and rutting males. As Bozenhard scientifically puts it, getting in the way of a maternal or amorous moose is "a no-no."

How about creeping up to a non-rutting, unmotherly moose and rubbing its silky, squidgy muzzle? "I don't think moose would appreciate that," Morris says. Then she adds, "Accept the fact that moose can run faster than you and that you shouldn't annoy them."

I can tell that Morris is running short of patience. When I ask her how to track a moose -- how to tell which direction one is heading, for instance -- she replies, "The direction the toes are pointing is generally a pretty good indicator." Okay.

Before she hangs up, Morris gives me one last tip: "If you really want to see a moose, pull into a gas station and ask the locals where to find them." When I say that this will make me feel like such a tourist, Morris perks up a bit. "The whole point of having tourists is we get to laugh at them," she says. "You will find out where the moose are and provide entertainment for the locals. It's a good thing all round."

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Chris Wright can be reached at cwright[a]phx.com.