I’ve loved moose ever since I did a presentation on them at eight years old. I photocopied most of the information from a primary source book that featured dozens of photos of them in various activities. I learned they were able to swim, even diving to eat aquatic plants found below the surface. Sadly, I never saw one in Michigan, though they exist there.
It took a trip to the Tetons to see one for myself.
We came through a to-me-giant herd of elk (30-40, the road splitting the herd in half), hoping one wouldn’t throw itself at the Jeep like so many kamikaze deer in Michigan. As we rounded a bend, a giant black-ish figure stood stark against the sagebrush. Laney veered the car to the shoulder and we all hopped out. There in the far distance, a she-moose, lazily standing in the morning sun. Her coat shone. I wanted to hug her. I refrained and stayed untrampled.
The night before, on our way to our hostel, we passed many signs warning of moose crossing the road. My eyes were peeled so religiously they could’ve ended up in Grandma’s egg salad. I wanted to see one, but didn’t want my first impression to be its hooves meeting my face as it smashed through my windshield. Suddenly- there! A swift shadow passed my car on the right. Again on the left! Was this a whole herd? Moose don’t travel like that! I slowed down.
Dodging two-dimensional moose like my life depended on it.
Some people had even applied large googly eyes to their personal moose cutout, just to add insult to injury.
After that humiliation, the reward of seeing a real moose was that much sweeter.
Sadly, just like finding my first agate, I thought I’d be set for life after spying my first moose in the wild, but it’s just made me want to go find more wildlife. If my rock hunting pastime is any indication, I’ll be headed to Maine next to find a moose in its happiest home territory. Who knows if this chart is accurate, but I’m using it to plan my next travels from here on out.
