Autumn 2019

October 7: I stroll into the woods to visit an old oak tree. It's a short trek that I've been making for 17 years when harvesting wild mushrooms. This forest, like others in the bustling town where I live, feels more like park than wilderness. Its trails are well traversed by a daily cadre of dog walkers, hikers, and bikers. This year I marvel at the quantity and size of the acorns. It's the biggest mast year for oaks that I've ever seen. I feel great happiness for the forest abundance, even as I slide upon the ubiquitous acorns that litter the wooded trail.

As I veer off the path, I find myself stumbling upon, and then marveling over, an enormous pile of poop. It's the largest deer poop that I've ever seen. Each nugget is the size of the large acorns that I've been slipping on. As I stand there captivated by this beautiful glistening excrement, off in the distance an enormous light colored animal stands, and then vanishes into the brilliant gold autumn wood.

What have I just seen? I feel momentarily transported into a mythological time warp, where giant creatures roam a primeval forest. But as my stunned mind returns, I deduce that the creature must be the depositor of the pellets – a moose! Caribou and elk were once common in Vermont, but now moose and bear are the only large mammals to inhabit our woods. I presume it was a cow moose, as I hadn’t seen a large rack of antlers that would have screamed male bull. Moose tend to be dark colored, so I do not fully trust what I’d seen. Was it some trick of the light due to the low setting sun and gold hued foliage? I leave the forest cloaked in mystery; not quite sure of the reality of large prehistoric creatures that roam a town forest.

October 11: I return to the woods and the story repeats itself. The pellet pile is still there, but now there is a second fresher one beside it. This time as I gape at the excrement, I am startled by a large antlered animal standing close to my left. He quickly bounds away, but this time there is no questioning reality. I've had a close encounter with a large bull moose. But I’m not thinking rationally – I feel lucky, mesmerized, blessed. I post my moose sighting on an online forum, without revealing the location. Surely other people in town have seen moose or signs. My post garners lots of interest, but no immediate response.

October 16: I return again, and this time there are two new piles: one glistening and fresh, while another appears several days old. I can't believe how frequently my personal trail intersects a veritable moose latrine! But finally my logical mind kicks in, and I convince my husband, Denny, to mount one of his trail cameras here. I regret that it didn’t occur to me to begin monitoring this location sooner. We easily could have captured the last two moose visits on film. It's peak mating season. A musky scent lingers near the old oak. Perhaps I've stumbled into the middle of a courtship. We return the next day and mount a camera. As we scout the surrounding area, we discover more pellet mounds – perhaps a dozen in all. Have we missed our opportunity or will the moose return? We wait, eager to see what our camera captures.

October 20: The camera first films this red fox whose trail traverses a balance beam. Weeks later a gray fox walks the same log.

October 27: These 3 deer are running late for their appointment! The sunlight makes them appear almost white.

3 days later they return for a snack. The doe munches the late fall oyster mushrooms (Panellus serotinus), which I had debated eating myself. I am so happy I left them, as I receive great pleasure watching videos of her relishing them. In subsequent days she returns to eat more, then checks back yet again, to see if there are any left.

As the days tick by and moose rutting season ends, we think that we probably missed our chance to film a moose But we decide to leave the camera up for a little longer anyhow.

November 1: Denny retrieves the memory card from the camera. On route he encounters a woman with two leashed dogs, who tells him she has just seen a moose. We have this footage of one of her dogs as he runs after something – perhaps the moose? I feel bad that the moose in this forest have to deal with the perpetual harassment of unleashed dogs. However, when researching moose, I learn that a pack of wolves has a dangerous time taking down a moose. They prefer any other easier prey. Wolves that hunt moose sustain broken bones and life threatening injuries. I imagine that a dog who catches up to a moose, might not survive the encounter. I also discover that in Alaska more people are killed by moose than by bears. However, in our area, no people have been killed by a moose, unless you count those who have died because their car collided with one.

Finally, after two weeks of monitoring, we have success! The camera reveals this closeup night time footage of an endearing moose eating her dinner. (Since she doesn’t have any antlers, we assume she is a female cow.)

November 8: Someone responds to my online post. JT has also been seeing moose scat. But his email name is '‘buckshot,” so I feel nervous about contacting him. Is he a hunter? Am I inadvertently aiding hunters who would kill this moose that I yearn to protect? I research hunting in Vermont, and discover that the moose population has been dwindling, so much in fact that no hunting permits have been issued for the 2019 season. I feel relieved. This moose is protected for now. The causes named for the decline are winter ticks and brainworm. However, I am shocked to see the number of permits for both bulls and cows, which have been issued in previous years. I wonder if moose in Vermont would be imperiled if less moose had been harvested, or if only bulls had been taken. I’m no expert, but the harvesting of so many cow moose doesn’t seem prudent.

(For detailed information concerning each year’s moose hunt, see the: Moose Harvest Summary Reports at the Vermont Fish & Wildlife Department)

I discover that rare albino moose were killed in 2010 and 2014. Also, I am distressed to see that from 2004 to 2017 hunting permits were issued for my town and the surrounding area. Each year a small number of bulls and cows have been killed. It is rare to see a moose in our area. Most people who I talk to have never seen one at all. Have there been enough moose in our vicinity to warrant hunting them?

November 9: The moose has returned for an early dinner! When we retrieve the memory card, we are thrilled to receive 10 daytime videos of our moose, who posed beautifully for the camera. But with the clear images, it becomes obvious that our moose is a male, albeit lacking his antlers.

These videos elicit questions concerning this particular moose. Did his antlers fall off exceptionally early, or did he not even grow them? Why is he remaining in a town forest frequented by hordes of people, and leaving droppings in the same location? Is he young or old? Is he healthy or malnourished? I read about moose, hoping to unravel some of his enigma.

November 13: I have corresponded with JT. I feel relieved to learn that he doesn't hunt and is actually a vegetarian. JT generously tells me where he has seen piles of moose scat. It’s the same forest, but a different location. I find his spot and also discover a third one. We keep each other updated about fresh moose deposits. I appreciate his support.

November 16: It's been bitterly cold. Is the moose still around, or did he leave for a more protected winter foraging ground? I stumble past two new scat piles. Then, just as I reach and click off the camera, I realize that I'm not alone. My moose is present, too. He calmly and slowly walks further away. Then he returns to his twig browsing. We observe each other from this comfortable distance. His dark body camouflages with the dark trees, allowing him to disappear entirely when I glance away. If I hadn't followed his movements, I would not even know he was there.

I hang with him for awhile, grateful for the opportunity to commune with this magnificent creature. But as I leave, I feel jolted by the force of unexpected, yet powerful grief. I feel a deep sadness for the havoc that we foist upon the natural environment, and any large wild mammal forced to live in such close proximity to us. But my heart also grieves for the destiny of this particular moose. I suspect that he is not well. The winter is a hard time for any moose to find and consume enough calories. I wonder if this moose will survive. He might have been infected with brain worm, Parelaphostrongylus tenuis (P. tenuis).

The New York State Department of Environmental Conservation gives the following information on the signs of a brain worm infection:

“Typically, most white-tailed deer do not show any signs because they are the normal host. Abnormal hosts (moose, mule deer, elk, caribou/reindeer, llama, alpaca, goat, or sheep) may display the following: ataxia (unsteady gait, loss of voluntary muscle control), listlessness, general weakness, fearlessness, apparent deafness and/or blindness, circling, unusual head tilt or neck position, inability to feed/forage, emaciation, paralysis.

After infection, there may be periods where the moose seems to recover as the worm or worms move through different portions of the brain or spinal cord.

An adult P. tenuis within the brain or spinal cord of moose can be fatal. Death can be the result of: paralysis; lack of fear/inappropriate behavior (resulting in motor vehicle strike or being shot by police or Environmental Conservation Officer); or inability to feed (starvation) or feeding on inappropriate food items (malnutrition).”

A brain worm diagnosis would explain his unusual behavior of staying in close proximity to people. Death by brain worm can be horrific. There are many online videos that depict a suffering moose running in circles, until a compassionate game warden puts him down. But this moose does not display that level of disease.

Last year in Burlington, a moose swam across Lake Champlain from New York. When he landed in Vermont after his long swim, he was greeting by a welcoming party of tourists taking his picture. The close encounter with a crowd of people, forced this exhausted moose back into the water, and then he drowned. How horribly sad that a moose was killed by the actions of people so thrilled to see him. Some authorities speculated that he may have had a brain worm, but an autopsy was not done.

I worry that this moose could meet a similar fate. People post the specific locations of their moose encounters on social media. So it is only a matter of time, before more people flock to this already well trafficked forest to view him. When snow falls, he will be an exceptionally easy target to track. I keep his location secret, and pray that he moves on before winter blankets the ground with snow. I realize that in my desire to understand and protect him, I too, may cause him unintentional harm.

I can't help but connect the plight of this moose to that of my mother. This past year she has been caught in a rapidly declining spiral of severe physical pain and fading memory. My mother has always lived a full and active life. She never let physical pain stop her, but now she can barely walk. Like this moose, her sphere of mobility has decreased, and her future seems grim. Yet both mother and moose appear to accept their diminishing quality of life. They carry on as best they can, given their confining circumstances. My mother is not ready to die, but she also does not want dramatic intervention. Perhaps, it is similar for this moose. Overcome with grief I long to save them, but I recognize that I have no control over their destinies. I can't portend a miracle, or prevent an unraveling into the daunting mystery of death. I wonder if I am spinning in futile circles, trying to protect and rescue that which I love. Perhaps offering love and letting things be, is the best I can do given the complexity of circumstances. Perhaps it is enough.

November 21: There are new piles of scat just out of range of the camera. We relocate the camera to their vicinity.

November 25: There are fresh droppings and tracks near the two other locations, but nothing at the camera site. The camera reveals this video of squirrels chasing each other around a tree. It seems a fitting metaphor with which to end. It reminds me to enjoy my human predicament. We all chase things in circles, spinning around the trees of our lives.

November 30: It’s the day before this year’s first major snowstorm. We check the camera and see one video of a deer. No fresh signs of moose anywhere. I feel relieved. I am hopeful that the moose has moved on.

December 5: The snow covered paths have been trodden by skis, snowshoes, and fat tire bikes. Tracks of dogs and wild animals veer on and off the trails. Denny sets off to retrieve the camera, while I check the other sites. Neither of us see any moose tracks or droppings. But I discover this large intriguing mass of dark colored fur pressed into the snow. There are a few freshly gnawed bones on top of it. The bones are small, and may belong to an entirely different animal than the fur. There are no human footprints or signs of dragging. I email JT. He had seen the intact piece of hide before it snowed. The fur looks like it came from a large animal like a deer, but its dark color has me wondering if it belongs to the moose. Did he die and now his body is being scavenged? Or maybe he was killed by coyotes? I entered the forest looking for closure, but instead I stumble upon more mystery. I want to search the area for carcass, bones and answers, but the deep snow mercifully softens and obscures whatever bleak death lies beneath it. Perhaps bones and clarity will be revealed when it melts, but perhaps not. Nature has a way of absorbing all events back into itself, as remnants, tracks, and predatory dramas quietly decay back into forest.

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