Maine Moose

Home for the Holiday

The in-laws came Downeast for the extended Thanksgiving weekend. The past couple years my father-in-law, Ken, and I have hunted deer together at Thanksgiving, sort of continuing the tradition my dad and I began when I was a pup. My dad gave up hunting a few years ago, so our tradition now is for me to call him after I get in from deer hunting.


Thursday morning was crispy, upper 20s firming up the rain of the preceding day. I dropped Ken off in the dark to walk to his tree stand, then continued on to my parking spot. I had a quick half mile walk to where I'd left my climber attached to an oak looking over a fairly open side hill. The deer and bears had been feeding on acorns.


The bark of the tree was slick with an icy film, causing me to be extra careful and deliberate ascending to my perch. An hour into my sit, I was wondering when I'd be able to get out for a duck hunt... a flicker of white off to the left got my attention. Within a minute I saw it again. Through the developing fog I could make out the form of a deer facing me, head down nibbling acorns about 100 yards away, the tail occasionally twitching a flash of white. Cranked the scope to 7 power; when the head came up I could see antlers. Small antlers. This time of year, yearling head gear is first choice for choice eating... if you even have a choice. In my 8-10 hours of hunting this year, this was the first deer I'd seen, buck or doe. Around here, with a deer density well below 10 deer per square mile, it's always bucks-only hunting.


The buck was slowly heading in my direction, munching acorns. He drifted a little downslope, but still advancing in my general direction. Then he drifted into a beech thicket, and soon I lost sight of him. Then I couldn't hear foot steps. After 10 minutes of not seeing or hearing "my" buck, I started to worry he'd simply walked away. Or bedded down? I pulled out my trusty Primos "canned heat" doe bleat can. Baaa baaa. Immediately I heard foot steps, but my eyes straining through the fog failed to locate the source. Then I saw him.... walking away. Another bleat, and he's no longer walking away, now he's running away!

A year ago I used the same call to bring in (*almost* for a shot) a mature buck not 200 yards from this location. This year's buck most certainly was not high in the pecking order in these parts. A deer trotted through an opening 80 yards downslope, but I could not see antlers. Through another opening at 85 yards... I saw antlers. I was ready when the buck stopped in an opening at 90 yards. It disappeared at the shot. I kept the scope trained on the spot; 30 seconds later I saw a brief flicker of white, and began descending the tree. The buck lay dead where I shot him, the bullet entering the chest high behind the shoulder, breaking the spine. Not the preferred neck shot, but the carcasse damage wasn't too bad. And the tag was filled, duck/bird hunting opportunities awaited, no longer constrained by the concern to put deer meat in the freezer.

Propped up for draining.

Slid easily on oak leaves.

Yearling 3-point, field dressed 103. I gave dad a call, told him the story.



We arrived home for lunch to an enthusiastic reception.

Ken watched a large cow moose Thursday morning, and a doe the next. Angela hunted deer for the first time Friday morning. In 5 hours she saw no deer but plenty of sign. Seems eager to try again.

Saturday night we had a meal that needs mentioning. The whole holiday weekend was more or less a game feed, with woodcock and fresh deer tenderloin on the menu Saturday. I prepared the woodcock according to Pete's blog entry of October 08. Rave reviews from all -- the legs were especially liked by the women and boys, the breasts being craved by the men and the boys. So far I'm on the good side of the dog spirits.

The deer was delectible as well.

Moose, ADKs, and Cornell alum scientists

Moose Gain Ground but Keep a Low Profile
By LISA W. FODERARO McKENZIE
MOUNTAIN WILDERNESS, N.Y.

From the New York Times

Here in the boreal forests of the Adirondack Mountains, moose are seemingly everywhere and nowhere.

In the sachet-scented gift shops of Lake Placid, where high heels outnumber hiking boots, there are moose-inspired cookie jars, moose-shaped soaps, moose-head lollipops, moose-emblazoned kitchen mitts and a $12.95 book titled “Uses for Mooses and Other (Silly) Observations.”

But while it may be the overworked mascot of the Adirondacks tourist trade, the moose, which has quietly returned to northern New York over the last quarter-century, remains a mystery. Many longtime residents have never glimpsed one. And wildlife biologists are unsure whether the small but secure population of some 400 moose is on the verge of an explosion — as happened in New Hampshire in recent decades — or headed for an eventual decline because of global warming.

“It’s the icon of the north woods,” said Heidi E. Kretser, a scientist with the Wildlife Conservation Society, the nonprofit organization that operates the Bronx Zoo and has an outpost in the Adirondacks. “They’re massive creatures. They’re just very appealing characters.”

To better understand their lifestyle and behavior, the Wildlife Conservation Society sent specially trained dogs into the piney woods here recently, not in search of actual moose, but their scat, or excrement. One morning this month, Camas, a German shepherd who had traveled from Montana for the mission, traversed the dense wilderness around Moose Pond. The forest floor was just springing to life, with wood sorrel and striped maple saplings pushing up through dead leaves and ferns unfurling.

But in a sign of moose elusiveness, Camas found the scat of black bear and ruffed grouse but nothing redolent of moose, even though there had been recent sightings in the area. (The day before, a colleague of Camas had more luck, sniffing out nine discrete examples of moose scat; the conservationists organized 20 such outings between May 12 and May 25, in a program financed in part by the Natural History Museum of the Adirondacks, popularly known as the Wild Center, in nearby Tupper Lake.)

By analyzing the scat, the society hopes to learn more about the habits, genetics and overall health of New York’s moose population.

But with only a few hundred moose scattered across the Adirondack state park, which comprises private and public lands in an area roughly the size of Vermont, locating moose scat is far easier than locating the actual mammals, despite their hulking size. (Bull moose can weigh up to 1,400 pounds and eat 40 to 60 pounds of vegetation a day.)

Scat analysis is less traumatic for moose than more traditional techniques. “It’s not a replacement for collaring, but it’s another tool for managers and researchers and it’s noninvasive,” Dr. Kretser said. “You eliminate the stress of darting the animal.”

Moose were hunted out of existence in the Adirondacks just before the Civil War, but began to tromp back into the state in the early 1980s, entering from Vermont and Canada. Wildlife experts expect their numbers to continue to climb, but they also speculate that the moose, which rely on birch twigs, maple bark and other vegetation found in northern hardwood forests, could eventually retreat. The animals could leave the Adirondacks for points farther north, after decades of global warming.

“We’ll see the population double in size,” said Chuck Dente, a big-game biologist for the State Department of Environmental Conservation, noting that Vermont and New Hampshire each have several thousand moose. “The more moose you have, the more they can reproduce very quickly and successfully.
Once they get established, the population can take off. But what happens after that, we don’t know. We have a group of scientists working on the ramifications of climate change.”

Recent moose necropsies — the equivalent of autopsies — have revealed that a parasite called brain worm is taking a toll on moose here. The worm gets into the brain cavity and the spinal column and ultimately kills the moose.

Mr. Dente said that rising temperatures in the coming decades could lead to more brain worm, which is part of a complex food chain involving snails, as well as other parasites. “As things warm up a little bit, that allows the snail to survive better,” he said.

Whereas black bears, which number about 5,000 in the Adirondacks, are considered a nuisance by some, foraging for garbage, moose pretty much keep to themselves. If their numbers grow, however, so will the possibility of moose-vehicle collisions, and state officials and wildlife advocates are girding for a backlash in public perception.

In New Hampshire, which is home to about 6,000 moose, there are 200 to 250 collisions involving moose each year. Human fatalities are rare, but there have been serious injuries.

By contrast, Adirondack Park, which contains virtually all the moose in New York State, has an average of four to six collisions a year, and none so far, environmental officials say, have been fatal to the drivers.
Several weeks ago in Saranac Lake, for instance, a moose was killed after being struck by three vehicles in a row.

“Hitting a moose is a nasty thing because you really don’t see them,” Mr.
Dente said. “They’re a solid color at night, and they’re so tall that you don’t get the reflections of their eyes from the headlights. You don’t see them until you’re right on top of them.”

For now, their presence in the Adirondacks is more a source of fascination than vexation. “The moose are kind of mysterious,” said Julie Outcalt, a sales clerk at the Adirondack Museum store on Main Street in downtown Lake Placid, where shoppers can choose among moose-head bookends ($130) and a birch-bark moose figure ($42). “I’ve been here 30 years, and I’ve never seen one.”

Moose are not listed as endangered or threatened in New York, but they are protected, which means they are off limits to hunting. Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire allow limited moose hunting. “If all of a sudden we got up to 800 or 1,000 moose, we would start to seriously look at hunting permits,” Mr. Dente said. “Or if we saw a lot of roadkill, we might make that the only area you could hunt in.”

That’s fine with many environmentalists, who point out that moose have no natural predators and that fees from hunting licenses help pay for wildlife conservation efforts. “You want the moose population to be at a level where there’s not a lot of negative interactions with people,” said Dr. Kretser of the conservation society.

Bushwacking her way through here, close on the heels of Camas, the German shepherd, Dr. Kretser said she hoped moose would remain a fixture of the Adirondack woods — and not merely raw material for trinkets.

“The Adirondacks is a boreal area, and many of the boreal species, including moose, loons, gray jays and rusty blackbirds, are at the southern extent of their range,” she said, climbing over a moss-covered log. “If climate change accelerates, as people are predicting, then moose will have a tough time.”