Michael Friis Johansen

and quietly as I could, I crouched on the floor to peer out the nearest window to see what I could see - and what I saw was a dark, hairy back level with the bottom of the window, which was almost two meters off the ground. The animal was so close that's all I saw of it in the murky light until I looked to my left and there was a massive head with a wide rack of antlers rising above me. It was a moose - a fairly young one, I believe, but already quite large. There was just enough light (and enough time) to see that while the animal was mostly covered with dark hair, it had stockings below its knees - that is, the bottom halves of its long, gangly legs were more white than black.

   The moose didn't stay long. Whatever business it had had in my camp was finished, meaning it had probably eaten all the tender young willow shoots it could find. It walked away into the thickest woods, easily high-stepping over the tall bushes and fallen logs, hardly disturbing anything at all in passing. Within seconds it disappeared inside the dark forest. I stood at the window for some time in case it came back, but I saw and heard nothing more. I eventually returned to bed and to sleep.

   I've been meeting moose like this in the bush ever since I was a boy and every encounter has filled me with awe for the creature - as well as a healthy amount of fear. For an animal that eats leaves for a living, it can be awfully threatening. Moose can have really foul tempers and they are not to be messed with. In some ways bears are safer to meet as they are generally more predictable. You can challenge a bear with some success and even scare it away, but nothing scares a moose and you can't challenge one without it calling your bluff. A moose won't eat you, but it will surely attack you if it's in the mood, using its hooves and antlers to inflict a lot of damage. In that event, playing dead won't do a whole lot of good.

   Fortunately, I've always managed to stay on the good side of any moose I've come across and they've always left me in peace and in one piece, even when I wasn't sure they would. My very first face-to-face encounter could easily have ended badly for me, as there was a calf to be protected, but somehow my presence was forgiven. I was just an inexperienced 13-year-old at the time and when I heard something big coming through the forest towards me, I didn't know enough to be frightened. There was a horse farm nearby and so I wrongly assumed I was hearing someone riding between the trees. I didn't even stop walking towards the noise until its maker stepped into the clearing mere meters away. Towering over me was not a large horse, but an even larger moose. I stopped and the moose stopped at the exact same time and we just looked at each other for what felt like half an hour, but was probably less than a minute. I had no idea what to do, so I just froze in my spot and held my breath. The moose made the first move. It seemed to dismiss me as a threat, or as anything else of interest. It simply turned away and walked past me, merging back into the forest on the other side of the clearing. I could breathe again. My heart pounded with exhilaration as I watched it disappear and then I turned to continue my own walk - taking only two or three more steps before hearing another noise in front of me and seeing a second moose emerge from the greenery, even closer this time.

   This moose was smaller and I didn't have to look so far up to look into its eyes. We regarded each other with considerable surprise, but perhaps with a little less fear. After some moments it too continued on its way, passing me to follow its larger companion back out of the clearing. I waited exactly where I stood, listening intently in case more moose were about to appear, but I heard nothing and eventually went on my way as well.

   Since then (so long ago) I've mostly, but not exclusively, seen moose where most people tend to see them: on the sides of highways where they're hopefully just peacefully grazing, but from where they're sometimes unaccountably and dangerously running out into traffic - often with fatal results for both moose and driver. The first case is obviously preferable to the latter, but neither is ideal for appreciating the animal - not unless you're interested in how one reacts to a crowd of camera-wielding tourists. Roads may have been built through moose country, but a road itself is alien territory and to see them there is to see them outside of their own world.

   My cabin, on the other hand, is in moose country - just as it's in bear country, wolf country and beaver country. There's no road nearby to disturb the surroundings with the rumble of traffic and there's no gasoline generator on site to foul the air and erase the quietude with a constant drone. Animals of many species often approach and even enter the site, but moose have by far been the most common - even outnumbering bears. Usually I just see single moose on their own, like when I heard a big splash in the nearby cove and watched a large male swim past the point only to climb back onto land again and shake himself dry like a dog, but one time a whole family lunched close across the bay, the calf and mare grazing along the shoreline while the bull pointedly watched me - making sure I didn't get up to any trouble, no doubt. The message his erect stance and direct gaze was delivering was clear. You're the visitor here, not me, his body language said. You can stay as long as you like, but remember: This is my country, not yours.

   It's a message I've heard before and will always respect. I won't argue with a big bull moose.