Close Encounters with Moose

Hugginin Cove, Isle Royale 2022

My sleepy brain registered the snap of twigs and muffled crunch of lichen. The sounds came at predictable intervals, every few seconds, a gentle plodding. Then a snort. As my mind cleared, I peered through my hammock’s bug net, looking under the edge of my rain tarp. In the pre-dawn twilight, my eyes struggled to focus. The sounds of movement came again, and a silhouette emerged: four tall legs moving parallel to the tree trunks. I scooted a little lower in my hammock and saw the whole animal: a bull moose grazing the vegetation around our campsite. It was so close that I could hear it chewing, and the inhale and exhale of its breath. 

My two backpacking buddies were still asleep in their tents, gently snoring and murmuring every so often. Should I try to wake them? How, without startling the moose, which was way too close according to the safety guidelines described at the orientation by the park rangers?

“Robin! Nicole! Wake up! There’s a moose in our campsite!” I hissed. They continued to sleep, while the moose turned its head in my direction, then resumed grazing. I chose to simply experience the moment, rather than continuing to try to wake my friends, watching this huge creature amble around, eating, occasionally tilting its head to free its ridiculously giant antlers from a branch or vine. 

I began to hear more steps from the hill above our campsite–another moose was making its way toward us. Again, the spindly legs were the first thing that came into my view, as a cow moose meandered down the path, stopping near where I had tied my hiking shoes to a tree branch to dry out beyond the reach of mischievous foxes. My companions still slept as the cow moose began to forage, stepping between my hammock and their tents.

I lay back in my hammock, watching through the gap between my hammock edge and rain tarp as the two moose continued to roam along, chewing, sometimes grunting, as though in pleasure eating or maybe as a warning to each other not to crowd their space. I was caught in a sublime moment of exhilaration, seeing these massive creatures in this breath-taking landscape, wondering if I was a fool for entering their world, feeling small in the presence of their size and strength. 

As the moose gradually moved away from camp, down toward Hugginin Cove, I dozed back off to sleep, and when I later woke to the full sunrise, it seemed the encounter had been a beautiful yet somewhat terrifying dream.

(This essay originally appeared in The Walloon Writers Review, 8th Edition, available in Northern Michigan bookstores.)

Sunset at Hugginin Cove

My hammock set up on the trip: Dream Hammock Sparrow, Eno Profly tarp, and Hammock Gear under and top quilts. I took this selfie the afternoon before the moose encounter in this location.