My friends Tom and Mimi say that's how they call moose in Alaska. I don't know if it works as well here in the Tetons, for it was never needed: there were enough sightings of these ginormous deer to keep people flocking and cameras clicking all over the park. In Europe, moose are called elk; I wonder what they call what we call elk, then...moose?
The Gros Ventre river, which runs behind the campground. A prime hangout for moose.
And here comes one, now--a special treat, since I'm the only one out this far to keep her company. You're supposed to keep a good distance from wildlife, so I stayed down on the river-rock ravine while she moseyed (mooseyed?) along the upper embankment. She knew I was there, but seemed unperturbed enough (and no baby around) that I just quietly backed off a little and let her decide the safe distance. I eventually sat down at the end of the rock swath (a dry creek bed that nearly flooded its banks a week later) and stayed very still, waiting for what would happen next.
She was the same old girl we saw at the unoccupied part of the campground a couple of days ago. Ms. Moose ambled and munched her way down to the river, drank a sip, took a pee in another spot, sloshed through the river in a large arc around me,...
...and stopped at the other side of the bank to keep browsing across the little stream. We were about 30 feet apart and both just hanging out in the morning sun.
Looking at her devolving winter coat, I could understand why a popular restaurant in Jackson is called The Mangy Moose.
After another twenty minutes in each other's company, Ms. Moose wandered away, and I went back to camp feeling very honored and peaceful for the personal encounter.
As Ken had predicted, other moose greeted us on the occasional morning right by our campsite. That's Ken's car in the foreground. He often spotted them in the far woods while he rode his lifecycle outside the rig.
Watch your step...moose poop is everywhere.
A moose and baby we saw from the road en route to Gros Ventre Slide, a huge mudslide that happened years ago and that has left a bowl of a scar in the side of a mountain.
A rarer sighting--a young bull moose. He's at the back end of our campsite loop, on the path I usually took to the Gros Ventre river.
Note the other photographer moving in for a better shot. This moose had five people converging from both sides. I decided to stay farther back than the others to give him escape room if he wanted it, but Mr. Moose instead plopped down for a cud chew.
I sure could have gone for a foot-long telephoto lens at this moment...
The Gros Ventre river, which runs behind the campground. A prime hangout for moose.
And here comes one, now--a special treat, since I'm the only one out this far to keep her company. You're supposed to keep a good distance from wildlife, so I stayed down on the river-rock ravine while she moseyed (mooseyed?) along the upper embankment. She knew I was there, but seemed unperturbed enough (and no baby around) that I just quietly backed off a little and let her decide the safe distance. I eventually sat down at the end of the rock swath (a dry creek bed that nearly flooded its banks a week later) and stayed very still, waiting for what would happen next.
She was the same old girl we saw at the unoccupied part of the campground a couple of days ago. Ms. Moose ambled and munched her way down to the river, drank a sip, took a pee in another spot, sloshed through the river in a large arc around me,...
...and stopped at the other side of the bank to keep browsing across the little stream. We were about 30 feet apart and both just hanging out in the morning sun.
Looking at her devolving winter coat, I could understand why a popular restaurant in Jackson is called The Mangy Moose.
After another twenty minutes in each other's company, Ms. Moose wandered away, and I went back to camp feeling very honored and peaceful for the personal encounter.
As Ken had predicted, other moose greeted us on the occasional morning right by our campsite. That's Ken's car in the foreground. He often spotted them in the far woods while he rode his lifecycle outside the rig.
Watch your step...moose poop is everywhere.
A moose and baby we saw from the road en route to Gros Ventre Slide, a huge mudslide that happened years ago and that has left a bowl of a scar in the side of a mountain.
A rarer sighting--a young bull moose. He's at the back end of our campsite loop, on the path I usually took to the Gros Ventre river.
Note the other photographer moving in for a better shot. This moose had five people converging from both sides. I decided to stay farther back than the others to give him escape room if he wanted it, but Mr. Moose instead plopped down for a cud chew.
I sure could have gone for a foot-long telephoto lens at this moment...
