Moose on the loose
BY KAI EISELEIN
LatahEagle Editor
A young wayward moose kept Moscow students in class a little longer Thursday, February 29 until Moscow police and a Fish and Game officer herded the animal away from Moscow Junior High.
The moose was first spotted on north Garfield Street shortly after 2 p.m. and police found the animal a short time later wandering along east E Street. Using a cruiser, an officer tried to herd the animal away from the parking lot between the junior high and the district offices, but the moose turned and trotted westward along the fence, toward the center of town. It tried to turn and go through the gate into the east parking lot of the school, but another police car sped to the gate and blocked its path. The moose eventually wandered into the backyard of a residence, where it kept a wary eye on a gathering crowd of neighbors snapping photos and officers blocking the street.
In a Mexican standoff with the moose and unsure about how safely get it out of town police called for an Idaho Fish and Game officer to come the scene, as luck would have it an officer was near the city and arrived within a few minutes.
After some discussion, the IDFG officer and police decided to try to herd the moose west, across Mountain View Road and out of town.
With a plan in place, the IDFG officer went behind the house and chased the moose out of the yard. At first it went north, across E Street, then decided to trot west along E instead with a police cruiser, the IDFG officer and a Moscow animal control officer in hot pursuit.
They eventually got the animal turned around and headed in the right direction; it rambled through a few backyards and ran across east F Street, nearly bowling over a newspaper photographer before heading towards Mountain View Road, which had been closed off. With a few twists and turns, officers eventually got the animal across the road and out of town near Mountain View Park about an hour after the moose was first spotted.
Worried about children being let out of school with the animal so close, MPD asked the district to keep the junior high students inside until the animal was safely away. Since the school busses all run on the same schedule, the district kept students throughout the district for an extra 15 minutes.
While moose may look relatively harmless, they, like other animals may attack when cornered. When they do, they use their hooves and size to stomp their target. A single blow from a kick can be fatal. Although rare, people have been killed as a result of a moose attack.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
moose vs grizzles: the eternal struggle
A Conversation With Joel Berger
When Grizzlies Ruin Eden, Moose Take to the Road
M. Scott Moon/The Pennsylvania Clarion, via Associated Press
ROAD HAVEN Studying prey-predator relationships, Joel Berger has noticed that each year, moose in Grand Teton National Park move closer to the road to calve.
Joel Berger, 56, is a specialist in ungulates, hoofed mammals that, in general, walk on the tips of their toes to sustain their body weight. His investigations into the behavior and habits of rhinoceros, bison, pronghorn sheep and moose have been used to find ways to preserve them and their environments.
Skip to next paragraph
Enlarge This Image
Tom Bauer for The New York Times
'We think that the Grand Teton moose have figured out a way to use humans as shields for their babies.' - Joel Berger.
On a recent visit to New York City, Dr. Berger, a professor at the University of Montana and senior scientist with the Wildlife Conservation Society, drew a photograph from his wallet of a saiga, a smiling Mongolian antelope that looks as if it is equal parts camel and deer.
“This is my latest campaign,” he said. “Most of them were wiped out by hunters when the cold war ended. Now, the Mongolian government is trying to help them make a comeback, and we’re helping figure out their migratory routes. Isn’t she worth saving?”
An edited version of a two-hour interview and a subsequent telephone conversation follows:
Q. O.K., why did the moose go down to the road?
A. If she’s a native of the greater Yellowstone ecosystem and she’s pregnant, she may have done it because she wanted to give birth in a place where one of her main predators, the grizzly bear, rarely goes.
Grizzlies tend to avoid humans. In the part of Yellowstone that I’ve been studying this past decade, the Grand Teton National Park, grizzlies don’t go near the roads because they know that’s where the humans and cars are.
I collar and track moose as part of my wider research on prey-predator relationships. For the past 10 years, we’ve noticed that Grand Teton moose are, each year, moving about 375 feet closer to the roads when they are about to calve. We think they are doing it because they’ve figured out that the paved road is a bear-free zone where their newborns stand a better chance of survival. Up in Alaska, grizzly bears have been observed killing between 50 and 90 percent of the newborn moose population. We think that the Grand Teton moose have figured out a way to use humans as shields for their babies.
Q. Is this a new behavior for them?
A. It’s recent. Until the mid-1990s, the moose of the Yellowstone basin lived in a kind of moose paradise, without predators. The wolves had all been shot out about 70 years earlier. Grizzly bears were heavily hunted, and there were few of them. Without their traditional predators, Grand Teton moose were docile, naïve.
That all changed in the mid-1990s when the grizzlies rebounded because of a ban on their hunt and when wolves were reintroduced to the Yellowstone region. The first Grand Teton moose to encounter a wolf probably thought it was nothing more than a big coyote, which she didn’t fear. We reconstructed the interaction from tracks we found in the snow. From what we could see, the wolves just walked up to the moose and grabbed her 300 pound calf and ate it.
Grand Teton moose have learned a lot since then. Most of us think of moose as these dim lumbering Bullwinkles, but they figure things out. Today, if I were to play wolf calls over a loudspeaker to a herd in the park, they’d become vigilant — and they’d move away.
Q. Isn’t this just moose instinct at work?
A. No. They didn’t do it 15 years ago.
Q. Why did you once dress up as a moose?
A. Legitimate scientific inquiry. We wanted to see how the Grand Teton moose reacted to the smell of bear scat. In Alaska, where the moose are very bear-savvy, if they smell it, they’ll manifest fear. But what about “naïve” moose? Well, you can’t just go up to moose and put odiferous bear poop patties before them. The outfit — and a tactic of acting like a moose — was a way of getting in close. We only did this perhaps four times, but I’ll never live it down. The media made a big deal of it. Letterman wanted me on his show. We didn’t go.
Q. How did your guys react to the bear patties?
A. At that time, bears hadn’t been that much of a danger to them. And so they mostly ignored it. But within one moose generation, really only a few years, they started to wise up.
When Grizzlies Ruin Eden, Moose Take to the Road
M. Scott Moon/The Pennsylvania Clarion, via Associated Press
ROAD HAVEN Studying prey-predator relationships, Joel Berger has noticed that each year, moose in Grand Teton National Park move closer to the road to calve.
Joel Berger, 56, is a specialist in ungulates, hoofed mammals that, in general, walk on the tips of their toes to sustain their body weight. His investigations into the behavior and habits of rhinoceros, bison, pronghorn sheep and moose have been used to find ways to preserve them and their environments.
Skip to next paragraph
Enlarge This Image
Tom Bauer for The New York Times
'We think that the Grand Teton moose have figured out a way to use humans as shields for their babies.' - Joel Berger.
On a recent visit to New York City, Dr. Berger, a professor at the University of Montana and senior scientist with the Wildlife Conservation Society, drew a photograph from his wallet of a saiga, a smiling Mongolian antelope that looks as if it is equal parts camel and deer.
“This is my latest campaign,” he said. “Most of them were wiped out by hunters when the cold war ended. Now, the Mongolian government is trying to help them make a comeback, and we’re helping figure out their migratory routes. Isn’t she worth saving?”
An edited version of a two-hour interview and a subsequent telephone conversation follows:
Q. O.K., why did the moose go down to the road?
A. If she’s a native of the greater Yellowstone ecosystem and she’s pregnant, she may have done it because she wanted to give birth in a place where one of her main predators, the grizzly bear, rarely goes.
Grizzlies tend to avoid humans. In the part of Yellowstone that I’ve been studying this past decade, the Grand Teton National Park, grizzlies don’t go near the roads because they know that’s where the humans and cars are.
I collar and track moose as part of my wider research on prey-predator relationships. For the past 10 years, we’ve noticed that Grand Teton moose are, each year, moving about 375 feet closer to the roads when they are about to calve. We think they are doing it because they’ve figured out that the paved road is a bear-free zone where their newborns stand a better chance of survival. Up in Alaska, grizzly bears have been observed killing between 50 and 90 percent of the newborn moose population. We think that the Grand Teton moose have figured out a way to use humans as shields for their babies.
Q. Is this a new behavior for them?
A. It’s recent. Until the mid-1990s, the moose of the Yellowstone basin lived in a kind of moose paradise, without predators. The wolves had all been shot out about 70 years earlier. Grizzly bears were heavily hunted, and there were few of them. Without their traditional predators, Grand Teton moose were docile, naïve.
That all changed in the mid-1990s when the grizzlies rebounded because of a ban on their hunt and when wolves were reintroduced to the Yellowstone region. The first Grand Teton moose to encounter a wolf probably thought it was nothing more than a big coyote, which she didn’t fear. We reconstructed the interaction from tracks we found in the snow. From what we could see, the wolves just walked up to the moose and grabbed her 300 pound calf and ate it.
Grand Teton moose have learned a lot since then. Most of us think of moose as these dim lumbering Bullwinkles, but they figure things out. Today, if I were to play wolf calls over a loudspeaker to a herd in the park, they’d become vigilant — and they’d move away.
Q. Isn’t this just moose instinct at work?
A. No. They didn’t do it 15 years ago.
Q. Why did you once dress up as a moose?
A. Legitimate scientific inquiry. We wanted to see how the Grand Teton moose reacted to the smell of bear scat. In Alaska, where the moose are very bear-savvy, if they smell it, they’ll manifest fear. But what about “naïve” moose? Well, you can’t just go up to moose and put odiferous bear poop patties before them. The outfit — and a tactic of acting like a moose — was a way of getting in close. We only did this perhaps four times, but I’ll never live it down. The media made a big deal of it. Letterman wanted me on his show. We didn’t go.
Q. How did your guys react to the bear patties?
A. At that time, bears hadn’t been that much of a danger to them. And so they mostly ignored it. But within one moose generation, really only a few years, they started to wise up.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Canada
....
You are the paddle, the snowshoe, the cabin in the pines.
You are Jean de Brebeuf with his martyr’s necklace of hatchet heads.
You are the moose in the clearing and the moosehead on the wall.
You are the rapids, the propeller, the kerosene lamp.
You are the dust that coats the roadside berries.
But not only that.
You are the two boys with pails walking along that road,
and one of them, the taller one minus the straw hat, is me.
Billy Collins
You are the paddle, the snowshoe, the cabin in the pines.
You are Jean de Brebeuf with his martyr’s necklace of hatchet heads.
You are the moose in the clearing and the moosehead on the wall.
You are the rapids, the propeller, the kerosene lamp.
You are the dust that coats the roadside berries.
But not only that.
You are the two boys with pails walking along that road,
and one of them, the taller one minus the straw hat, is me.
Billy Collins
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Mooses Come Walking
Mooses come walking over the hill
Mooses come walking, they rarely stand still
When mooses come walking they go where they will
When mooses come walking over the hill
Mooses look into your window at night
They look to the left and they look to the right
The mooses are smiling, they think it's a zoo
And that's why the mooses like looking at you
So, if you see mooses while lying in bed
It's best to just stay there pretending you're dead
The mooses will leave and you'll get the thrill
Of seeing the mooses go over the hill
Arlo Guthrie
Mooses come walking, they rarely stand still
When mooses come walking they go where they will
When mooses come walking over the hill
Mooses look into your window at night
They look to the left and they look to the right
The mooses are smiling, they think it's a zoo
And that's why the mooses like looking at you
So, if you see mooses while lying in bed
It's best to just stay there pretending you're dead
The mooses will leave and you'll get the thrill
Of seeing the mooses go over the hill
Arlo Guthrie
Sleep and Poetry
WHAT is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia’s countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty’s tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.
John Keats
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia’s countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty’s tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.
John Keats
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Lucy
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove;
A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, O!
The difference to me!
William Wordsworth
Beside the springs of Dove;
A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, O!
The difference to me!
William Wordsworth
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Moose
by Elizabeth Bishop, For Grace Bulmer Bowers
From narrow provinces
of fish and bread and tea,
home of the long tides
where the bay leaves the sea
twice a day and takes
the herrings long rides,
where if the river
enters or retreats
in a wall of brown foam
depends on if it meets
the bay coming in,
the bay not at home;
where, silted red,
sometimes the sun sets
facing a red sea,
and others, veins the flats'
lavender, rich mud
in burning rivulets;
on red, gravelly roads,
down rows of sugar maples,
past clapboard farmhouses
and neat, clapboard churches,
bleached, ridged as clamshells,
past twin silver birches,
through late afternoon
a bus journeys west,
the windshield flashing pink,
pink glancing off of metal,
brushing the dented flank
of blue, beat-up enamel;
down hollows, up rises,
and waits, patient, while
a lone traveller gives
kisses and embraces
to seven relatives
and a collie supervises.
Goodbye to the elms,
to the farm, to the dog.
The bus starts. The light
grows richer; the fog,
shifting, salty, thin,
comes closing in.
Its cold, round crystals
form and slide and settle
in the white hens' feathers,
in gray glazed cabbages,
on the cabbage roses
and lupins like apostles;
the sweet peas cling
to their wet white string
on the whitewashed fences;
bumblebees creep
inside the foxgloves,
and evening commences.
One stop at Bass River.
Then the Economies
Lower, Middle, Upper;
Islands, Five Houses,
where a woman shakes a tablecloth
out after supper.
A pale flickering. Gone.
The Tantramar marshes
and the smell of salt hay.
An iron bridge trembles
and a loose plank rattles
but doesn't give way.
On the left, a red light
swims through the dark:
a ship's port lantern.
Two rubber boots show,
illuminated, solemn.
A dog gives one bark.
A woman climbs in
with two market bags,
brisk, freckled, elderly.
"A grand night. Yes, sir,
all the way to Boston."
She regards us amicably.
Moonlight as we enter
the New Brunswick woods,
hairy, scratchy, splintery;
moonlight and mist
caught in them like lamb's wool
on bushes in a pasture.
The passengers lie back.
Snores. Some long sighs.
A dreamy divagation
begins in the night,
a gentle, auditory,
slow hallucination. . . .
In the creakings and noises,
an old conversation
--not concerning us,
but recognizable, somewhere,
back in the bus:
Grandparents' voices
uninterruptedly
talking, in Eternity:
names being mentioned,
things cleared up finally;
what he said, what she said,
who got pensioned;
deaths, deaths and sicknesses;
the year he remarried;
the year (something) happened.
She died in childbirth.
That was the son lost
when the schooner foundered.
He took to drink. Yes.
She went to the bad.
When Amos began to pray
even in the store and
finally the family had
to put him away.
"Yes . . ." that peculiar
affirmative. "Yes . . ."
A sharp, indrawn breath,
half groan, half acceptance,
that means "Life's like that.
We know it (also death)."
Talking the way they talked
in the old featherbed,
peacefully, on and on,
dim lamplight in the hall,
down in the kitchen, the dog
tucked in her shawl.
Now, it's all right now
even to fall asleep
just as on all those nights.
--Suddenly the bus driver
stops with a jolt,
turns off his lights.
A moose has come out of
the impenetrable wood
and stands there, looms, rather,
in the middle of the road.
It approaches; it sniffs at
the bus's hot hood.
Towering, antlerless,
high as a church,
homely as a house
(or, safe as houses).
A man's voice assures us
"Perfectly harmless. . . ."
Some of the passengers
exclaim in whispers,
childishly, softly,
"Sure are big creatures."
"It's awful plain."
"Look! It's a she!"
Taking her time,
she looks the bus over,
grand, otherworldly.
Why, why do we feel
(we all feel) this sweet
sensation of joy?
"Curious creatures,"
says our quiet driver,
rolling his r's.
"Look at that, would you."
Then he shifts gears.
For a moment longer,
by craning backward,
the moose can be seen
on the moonlit macadam;
then there's a dim
smell of moose, an acrid
smell of gasoline.
From narrow provinces
of fish and bread and tea,
home of the long tides
where the bay leaves the sea
twice a day and takes
the herrings long rides,
where if the river
enters or retreats
in a wall of brown foam
depends on if it meets
the bay coming in,
the bay not at home;
where, silted red,
sometimes the sun sets
facing a red sea,
and others, veins the flats'
lavender, rich mud
in burning rivulets;
on red, gravelly roads,
down rows of sugar maples,
past clapboard farmhouses
and neat, clapboard churches,
bleached, ridged as clamshells,
past twin silver birches,
through late afternoon
a bus journeys west,
the windshield flashing pink,
pink glancing off of metal,
brushing the dented flank
of blue, beat-up enamel;
down hollows, up rises,
and waits, patient, while
a lone traveller gives
kisses and embraces
to seven relatives
and a collie supervises.
Goodbye to the elms,
to the farm, to the dog.
The bus starts. The light
grows richer; the fog,
shifting, salty, thin,
comes closing in.
Its cold, round crystals
form and slide and settle
in the white hens' feathers,
in gray glazed cabbages,
on the cabbage roses
and lupins like apostles;
the sweet peas cling
to their wet white string
on the whitewashed fences;
bumblebees creep
inside the foxgloves,
and evening commences.
One stop at Bass River.
Then the Economies
Lower, Middle, Upper;
Islands, Five Houses,
where a woman shakes a tablecloth
out after supper.
A pale flickering. Gone.
The Tantramar marshes
and the smell of salt hay.
An iron bridge trembles
and a loose plank rattles
but doesn't give way.
On the left, a red light
swims through the dark:
a ship's port lantern.
Two rubber boots show,
illuminated, solemn.
A dog gives one bark.
A woman climbs in
with two market bags,
brisk, freckled, elderly.
"A grand night. Yes, sir,
all the way to Boston."
She regards us amicably.
Moonlight as we enter
the New Brunswick woods,
hairy, scratchy, splintery;
moonlight and mist
caught in them like lamb's wool
on bushes in a pasture.
The passengers lie back.
Snores. Some long sighs.
A dreamy divagation
begins in the night,
a gentle, auditory,
slow hallucination. . . .
In the creakings and noises,
an old conversation
--not concerning us,
but recognizable, somewhere,
back in the bus:
Grandparents' voices
uninterruptedly
talking, in Eternity:
names being mentioned,
things cleared up finally;
what he said, what she said,
who got pensioned;
deaths, deaths and sicknesses;
the year he remarried;
the year (something) happened.
She died in childbirth.
That was the son lost
when the schooner foundered.
He took to drink. Yes.
She went to the bad.
When Amos began to pray
even in the store and
finally the family had
to put him away.
"Yes . . ." that peculiar
affirmative. "Yes . . ."
A sharp, indrawn breath,
half groan, half acceptance,
that means "Life's like that.
We know it (also death)."
Talking the way they talked
in the old featherbed,
peacefully, on and on,
dim lamplight in the hall,
down in the kitchen, the dog
tucked in her shawl.
Now, it's all right now
even to fall asleep
just as on all those nights.
--Suddenly the bus driver
stops with a jolt,
turns off his lights.
A moose has come out of
the impenetrable wood
and stands there, looms, rather,
in the middle of the road.
It approaches; it sniffs at
the bus's hot hood.
Towering, antlerless,
high as a church,
homely as a house
(or, safe as houses).
A man's voice assures us
"Perfectly harmless. . . ."
Some of the passengers
exclaim in whispers,
childishly, softly,
"Sure are big creatures."
"It's awful plain."
"Look! It's a she!"
Taking her time,
she looks the bus over,
grand, otherworldly.
Why, why do we feel
(we all feel) this sweet
sensation of joy?
"Curious creatures,"
says our quiet driver,
rolling his r's.
"Look at that, would you."
Then he shifts gears.
For a moment longer,
by craning backward,
the moose can be seen
on the moonlit macadam;
then there's a dim
smell of moose, an acrid
smell of gasoline.
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