The moose feeds chiefly on the leaves of young shoots and bushes, or the smaller trees—the red and other maples, the white birch, the balsam, fur, poplar, and mountain ash; and occasionally, as has been said, on the roots of the yellow pond-lily, with a bite now and then at a tussock of broad-leaved grass growing in the dried bogs. To get at the foliage beyond the reach of his muzzle, he frequently charges a young tree and rides it down, till he has brought the tempting leaves within his reach.
The horns of the animal begin to sprout in April, the old pair having fallen some time before. In the middle of this month the coat is shed, when the animal for some time afterwards presents a very rugged appearance. The cow towards the end of May produces one or two calves, generally near the margin of a lake, or in one of the densely-wooded islands, where they are secure from the attacks of the bull moose, who, cruel tyrant that he is, often destroys them. Rarely more than two are born at a time.
Besides its human foes, the moose is attacked occasionally by the bear. Captain Hardy describes coming upon the traces of a recent struggle between a young moose and one of these animals. “The bear had evidently stolen through the long grass upon the moose, and had taken him at a disadvantage in the treacherous bog. The grass was very much beaten down, and deep furrows in the soil below showed how energetically the unfortunate moose had striven to escape from his powerful assailant. There was a broad track plentifully strewed with moose hair, showing how the moose had struggled with the bear, to the wood, where, no doubt, the affair ended, and the bear dined.”
As the winter approaches, the cows, with the young bulls and calves, congregate in small parties on the open “barrens” and hill-sides. When the snow comes thickly down, they form what is called a yard; and in Canada, where its depth is very great, they have to remain in it during the whole winter, feeding round the area on the young wood of deciduous trees. In Nova Scotia, however, they migrate to other localities when they have consumed the more tempting portions of food in the yard. In the morning and afternoon they are found feeding, or chewing the cud; but at noon, when they lie down, they are difficult to approach, as they are then on the alert, employing their wonderful faculties of scent and hearing to detect the faintest taint or sound in the air, which might indicate the approach of danger. The snapping of a little twig, the least collision of a rifle with a branch, or crunching of the snow under the mocassins, will suffice to arouse them. Curiously enough, however, they are not alarmed by any sound, even the loudest, to which they have been accustomed. The hunter has, therefore, to approach the yard with the greatest possible caution, in order to get a shot.
We will, however, start off on a moose hunt, in autumn, with a practical Indian hunter. The air of the autumnal night is frosty and bracing. The moose are moving rapidly from place to place. Night is drawing on. The last fluttering of the aspens dying away, leaves that perfect repose in the air which is so necessary to the sport. The moon rises, shedding a broad and silvery light through the forest. Mysterious sounds greet our ears. The Indian hunter is provided with his trumpet of birch-bark, in the form of a cone, about two feet in length. He shelters himself behind the edge of the banks, a clump of bushes, or rocks; and now he emits the cry of the cow moose, so exactly, that the male animal is easily deceived by it. He waits: there is no response. An interval of fifteen minutes elapses; still no reply is heard. Again the Indian sends his wild cry pealing through the wood. Presently a low grunt, quickly repeated, comes from some distant hill; and the snapping of branches and falling trees attests the approach of the bull. The hunter is now doubly careful; kneeling down, and thrusting the mouth of his call into some bushes close by, he utters a lower and more plaintive sound. At length an answer reaches his ears. The snapping of the branches is resumed; and presently the moose is seen stalking into the middle of the moonlit “barren.” Our weapons are ready; and as the magnificent animal stands looking eagerly around in the woodland amphitheatre, a rifle ball, laden with death, brings him to the ground.
In some districts the Indians employ another method of calling. They conceal themselves in a swamp, in the midst of some damp mossy valley, during a dark night. One holds a torch of birch-bark with a match ready for lighting. The hunter calls, and the moose approaches more readily than towards the open “barren.” When the creature is within distance of the deadly rifle, the match is applied to the torch, which, flaring up, illuminates the swamp, and discovers the startled moose standing amidst the trees, and incapable apparently of flight. The Indians declare that he is fascinated by the light; and though he may walk round and round it, he will not leave the spot, and thus presents an easy mark to the hunter’s rifle.
Let us set forth on an expedition to “creep” moose, which may be described as a similar mode of hunting to stalking. The ground we select is among the “barrens” before described. It is strewed with dead trees in all directions, amid which briars and bushes have grown up, and conceal their sharp, broken limbs, and the rough granite rocks scattered in all directions. Here, collecting wood for burning, we form our camp, and sit round the blazing fire, on which a well-filled frying-pan is hissing, while we are covered by our blankets to protect ourselves from the pattering rain-drops. Our suppers over, we stretch ourselves for repose, and gradually fall asleep, as the snapping of the logs on the fire, the pattering of the rain, and the hootings of the owls in the distant forest become less and less distinct. Our Indian brings us notice in the morning that two moose have passed close to the camp during the night. However, in spite of the plaintive call from the treacherous bark trumpet, they will not approach, having been forewarned of danger by the smell of our camp-fire. We make our way amid the bushes, already leafless, except that here and there are seen bunches of dwarf maples with a few scarlet leaves of autumn still clinging to them. Presently our companion whispers, “Down—sink down! slow—like me!” A magnificent bull appears about five hundred yards off. The wind is blowing from him to us. The Indian utters the usual call; but the moose does not answer, having already a companion close at hand. Presently he lies down in the bushes, and we worm ourselves slowly and laboriously towards the edge of the alder swamp. Gently lowering ourselves into the swamp, we creep noiselessly through the dense bushes, their thick foliage closing over our heads. It is an anxious moment!—the slightest snapping of a bough, the knocking of a gun-barrel against a stem, and the game is off. “We must
go back,” whispers the Indian. “Cannot get near enough on this side. Too open!” The difficult task of retreating is performed without disturbing the moose. Another half-hour is then employed in creeping like snakes through the wet bushes. At length, as we reach the edge of the swamp, the great animal rises directly facing us, gazing steadily towards us. We fire. A headlong stagger follows the report; and the creature, turning round, is hidden from sight behind a clump of bushes. The Indian at the same time fires at a large cow moose who has, unknown to us, been lying close to the bull. We dash forward a few paces. On the other side the great bull suddenly rises in front of us and strides on into thicker covert. Another shot, and he sinks lifeless at our feet.
The Cariboo, or Reindeer.