How to share space. With a moose

November 15, 2025

Nov 15, 2025

“Are we good?” I had to ask.

There’s something special about living in a city where, as likely as not, a moose will eventually visit your block. I see them often enough, within walking distance of our bustling downtown, to wonder how many we don’t see. They’re well camouflaged and they don’t make much noise, unless of course they’re agitated. I know, from experience, that a spun up moose will get your adrenaline flowing. I’ve seen them lower their heads and charge dogs. There’s something about the snort and speed of 1,000+ lbs. of ungulate that you don’t need a notebook to remember.

That said, I enjoy the opportunities to photograph them. An obvious first step is to make sure I have an escape route if the large animal is having a bad day, or has a calf nearby. But this is not always possible in a thicket where line of sight is minimal.

There’s a pond I visit on the flanks of Palisades Park where uncommon birds will drop in from time-to-time. I was there, one morning, with camera, trying to photograph yellow-headed blackbirds. A thick pine had fallen into the marsh and it offered a natural balance beam out into the reeds where I could be closer to the noisy, colorful birds. I had seen a rare Virginia Rail from the same spot not long before.

I was sitting, straddling the big log when I heard a loud crash in the thicket behind me, over my right shoulder. Without even looking I knew it had to be a moose. I was careful not to react quickly as I had nowhere to go. After the initial crash I turned ever-so-slowly toward the noise to better assess my predicament. As I was turning my head slowly to the right, the moose was turning his slowly to the left. We made eye contact, and stared at each other for a few seconds. “Are we good?” my eyes asked. He seemed puzzled at first, but relaxed. I raised my camera and took this picture.

After a few minutes, he turned and walked backwards into the grove of aspen that wraps around the east side of the pond. I followed at a safe distance, as he moved through the grove munching. From time to time he would pop his head up or out of the foliage, as if he were playing peek-a-boo. I could only laugh, and not push my luck.

Brian

I was introduced to Brian by a hiker who noticed I was carrying a camera. She gave me general directions and, sure enough, there he was, not standing but squatting and munching amid birdsong and blooming balsamroot. I took a few photos and then the video below, a little shaky for sure since I was using a 400 mm lens and hadn’t brought my tripod.

It was the first of several encounters, including one in dense thicket where he grunted loudly enough to let me know he was only a few feet away. My pulse doubled instantly.

Brian also swims where I swim, in the river downstream from the Meenach bridge, so I make sure when I’m swimming parallel to the bank to make sure I don’t freestyle right into him. I’ve missed him, this year, as I have been recovering from knee surgery.

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