254 TWO DIANAS IN ALASKA 



more reminiscent of a person in the throes of mal-de- 

 mer than anything else. Steve had a way of hitting 

 the trees with a stick, which he said was in imitation 

 of the noise a bull moose makes as he thrashes the 

 willows with his antlers, preparatory to going for a 

 hated rival. 



Any sort of noise will bring up moose in this 

 strenuous season, and they have been known to come 

 right into camp, attracted by wood chopping. Still- 

 hunting for moose in the primeval forest, requiring 

 as it does knowledge of the habits of the quarry, skill, 

 finesse, endurance, and scheming, is surely one of the 

 most heart-gripping forms of stalking. I loved it, 

 and played the game to the top of my ability. 



I saw my first bull moose when out early with Steve 

 for guide. The forest seemed possessed, and as we 

 crept through it, in moccasined feet, eerie sounds of 

 moving moose met my listening ears. But I saw 

 nothing. Thrash ! Thrash ! A moose, with sharp 

 rattling noise, polishing his antlers. He gave a 

 coughing, panting roar, and it sang through the 

 woods. I crept on warily, praying that the wind 

 might be favourable. Alas I the unkind breezes 

 carried the warning, and I heard a crashing of the 

 undergrowth, a rush of galloping hooves striking the 

 dry ground. I moved on, and a short tour round 

 some fallen forest giants brought me to a bit of 

 thickly timbered country. A bull roared close to me, 

 so close indeed that we must be practically in each 

 other's presence. I could hear his quietest grunts 

 distinctly, and located him to a nicety by them. I 



