Moose 
tree, as high as a man’s shoulder, he does not jump it, but 
simply steps over without changing his gait. 
In winter the moose keep to the hilly woods in the cover 
of the evergreens and live by browsing on green wood and 
moss and the resinous foliage of the evergreens. When the 
snow gets so deep as to hinder their progress, they tramp 
irregular paths, forming a sort of labyrinth over several acres, 
making what is known as a ‘‘moose yard,” where they pass 
the hardest part of the winter, sometimes several families together. 
As food gets scarce and hard to reach, they extend their 
yards by breaking new paths through the snow, but are often 
reduced to short commons before the winter is over. At the 
approach of warm weather they move down to the swamps and 
lake-side, where they browse on willow, striped maple, birch, 
etc.; in order to get at the upper branches of a sapling they 
will rear up against it and bend it down with their weight. 
In summer they live largely on lily roots and succulent water- 
plants, wading and running out into the lakes and feeding with 
their heads partly immersed in the water. During the rutting 
season, which occurs in the autumn, the old bulls become savage 
and fearless, roaming the forest on moonlight nights, whistling 
and calling fiercely and clashing their antlers against trees as a 
challenge. The cow moose answers with a lower call, which 
the hunters imitate through birch-bark trumpets, in order to call 
the bull within gunshot. 
When enticed in this manner, the bull is likely to come 
upon the hunter with a blind rush, and in the darkness of the 
wood the hunter, whose nerves are liable to fail him at a pinch, 
may find this sort of sport exciting, but not altogether safe. 
The fawns who are born in early summer stay with their 
mothers for two or three years before they wander off to seek 
mates for themselves. It is said that they do not get their full 
growth until they are fourteen or fifteen years old and, if they 
escape a violent death, live to a great age. 
Of one of the strongholds of the moose in the East, Frederic 
Irland writes: ‘‘The camp was on the Crooked Deadwater by 
the side of a beautiful stream at the head of a great river. Just across 
the narrow waterway one of the grandest mountains in New 
Brunswick rises sheer and dark, a great pyramid of eternal ver- 
dure, which in the winter is the feeding ground of hundreds of 
44 
