AN EVENING CALL IN MOOSE LAND. 
By J. W. Hunt. 
A day’s drive from the railway, a day’s walk over a seldom-trodden trail through the 
great woods, an hour’s paddle in a birch bark canoe, and we are at home in our 
shack of rough spruce slabs in the heart of the New Brunswick forest, unimvited guests 
in the land of the mighty moose;, some with rifle, bent only on slaying; some with 
camera, devotees of that most fascinating of chases, the snap-shotting of wild animals ; 
some with nothing save the sheer love of nature, asking only the privilege of looking 
on at the hfe of the creatures of the woods. It is September and the “calling season,” 
when the ox-like moose is found in the “bogans” or backwaters where, at nightfall, 
they come in sociable couples to drink and nibble the tender aquatic plants. Although 
possessed of remarkably keen scent and acute hearing, the sight of the moose is com- 
paratively defective, so that if they do not get the wind of the intruders they approach 
within a few yards of our canoe, lurking in the shadows. We take up our station an 
hour before sundown and, by means of a megaphone of birch bark, imitate the call 
of the cow moose. Beginning with a low, plaintive, whimpering note it swells to a 
resonant bellow as the animal, raising its head skyward, puts the full strength of its 
lungs into the summons to its mate. And so exactly does the expert caller reproduce 
this ery, so skilfully manipulate his bark horn to attam the effect of the animal’s 
tossing head when it sends its crescendo through the night, that often, listening to 
the moose horn and the call of the animal itself from a neighbourmg shallow, I have 
been unable to distinguish the real from the imitation. It is fascinating music, heard 
reverberating through the forest-clad hills as you sit silent, motionless, pipeless, hour 
after hour far into the frosty night. 
And what a rapturous thrill when it is 
effective! Far away up in the woods you 
hear an answering grunt in the far-reaching 
bass of the bull moose; or perhaps the 
resounding thwack of his huge horns 
against a tree as he hurries down, announces 
his approach. At last the splash of his 
huge body as he takes the water far to 
leeward of where he has located the call. 
We have, however, guarded against this 
characteristic precaution of the moose by 
drawing aside whence the scent may not 
be carried to the four-footed gentleman 
we have come to see as he splashes up 
wind through the shallows. For a moment 
he pauses, uneasy at the silence of the 
comrade he has come to seek; but a 
cautious ventriloquial effort by the caller, 
a pecuhar whining grunt, sets him again 
in motion until he stands revealed in a 
patch of moonlight, majestic in his great 
size and spreading antlers, his brown coat 
touched to silver. Then—a trick of the 
a 2 ee : & i & 6 
Pholograph by Wm. Rau, Philadelphia wind—our presence is betrayed. With a 
A YOUNG MOOSB. snort of rage he beats the water with 
