I actually have two stories about moose that are semi-amusing. Unfortunately, these both happened sans photos long ago.
1. On a trip to
Isle Royale (a god-forsaken, black-fly-infested spot on Lake Superior that tourists like for some reason) with my family long ago, we all hopped out, got bitten by lots of flies, and ascended the paths to the hotel they have there for tourists stupid enough to want to get eaten alive (seriously, this was my least-favorite excursion ever- the lowlight was a four-hour fishing expedition where we caught nothing, I got seasick, and biting flies attacked us the
entire time).
As we went up the pathway, suddenly, we found ourselves blocked by a moose calf. It was
only 4' high at the shoulder or so.
We all stood there, a bit confused, and the moose just stood there, blocking the way. Eventually my dad set his bag down, walked up to it and shouted while waving his arms (this is a universal technique for communication with large mammals, apparently). The moose looked at him slightly curiously, but didn't move. Dad then walked closer and slapped its rump while shouting "go", and, after a pause, it took this suggestion and wandered off the path. Then it tried wandering back into the path in the way of my mother, and Dad chased the animal through the woods off the path for about a hundred yards, shouting at it good-naturedly.
This was my first up-close encounter with moose, and what I mainly realized is that they aren't very bright... or they're majestically unconcerned with little beings. I guess it's optional; other than humans, pretty much nothing eats them unless they're sick or very young. Bears and big cats and wolves don't like messing with them much, and
Smilodon is long-gone.
2. A few years later, we were driving up the
ALCAN Highway (which is apparently more pleasant now than it was back then, because back then it was mile after dreary mile of rough, graveled road).
The campgrounds on the ALCAN back then were a really weird place; the population was maybe half Ultra Redneck, add a bunch of Dippy Hippies, mix in a tiny smatter of middle-class people Having An Adventure, usually young wealthy people without kids.
I don't think I've ever seen a crowd quite like that ever since. You'd see a dozen folks exit three beat-up aluminum-sided trailers and then they'd either set out a case of beer or improbably colorful tarps covered with Grateful Dead paisley right next to Range Rovers with a couple that looked like a
photo out of Lands End. Really, those groups had a lot more in common than not; they all liked beer, music around the campfire, getting up earlier than is natural, mean dogs and dirty children. The yuppies, naturally, kept to themselves unless they encountered others of their kind.
We rode our bikes in these places around out of sheer ennui; after 10 hours of nonstop gravel road, we were always a bit carsick and bored out of our minds (you can't even read on roads that bad, let alone play).
One evening, however, was interrupted by a full-grown moose cow. Fully 6' high at the shoulder, probably 1200 pounds of animal. She'd just casually wandered in, completely oblivious to all the humans making yapping noises around her. One of her calves wandered the periphery, so there were a lot of sudden cries from mothers to their kids to "get the heck away from her baby!", etc. I, of course, being dumb, was maybe 30 feet away from her, just sitting there on my janky Schwinn.
I'm still not quite what irked her- the humans yapping all around might have finally penetrated her skull, or maybe she'd just remembered which bog she was headed to next- but she suddenly made a turn and picked up speed, heading out of the camp. Problem was, there were three parked Harleys in her path, and me. Without even slowing down, she casually brushed against one of them and knocked them all on their sides before joining her calf and heading off. Thankfully, she passed 15 feet to my side on the way out, moving like an unstoppable force.
The Harley's owners, some tough-looking old guys who emerged from one of the agglomerations, laughed at their situation; luckily, these weren't giant Gold Wings and their saddlebags were off, so the damage done was relatively minor, other than needing to be put back on their kickstands. No blood was seen on the Harley, so everybody presumed the moose was unharmed by her misadventure. As for moose, that was the last time I saw one that close. In Alaska, I saw Kodiaks and elk and moose, but largely from safer distances or from within tour busses.
Anyhow, that's my moose story. I doubt I'll ever get around to seeing elephants or hippos in their natural environment, but moose are pretty impressive, in a sort of dull, mountainous way. You definitely get the impression that they simply don't give a hoot about humans, unlike all the apex carnivores. I've known a couple of people who've shot them, and apparently, moose isn't all that great to eat (imagine tough, gamey deer with very little flavorful fat, and that's moose) but apparently
they're considered an important hunting species to manage, and one hopes that
climate change doesn't erase them, so that tomorrow's kids may enjoy their majesty, if they can be bothered from looking up from their phones.