At Gros Morne, the Parks Canada guide confirmed what we had read in the brochures: there are four moose for every two persons of every square kilometer of Newfoundland Labrador. This is a province the size of Texas but with only half a million residents, not counting the moose.
We had been on The Rock three days and had seen a fair number of locals but despite keeping a sharp lookout, nary a moose came into view.
As we drove along the Trans-Canada Highway, I scanned every marsh, pond, lake and river from Port-aux-Basque and all along the western shore up to Gros Morne National Park.
For me, finding a moose was a matter of national pride; the Canadian brand was at stake. I had promised Axel, a skeptical European, that there will be many moose sightings on our east coast trip. I had expected we would see some along the Cabot Trail as we drove to North Sydney for the ferry. Although the vistas were as breathtaking as ever, they did not include the hulking shape of a big-racked, heavy headed bull moose so prominently displayed on the signs along the highway.
“There are really no moose in Canada,” Axel said, laying out the bait after three expectation-filled days.
“Of course there are,” I replied. “Patience. It takes patience.”
And patience did pay off. Sort of.
On our third day in Gros Morne, coming back from a beautiful 11 kilometer hike to Bakers Brook Falls, right near the parking lot, we spotted a moose pie the size of a pumpernickel. As we stepped off the trail onto the lot, the back end of a moose disappeared into the brush.
“There,” I said. “We’ve seen our first moose.”
Axel, being German, corrected my imprecise statement.
“What we’ve seen is ¾ of a moose, no head. And I’m not sure that it wasn’t planted there by Parks Canada. Maybe they have a few moose they move around to trick people into believing they’re everywhere.”
“Like moose on wheels,” I said in an attempt to belittle the notion.
“Exactly,” he said. Apparently, I had only succeeded in adding fuel to the fire.
“They probably only have so many moose in stock and so they have to move them around quickly. Wheels are most efficient. We saw moose number 57,” Axel said with a conviction I would later find irresistible.
As we drove through the countryside that was always conducive to sightings, Axel would take up a plaintive chant: “Moose, moose, moooose,” he’d call.
As we moved around the province, whomever we met, we would herald the beauty of the landscape but complain about the lack of moose. As a response, we were warned over and again that seeing a moose on the highway was usually not a good thing, nothing to be desired. There are no official figures available but everyone has a story about the perils of hitting a moose.
Everyone also had a ‘nuisance moose’ story, to assure us how plentiful the moose are. Bernadette’s sister, Betty, has a moose sleeping on her back doorstep like a big old dog; John Fisher of Fishers’ Loft told us about a bar-b-q crashing moose. Robert Hall of Ryan Mansion complained that there were seven moose that made themselves to home in his back yard and refused to be shooed away.
All these stories were well-intended, meant to provide proof about the presence of moose in Newfoundland Labrador.
But seeing is believing.
And we looked and looked.
We covered 4,300 kilometers from Halifax to St. John’s and back again. We wanted to believe all the stories but in the end, all we ever saw was the end of moose #57 in service to Parks Canada.
But you’ll have a chance to prove us wrong, Newfoundland Labrador, ‘cause we’ll be back.
