From the field:
Holy Cow!

     During my tenure on the Voyageurs Wolf Project, I have spent a great deal of time ranging the remote regions north of Moose Lake, in the eastern portion of the Greater Voyageurs Ecosystem. Most of this wild territory remained unbroken by roads and trails, stifling most travelers with its rivers, creeks, and wetlands. Field days in this region were always long, that was just something you knew going in. 

From project housing, it takes about two hours of driving before you could start your hike. But the long trip was well worth it, the natural beauty was stunning. Rugged, glacier-carved rock ridges break through wooded hills. The area’s shifting topography offered several rewarding views of the vibrant environment. 

In the summer of 2024, we studied the predation behavior of wolves from the Vermilion River Pack, which occupied this region. Personally, this was my second year in a row researching wolf B2L, the breeding male of the pack. Studying B2L in 2023 revealed he was a prolific beaver killer, learned through spending substantial time trudging through beaver-created wetlands to identify where he killed beavers or waited-in-ambush for them.

The ear-tagged wolf is Wolf B2L, the breeding male of the Vermilion River Pack, with the breeding female of the pack in the background. 

On this particular day in October, my goal was to visit several locations where B2L spent significant time. At a minimum, he had spent twenty minutes at each of these spots—more than enough time for him to have killed prey. But, there was little to find as I hiked through all these places. I found no evidence of a kill, not even any indication that he was trying to ambush beavers. He seemed to just be bedding down and resting. Pretty uneventful.

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Finding “nothing” is important data, it confirms that the wolf did not kill prey in these areas. But I think any researcher will agree that documenting a kill, finding evidence such as a leg or a skull, is much more interesting than finding a resting site.

The Vermilion River, the river from which the pack gained its name, during fall of 2023 during beaver surveys.

After a long day of pushing through the woods, I started my long hike back to where I had parked the ATV, ready to head home. About halfway back to the ATV, I came across an old trail I didn't know existed. The vegetation was chest high, but it was still easier to hike than bushwhacking—and it seemed to go back toward the main trail I had parked the ATV on. Finding such trails feels like discovering the road to El Dorado after a long day of bushwhacking. 

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I had just a few more miles to go, rejuvenated by my convenient discovery. As I made my way down this new route, I noticed a parting of vegetation, carving a clear path down the left side of the trail. It was an animal path probably made by deer walking down the trail, just like I was. The only sounds were my footsteps and the birds in the late afternoon sky.

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CRACK!

Autumn colors along the Moose Lake Grade during the fall of 2022.

The crisp break of wood caught my attention and I stopped abruptly. With my footsteps quieted, I can hear the crackle of movement coming from ahead of me. The trail curved to the right, cutting off my view twenty meters away. I stood still, waiting as the sound quieted before I continued down the trail. Just around the bend, I could see something big walking about thirty meters ahead of me, unhurried.

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My first thought was, why is there a horse way out here? I am a bit near-sighted so I couldn’t see it clearly, but it walked with a similar gait as a horse and it was the same shape. But it stood much taller.

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I quickly realized it was not a horse at all, but a moose. As if it could hear the word “moose” in my thoughts, the large, hooved creature turned back toward me and looked right in my direction.

The picture Ian capture of the cow moose during their encounter.

Finally, I took my first slow steps. Not toward the moose, of course, but instead I headed off trail. Now out of sight of the moose, I stepped behind the nearest thick tree, hoping that the moose would leave. I wasn;t quite ready to give up on the trail just yet. I thought if the moose saw me “leave”, it would probably do the same, likely walking fast enough that I could continue down the trail. After waiting for what felt like a significant time. I peeked out from my barrier. I couldn’t see down the trail, so I paused for one last listen, before stepping back onto the path. As I reached my spot back on the trail, I could see it. The moose stood where right I left it, still staring in my direction. 

But just when I got back to the trail, the moose turned and trotted off back down the trail, unhurried and unbothered. The crackle of branches slowly faded as the moose left the area (or so I thought). 

I realized I’d been holding my breath and finally let it go. A bit slower than before, I took off down the path again. I looked to the ground as I approached where the moose stood, crouching down and looking at its tracks stamped in the earth. It was a short examination, just a quick check on my way out. It’s not everyday you get an upfront moose encounter—this was my first. But as I got to my feet, looking to leave, there was the moose, its head turned back to look at me once again. This time it stood less than fifteen meters away. 

I started to wonder how I would ever get past this moose. “Oh boy,” I whispered to myself, letting out a sigh. The moose turned and took a few steps toward me. Maybe she was a mother, because it sure felt like I had just been caught muttering something under my breath in protest. 

Having a mother of my own, I knew better than to argue. I dutifully turned and marched right back into the woods. I abandoned the new trail, recognizing that it was a lost cause. I took the long way around back to the ATV, making sure to keep my objections to myself.

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