Clint Losee

Weighing up to half a ton, standing as high as 6 feet tall at the shoulder, and with the largest antlers of any living mammal, moose make an impressive sight glimpsed in the wild. An encounter with a moose can be magical – but meet one too close, and it can be a menace.

Magical: seeing a family of moose frolic in a mountain lake from a safe distance. This is a treasured moment for photographer Clint Losee, who explores Utah’s backcountry with his camera and sometimes comes upon wildlife unexpectedly.

“Pretty much all of the moose I’ve encountered here in Utah have been by chance,” Losee said.

He was taking photos in the Wasatch Range when he heard a splash about 100 feet away: It was a young moose capering into the lake. Soon, an adult moose and five more young ones joined – “all playing in the water, eating and just enjoying themselves,” Losee said.

Menace: almost crashing into a moose when coasting full-speed downhill on your road bike. Former Salt Lake City resident Kevin Sheridan had this experience in Emigration Canyon. He was speeding down the pavement, crouched over his handlebars to reduce his air drag; by the time he noticed a moose crossing the road ahead, he had only about 100 feet of stopping distance.

“I literally slammed on the brakes and almost hit this moose,” Sheridan said. He estimates he was less than 20 feet away by the time he was able to fully stop. He couldn’t resist adding a pun.

“Hitting it would have turned me into mousse!”


Meg Leaf

Magic: regularly seeing moose on your morning jog, like Park City resident Lisa Baird does.

Moose frequently visit her backyard. It’s fun to watch them nap or eat, Baird said, “unless it is a young aspen sapling that you are encouraging to grow in your yard. They can really decimate them without much effort.”

For home landscaping, moose are a menace.

Moose are relatively new to the state of Utah, according to Kent Hersey, Utah Division of Wildlife Resources big game coordinator. They started migrating into the Uinta Mountains from Idaho and Wyoming in the early 1900s. There now are between 2,500 and 3,000 moose in the state, a population like that of neighboring states Colorado (3,000) and Wyoming (3,500).

Biologists noticed Utah moose populations declining in the late 2000s and began a study to find out why. They were surprised by the tiny culprit: ticks.

When conditions are favorable to ticks, hundreds or even thousands of them can climb onto a host moose in the fall, stay over winter in its coat and start feeding on its blood during the spring. The parasites diminish their hosts’ health so much that the moose often either die or can’t reproduce. Cold falls and colder, snowier winters seem to improve outcomes for moose. 

Biologists occasionally get a taste of moose menace, too. During the study, Division of Wildlife Resources officials captured moose to measure health indicators, take samples and attach radio collars. Sometimes the animals were sedated; other times they were just blindfolded, and their feet were tied together. Once the protocols were complete, biologists would unbind the moose and turn it loose. 

“Usually they just run away,” Hersey said. “But a couple times they came back at us. They were not happy.”

When it comes to fleeing a rampaging moose, he joked, “You try go faster than the other guy.”

Hersey also had a magical moment to share from his observations of moose this past spring, the season when moose calves are born. When moose are healthy and have plenty of resources, they’re more likely to have twins. Twin moose calves are rare in Utah. This year, Hersey saw something rarer: a mother moose with triplets.



Evan Jenkins