Sunday, December 17, 2000
OF MOOSE and MAINE
The ugly but appealing symbol of the state represents the wilderness to many
people
Copyright © 2001 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.
Call it charm. Call it charisma. Call it star quality. Whatever you call it, it's hard to take your eyes off a moose.
"Do you ever see one and drive by it without looking? Never," says Buzz Caverly, Baxter State Park's director. "Sometimes people damn near cause accidents because they stop right in the road to look at it . . . There's something about moose that inspires people." Moose are woven through Maine's history, economy and politics. One of the first acts by the first Maine Legislature in 1820 was to put a moose on the Maine seal.
Yet judging by the boom in books, stores, tours and souvenirs, never has the power of moose been so strong.
Moose will peek out from many a Christmas stocking this season and decorate many a tree. Mainers sleep with them, play with them and deck their halls and walls with them. Stores in every corner of the state and Web sites worldwide are filled with moose paraphernalia, from the practical to the spiritual, from high art to low humor.
There's moose-shaped pasta, moose cookies and the ever-popular chocolate moose. Moose clothing can be worn from top to bottom, inside and out. For a mere $3,000, a real devotee even can be a moose, in a fake fur costume complete with a cooling fan in its antlered head.
Merry pranksters can offer guests a handful of "Maine Moose Droppings (We're proud to be Number 2)." Though they're only chocolate-covered almonds, they look enough like the real thing to curdle the Christmas spirit.
There aren't many -- if any -- other creatures whose gastric by-products are made into jewelry or inspire suspicious sculptures.
When Paul Jacques, former representative from Waterville, was majority leader of the Maine House, he kept a wooden moose in his office that dispensed M&Ms -- the peanut variety rolled best -- from a location that made his visitors wary.
"I'd say, 'Pick up the head and hold your hand near the back,' " Jacques recalls. "And they were all a little hesitant to do that because they weren't sure what was going to come out . . . A lot of times I had to go over and do it first. When I'd pop them in my mouth, they were assured that everything was fine."
Moose have become such an attraction that tourists come here from most states, and many countries, in hopes of seeing one. And no matter what else Maine has to offer, a mooseless trip is a disappointment.
"Moose are on their minds and you can't get them off. You can't distract them," says Harold Hanson, who's been guiding Moosehead Lake boat tours for seven years. "It's been that way since I've started and it seems to have gotten worse, if that's the word."
Alaska claims the largest moose population in the United States. Vermont and New Hampshire, like most of the states in the nation's northern tier, also boast moose. But Maine's estimated 30,000 moose likely compose the largest population in the lower 48.
To Mainers, they're not only an icon, but a trademark.
"We're the moose state," says John N. Cole, the Brunswick writer who led a crusade against moose hunting in the early 1980s.
Why do moose have such a hold on the hearts and minds of Mainers? The theories can be roughly organized under four headings: Size does matter; the Bullwinkle factor; the Thoreau syndrome; and it's the economy, stupid.
The most obvious attraction is their size. The same impulse that takes people to the pyramids, the Empire State Building and Niagara Falls makes them want to see the largest mammal in North America.
A typical Maine bull weighs around 1,000 pounds, but very large specimens may weigh up to 1,500. Most people have never seen an animal that massive outside a zoo.
"They're sort of like a Harley Davidson. They're just big and strong, not that fancy," said Dana Truman, a moose admirer who named his Portland business Moose County Music and Surf.
Despite their size and strength, moose inspire admiration, not fear. But is their gentle image more fantasy than fact?
Bull moose certainly aren't to be trifled with during the fall mating season, when they're both aggressive and somewhat befuddled. Victims of moose encounters this fall included two bruised and battered men, in addition to a house, a couple of horses and even a 1997 Oldsmobile Aurora. Cows can be fearsome in defense of their young.
Moose also can be a real road hazard. In 1999, 673 vehicle-moose collisions were reported, including one fatal accident. Three motorists have lost their lives in crashes with moose this year. But few Mainers blame the moose, especially since the creatures usually pay with their lives for the mistake of wandering on the roads.
In fact, the laid-back image of moose is as old as Maine itself. Even on the state seal, Cole points out, the moose looks relaxed in comparison with the energetic sailor and farmer.
"I mean there he is, just sort of lying there taking it easy," Cole says. "He's not doing anything rambunctious."
Moose also have a distinct advantage over the other icons of Maine culture. Lighthouses are pretty, lobsters are delicious and loons are elegant, but they aren't funny or endearing.
"It's easier to identify with a moose than a lobster," says Ralph Lutts, a nature scholar and writer. "A lobster is something that's very foreign to humans. Whereas a moose has eyes and ears and feet and a face."
And what a silly, improbable face it is. People often joke that moose were designed by a committee or pieced together from odds and ends. Moose inspire awe, but they're also good for a laugh.
"People say, 'What's that goofy thing hanging from its neck? And look at its nose! What happens when a moose gets a cold?' " says Bill Silliker Jr., a wildlife photographer.
But were moose funny before 1959, when Bullwinkle, the world's most famous moose, was born? The cartoon superstar is goofy but charming, bumbling yet admirable. That sounds very much like the way many people now regard real moose.
"Certainly Rocky and Bullwinkle added a great deal to the image of the moose as a very agreeable creature," Cole says.
Bullwinkle has become a generic name for moose, just as "Bambi" means deer. For instance, Amos, the popular moose mascot at Sugarloaf Ski Resort, is often mistaken for his famous relative, says Marcia Wight, director of children's services.
"People call Amos 'Bullwinkle' all the time," Wight says. "And it doesn't help that our on-mountain restaurant is called 'Bullwinkle's.' "
By any name, though, moose spark emotion. When Amos (aka Wight) was in Portland recently for a benefit walk around Baxter Boulevard, drivers honked and hollered, "Hi, Amos!" Kids rushed up for hugs.
"There was one little girl who came up to me and I recognized her from being at Sugarloaf a lot in the winter," Wight said, "and she looked up and said, 'Oh, Amos, I've missed you so much.' "
Moose magic also works in reverse, she said, because being a moose is guaranteed to spread cheer inside the costume. Sometimes Wight's face aches because she smiles constantly, even though no one can see her real face.
"If I'm feeling down or grumpy, I get in the costume and go out there," Wight says. "It changes your whole attitude."
Bill Pierce, who often is "Moxie," the moose mascot of the state Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, also enjoys being a moose. But sometimes the emotional response Moxie sparks in hospitalized children can be overwhelming.
"I've cried in that suit," Pierce said.
Wildlife cartoons can have a big impact on children, says R. Ben Peyton, a Michigan State University professor who studies human dimensions in wildlife management. But Peyton doubts Bullwinkle is responsible for the current popularity of moose or the increase in moose tourists.
"I think it probably has more to do with their symbolism as a wilderness species," Peyton said. "Plus, they're such an interesting looking animal that they sort of capture the imagination. It's hard to believe something could be that ugly and that appealing at the same time."
The image of moose as a symbol of wilderness was cemented by Henry David Thoreau, the 19th century author and naturalist. Thoreau came to Maine to experience wilderness and see moose, which he called "God's horses," says Herb Adams, a Maine historian. Thoreau's fascination with moose literally lasted a lifetime. When he lay dying in 1862, the last words he murmured were "moose . . . Indians."
Today moose still are synonymous with wild and remote places. That's why the TV show "Northern Exposure" showed a moose in its opening credits, says Lutts, who teaches environmental history at Virginia Tech. That's also why tourists are so eager to photograph a moose; it's proof positive they've been in the wilderness.
Another factor that may have boosted the popularity of moose is the rise of the environmental movement, Lutts says. Campaigns to protect eagles, wolves, whales and other species have sparked sales -- T-shirts, posters, souvenirs -- as well as sympathy.
Was there a time, Lutts asked, when moose were very prominent in the Maine news?
Oh, yes. Moose dominated the Maine news in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In 1979, the Maine Legislature officially named moose the state animal and approved the first moose hunt in 45 years. The latter action proved to be far more controversial.
Moose hunting was banned because the moose population fell so low that many feared it would become extinct here. Even though the population had rebounded to 20,000 by 1980, opposition to moose hunting still was strong. A statewide referendum was held in 1983 to repeal the moose hunt, but it went down to defeat by nearly a 2-1 margin.
Two decades haven't dimmed the popularity of moose hunting. There were nearly 83,000 applications for this year's 3,000 permits.
But Cole, who led the opposition, thinks seeing moose on their TV screens night after night also may have triggered lasting interest and sympathy.
"They were always portrayed as being intellectually deficient animals, who just kind of bumbled around," he says. "And even though they were huge, nevertheless, the image was always friendly . . . They were like golden retrievers, they had that same image."
Now, nearly 20 years later, there are cute moose across Maine, in cribs, in parades, on T-shirts and beer steins. Moose lovers are opening not only their hearts, but their wallets.
Many Mainers, even in the heart of hunting territory, now argue that there are more moose watchers than moose hunters, making a live moose more valuable than a dead one.
"Hey, it's like shooting Flipper . . ." Cole says. "The moose has acquired that kind of protection and image."
Staff writer Roberta Scruggs can be contacted at 791-6452 or at: rscruggs@pressherald.com
Beth Murphy and Susan Butler, library assistants, provided research for this
article.