Moose Kingdom

The air was frozen. Ten degrees below zero. Above the waters of Grand Portage Bay on Lake Superior, chilled columns of fog swept across the surface, like frozen ghosts racing toward the east and the rising of the sun. Taking in the dramatic scene, I cinched my helmet strap, walked through a mini tornado of snowflakes stirred up by the whirring rotors overhead, and jumped into the helicopter. The pilot nodded his head, and I smiled. Finally, I was doing what I had dreamed of since I was a kid. Researching moose from the air.

At the time I worked for the 1854 Treaty Authority, an intertribal natural resource agency governed by the Grand Portage Band of Lake Superior Chippewa and the Bois Forte Band of Chippewa. My colleague, 1854 Treaty Authority wildlife biologist Morgan Swingen, was also on board. Our mission, collaborating with biologists from the Grand Portage band, was to help estimate the number of moose on and around the Grand Portage reservation. This survey was similar to, yet separate from, the larger state moose survey that is a partnership between the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa, and the 1854 Treaty Authority.

Today we would fly straight-line transects over Grand Portage tribal lands at just 300 feet of altitude, spotting and counting these massive animals from the sky.

Lone Bull, Big View. The pilot completed his flight checks, then eased the joystick back. We were flying now. Slowly, we rose up and away from our lakeside takeoff spot next to Grand Portage Native Fish Hatchery. As we floated above the wave-beaten shoreline, I felt a sense of calm melt over me.

I quieted my mind. I simply sat in my seat, hands clasped on my lap, and watched the frozen world from above. An eagle’s-eye view. The earth looks so much different from the air. Incredibly more vast. More exciting. More mysterious. It is so easy to forget how small we really are.

It wasn’t long before we were miles inland from Lake Superior, flying along the Pigeon River in the furthest northeastern corner of Minnesota’s Arrowhead region. Our survey took us over Partridge Falls and Swamp Lake. Over vast clear-cuts and rocky cliff faces, searching for one of the largest land mammals in North America.

Then I saw one. After we flew low over a cliff face, I looked over my shoulder and spotted a large bull moose near the cliff edge under the cover of tall maple trees. He looked out over the ridge toward our helicopter and beyond to the valley below. His kingdom. His wilderness. He stood rooted in his spot as we circled to search for other moose nearby. He proved to be the only one around—a lone bull standing atop one of the higher peaks of the Sawtooth Range. Proof that in some parts of Minnesota, the moose is still king.

We continued the aerial survey and eventually counted 32 moose over that small portion of northeastern Minnesota. There were surely many more hidden in the thick timber.

Moose in Decline. Over the past several years, the northeastern Minnesota moose population has been stable at around 3,700 animals following a large decline in the mid-2000s. 

One factor contributing to population increases or declines is the survival rate of moose calves. Studying the ratio of calves to cows can help give an idea of the health of the moose herd. In general, the closer the ratio is to 1:1, the healthier the herd, but this ratio is often less due to factors including predation, environmental conditions, and disease. Other elements critical to moose survival include the availability of suitable habitat and the impact of climate change. Warmer winters, for example, can lead to an increase in the survival of parasites like winter ticks and brainworm, which weaken moose and can lead to higher mortality rates. Continued monitoring of these factors is essential for understanding long-term trends and informing moose conservation work.

Though I have lived in the northern half of the state for most of my life, I had seen only a couple of moose in Minnesota before I got on the helicopter at Grand Portage. Although they are conspicuous given their size, this specific subpopulation of moose has an affinity for the deep wilderness of the northeast region of the state. Paired with their crepuscular habits, especially during summer, one has only a half-pint chance of ever seeing a moose without a bit of effort and luck. The best time to catch them is perhaps in early fall during their annual rut, when the lust for the propagation of their species outweighs their intelligence and caution.

Living the Dream. Over the course of two years, I flew on a half-dozen tribal and DNR moose survey flights. I felt fortunate to be involved in the continued research on the species. To contribute to the work of some of the state’s leading moose biologists and researchers. To observe these elusive creatures from the sky like an eagle would.

Those flights and those conversations told me that although moose may be fewer and farther between than they once were, they are also resilient and steadfast in the face of adversity. And that one day, with continued support, their population might again rise, extending their reign in the great white north.

Growing up, I remember watching the National Geographic channel and seeing footage of moose research being conducted up in Alaska. I knew then that is what I wanted to do. It is special looking back now, remembering that dream and realizing I got to live it.