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The following is an excerpt from an article in the Outdoor Life Magazine dated September 1962. The article was written by the Great Outdoor Naturalist Lee Wulff after his encounter with a white moose on the West coast of Newfoundland. Lee Wulff "The story could well have ended there. But, after we'd finished our hunt, I made a flight across the 300-mile width of Newfoundland to St. Johns. Coming back with John Green, a Provincial biologist with a Ph.D from Cornell, we flew low and counted moose and caribou as we travelled westward. We saw few animals until we hit Zone 1. For 150 miles, we flew over it. As we neared the westery boundary, our count was up to 60 animals. With the airfield at Stephenville in sight, I looked down on a big bull that stood near a pond on an open meadow. Then, what had appeared to be a white rock beside him stood up and proved to be an even bigger bull, almost completely white. I had never seen a white moose before, nor even heard of one, although I've seen quite a few white or calico deer. The white bull, if I could get his picture, would make an even better climax to my film than the one we had already taken. Besides the camera, we also had still-unfilled licenses and a gun. The wind gusted fitfully between periods of sunshine and shower while I circled. The bulls moved into a patch of timber. The white bull was easily visible from above, but getting a picture of any moose in the woods with color film is next to impossible, because of the relatively dim light. For a good picture, I had to have him out in the open. We circled high above so that our sound and shadow would not bother him. Gradually the sun slid down, and the gas supply waned. But the white moose stayed in the woods, and we finally flew on to St.George's. Next morning we're back with the sun. I counted nine moose on that mountain, none white. We watched, circled, refueled, and continued to circle and watch. Finally I put the ship down in a small pond, which was safe enough with nearly empty tanks. John took the camera and set out on foot, searching the timber and muskeg for a white moose. Back over the area after a second refueling, I spotted John behind a rock in a small glade. The white moose, unaware of his presence, lay resting at the far side of the opening. I landed, took the gun, and raced towards a rocky ledge that overlooked both John and the white bull. At my signal, John rose and walked towards the moose. At fifty feet he stopped, and the moose rose to his feet. John lifted the camera, and I knew he was letting it run out a full winding. The bull turned leisurely and trotted away from John at an angle that would bring him to within 50 yards of where I stood. A white bull moose is as rare as feathers on a frog. I watched him as he came up the slope. He was the biggest bull I have ever seen in Newfoundland, pure white except for a few flecks of brown here and there and a patch of brown about the size of a man's hand on his shoulder. His eyes were brown. He was a mutation, not an albino. The thought flashed through my mind that somewhere in the four orginial animals that had started the island's now extensive moose herd, the hereditary white factor must have been present. It must have been carried down through all the succeeding generations until the mating of a cow and bull, both having the white factor, produced this magnificent bull. If, in his future love-makings, he were to find the right cow, they might produce another white moose and their progeny produce still others. He might establish a considerable number of white moose if he lived and loved extensively. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John waving the camera in a gesture of success. Then I concentrated again on the magnificent animal. He passed at less than 50 feet and disappeared into the evergreen forest. I never raised my gun."
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