When we lived in Newfoundland, we ate moose like beef: steaks, roasts, ground, whatever. Week after we arrived, our new neighbours asked me to help pack one out. Drove for miles, hiked in for 30 minutes, packed it out. The good neighbours even lent me a bright orange safety vest. When we got near the road, they told me to duck down in the brush if a car came by because the moose wasn’t strictly in season. That’s when I noticed they were all wearing camouflage.