Who would spend hours a day watching moose trudge through northern Sweden on their annual spring migration? Lots of people, it turns out.

In fact, “The Great Moose Migration,” an annual Swedish livestream that began Tuesday, may soon dethrone the opening credits of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” as humanity’s greatest artistic tribute to the Swedish moose.

Perhaps the power transfer is already over.

“I didn’t really think it would hit,” said Arne Nilsson, 54, speaking of when it started in 2019. “I thought it would be ridiculous,” he added.

Nilsson, who grew up in the Swedish woods, was wrong. Now he will devote six hours a day to moderating a Facebook group of more than 77,000 fans, many of whom will spend the next three weeks watching moose on SVT, Sweden’s national broadcaster. (The group’s name is self-explanatory: “Vi som gillar den stora algvandringen pa SVT!” or “We who like the great moose migration on SVT!”)

Unlike many other nature programs, which may have music and narration, the moose march broadcast is raw. It is also live. The only “edits” are cuts between the 34 cameras along the migration path.

That’s the draw, Nilsson said: The moose do not know they are being watched. They certainly do not know they are being watched by zealots live-blogging their minute-by-minute joy of watching the migration.

“This isn’t staged,” he said. “This isn’t cut together. This is reality TV at its finest.”

About 300,000 moose (yes, that’s the plural of moose) live in Sweden, said Goran Ericsson, who leads the moose research group at the Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences. The 100 or so that may appear on the livestream are traveling on a path their ancestors have followed since the ice age.

Last year, millions of people watched the livestream, said Johan Erhag, executive producer. And the fans are downright obsessed.

“Some people are fanatics,” said Lasse Nasstrom, 59, a member of the Facebook group, who streams it on one of his three monitors while he works on the others. “I don’t believe some of them sleep during those weeks.”

Marianne Hauger, 49, turns it on while at home on Trundon, a small island in northeast Sweden.

She loves moose, of course. But the conversation is the real draw. “When you’re in this chat, you forget that there are bad things in the world,” she said.

And, she said, there’s always a letdown when it ends each year. “It felt so empty,” she said.