Methodology of a Moose Hunter
Idiom:“Strike while the iron is hot”- To act on an opportunity while favorable conditions exist; to avoid waiting.
7:32 A.M. I was trying to be quiet but slogging through a swamp riddled with tussocks and muddy troughs can make for a noisy affair. The maze of bushy tussocks pretended to offer good footing but once committed to the step, the tangle of snaggletooth bushes would give-way or trip me up. Fun. Stepping in the troughs wasn’t any better; they were water logged and muddy sometimes testing the upper limits of my Muck boots.
My “shortcut” through the swamp was anything but and I was beginning to doubt my decision. I stopped for a breather. To my right, not 75 yards away was what I was looking for...or so I thought. After shouldering my 30.06 and looking through the scope I could see that it was not a bull moose staring straight at me like I was hoping. In fact it was a dark stump with a curved antler shaped branch completing the outline....darn.
Almost all of my success as a moose and caribou hunter has been realized by using an entirely different method fittingly called the “spot and stalk”. Unfortunately this particular hunting area is not above treeline where binoculars and spotting scopes can be effectively used to spot and identify legal game. On this hunt I was hoping to fine-tune my calling technique and bring a bull out from hiding. Thus far in the last few days it was not working. It was too early in September.
Calling moose is a fine art. By imitating the nasally whine of a cow moose or the aggressive short grunt of a bull, it’s possible to lure bulls to close enough range for a shot. Late in September bull moose go into rut and compete for mating rights. I have had the privilege over the years of observing many herds of over 40 moose who all show up for “the dance”. Young bulls posture and practice fight, cows mingle and even attack each other with their front hooves, and the big bulls save their energy until a worthy opponent challenges them. Bull fights are violent affairs that are incredible to witness. The tougher stronger bull with the right growth of antlers used as a weapon wins the fight and spends the rest of the fall rut mating with each of the cows in his “harem”. This process ensures that herd stays strong by passing along only the genes of the bull who has grown big and strong, adapted the best and prospered well through several tough winters; Survival of the fittest.
There was a light frost on all of the grass and willow bushes this morning. I was excited because I know that moose start to move around when it’s cold. In the two days prior we had only seen one other moose. I saw it fleetingly and I could not determine the sex through the thick foliage. I was lucky to have drawn an any bull tag for our game unit. Unfortunately our area is super bushy and up to this point, warm. Moose bed down when it’s warm and don’t move around much. I needed a different strategy.
I knew this was my last chance. We would head down river the next morning, back to civilization. It was nice and chilly with the morning frost, but I knew that it wouldn’t last. The sun was slowly rising and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before it would become T-shirt weather. I looked one last time to see if my stump imposter would magically come to life. It didn’t. I slung my rifle over my shoulder and continued across the swamp.
7:40 A.M. Finally I successfully traversed the swamp and popped out onto a rather nice four wheeler trail. One of our neighbors has a 3 mile long trail to his cabin that is flanked by long stretches of moose’s favorite food; willow. The bushes were over my head and I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to spot anything. I decided to proceed down the trail in the hopes that I would run into one or scare one up that might be bedded down near the trail.
My plan involved walking about 50 feet down the trail quietly, then pause to look and listen. There was no wind and it was joyful to take-in the forest through my senses. I heard a woodpecker knocking a nearby cottonwood on one stop. The next break I heard an eagle screech high above. Another stop I watched and heard a single yellow birch leaf fall and land nearby. The Alaskan outdoors is my church and on this glorious morning I was glad to be alive.
8:03:15 A.M. The trail was beginning to parallel a nearby glacial slough. A tall and proud army of fireweed framed the trail as the slough grew nearer. I made my way carefully around the bend and I decided to stop before it straightened out. As I was looking around I heard a branch snap ahead of me. I didn’t know what it was but I knew that if it happened to be a bull moose I would have to be ready. I have learned to be an opportunist in my hunting. Any hesitation on my part could be the demise of the hunt. I have been on too many hunts when I wasn’t ready in the crux moment and the opportunity is lost. Strike while the iron is hot.
I quietly slipped the shoulder straps off of my pack and lowered it quietly to the ground. Another stick snap. I jacked a shell into the chamber and carefully slid the safely to the off position. If I spook a moose into the thickets, it will be gone from me. They are too fast and nimble to chase and the vegetation is way too thick. I’ve got to be ready to shoot.
8:04 A.M. I proceded further down the trail slowly taking care to avoid any snapping sticks of my own that might give me away. Finally, I peered around the corner. Sure enough standing just off the trail and directly in front of me was a young 2 year old bull. Not fifty yards away I could See his small 30 inch antlers and it was all the proof I needed as I shouldered my trusty rifle. He looked up and saw me just in time to meet his demise. Game over.
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| Hazelee with her first grouse. |
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| Corey and Sam celebrating the harvest their own way. Corey also shot 4 nice mallards on the last day. |
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| Although I'm not sure if these mushrooms are edible, my brother and his boy Brenton each found Chicken of the Woods. We ate some as appetizers (sauteed in butter), the rest we added to an already incredible spaghetti sauce prepared by my dad. |
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| The blue rope on the right is a rope ratchet. It comes in handy gutting a moose by yourself. |
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| Keaton and I spent our first morning canoeing to this spot on top of a beaver lodge. We called but saw nothing. |
