Just got back from this year's moose.. No, I didn't shoot a moose. Yes, I called in another big bull from under my tarp (almost).

We got a late start from Anchorage on Friday and by the time we reached the end of our three hour journey by car it was full dark. About 9:00 pm this time of year. We untrailered our ATVs, loaded approximately half of our gear, and off we went to my old camp. My wife, She-who-must-be-obeyed, was riding on the back of my Honda Foreman, and our daughter Mariko was on the back of her friend Erin's Arctic Cat something-or-other.

Now, the warning labels on these machines say not to carry a passenger because it changes the balance of the ATV. I already know it changes the balance of the ATV. Everybody I know in Alaska carries a passenger sometimes. The seat-room is tight, but we do it. Every now and then someone topples over, gets injured, makes a claim, and the manufacturer points at the warning label, saying, "See, we told you not to do it." And so it goes.

Back to the hunt, did I mention it was pouring rain? Cold, September rain. But this wasn't our usual gentle rain; it was a downpour. Temperature was below fifty degrees. We were all bundled up, and had four rough, half-flooded miles to go to camp. I envisioned the task of finding reasonably flat spaces to pitch our tents, set up a tarp, and unload our gear, and I did not like what I saw. I decided we should try for my friend Jon's cabin, see if we could impose on his hospitality for one night. I knew he'd be in--because it was moose season. Sure enough, he offered to share his cabin with him and his adult son. So we slept on cots and couches where it was dry and warm.

Jon is my moose mentor. If we were Japanese I'd address him as "Sensei," and never by name. He taught me much of what I know about moose hunting. Jon speaks moosese fluently, and is the fastest and most efficient moose butcher I know. He does three or four moose a year for himself and friends. His cow call sounds exactly like a ripe and waiting cow, and his bull grunt sounds real enough to be indistinguishable from the real thing. He laughed every time I made an attempt to imitate him--I mean, rotflol. So in recent years I've taken to doing it outside his presence. I think I've been getting better, judging from my hunt results. I cheated and bought a Foxpro with moose sounds programmed, and listen to it before going hunting every year, trying to duplicate the sound.

We weren't really in the wilderness, by Alaska standards. I would call wilderness a place that's accessible only by small plane, helicopter, or snowmachine. Which is much of Alaska, but still most of it isn't even accessible by plane. I've been in true wilderness a couple dozen times, and it's an awesome experience. But our hunting grounds have plenty of bears, both black and grizzlies. (I know that, for some reason, grizzlies are equated with wilderness in the Lower 48, but shoot, we have them in Anchorage.) The bears on these hunting grounds occasionally raid camps, but you rarely see them. They hide from humans. They've learned that humans will shoot them. Me, I will punch as many holes in any bear I see back there, as fast as I can. Not in Anchorage. In the Anchorage bowl, we can't hunt them, not even on public lands. Consequently, the bears have little fear of humans, and the antis and bunny huggers who seem to run this city sacrifice several people a year to the bear god. We even have a couple of surgeons here who are specialists at treating deep wounds, broken bones, and punctured skulls that result from a grizzly bear encounter.

Enough of the digressions. From now on, I will stick to the hunting story, as promised. Jon was welcoming and invited us to stay at his cabin for the night. We were most grateful for a warm place to sleep and a chance to dry out clothing in front of the wood stove. We were too tired to use the sauna in back of the cabin, but I bet it would have felt great.

We made it out to campsite early the next morning and set up camp. That day, Saturday, the weather was mostly fair until evening, when the downpour began again. We hunted on foot down to the lake, where with our binoculars we spotted a moose across the lake. Small antlers, maybe 25 inches. A legal bull had to be 50 inches or better, or have three brow tines. Or it could be a young bull, a spike-fork. According to some, the best eating, though Jon says that's what hunters tell themselves when they shoot a smaller bull. Went back to camp, weather went to crap again, and we spent dinner under the big tarp. After dinner, around seven pm when the light is failing already. I screwed up my nerve, and let go with a call.

"Mmmwaaaa... "

Every five minutes I would roust my bones from my camp chair and let out another call. Moose hunting is so tough! After about 45 minutes my daughter said she heard a scraping sound in the forest. Sure enough a bull was coming in. Couldn't see his antlers, just that they were antlers. He started circling our tent site, trying to find out what we were, circling to get downwind. We had decided Erin would be the shooter, and she held my rifle, looked at me with a puppy dog "Can I? Can I?"

"No, don't shoot, I whispered. "Not legal." The moose passed on by camp, ambling away. In another half hour of moose calls another moose of about 36 inches strolled 270 degrees around our camp, and ambled on. It was as if they knew they couldn't be shot. I was not encouraged. These satellite bulls would hang around a cow in estrus, hoping to get lucky, but bigger bulls were usually with the cows already. It was exciting to see the young bulls, but I was a bit discouraged. If the big bulls were all cowed-up--with cows in heat--they sure wouldn't respond to my call.

It rained hard all night and into the morning. It's hard getting up and dressed in wet rain gear when it's pouring on the tent, and we didn't make it until about 9:00. We were making breakfast and I decided to give a few calls. Then I went and sat down in the camp chair. This is my favorite way to hunt moose: from a camp chair, under a tarp. In order for it to work, you have to keep a quiet camp. I'd already advised the others to keep their voices and other noise down.

After no more than fifteen minutes, Mariko, with her sharp ears, heard a scraping noise in the thick trees behind camp. I grabbed the rifle and chambered a round. We spotted him, a big bull coming in. At first we couldn't make out his rack, but we could see his massive body. He grunted, twice, so I grunted back.

The next thing I knew, the bull was coming in fast. I raised the rifle, thinking I actually might have to stop a charge. Where was Erin? This bull was clearly legal! His rack was at least sixty inches. He suddenly stopped at about twenty yards, and turned broadside, standing partly behind a tree. I could have shot him right then in the neck--not my favorite target, but the one I had. And the range was only twenty yards. Where was Erin, dang it? I didn't realize that Erin was answering nature's call behind their tent. She later said the moose was within ten yards of her, and she'd taken her ten-millimeter Glock out of its holster.

Finally, one of us made a false move or noise, and the bull spooked. All at once he was gone. Lesson learned, I assume. I'll always wonder if I should have shot the bull, and how big he was exactly.

Great write up! That is hunting.

Thanks for the report,enjoyed your hunt and quality time spent with your family.
Sounds like the moose is for the next time. What's for you,won't go by you.jc

"Trophies won and lost"
Trophies won: an outing with the family, really all I think about anymore. How lucky and blessed we are to have the progeny want to spend time with us hey R?

Trophies lost: that bull did get away. Hey, we can always hope someone will take pity and give us a leg or two right?

Glad you had a good time out there!

Haha! That's hunting! Always an adventure.
Thanks for sharing.

Ski+3

Thanks, guys.

I was hoping the whole time that Erin would appear (slowly) and shoot the moose.

It was the spookiest moose I've ever encountered. He did hold still long enough for a shot, but once Erin moved, he was gone.

Great story. Thanks for sharing.

Yes, great story!