IronNoggin wrote: ↑Sat Oct 06, 2018 2:19 pm
After the previous day's efforts, I found myself a little worn out. And so it was that I found myself stirring from slumber, only to discover I had slept in some. As I laid there wondering what the rest of the trip might bring, I heard the far off moaning of a cow moose.
Hmmm... Did I imagine that? Nope, there it is again!!
Scrambling I was soon in my heavy camo to brace against the morning chill, rifle in hand, and was preparing to head out in the direction of those calls.
Kid's pretty good came a hushed whisper across the campsite.
Huh?
Yeah, that's him that got you going. Any bull hears that he may well respond.
Only ever remember hearing anyone better, and that was an ancient Cree in Northern Saskatchewan decades ago...
Just then the call came again, and DAMN! He is
GOOD!
Always prided myself on my efforts to call moose, and have been downright successful doing that over the years.
But this was magical. Better than I had ever been, and still had me yearning to run out there with a ready rifle!
When my Buddy returned to camp, we all congratulated him on his calling.
He blushed with hidden pride, and accepted the comments in a reluctant manner.
Little did we know just what the effect of those calls would have on our next couple of days...
We spent much of the day again watching the animals on Terminus, and their response to the snow that had accumulated.
Most had dropped down a fair bit, but the Big Goat, and the better of the young rams still held court on the highest of country.
Towards late afternoon, we decided to head over to a huge set of moose meadows we knew of which were not much more than a couple miles away. Again we loaded up the little jet rig for a possible extended stay, and again off we went to explore.
As we got to the channel that leads to the meadows, a HUGE Bull Moose appeared - feeding along the side of the channel about 200 yards out...
We immediately landed, and a spotting scope was set up
FAST. Moose have to have 3 up front, ten around, or be a spike/fork in order to be legal in that zone. A shift in the breeze suddenly carried our scent his way, and the reaction was immediate! As he turned the spotter murmured
I count 12 one side! All I needed!! As the bull raced dead away, I lined up on the back of his neck just below the base of his skull. A little over 250 yards now, bullet would be still climbing from my ancient 300 Weatherby, so I adjusted slightly down the spine.
BOOM! The rifle bucked almost unexpectedly against my shoulder, only to come down back on target to see him shake his huge head violently, and race into the timber!!
WTH? 180 partition didn't simply dump him at that range??
We backed off for an hour and a half, collected the tracking dog and his leash, and went in for a boo. The bull had run 100 yards uphill, then laid down. Two drops of blood was all. And he had departed well before we entered the picture. The next few hours were spent behind the dog as he worked out the exit trail. At 3/4 of a mile, darkness dropped over us like a suddenly dropped wet blanket, and we had to return to the boat and make our way back to camp with the aid of headlamps. The moose had not laid down again. At camp the other Ladz jokingly accused me of shootin' for the horns, suggesting I may have put one into an antler. No damn way, I
KNOW where that hit...
It was a tough night of little sleep for me. I kept going over the shot in my mind, wondering just what the hell had gone wrong. Before daybreak I was up drinking coffee in the morning's chill, waiting for the rest of my crew to rise and accompany me for an extended tracking effort. Picking up the trail where we had left it the night before, we began to decipher where it lead from there. Into a bunch of deadfall that literally took hours to struggle through. He
knew we were in pursuit. And he had not laid down yet again. At another 3/4 of a mile, our crew was drenched in sweat, and more than a little disappointed. Back to camp to rethink and regroup was my suggestion. It was well taken, and it wasn't until early afternoon we made a late breakfast back in camp.
While we were chowing down, the dog suddenly began his
I SEE SOMETHING YOU SHOULD LOOK AT whine!
My Alberta Buddy & I glanced over, and saw a monster of a bull moose slightly upstream of the camp, knee deep and swallowing great amounts of water from the river!
Nobody Panic (worse thing to say as invariably everyone does each time you say it) and a mad scramble ensued. I nodded towards our Young Gun and smiled at the tall Albertan. Yep.
Danny, get your rifle on him I said, having already centered my scope on the 200 yard distant bull.
I count 12 one side came the comment from the man behind the rapidly deployed spotting scope!
My Friend, shoot that bugger right in the heart were my words that followed.
Ka-BOOM!
The bull simply collapsed like a cheap lawn chair, nose first, right into the river!
WOAH!
Another mad scramble to get the small jet rig launched, as the current pushed the bull towards our shore.
Minutes later a couple ropes were secured, and we managed to push the bugger right to the beach, less than 75 yards from camp!
Did I say BIG?
Check out the size compared to the jet rig!!
There was absolutely no way the four of us could ever drag or push the weight up onto that beach!
So, drawing straws and two men donned the boots.
Quartering the high side kept the meat clean & dry...
After which we were able to roll him up onto the beach to finish processing him:
While doing so, we came across a bullet hole in the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull.
And a little digging produced a perfectly mushroomed 30 caliber Nosler Partition.
How that did not drop him on the spot I will never know.
He is only the second of dozens of animals that rifle has taken not to literally drop in their tracks.
We also found another bullet track, one that both entered and exited.
Along it's path, it found the exact item I had requested:
We all were grinning at recovering the big boy, and at the mountain of meat he provided us!
No more MRE's!!!