I was driving back from a family
get together when my wife’s phone went off with a text from a friend saying,
“Just heard Chris’s name in the moose draw!” While my wife’s response was less
enthusiastic, I was smiling ear to ear, and my mind started racing about the
task at hand. I have been very fortunate
to have drawn before, this was my third permit in the 25 years I have been
applying as well as some other hunts where I was a sub-permittee. For a bit of context on the “task at hand”
running through my mind, I will run through a bit of history.
My first experience with moose
hunting was in 2001 at the ripe old age of 15, when my dad’s name was drawn for
a permit, and I was listed as his sub.
Neither of us had much experience with moose hunting and were quickly on
a crash course to learning. We read,
talked to everyone we knew, scouted the best we knew how to, and then were
fortunate enough to pair up with a coworker of my dads who had a bit more
experience. Sure, enough first morning
he put us onto a beautiful big bull and while shaking like a leaf I managed to
not get a good shot. The bull dropped
when I fired, but quickly rose and headed for the thick cover of a brook buffer. We cautiously approached but could not find
blood or hair or any evidence of hitting him.
We tracked the bull in the mud the best we could until the sign petered
out and dejectedly turned back to the truck.
In retrospect, with my experience level what it is now, I would handle
the situation differently, but we can’t go back in time and learn from our
experiences. Hunting the rest of the day
yielded a great shot on a beautiful coyote, affirming the rifles capability,
but no further moose sightings. On day 2
of the hunt, we saw a small bull cruising in the early afternoon and with some
quick shooting we were able to take a 680lb. bull sporting a 36” wide rack. A great first bull and I was ecstatic with
the success.
It only took a few more years to
get my name drawn and my first permit was in zone 4, which was deep in the
North Maine Woods. I had been bitten by
the moose bug and had my heart set on a 60” trophy or bust for my weeklong hunt. Before legal time on the opening morning, we
had an absolute giant at 75 yards, but as we waited for the seconds to tick by
until legal the bull decided he had enough and melted back into the dark
timber. Long story short, after seeing
him, it reaffirmed my trophy goal and while we saw that giant one other morning
the 13 other bulls, we saw that week didn’t quite measure up and I ended up
eating a healthy dose of tag soup.
One of the reasons I believe I have been able to draw three tags was my willingness to apply for all the available permits and in 2011 I drew a cow tag. That hunt lasted two days and ended up being the last hunt I had with my traditional partners as my grandfather and his brother both passed away that year. I was fortunate enough to take a 500-pound cow that made for phenomenal table fare and had an enjoyable hunt to top it off. Check out some other reflecting at this link; Moose Hunting History, when I realized there is a lot more to a moose hunt than the trophy at the end.
Fast forward another 10 years and I
was drawn again, but this time not only was I drawn, but I also pulled my first-choice
tag! Having learned quite a bit about
moose hunting over my hunts as well as a handful of other moose hunts, I went
along on even though I wasn’t on the permit, I had a fairly good idea what I
was after. I also knew that the moose
herd wasn’t what it was 10 years ago, so I knew I would have my work cut out
for me. I wanted a trophy bull but had
relaxed the standards to include upper 40-inch bulls as well as anything in the
50-inch class. I started hanging trail cams
shortly after the draw, as did a few of my friends. We put in a large effort to pinpoint a big
bull and narrow down where he was spending the summer. I have to say, I have a love/hate
relationship with trail cameras, because seldom do I get the shots I anticipate,
but I guess that makes the successful captures sweeter. After multiple failed cameras and others
being torn down and chewed on by bears, we finally started to catalog some
decent bulls and one real smasher. One
area was proving very difficult to get pictures from as it seemed to kill any camera,
we put there either by bear or other mysterious malfunctions. Frustrated with the cameras, we gave up and
relied on reading traditional sign, which was extremely promising. My work schedule in the weeks leading up to
the season gets very hectic, so I had to let everything soak for a month or so,
but with 2 weeks until the season I was able to get back scouting in earnest. Early mornings found me cruising the roads we
had identified as closest to our target spots and watching the sign build as
the rut activity started to increase.
Moose sightings increased and one morning was exceptional with 13 moose
spotted and 2 definite “shooter” bulls.
The last week I had prioritized my locations and it became a balancing
act of keeping tabs on the moose without pressuring them.
Saturday night before the Monday
morning opener the sky opened up and we had a torrential downpour pass through
the area, and it put over 4 inches of rain down. We spent most of the day doing the final preparations
and loading the truck with gear for every possible scenario I could think of. Uneasy about how the weather would impact the
moose behavior, I tossed and turned for several hours after putting my head on
the pillow, but I don’t know if I could straight facedly call it sleep. The alarm went off at 3:00 prompting me to
bounce out of bed in anticipation and pull on my clothes and gear I had laid
out the night before. Waiting until the
last possible minute I went and woke my eight-year-old son Drake who was joining
me for the day’s festivities. His excitement
showed as well as he quickly sprung out of bed despite the early time. Grabbing the last of the food goods from the
fridge and topping off the ice in the coolers as he got ready, I had just
snapped the last latch on the YETI when my brother-in-law Brent’s headlights
pulled in the yard and the crew was almost together. It was going to a real family affair for the
first day, with three generations. We
were meeting my dad Tom on the road to save drive time for everyone, and my
brother Tony was going to join us later in the morning. Wasting no time, Brent grabbed his stuff and
jumped in the truck with Drake and I and we headed out. Awhile later we pulled into our meeting spot
and Dad was already there waiting. We
had his truck loaded up for the retrieval process, so we parked it in a strategic
location, and he climbed in the passenger seat.
The headlights showed ditches full of water and flowing over the road surface
in multiple locations as we splish-splashed our way to my first chosen location. We had allowed for ample time and parked in
our spot a full hour before legal shooting time.
As we all sat in the darkness, excitement
built as we whispered last minute thoughts, fears and hopes and then listened
as a cow started calling. With about a
half hour until legal as we listened to the cow moans in the distance, I
noticed a dark blob that appeared to move and told the crew, there’s a moose
right in front of us. It took a bit
longer of watching with binoculars to confirm it was a cow just feeding slowly
along. Excitement was quickly quenching
the fears now and we were all trying to pick apart the darkness to see if she
had a companion. She slowly fed out of
sight and the minutes ticked by as the sky slowly lightened. We quickly hatched out a plan were Dad, and I
would still hunt the first piece and then Brent and Drake would come pick us up
to proceed to where I wanted to start calling.
The clock struck legal, and we loaded the guns as quietly as we could
and stealthily walked in the same direction the cow had gone. We didn’t go very far before spotting her and
we got to watch her for a minute or so before she busted us. The wind was wrong for this spot, but I just
couldn’t drive by. Not completely giving
up hope, we cut the wind at an angle and kept going a bit further before I
noticed another moose giving me the stare down.
Easing the binoculars up out of the chest harness I confirmed it was
another cow. Watching her she started
making a guttural sound I had never heard a cow make, which I can only relate
to a dog barking. I heard some branches
breaking off to her side but was not able to see what was making the noise
before she turned and walked in the same direction. I had heard that this sound is often a response
when a cow is trying to protect her calf or to keep a bull to herself. I was unsure which scenario was playing out
here, but was leaning towards the bull, but either way there was no easy way to
get to them with the current wind, so we pushed on. The rest of the walk was uneventful, and Brent
and Drake arrived with the pickup at the perfect time. Continuing, I was giving the full tour guide
spiel, telling every spot I had seen a bull or cow, partly to keep everyone’s
eyes peeled. We were almost to our spot,
there was one more right turn, so I started explaining the plan to
everyone. I said, “this is going to be
the spot, we are going to around this corner and we will be going to……MOOSE!!!!!!!!!Big
Bull!!!!!” As the words were coming out
of my mouth, the pickup was coming to a screeching halt, and I might have put
it into park before the wheels were done rolling. I didn’t even need binoculars to see this was
a bull I would shoot. As I loaded the
rifle and grabbed my shooting sticks, my heart was starting to pound
uncontrollably. I picked the rifle up
quickly to peek through the scope and confirmed everything was as big as I
thought. I was pretty sure I had seen
this bull the week before and he was the biggest one I had laid eyes on all
summer and fall. Dad readied himself and
said, “It’s too far for me to shoot.” “Me too”, I said, “It has to be close to
1000 yards”. “We have got to get closer,
let’s walk single file right down this wheel track, wind is good, and the sun
is at our back so we might be able to close the distance.” Nodding he started following me and I had to
pace myself not to break into a dead run.
Walking briskly, but steadily, we closed the gap; 800, 600, 500 and
finally to 400 yards. It was still a
poke, but both he and the cow standing beside him seemed to change their disposition
and I was worried we had been made. “We’re
going to have to try it”, I whispered as I settled the .300 Win. Mag onto the
shooting stick and knelt to steady myself.
“You shoot, still too far for me”, Dad said as he tried to steady
himself, but without a rest at that range would be very difficult. Trying to steady my breathing and slow my
racing heart, the crosshairs were settled right and left, but were still traveling
from top of back to bottom of belly as I shook.
Doing the mental math of needing to hold a bit high at that range, I
took a deep breath and as I let it out, found the spot just above center where
I wanted it and the gun went off. The
bull buckled and spun as Dad said, “You got him!”. Feeling good about the shot, but not 100% I
quickly worked the bolt to put a fresh round in and got the crosshairs back on
him and hurriedly pulled the trigger.
Second shot was too hurried and a miss but caused him to jump down into
thick cover and out of sight. Unsure on
the hit, I whispered to Dad, “Let’s just ease down to where he was and see what
we see.
We slowly walked down, with the cow
who had not moved at all staring us down.
As we got inside 100 yards she turned and started to walk away, not
ready for leave yet, I let out a real soft grunt. She spun around and took a few steps towards
us. We continued approaching and every
time she would turn to leave, I would softly grunt again. We finally got to where the bull had been
standing, evidenced by his big tracks slipping in the mud, but I couldn’t see
any blood or hair readily apparent. Now worried,
my mind started racing, did I just wound this giant never to be seen again, was
it a clean miss, or maybe did he tip over just out of sight. As my mind raced, I was reading the cow and
gave another soft grunt, which made her put her back legs together and urinate
on them, which prompted a second cow to make an appearance and she came charging
in to be with the other cow at 20 yards.
Enjoying the show and relishing how awesome of an opportunity it was to experience
this, my mind kept forcing my eyes to search for blood. I had just grunted a little louder as my eyes
scanned the small trees for the slightest drop of blood when in my peripheral vision,
I saw movement. It was the bull, he had
bedded just out of view and stood again where I could just see his rack. The two ladies in front of him, and the
thought of another bull coming proved to be too much, even in his wounded state
he took a step towards the cows and that was just what I needed to have a clear
line on his chest. I had him in the
scope as soon I saw him and at 30 yards as soon as his shoulder cleared the fir
and tamarack, the Weatherby Vanguard roared connecting solidly and causing him
to break into a run. My Dad quickly realized
what happened and brought his gun up to hit him in the vitals with a well-placed
shot as he was running. I had quickly
worked the bolt and brought the gun back up just as Dad shot. Finding the shoulder again, I squeezed the
trigger and watched the bull collapse upon impact. Big Bull Down!!!!!!
The roller coaster of emotions during
a moose hunt just reached the pinnacle! As
I stood there and looked at the rack seemingly reaching for the sky, I was in
disbelief and awe that it had all come together. I signaled to Brent and Drake to come down
from their perch where they were watching the whole scene unfold and videoing
through the binoculars. I was too taken
aback to even approach the beast for a minute, so I just stood there soaking
the whole scene in and letting the flood of emotions wash over. I was able to take an awesome bull with my
father by my side and my son watching it and fueling his passion for the sport. I was speechless about how truly epic it was,
and while I thought of how awesome it would have been had my grandfather and
Uncle Dick been there too, I smiled and thought they are here in our memories.
My phone went off with a text from
my brother with a picture of a big bull he had spotted on his way to meet us,
and my reply was, “He’s a beauty, but he’s got nothing on the one we just shot! BBD!!!”
Drake and Brent were beyond excited as they pulled up and Dad and I were
grinning ear to ear. After getting Tony
some directions to find us, we as a group headed over to where he lay a mere 20
yards from where we could drive the pickup.
After running my hands over his antlers with sheer admiration, we
propped the bull up for photos and revealed the side facing us for all the
shots. All four shots had found their
mark, although the first one had been a tad high and just barely got the lungs
but was a clean through and through. After
taking lots of photos, something that I have only recently gotten better at and
strongly encourage everyone to take 15 minutes for good pictures, we got to the
process of field dressing. My brother
showed up just in time for pictures and field dressing, which is his favorite
part. We sent the other half of the crew
to retrieve the trailer and they pulled in just as we had finished up. We backed the trailer into the ditch, and I rolled
the head and shoulder back as Tony wedged the bedliner under to protect the
cape. Wrapped the cable carefully around
the antlers and through a pulley on the front of the trailer before hooking to
Tony’s pickup and backed up slowly pulling him onto the trailer. The whole retrieval process only took 5
minutes! We then high fived again and
pointed the pickups for the tagging station where we had lots of friends and
family waiting for us to watch the weighing/tagging process. As the biologist called out the metric
measurements, I was trying to do the conversion in my head, but the calculator
did its work faster, and they wrote 61” spread on the board. After hoisting it up at the scales, it
weighed in at 779lbs. field dressed. By
then it was getting quite warm, so we headed straight to the butchers and caped
it before sticking it in the walk-in cooler.
Over 350 pounds of lean venison, an amazing trophy for the wall and
family memories to be cherished long after are what the Maine Moose Hunt of
2021 gave to me! After drying for 60
days, I had the rack scored and it grossed 189 3/8” and netted 182 6/8” qualifying
it for the Maine Antler & Skull Trophy Club. Also, I was able to get the moose aged by
pulling a tooth and it turns out he was 13.5 years old, a real old giant!
