Thread: Moose Hunt
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Old 10-17-2021, 08:31 AM
dave99 dave99 is offline
 
Join Date: Oct 2009
Location: Jasper
Posts: 835
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I take the time to range (1560 yards) the moose, and triangulate its position in my mind. Gear is packed back into my bag, and I positively run down the mountain to tell Mark and Bob. It appeared to me that the bull was ready to bed for the day, so we plan to close the distance between us and him. Gearing up with only the necessities (rifle, binoculars, ski poles and hope), we work the wind and within an hour are positioned at 650 yards from where I last saw the bull. Mark and I take the time to discuss the pros and cons of calling and getting him to stand up versus waiting in position to ambush him when he gets up from his daytime bed, likely late in the afternoon. It is 9:30am and neither of us likes the idea of waiting all day for a bull that may never materialize to come into the meadow on his own accord.
We decide to play the heavy hand – we will first stalk within the closest practical shooting distance and then call to the bull in hopes of getting him to show himself or (unlikely) leave his cow to come after us. By 10:15am we have cut the distance to about 450 yards from where we expect him to be. We are now in the middle of the willow basin, and set up in the only open position where the views of the bull’s side of the basin are fully unobstructed.
I jam my ski pole tips into the soft ground, make a A-frame with the grips and set my rifle upon it. I remove my elevation turret cover, dial my turret to 425 yards and set my binoculars and rangefinder next to me. Unless the moose comes to us, this will be as close as we get. On my signal, “Moosetalker” Mark rakes the willows with a stick, and purposely cracks branches.



Thirty seconds pass until I see the unmistakable shape of moose antlers moving through the forest, a little to the left of where I’d expected them. “I see him” I half whisper – half hiss to Mark who is hidden behind me. The bull stops at the threshold of meadow and forest, facing us. My heart races.
Ranging the bull, he is now 410 yards and seems in no mood to leave his bedded lady friend to come closer to what he believes is another bull. For the better part of 10? 5? who knows? minutes he stands facing us. I’m ready to shoot but need to wait for him to step broadside. Behind me, Mark breaks another couple sticks. The bull takes a step forward which opens his right flank to a 45 degree quartering position. I steady myself, gauge the wind and hold 12” right and set a copper bullet to flight. The report signals a hit, but it takes me a moment to cycle the bolt and find the bull again in the reticle. The bull is down but his head is still up, so a second shot lays him down for good.



Having been composed and meticulous for so long, emotion and disbelief get the better of me. Mark makes a valiant attempt at self-control, but his eyes seem pretty glassy to me!

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