A Hunting We Will Go (Part2)

Herb hung all his hunting clothing (first washed in no-scent soap) among pine bows.  Then he tried to utilize the sensitive detection device of a horny bull moose to attract the moose to the hunter.  The hunters often tried spraying urine from a cow in heat around the area they wanted to hunt. 

Another time, they experimented with an unusual technique.  One day the wind was blowing so hard that Doc, who was sitting in a tree stand in Beaver Lake, thought it was a wasted effort to be out at all.  Herb and Darren set up some incense which blew deep into the woods in smoky rings.  Low and behold, a nice bull moose (34”) came prancing out to discover the musky odor.  It was then that Doc got his shot. 

Listening to faint crunches, snaps, and rustlings is as important as good vision in a hunt.  Dennis and Frank gradually learned how to be sensitive to the sights and sounds around them, while Fred learned how staying invisible from the moose can mean the difference between feast and famine.  A hunter must always be alert. 

Dennis and Frank, with Herb as their guide, were stalking in the clearcut area on the north end of Wine Lake.  They saw a cow across the meadow, feeding on the hill.  But each of the men had bull tags.  As it was getting dark and they were losing shooting light, they stood talking about the cow across the way.  Herb heard a typical “burp-bark” sound from a bull moose.  The three all froze in their tracks. 

Herb queried the hunters, “Where did that sound come from?”  Dennis pointed to the right and Frank pointed to his left.  Herb disagreed and whispered, “No, its right behind us!  Knock an arrow if you want to get him!” 

The bull had smelled the cow and was working his way over to her.  Dennis stayed put, while Frank and Herb ran to head the moose off.  Herb got within 25 yards of the moose and froze.  Frank, a good five yards back, could not see a thing with his middle-aged eyes.  The bull darted off.  A chance lost, another moose year gained. 

Another time, Fred and his friend George took turns as caller and shooter for the bull tag they hoped to fill.  They were working over an area that had lots of moose signs in it.  On this day George was the hopeful archer.  Fred was headed to cover, calling along the way for a big daddy moose.  He turned around and could not see George anywhere in sight.  So he squinted and stood tall – straining to locate George among the weeds. 

Finally, he saw George crouched down with an arrow drawn.  “What the heck is he doing?” thought Fred.  There stood a young bull, just out of shooting range for George, staring glassy-eyed at Fred.  Meanwhile, Fred was sticking out like an ocean liner in a corn field.  His gaudy presence stirred the animal, and cost George the shot. 

A successful hunt utilizes all these features:  quick, light steps, an effective rutting call, listening to subtle sounds in the woods, and staying down wind and out of sight from the moose.  When it works, it works well.  When the hunter does not entirely “become the woods” and develop the proper attitude or ethics, their hunt is ineffective, or worse, destructive to the natural order. 

To rifle hunters, hunting is hardly a sport these days.  They have all the advantage with their high-powered equipment.  But a bow hunter must become one with the animals and plants around him, crawling within scentless yards of a moose, if s/he is to get a shot.

One time, everything (senses, skill, weather, and attitude) all came together.  Herb and David were hunting in the early morning in a meadow on the south end of Wine Lake.  They had snuck in for a quarter of a mile along a creek and over beaver dams.  The night before, they thought they had heard a bull responding to Herb’s lone call.  It had gotten fairly close, scented a cow, and then the two moose took off after each other –sounding like a freight train in heat.  Because of this action, Herb and David returned to the same spot in the morning to call again.

Just as they arrived, they could hear a bull grunting.  But it quickly disappeared over the ridge toward Beaver Lake.  David figured the hunt was over as the large animal lumbered gracefully out of sight.  Herb suggested they try calling in that spot a little while longer. 

They walked into a series of old abandoned beaver dams.  Herb kept calling and returning the familiar grunt sound of a restless, competitive moose.  The bull started to come back. 

David and Herb ran as fast and as quietly as they could to the area where they had originally been set up –at least 300 yards back.  Herb hid in the tag alders and could hear the bull answering his call.  Then barely audible, Herb heard a stick break.  He tapped David on the shoulder and pointed in the direction where the animal was coming from.  David got on one knee behind an alder.  Herb snuck back behind a clump of whispy willow. 

The challenged moose started thrashing and beating up the nearby willows – getting ready for a bull fight.  Unlike the earlier faint steps, this sounded like six men dragging a boat through the willows.  Twelve foot high alders were shaking.  As the bull pulled his sweaty head up, the trees snapped all around him.  He let out a low grunt to locate Herb in the meadow. 

The bull slowly and defiantly walked right by David, who was hidden eight yards away.  His arrow was knocked and his Black Widow recurve was shiny and ready.  David could look the moose right in the eye as it passed him. 

The shot was dead on.  The giant looked back in defeat and piled up 45 yards away.  It would take six guys, a four-wheeler, and a come-along to maneuver this majestic beast from the meadow he once claimed to himself. 

Another time, John and Herb were sneaking through an area with weeds no more than twelve inches high, at daybreak.  Seventy yards away, a huge, 60” bull was rubbing his antlers on scrubby bushes.  They didn’t need binoculars to hone in on this massive moose. 

They would need to run whenever the moose moved to get close enough for a shot.  Herb directed John to run when he ran, and freeze when he froze— to become invisible in that terrain.  The moose began to noisily thrash and then to dig a rut pit with his hooves on the ground.  He urinated on the earth and rolled sideways in the mud.  Herb could see hooves up in the air, flailing in an upside down provocative dance.  

The hunters quickly ran to within 25 yards of the horny, oblivious creature.  Then Herb realized he was all alone.  “Where was John?  Did he sprain his ankle?” he thought.  As the guide, Herb would not take the broadside shot that he was set up to handle.  He ventured back to check on John.

Sixty yards back, he found John, head barely peeking out over a clump of fallen logs.  The moose now sensed the danger and let out a “marrrrk” warning, telling the hunters to get away.  Herb put his bow on top of his head and thrashed in the bushes, hoping to convince the moose that he was another bull ready for the rut. 

The fog settled all around the impressive sillouette in the valley.  Eighteen hundred pounds of muscle sauntered off with a final bellowing bark.  “What happened?” Herb asked.  John, a large, towering man in his own right, shook and simply said,  “Man, that was one HUGE moose.”