Opportunity Found! ...in the currents of Currant Creek (Bull Down!)

Well, these pages have outlined a lot of moose hunts...but I never had a moose hunt go quite as perfectly as this Fall's hunt did.  The closest it has ever come to this year's tale was the 2013 bull I took while hunting with Sarah's dad in 7-mile slough, (click here - and that post will open in another window) but even that one was after weeks of hunting HARD through, ice, snow, heavy winds and waves on the Yukon, etc...so that one 'smooth' trip that year really didn't play out the same way, after all.  This year's trip was the first outing for moose since we got here (after taking last year off from hunting them), and technically, it was just a scouting trip. That would change, however...

Our day started off in the morning around 8:30 AM last Saturday - A little later than I am used to setting out during moose season.  In fact, as Cam and I pulled out of the bay, my mind was on spotting a bear on shore as we traveled up to the river we planned to hunt, as I had already kind of written off the trip as a scouting adventure, that we could maybe spruce up a bit with a black bear encounter...seeing as they are traveling the lake shores in search of the sockeye salmon that are gathering up in crazy numbers around the creek and river mouths these days. We never did see any bears, however, and we soon found ourselves at the mouth of the river.

We figured we’d head up as far as we could go, and mark important stuff on the GPS - sandbars that would make good potential camps, meadows with good sign, etc. - that way we’d have a plan of action for September. We spent much of the morning heading up river, hiking in to meadows we scouted on google earth and trying to learn the braids and channels as we went. When we finally grounded out (hard), we turned around, and began the trip back down. We quickly learned that the shoe on the jet was bent, and after removing a lot of rocks, and getting underway again, deduced that we had ground the impeller a bit, which was causing some lost water compression and reduced throttle. Oh well, we figured at the time, no biggie. We continued to stop at likely spots and explore the area.  The morning went much like this.  Pulling off on sandbars, heading into meadows to look for sign - and some general exploring of this incredibly scenic area.

After coming back downriver about 8 miles, we rounded a sharp bend and my eye caught on the partially blocked body of a moose, a ways down river, maybe 125-150 yards away. As the bull turned his head and began moving along the water’s edge, I noticed he was still fully in velvet, and the paddles looked black as coal in the light. Even though that made them blend in with the shadows of the trees behind him, I instantly could see that this was not a bull I’d pass up. My safety was off before I even motioned to my partner, who was driving. We closed the gap as he tried to find the bull using my hand signals, and once he locked on it, I saw recognition come over his face, and he set to work getting us over to the beach. As the waves of our wake began hitting the sandbar and the boat itself, the noise caught the bull’s attention, and his head swiveled quickly to focus on the sound. It was too late, though, as I had bailed and was already squeezing the trigger as he seemed to realize he was looking up river at something that shouldn’t be there. At the crack of the rifle, the bull pulled that maneuver we all love to see – he reared up onto his hind legs, hunching his back and pointing both front legs straight out at the ground. Just like that, he was off into the willows. We tied up and followed his fresh tracks through a tunnel of brush, but saw no blood for about 20 yards. Then, we looked to our right and there, just on the other side of some willows, (like as in about 6 or 7 yards away, larger than life) he was stumbling away. Unable to get a shot other than the Texas heart shot variety from where we were standing, we both split up and fanned out. When the bull emerged from the other side and started across the sandbar, I couldn’t see him, but Cam did, and put the coup de grace on him. When we walked up and watched his last kicks, I realized I was staring at the boat (up and just right of the bull in the pic below), and couldn’t help but smile at the pack we wouldn’t have to endure this time around:

Cam, just as the moose hunting's "What just happened?!" set in... :)


The beautiful color that lung blood brings:


Cam and the mighty bull.


The most scenic bull moose headshot I've ever been in (at least until a few minutes later, anyway)


A 30-pound backstrap!!  The original organic, harvested the right way - doing it yourself.


Some cool color variation in his velvet.  Normal?  Don't know, never shot a bull in velvet before this one...


Epic horn shot, part 1...wowza....


And some more epic-ness...


You have to love it when you're so close to the boat that you don't even bother strapping the meat onto the frame pack...


and the "Back at the boat" shot...  :)


And this next photo just speaks to me.  Right down to the bugs caught in the frame. It is precisely images like this that keep a hunter awake the night before, get him out of bed early, keep him out long after dark, and burn into his memory forever.  This just might be my favorite moose hunting picture yet.  What a day...


Some more cool velvet shots...




Home safe and sound. :)


Now for the processing...so we can get out there and get a sheep....

Moose Week 2014, Part 1 (Sarah's bull)

October is already here ...half gone actually...and I hadn't gotten around to a recap of this year's INSANE moose season.  Or..Moose 'Week'.  Technically it was eight days, but in that span we were able to see more than a dozen bulls on a half dozen outings, and in the end...four of them came home with us. :)  That, of course, is part of the reason why I haven't posted yet.  Despite that fact, this was far and away the greatest moose season we have experienced here in Russian Mission.  It had it all:  Seeing big bulls, seeing LOTS of bulls - make that LOTS of moose, period - dryer weather meant more access and less slogging around in water - we had beautiful weather, the list goes on and on.   Shall we get going with the recap?...  (I will be posting the four parts of this post in reverse order, so that they read from the beginning to the end, top-down - so for parts 2-4, scroll down or find them in the tag list at the lower right.)

So, this was the year we meant to make a concerted effort for Sarah to get out and get her first bull.  Every year - even going back to our days in Pilot Station - she hadn't gotten many chances to get out in moose season for one reason or another.  This year, we weren't going to let that happen.  One way or another, we were going to get her a bull, even if that meant we had to go out with the boys in an attempt against all odds.  And we did in fact go with the boys on our backs...several times:

Being as we live in an incredible place where you can kill a bull directly across the river from town (Hah! more on the irony of that statement later) we devised a plan that, in the evenings, I would watch the young'uns and Sarah would jet across the river by herself and hunt til dark.  Daily.  And so it began.  On her first outing, she came back and reported that nothing showed in the meadow.  Some ducks in the pond was about it...but she sure enjoyed the quiet time and the recharge it brings. :)  Second night, things got a bit more interesting.  As she called, a bull snuck out the trail we use to get in to the spot and busted her, slipping into the thick stuff before she had a shot she was comfortable with.  Dang it!...   Third night, she texted (from the meadow, heh heh)  that she was getting annoyed with the ducks making noise and a porcupine that wouldn't quit chewing on a tree above her and let her listen for moose.. :)  She did see two cows though, poking their heads out of the willows - not really offering a shot anyway, but stuff like that keeps the fires burning.  After that, we were closing in on the arrival of Sam and Jerry on Friday and we decided that, come what may, we would have to sneak a trip (trip's') in while they were here and that was that.   We discussed all the events of the week, and how she was feeling that we just needed a break, and if it was going to happen that we would be 'sent' a bull and everything would just fall together and that would be it.  We can't, and shouldn't have to, force it to happen.   Little did we know her words would become literal reality in so many ways....

Friday, September 19th.  It came quicker than seemed possible after so many months of waiting.  I was truly starting to get amped up with the realization that the best week of the season was quickly approaching, and not having gotten out at all except for scouting trips.  It was decided that Sam would stay at home with the boys after we put them down for the night and Sarah, Jerry, and I would head out.  After all, the week's events seemed to show that the boys were sleeping well and we could circumvent Abram's feedings with a moose hunt and be back before he realized his mom was ever gone.  That night we got them both asleep early and headed out just a little after 6 o clock.  By the time we got the boat unstuck out of the mud and everything in the boat squared away, we were heading down river at about 6:45.  We cruised around the sandbar where the slough enters the river and entered the mouth right around 7.  I throttled down to a soft purr and we began searching for moose on the banks as we cruised...

We have often 'crept' right up on moose drinking on the banks in this slough, and so Sarah and Jerry were on high alert up front. :)

After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the landing where we always park, and got out of the boat.  We made sure we had all the gear we wanted, shells were in, etc., and began the sneak to the chain of meadows where we planned to call for the evening.  Excitement was high and the anticipation was killing me.  I REALLY wanted Sarah to get a bull, and this also being Jerry's first trip out with us, we all, of course, were hoping it would go well.  I remember thinking, "If we can just see some moose, this will be a win, but I sure hope we can get a bull's attention."   It is a fairly short walk to the first meadow,  maybe 2/3 of a mile long, with a banana-shaped lake/pond that curves to the left.

So, roughly 100 yards later, maybe a little more, as we first emerged from the trees, I decided that we would just try a quick call after glassing, and then we would move along the treeline on the right side of the meadow until we could head further right through the treeline into the second meadow.  I had a good feeling about that second meadow, which is back in farther, and contains a decent-sized lake to boot.  But we would never get there.  After glassing initially, and seeing nothing, we began drfting right to get along the trees and stay out of the grass.  By grass, we are talking about 5-6 feet tall hay-like grass.  It was a bit windy, and so that likely masked some of the noise the three of us were making, swishing through it.  And then it happened.  About 100 yards out, I stared in disbelief as a bull stepped out of the treeline straight ahead (the same one we were trying to walk along), and then stopped, broadside.  And then...he turned his head the other way, his rack reflecting the evening light.

Immediately, I dropped to the ground in a crouch, shucking the pack off my back, opening it and removing the Gatorade bottle moose call while looking over at Sarah.  She was already crouched too, as was Jerry, and I remember seeing her mouth the words, "There IS one!"...  I shared her disbelief, and it grew as I looked back up and saw that he hadn't moved and was exactly where my eyes had left him.  I was thinking I might have to call to get his attention if he turned away and starting walking where he was looking.  I whispered to Sarah as she was flipping the scope covers off, "When you're ready let's stand up and you take him as soon as you can.  Take your time and plug him...I'll shoot after you do.  Whenever you're ready!"... and I stood up, filling my scope with moose neck.   I checked him out, and my initial thoughts were that he was a decent bull, in the 40's for sure, maybe close to 50, after seeing his ears out and where his palms reached to out past them.  They always look bigger from behind though.  And then his head turned from looking away, to looking to our left.  I stole a glance over to Sarah, and she was bearing down, peering in the scope.  I quickly looked back and settled on the bull's neck again, hoping it was going to go bang any second...and about two seconds later, it did...

I have never seen a moose drop so fast that wasn't hit somewhere in the neck or spine.  Ever.   That moose kind of leaned to his right and dropped like a bag of concrete.  I mean RIGHT now.  My first words were "Holy!!.....dropped that Son of a B right there, baby!"  I couldn't believe it.  If you were to lie in bed and dream up how you would like a fantasy moose hunt to go, this was pretty much it.
In the craziness that followed, as we all took off across the meadow to check out the bull, I remember Jerry saying, "Look at that...it's only 7:30...the Ten-Minute moose hunt!!"  Indeed.  From the boat to "Bang!" was less than ten minutes, in fact.  It wasn't long and we were snapping pictures.  Let the photo mania begin!

So, we made the decision to quarter him up, get the guts out and spread the pieces to cool overnight.  With three knives going, it wasn't long until we were stuffing raingear for Sarah to carry out the backstraps and the loins.  (We left the game bags behind..oops.  Oh well, it sure was close to home, so no biggie.)

That way we could come back the next morning with everyone, including the boys, and get the beast out.   The next morning, Sarah, Jerry, Sam, Warren, Abram, and I all made the walk back into the meadow.  We all were cautious in approaching, as we knew there very well could be a bear waiting for us.  That didn't evolve, but we did still suspect it might be worth calling before we got packing, just in case there was another bull nearby.  As it turned out, I called out a 50-incher, but it wasn't to be.  He didn't offer Sam a shot, as we had all but given up and gotten down to work before he emerged, and he busted us.  Which in the end worked out okay.  We had some work to do, and it was Warren's birthday after all.  He, by the way, was having a blast just like the rest of us:

Between all of us, and the short pack, it didn't take long.

After the meat was out, there was time for a couple last pictures at the scene, and then it was time to carry out the head...

And back down the slough we went...

Landed on the beach at home!

And from there, "Moose Week" began.  Here is the trailer I put together of this year's video.  The long version is too large to put here, but family will be getting theirs soon. :)  'Til then, here's a shorter glimpse.  I will place this on all four of the "Moose Week" posts - so if you read them all, it will all be the same vid. :D  Thanks for watching... Post number two of moose week to follow...

Moose Week 2014, Part 2 (Sam's bull)

Monday, September 22, 2014 - This was the day I chose to take off from work during the time our visitors would be here, so we had to do it up.  It would be hard to follow Sarah's bull from the Friday before (Moose Week part 1), but we were optimistic. :)  The day started out early.  We had hunted hard over the weekend after Warren's birthday events of Saturday and getting Sarah's moose out, but suffice to say we were all three (Sam, Jerry, and I) looking forward to a day of chasing bulls around from dark until dark.  We left before daylight and headed downriver to the spot where Sam connected last year.

As we headed into the slough and purred to the landing spot, we snapped this pic of the sunrise behind us:

Looking forward wasn't too shabby either...you could surely tell that fall was in its glory.  As the sun rose higher and we got further along, the colors kept getting better.

Snapped this one right after setting the anchor.  See any moose tracks? :)

Walking in the trail was not hard on the eyes, either.  Between the currant bushes, the rose hips, and the falling leaves, the colors made quite a backdrop.

When we got to the meadow and called, however, we didn't get any response.  At all.  Not a single stick snapped under hoof, not a scrape, not a curious cow, nothing.  A beautiful morning, though, and we had a great day of hunting still awaiting us to look forward to.  Back in the boat we went.  We hit several different spots throughout the day, ending up back at home in the afternoon, having seen a couple bulls but nothing that materialized into a shooting opportunity.  After a nap and dinner, we decided to head back to the spot right across the river to the meadow Sarah had been going to herself in the early days of the season.  The run-down is below..

When you park the boat for this spot, you work your way across the mudflat that is the beach, and you enter the trees on a winter trail (cut for snowmachines).  About 15 yards into the trees, there is another winter trail running left and right.  Looking to the right side on that trail, you can see a meadow that runs for a few hundred yards.  At this point, you are close enough to home that you can hear voices from town, and sled dogs barking, etc. :)  But then we continue further straight ahead and after a bit you encounter another meadow (the one we refer to as the 'first meadow' because that riverside one doesn't really count, we always say...or always 'said'.  Heh heh. More about that later...

So once you get to the NEXT meadow, what we call the 'second meadow', that is where we set up and call most often when back in this spot.  See the picture below to sort of explain all my babble:  The straight black line represents the trail you walk in on (though not actually it), in an upwards direction on this photo,  that leads almost straight away from the river.  The meadows are marked.  The riverside one that 'doesn't count', and the other two:

Here is a pic from the "trail" leading in... :)

So, anyways, we got to the meadow, and we set up to call.  It didn't take long...just a few scrapes and a set or two of bull grunts, I can't remember exactly how many.  It wasn't more than a few minutes, at any rate.  I was looking through the pack and trying to find my munchies when I heard Jerry say, "Oh!  We got one coming...get down get down...he's running right at us!"  After crouching I turned toward the direction he had been pointing and slowly stood up...nothing.  Keep in mind the grass is nearly as tall or taller than me, depending where you are standing in the meadow...but there wasn't anything there.  At least nothing as big as a moose, mind you.  But then I heard it.  "He's crossing the pond!" I hissed.  Moments later, there he was, emerging from the water, dripping wet and looking black as coal.  About 350+ yards out.  He may have been running toward us when Jerry saw him, but he surely was going away now, and he wasn't wasting any time.  There was no shot to be had before he disappeared into the treeline, pushing back to the next meadow.  There was enough time to see that he was a 50+ bull though, and feel that old familiar frustration of getting burned by one. :)  It was a good one.  And apparently, he was not far enough gone with the rut to lose the wits that had kept him alive this long.  There was an awkwardly silent few minutes then, as we three stood there wondering what might have been.

We stuck it out and continued calling, as often there can be more than one bull within hearing range of course.  But there weren't any this night, in this meadow.  Feeling dejected, we headed back for the boat about a half hour before dark.  There was a lesson to be learned here.  The same one, over and over, that being a hunter reminds you of constantly.  Right about the time you lose faith, things happen.  And here it was again.  As we neared the river, our walking became less purposeful.  Thoughts of frustration were dominating, and I had almost forgotten what a blessing it was to be out in the moose woods in late September.  And all of a sudden I popped out into the trail that runs parallel with the river and leads to that meadow closest to the beach - the one we "don't coun't".  The meadow I have walked by dozens of times and never seen so much as one moose there.  The meadow I have told myself over and over since we have been here that it would be divine to run into a bull in that meadow - what a nice pack that would be!  .....and this night, it happened.

As I entered the opening, I looked to my left and almost tripped in mid-stride.  I honestly thought my eyes were playing tricks on my brain.  There, in a meadow just yards from the river, were 5 moose.  FIVE.  What the?!?!...  I slammed to a stop, hoping I hadn't been seen, but the failing light seemed to have helped, as I could tell one was a bull, and he was looking right at me, but then turned his head and nuzzled a cow near him.  What luck!  And the good Lord shows me again....don't lose faith.  I hissed at Sam.  "Sam!...get over here, quick!", flapping my arm like a bird trying to take off.  "What?" he replied, approaching.  "Look!", and I pointed.  We both dropped down and I once again scrambled to get the call out and working.  Sam was getting into position to shoot and trying to get settled with a rest...the bull was out there a ways.  I scraped and called, but the bull was having none of it.  Not too surprising, considering he had all he wanted right there with him already.  After realizing just how busy he was with the cows, in fact, I decided we were going to creep up the trail to gain what we could on him.  I knew we could do it.  He wasn't going anywhere as long as those cows didn't.  It took me a minute or two to convince Sam not to just shoot from where we were, but he eventually decided that sounded okay.  We crept up the trail, planning to get to the entrance of the meadow before shooting.  (That would shave about 75 yards off the distance, putting it in the low to mid 200's.)  And we made it without a hitch.  I moved to the left and dropped to the ground, and Sam did the same - and the rest, as they say, is history.

When Sam touched off his shot, the moose clearly showed a good solid hit, and bolted to the right (towards the river).  Unfortunately that also meant he was running towards the thick willows, which would make butchering more challenging than necessary.  I belted him in the neck.  However, as we would later find, my neck shot this time didn't hit the spine, rather it went just (and I mean JUST) low, hitting the major blood vessels and esophagus instead.  Fatal...absolutely... but not anchoring.  The bull did stop though, to sort out this mew development.  I remember saying, "Odd he didn't go down..I could see the bullet hit him in the scope...I wonder if I just nicked him?"  to which Sam immediately replied, "I nicked myself..."  That threw me for a second, until I looked over and saw him grinning in the near-dark, with a tiny rivulet of blood running down his forehead.  The .300 WSM had scoped him, just like it did me on the goat nearly a decade ago.  We shared a good laugh about that for a few moments, and then I refocused on the task at hand.  The bull was standing there, coughing, and a couple of the cows were still milling around him.  I tried to put another neck shot in but low and behold, I got some of the good old Yukon silt in the action somehow ( I thought) , and it jammed on me.  I asked Sam for the .300 as he still had a shell in, and put another one in the neck.  The bull disappeared as he dropped down below the grass.  This time for good.  We turned around and gave Jerry, who was filming the whole time, the "Come-on-up" yell.  We grabbed the gear and the three of us headed across the meadow.  We would pace it off around 220 yards in the end.  Almost the same as Sam's shot last year.  So much for close encounters. :)  I think the trouble with me is I just don't like waiting when there is a rifle in my hand.  Comes from my long stint hunting Pennsylvania whitetails, I guess - you don't wait, and you go for the neck - that way they don't run over the next hill and get shot at by someone else.  Old habits die hard.  Besides, moose necks are a hell of a lot easier to hit than running whitetail necks are. :)

Sam's bull was a dandy eater, with a big body and not at all stinky with the rut.  Which may seem odd seeing as he had a small harem with him - even as a 50 inch bull was not far off and apparently okay with that...hmmmm...  Anyways, here is the beast!

A glimpse of the neck shot that didn't hit bone..this is the entry side...looks like it would have connected, doesn't it?  but nope...

Sam with his moose.  Sarah says he looks like Jack Nicholson in this picture, and he hates it, but we only got two , and this is one of them... :)

The other of the two, which he also said he doesn't like... :)

A pic from the next day during the pack-out showing the meadow.  River is to the right, through that treeline.

Sam with his bull completely in the boat.  That is where we park, and yes, that is town you see glimpses of there at the upper left.  It is a beautiful thing...and gives close to home a whole new meaning...

And as promised, here is the short version video..the shots fired at this bull are in there...

Next up in the Moose Week posts is my bull...