A Dream Becomes Reality

We returned to glassing the areas more to our south. It was the best looking country. I tired of glassing and told the guys that a good afternoon nap is good for changing momentum. I have done it many times for many species and the results are quite impressive. I think I made a compelling case.

A rotation of glassing duties as arranged among the three of us. One would nap and the other two would sleep. Half-hour shifts seemed fair. I was given the first napping appointment. As if he was bothered by my rest, I had just started a good daydream when Marcus woke me to say he had caught a glimpse of a bull moving through the time.

James and I got on our glass and started inspecting the area Marcus claimed the bull had disappeared. Marcus explained what he saw and where he saw, still not resulting in a moose. I explained to James that camera guys just could not allow the host to sleep without some sort of feigned excitement. He laughed, and I think I raised his distrust of Marcus’ intentions by citing the many other instances when camera guys had aroused me from wonderful naps.

Being awake, I decided to eat a snack. James had brought a Jet Boil and enough “Mr. Noodles” instant meals for a week of hungry hunters. Add that to a Snicker Bar and some Cadbury contraband and I was warmer than expected in this strong spitting wind. Somewhere in my lunch endeavors Marcus found a soft napping spot nested within a thicket of alders.

James moved further east to a large rock protruding above the alders and commenced his glassing. I strained my eyes to see if the big bull might have had a change of mind and corresponding change of direction. Nope. Or, at least not that I could see.

While coveting the sound sleep Marcus was getting, I heard the faint sound of a rifle shot in the direction the big bull had headed. It was followed by two more shots. James turned my way, jumped off the rock and started swimming through the alders to our position. He stopped midway to mess with his inReach.

When he got there, I had risen Marcus from his sleep. Though he didn’t say it, he was convinced that I had woke him up out of revenge, rather than the three rifle shots I had heard. James arrival confirming the sound of three shots gave me a pardon from Marcus’ suspicions.

I asked James what he thought. He said he was sure it was from the place Jim and Braden were located. He said he had sent Braden a message, asking for an update. While discussing what other possibilities could explain the shots, James’ inReach beeped with a reply message; “Jim is the happiest moose hunter in Canada. Big moose down. 100 yard shot.”

The three of us gave a big whoop of joy for Jim. James asked Braden if it was the big bull we had been watching. Braden confirmed it was at least 60”, likely wider. That made us smile even more. If it truly was the big bull we had been watching it was surely a lunker. I was almost more excited to get to camp and talk to Jim than I was to keep glassing for moose.

That shot of adrenaline got us all up glassing harder. A few more hours resulted in three smaller bulls and two cows. Nothing that got James interested enough to leave our glassing perch, no matter how exposed it was to the increasing wind and rain. We hung tight with no result, other than a world class snot-cicle building up on the end of my red nose.

Knowing we had about two hours to ride, James decided to pull the plug in time to give us time to examine the country we had ridden through this morning. The wind and rain were now full on miserable. The horses seemed happy to be heading back, knowing that grain and better pasture was in their near future.

About half-way, James stopped at a big rock pile and dismounted, signally it was one of his many preferred glassing locations. I used a big spruce to block the wind and instantly picked up a bull moose on the trail about 800 yards across the bog. To his left were a cow and a calf.

James took one look. “Too hard to judge in this rain and low light. Let’s ride.”

With that, we remounted and he led us through the alders in the shortest, not necessarily easiest, route he thought might intercept the bull. Light was fading fast as James picked and weaved through the rocks, alders, and creeks. We arrived with hardly any shooting light and even less filming light.

James started calling, thinking the moose would come to investigate. I was at the ready, round chambered and rifle on these new shooting sticks I was trying. Shameless plug for the new BogPod Adrenaline shooting sticks. They can get you set up on a variety of slopes and heights.

Calling provided us nothing. James creeped forward. Marcus and I followed on his heels. While crossing a meadow, I noticed something protruding above some alders and it looked a lot like antlers. I whistled to James. He backtracked a few paces to my location. Centered between to tall spruce were a set of moose antlers. James and I pulled our binos up and after a quick glance simultaneously looked at each other, “Same moose as last night.”

Undeterred, Marcus never retreats from the chance to get footage. He spent the next five minutes adjusting aperture settings until the effort was futile. It takes some really dark conditions for Marcus to pack up his camera. It was now that dark.

We headed back to camp, excited to hear a recap from Braden and Jim. When we got there, they were prepping the tenderloins from Jim’s bull. Jim had a big smile, and deservedly so. He had persevered through much and was able to pull it off under some really challenging confines.

When Jim and Braden showed us the images and video, it confirmed our hope the big bull would make an appearance near them. It was him; huge paddles, big fronts, and super wide. The video made me wish Marcus had been there with his cameras to capture this encounter for our show. It was both hilarious and amazing.

As a second-hand recount, the deal went down something like this..........

The big bull came into their view not long after it disappeared from us. He kept heading north toward their position, separated by 1,100 yards and a deep draw with a rocky torrent running down the bottom. They were at a loss of what to do, so Braden decided to experiment.

They had one black horse with them; Virgil. Braden decided he would use Virgil as a decoy and call as loud as he could in hopes that bull would hear him in this wind. Incredibly, Braden’s calling got the bull’s attention. The bull moved toward them and disappeared in one of the many cuts between the bull and their position.

When the bull reappeared, he had cut the distance to about 400 yards and was grunting. The video shows Braden on his hands and knees, leading Virgil down toward where the bull might cross. Jim is seen walking right on Virgil’s left flank and relaying to Braden what the bull’s response is.

Seeing Virgil, the bull decides he needs a closer look and is now less than two-hundred yards. Jim is prepping for a possible encounter, hoping the 100 yard distance can be obtained. Somehow, someway, they get the bull to come to 104 yards.

The three rifle shots we heard were all Jim’s. A small tight group, right behind the shoulder planted the bull as soon as he crossed the raging stream, exempting the guys from that hazard. Listening to each give their version of events, interspersed with supporting video and images, was as close to being there as one could ask. It was a truly remarkable evening. And yes, it was the biggest moose James or Braden had ever seen in this region.

Blythe, at Marcus's request, holding Jim's bull near the campfire.
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Hunters are asked to write a quick note on the cabin walls. Jim's comments ring true for me.
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Watching the Twinkies leave bases loaded, ending the inning, in a must win situation against my least favorite team. Get up walk away from TV before throwing something at it.
Check the other idiot box to take a needed break from baseball frustration. Look at this thread. See this pic. Whoa. Rare shot.
This photo is one that would be a very large custom framed job in a prominent place somewhere in the house.
Perfect capture of the whole scene.................
At first glance I thought it was a painting! Well done, Marcus!
 
Wow, what a great adventure! Awesome pictures. Congrats on a fantastic hunt!
 
I can’t keep up with your writing, all I can say is, I don’t get this excited about reading unless it’s “one mans wilderness” congrats to you and everyone involved.
 
Amazing story so far. Thanks for sharing Randy! I was able to live out my own caribou hunting dream a few weeks ago in Nunavut. Glad there's others out there that share the same lifelong dream of chasing huge racked bulls in the north. Congrats on a great animal, looking forward to reading the conclusion.
 
I confess that I'm not much of a reader, but I can't wait for more. What an adventure! Looking forward to the rest of this grand hunt. Not enough praise can be given to Marcus for his eye and his talent when it comes to those shots - truly amazing and awe inspiring.
 
Sounds like an epic adventure. The picture with the sun just under the antlers of the caribou is the most stunning field photo I have ever seen.
If Marcus ever gets bored and was willing to share, I'd love to know the settings and his post-processing to get such an incredible shot. This is my favorite photo ..... so far.
 
The next morning was a torrent of rain. I was not feeling too well and contemplated a day of rest for my liver. Seeing the enthusiasm in the James’ and Marcus’ eyes, I decided to take some extra meds and bundle up with my Stormfront system. But, not before another breakfast of great pancakes and stout coffee. Good fuel for the conditions we would face.

Plan for the day was that James would lead me, Marcus, and Blythe to a drainage that he had always wanted to moose hunt, but had never found reason to do so. It was rumored to hold big moose and James had found a moose shed in there that was an eye-popper. It would take us up the same trail Braden and Jim had taken, only dropping off north into some country where James casually mentioned the horsed did not like. I suspect that was code word for hunters not liking it, also.

James asked my thoughts on packing out a moose in backpacks, if need be. I smiled and retorted, “I’m your Huckleberry.” I doubt he has ever watched Tombstone, as he gave me a rather confused look. Marcus explained to him that my second language was Tombstone quotes.

With the horses readied, we headed into the wind and rain. In most instances, this would just suck. For some reason, we were all laughing and in good cheer. The trail was enough to take the smile off my face, as I was on a new horse, Banjo. He was a slightly smaller version of Chance, also adhering to the straight line method of travel. Banjo was the ride that Jim had when a crash resulted with Banjo on top of Jim’s rifle. I hoped to not suffer a similar fate, but resolved if it happened, at least my priority tag, mountain caribou, was filled.

As we reached “The Pass” as they called it, James took us off trail and out to a big rocky knob from which you could see long distances. I was happy to walk Banjo up this rocky slope. Something about mountain guides where they refuse to walk a horse uphill, no matter the terrain. Downhill is OK, but uphill is a violation of some creed.

I was relieved when James tied off on a flat spot. It was a signal for all of us to dismount and do the same. I pulled out my butt pad and sat down beside a scrubby spruce, hoping it would help me withstand the wind and rain for an hour or so.

No need to glass for an hour. Within ten minutes James had located a bull far across the drainage. It was hard to make out in the driving rain, but with the spotter I could see it was a bull.

James looked at me with a smile and asked, “Randy, would a three mile hike be of your liking? The horses can’t get off this face and we best get moving. That is a bull you will want to shoot, if we can get there.”

I tried to match his smile when replying, “I was born ready, what we waitin’ for?”

James explained we would take a straight line to the bull. Easing down a creek bottom, crossing a couple other bogs and creeks, and scaling the big rock pile nearly three miles off that would provide a possible shooting position. He instructed to Blythe to stay here with the horses. If she heard shooting, they agreed on the route horses might be able to navigate and get closer to that rocky ridge. If we did not get a shot, James would send Blyth an inReach message of where to take the horses and we would meet here there.

With that, we were off. James seems to forget that a pace acceptable to a 54 year old accountant is probably a gear or two lower than a 24 year old. My pride did not let him know that, so I did my best. Marcus is 29, though when burdened with cameras and tripods it is an equalizer for me. We were down the steep face and into the spruce in short order. Then it transitioned to alders and bog, a truly miserable route, but the most directly line.

Less than two hours of crossing bogs, jumping creeks, and fighting alders had us at the base of this big rock pile. James gained the 200’ of vertical as if he has spent months guiding sheep and goat hunters. I lagged behind a bit.

When we crested the ridge where we could see where the bull was last standing, there was only cuts and slopes of thick spruce mixed with a few openings and slides of alders. And, lots of driving rain. No moose. And lots of wind. No moose.

James was convinced the bull was across from us. I started ranging. Any decent shot would be 300 yards or under. James gave his best lonely cow moose plea. Then he switched the smashing a dead limb on a small spruce. Alternating those two tactics for the better part of an hour.

A bull started coming our way, but from our far left. Inspection showed him to be a younger bull. Evidently there was a cow nearby as bulls seemed to be enamored with this area. Less than a mile to our west and down off the toe of this rock spine is where Jim had killed “Big Hank” yesterday. Odds were they were down there right now retrieving the beast.

James suggested I get completely ready, worried that if the bull appeared, it would be a very narrow window of opportunity. I found a flat area on the top of this dome that provided a good prone shooting turret. Marcus lined the cameras up behind me, locked on tripods and covered with rain shields to protect the $8K investment from these brutal conditions.

We waited. James called. I scanned. James thrashed a tree. The rain pelted. James called some more. The wind howled. I saw antlers on the skyline. Wait, antlers. “Hey guys, bull on the skyline, right of where we lost him.”

Marcus removed the rain covers while James came to our position. He was facing us, only his head and neck protruding above the stunted spruce 470 yards out. He looked really big in the scope, though this was not anything close to a shooting opportunity.

He turned. He started moving right. He was now lost to our view. Damn it.

Marcus and I stayed put and at the ready. Having got a glimpse of this bull, James was right, I would shoot him without even the slightest hesitation. All I needed was a good shot angle and a reasonable distance from our position.

We continued to scour the opposing slope, hoping he would reappear in a gap, even a small gap. James was off to the right, having disappeared over the crown of this knob. I was focused ahead.

James came trotting at full speed, shouted something I could not hear with the wind hammering on my raingear hood. I turned to Marcus, “What did he say?”

Scrambling to gather his gear, Marcus replied, “He said, grab the rifle and cameras and follow me!”

I jumped to my feet, removed the live round from the chamber and grabbed my pack and shooting sticks. I followed Marcus. I saw James’ pack laying on some rocks and decided to ditch mine, extracting a sleeve of ammo before doing so. If James didn’t need his pack, I guess I didn’t need mine.
 
Congrats on a truly OIL experience! Really fantastic photos, Marcus. This has all been so fun to read.
 
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