One More Call

"Hey, want to go elk hunting tonight?"
"Sure."
"I'll pick you up at 6:30 p.m."

It was a pretty typical conversation between Darrin and I.

We’d talked before about trying a new area of Crown land behind Narrow Lake, and with no recent elk showing up on our cameras, that evening seemed as good a time as any to try.

The country was a mix of rolling hills and muskeg, with scattered aspen, black poplar and shrubs across the higher ground and spruce and tamarack filling the low areas.
We followed a muddy lease-access trail, stepping around puddles that seemed to appear every hundred metres. Once in a while one of these puddles had a detour around in the bush, as these puddles were too deep for regular ATVs to go through.

Call. Listen. Move. Repeat.
That was the plan. Cover ground until we found elk that responded.

By the time we had travelled roughly six and a half kilometres, we were down to about an hour of daylight. We agreed to sit for ten minutes, make one more call, and then start the long walk back.
I let out a location bugle.
Something answered.
But it wasn't an elk bugle.
“Wuh.”
Darrin and I listened.
A bull moose?
I had a bull moose tag.
And just like that, the elk hunt was over.
We changed tactics. A cow moose call went out, and the bull answered with a grunt. He was fired up and responding, and that's a good thing.

Darrin and I didn't need to have a conversation. A quick look and nod was all we needed. Our instincts and experience kicked in. We started working our way around him, trying to get the wind right without snapping branches or making enough noise to give ourselves away.

As we were making the move, we started to feel the pressure to make something happen with the daylight waning. Darrin stayed back and continued calling while I moved about twenty-five yards ahead of him.
I expected the bull to push through the thick bush in front of me, as he sounded close. He didn't. Instead, he circled us and wandered down a wide path directly toward where Darrin was sitting.

Through gaps in the poplar, he suddenly appeared. Twenty-eight yards. Broadside. But there was one more tree he had to walk past that was blocking my shot. I held at full draw, and my muscles were starting to get tired. Still, no movement. It felt like an eternity. I did my best not to shake and fought the urge to move to a different angle. Darrin looked over expecting me to shoot, and when I hadn't for a while, he knew there must be something wrong. He let out one more call. The bull moved forward a step. Thwack.
The bull ran.
Then came a tremendous crash. And then—silence.

At this point, Darrin and I looked at each other. We both whispered "What just happened?" at the same time, both surprised and excited.

We marked where we were and waited 15 minutes before checking the shot impact site, where we found my arrow. After this, we walked back 100 yards to an opening and celebrated, reminiscing about every detail of what had just occurred. This was around 8:30 p.m.

When I was on my way up to hunt for a few days, I talked to my uncle about my hunting ideas, and he said if we needed anything, just call him. So I called him and let him know I shot a moose.

Darrin, on the other hand, had previously let his dad and brother know where he was going, and after calling them to let them know about our newfound success, they decided to come join us and bring a quad. They arrived to where we were by 10:15 p.m. After a quick tracking job, the work began.

In my head, the plan was simple: quarter up the moose, put some of it on the quad, some on our backs, and carry it out in a couple trips.

While we were field dressing the moose, we got to sharing the whole story, the lead up, the feelings, and all the emotions. Then the topic of the access trail came up, with all those offshoots around the puddles. During the day? Not a problem. During the night? The detours were not easy to navigate, as they were not very compacted and meandered around the puddles in no clear way at times, even on a quad. So it was decided that we would take one trip out. At this point, it was 1:30 a.m. With all four quarters and the head on the quad, the rest we carried on our backs-the tenderloins, backstraps and some extra cuts.

Unfortunately, due to the weight of the quad, we did get it high-centered once on the trail, where we had to offload all the meat and lift the quad, then repack it all once the quad was free.

As we were halfway down the trail, we were starting to feel like we were going to make it out in good time. But just like Murphy's law would dictate, the quad suddenly died and wouldn't restart.

At this point, we all felt defeated. Tired, low on energy, and now this. Wow.

Now, what are we going to do? Carry each quarter out? Debone the quarters to make it easier?

The decision was made to leave it until daylight. Why this? Because our headlamp batteries were dying, with the spares already used up, and we only had two backpacks along with all our gear. And so, as we emerged from the trail back to our trucks feeling down, it was 4:00 a.m. Darrin and his brother had to be at work at 6:00 a.m.

But it was daylight at 6:00 a.m.

I dreaded this decision, as I would have been absolutely devastated if I had harvested a mature bull only to lose some meat to animals.

But, it was an energy saver and time saver, and I had to trust that our human scent all over the meat would deter any animals.

On my way home, I called my uncle, who said to call him when I was leaving the bush. We devised a plan that we would take out more quads into the bush to retrieve the meat, and I would meet him at 8:00 a.m.  Turns out, when I met him, he had talked to my cousin and a neighbour, who agreed to come with us, bringing a total of three quads.

By the time we got to the trailhead, it was 9:30 a.m.

My worry now was the meat spoiling since the quarters were piled on top of each other on the quad, and the temperature outside was already approaching 18 degrees Celsius.

We travelled down the trail. My mind wandered to what we would have to do if a bear, coyote, other mammal or bird had gotten into the meat.

But as we approached the quad, I didn't see anything. No animals had touched the meat. What a lucky break!

One of us hopped onto the quad with the meat, and it fired right up on the first try. What a shock!

In hindsight, the quad likely overheated from carrying hundreds of pounds of meat, plus a rider, through the rough, muddy trails.

We made sure to distribute the weight as evenly as we could, and drove right back to the trucks without any issues.

Back at the shop, I cleaned off the quarters and hung them up in a cold storage room. At this point, it was 1:00 p.m.

The next morning, three of us started processing the meat at 5:00 a.m. because we had other things to do. When we were all done at noon, there was no spoiling and no waste. What a stroke of luck! Not bad for almost two full days.

I usually solo hunt, and having harvested deer and elk before, I assumed I would just figure it out by myself.

But a moose changed that assumption.

Nowadays, if I am going moose hunting, I will ask who's around first.

There's usually someone willing to come along.

They get a share of the meat for the freezer, and I get some help.

And somehow, we always come home with a story.