We both knew the worst thing we could do was loose our patience and start walking down the hill with the wind at our backs blowing our scent right to him.  The pressure of the season ending in three days wasn’t helping either.  As the sun began to lose its glow a sense of relief seemed to come over us that the day was about to be done and that tomorrow may bring our much sought after chance to stalk the big bull.

We awoke the next morning to beautiful clear blue skies and the much anticipated wind shift we’d spent days waiting for.  Dave’s opportunity was now or never, so we quickly saddled ourselves with our Cabela’s freighter packs and headed down the hill toward the river.  The first mile passed quickly and our flushed faces now shined with sweat in the brilliant morning sun.  My dampened shirt felt refreshing under my pack.  We paused to catch our breath and pop off our scope covers.  Quietly we both chambered our rifles and began a slow methodical single file stalk into the timber.  
 

There was no way of knowing for sure if Dave’s bull was still in there, but I had that special feeling that you get from years of hunting that he was!

We slipped carefully through the tree scattered perimeter and into the bull’s living room.  We soon came to the same muskeg clearing the bull had crossed a few days before. The big bull’s tracks were now filled with water and dew covered spider webs.  My pulse quickened a little as if they were fresh, but I knew they were not.  I pulled back my sleeve, studied my watch, reached into my pocket to pull out my compass and took a careful bearing.  For more days than I cared to remember I had carefully studied the patch of timber below our camp. Through my Swarovski binoculars I had noticed a faint thinning of tree tops towards the center.  Hopefully it indicated a small clearing hidden beneath a leafy canopy of gold and green.  It had appeared to be a half mile from where we now stood.  

Figuring our stalking speed at a mile and a half an hour, it would take us approximately 20 minutes to reach the clearing, the clearing I hoped to call Dave’s bull into!

Across the clearing I picked out an individual tree standing along my compass bearing. We eased forward into the dark and almost impenetrable forest.  Visibility was only a few feet requiring frequent compass readings. Carefully we crawled over fallen logs all the while searching for brown legs or flash of antlers.  My ears strained as they tried to pick up the sound of a branch breaking underfoot or the distinctive plunk of a moose hoof against a fallen log.  Ialso listened for growls or the sound of popping teeth indicating an irate grizzly.  Twenty four minutes later the forest floor began to brighten as we reached the hidden clearing.  Dave and I quickly surveyed the clearing and found a suitably positioned spruce tree and knelt beside it.  After a few moments of letting things quiet down I cupped my hands and with my fingers pinched my nose shut.  I took a deep breath and gave my best rendition of a cow moose in heat.  The mournful wail was echoing through the trees.  Dave, having never heard a cow moose in heat before quickly shot me a startled glance.  

A few minutes later I repeated the call.  In the quiet distance a branch broke!  I quietly asked Dave if he had heard it.  He excitedly whispered yes!

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Suddenly we could hear the plunk, plunk of hooves striking downed logs followed by sharp pops of dead limbs breaking free after being struck by large antlers.  The sounds that were once faint now thundered in our ears and the ground literally shook as if a runaway bulldozer charged us.  I strained my eyes to find the incoming behemoth.  A small birch tree about 14 feet tall shook violently and flushed its golden green leaves forward like a covey of quail escaping a point.  Suddenly, not 20 yards away, stood four brown legs.  My entire body shook from the adrenaline overload.  I did my best to regain my composure and made a soft call.  The seemly unattached long brown legs began to circle our hiding place to the right.  After what seemed an eternity, a huge swollen neck with wide sweeping antlers appeared from the tangle above.  I quickly counted four brow tines on one side making him legal and gave Dave the go ahead.

The bull swung his big rack as he started to leave when Dave’s .300 Winchester Magnum shattered the moment.  At the shot the bull took a quick side step then put his head down and plowed ahead.  Dave fired another shot and I did the same at the retreating bull.  A short foot race ensued followed by 3 more shots.  The mortally hit bull spread his legs and for a moment stood his ground, then toppled over impaling the decaying forest floor with his huge antlers.

The fallen monarch now lay peaceful in the quieting forest.  Dave and I said a short prayer, took some photos, and called Dave’s wife on my Iridium satellite phone.

With the fun and excitement now gone, it was time to get to work.  We rolled up our sleeves, reloaded our rifles, and started skinning Dave’s bull. Afterwards we removed the heavy quarters and placed one in each of our packs.  I used my Garmin G.P.S. to mark the kill site then we helped each other shoulder our 150 lb loads and made for the river a half mile away.  The trip was arduous but the lack of bears made it uneventful.  The shoulder straps from our heavy packs cut deep into our shoulders making our hands tingle.  The occasional hole and fallen log tried to twist our ankles but we made the river anyway.  By the time we returned for our second load of meat darkness was quickly engulfing us.  We found a large uprooted tree 150 yards from the kill site.  The large roots still grasping the rich forest soil served as protection from the wind.  I had brought along a small tarp just in case we had to spend the night.  We positioned our rifles and flashlights at the ready then rolled up under the tarp.  Sleep came quickly because we were both exhausted.  Around 4:00 a.m. we both awoke shivering uncontrollably.  A heavy frost had formed and our breathing under the tarp produced frozen condensation that now dampened our clothing. Hypothermia was close at hand so we quickly went to work gathering firewood, all the while shining our mini-flashlights for the reflection of a bear’s eyes.  Before long we had a warm fire to curl up to and we fed it until dawn.

 

The next morning we awoke to blisters and an assortment of aches and pains.  After a healthy breakfast of Motrin and granola bars I unzipped the tent and went outside to water the grass.  The morning air was crisp and clear.  The sun was just topping the distant mountains and its fingers of light penetrated the shadowed valley below.  I gingerly shuffled in my sore sock feet to my personal observation spot, fumbled with my zipper and paused to enjoy the moment.  Below, not 200 yards stood a 62 inch bull moose!  I called Dave out of the tent to share the view.  After a couple of dumbfounded minutes we both turned to each, smiled, and shook our heads!