CoryTheCowboy
CGN Regular
Well, for the first time since I've been applying, the moose tag has been filled. My family (4 of us) applied as a group, and when that fateful day rolled around, I was the proud recipient of an 11A (Ontario) Bull tag. 11A isn't noted as a particularly good moose area, but having hunted the area for 4 years, we felt that we had a good handle on the area, and this year would be the year. This could be the last year I stay in Ontario (will be graduating College in the fall, and I want to move up North or out West), so I wanted to notch a tag this year, especially since it was my name on it.
The night before opening morning was sleepless, as are most before I go out, being an out-of-town College student limits my opportunities really limits my time in the field. We awoke to blowing snain (a combo of Snow and Rain, I coined this term in Grade 11
). We arrive before first light to where we've been for the past few years. My dad and sister take the canoe and head off into the water, while me and my mom head into a cut.
After 3 hours of no sign, we pull out and head back to the van. My dad and sister didn't see anything either. By now it was really blowing, and the snain was coming down hard, so we headed back to town to get some coffee and let out the dogs. That afternoon was the same story. We decided that evening that it was time to head to a new place.
The next morning (Sunday) the snain had stopped, but the wind may have picked up slightly. We went to a cut none of us had hunted before. It looked like it had potential, but we only saw old sign. That day when we went to town, I stopped by the local sporting good store to buy a new set of studs for my sisters rifle. I asked if he'd heard of anything happening and he said "Only the crazy people are out in this weather" and he had heard of one bull being shot. This didn't inspire confidence in me. That evening we went to another new cut. We set up so that my mom was about 50 yards upwind of me, with the plan being if I could call a bull in, if he tried to circle upwind, my mom would have a chance. My dad and sister were in a different cut still hunting.
The wind was still blowing, by slightly lessening that evening. I swore right before dark that I heard something. When I was walking out with my mom, she'd confirmed that she'd heard something. We also jumped a Whitetail on the way out. I took this as a sign that game was starting to move.
That evening we discussed the plan for the morning. I almost decided that moose hunting was stupid anyways, and that the ducks we'd seen moving would be more productive to chase. I changed my mind though when my dad reminded me that this might be my last year here. I also discovered my ride was leaving to head back to Thunder Bay at noon the next day (Monday). I joked as I headed to bed, "I'll shoot a bull and leave right as the work starts".
When we woke up, the wind was gone. A light snow was falling. I was shaking with excitement as we parked the van and got out. Me and my mom silently walked to our respective sitting locations and said we'd meet at 11, which would give me and my sister just enough time to get home and meet up with our ride.
I switched up my routine of calling every 30-45 minutes to every 15 minutes. At 8:30 I heard the unmistakable roar of my moms .35 Whelen. I got on the radio to hear "I shot a moose! It's down! I can see it!". Running on adrenaline, I made it over to where my mom was. As soon as I got close, I saw a black lump laying about 75 yards away from her. I put up the binoculars and saw its head was hidden. I know by the body size it was an adult. "A bull?" I whispered, hoping it was. She confirmed it was. I sighed with relief as we'd had an incident a few years before with mistaken identity.
I put a shell into the 06', lowered the magnification to 2x and started walking up to the mass of black. I stopped at about 20 yards and shouldered the rifle. After no response to the whistle, I felt better. After seeing blood still pouring out its chest, I felt better. I confirmed it to be dead when I poked it with my barrel. I felt amazing happy right then. My mom had shot her first moose. The tag was filled, there was no more Moose pressure.
According to my mom, she'd be watching the cut and was just getting drowsy when she looked up and he was "Just there!" She aimed for the center of the chest, and after getting hit, he tried to spin around and just tottered over. The Whelen seems to have that effect on animals on the receiving end....
My dad and sister showed up a few minutes later with the packframe and camera. We had a quick photo shoot, and it was during this time I realized how BIG a moose is. We had no 4-wheeler. No truck. No way to get the moose back to the van. Except for some rope and a packframe that the bulls head dwarfed. I thought going home with my sister and her ride at noon seemed like a good idea now...
After gutting the bull, (which my Mora handled extremely well until I twisted the blade too far and snapped my handle in half), my dad took my sister back to town. She was not impressed in the slightest. I told her she was lucky. The bull seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. We discovered the Bull had followed the game plan exactly how it works in the books. He'd heard my calling and tried circling upwind, and while he would've normally scented me, 250 grains of Core-Lokt didn't allow that to happen.
Me and my mom quartered it while my dad was gone. After I broke my saw, I realized the moose had gotten BIGGER again! Which was amazing, as he was in 4 pieces now.
When my dad came back, he'd brought some much needed food and drinks. It was then we decided how we'd get the bull out. Stick a log through it's leg, and carry it out on our shoulders. It wasn't bad at first, but 2km's later, it was getting old. And tiring. I decided after carrying the first quarter to the van that I was never shooting another moose again, that it was too much work, and they weren't that much better then deer.
This opinion changed that evening while eating tenderloin and drinking a nice Pint of Guinness. The 12 hours of work faded away. The pain faded. But the memories are still clear. My mom is getting a plaque made to mount the antlers on. I tried to convince her to get a Euro mount, which she didn't like. As soon as my dad cut off the antlers from the head (which is apparently HARD work with just a hacksaw), she changed her mind. He tried to keep his cool as he told her it was a bit late for that now I'm still trying to convince her that it would look good in the living room. I think she's aiming more for it to go in the basement. If I remember correctly, the bull was about 33". I have also decided that if I am ever crazy enough to shoot a moose, a 4 wheeler/snowmachine/or a proper packframe will be accessible . Here's some pictures,
Me and my mom with the Bull
Mom with the bull (picture will be framed below antlers)
Packing out the head
Head and my rifle (WhyNot might recognize it Or not...it's had quite the facelift since it left his house)
Sorry for the long post, and for it being....2 months late
The night before opening morning was sleepless, as are most before I go out, being an out-of-town College student limits my opportunities really limits my time in the field. We awoke to blowing snain (a combo of Snow and Rain, I coined this term in Grade 11
). We arrive before first light to where we've been for the past few years. My dad and sister take the canoe and head off into the water, while me and my mom head into a cut. After 3 hours of no sign, we pull out and head back to the van. My dad and sister didn't see anything either. By now it was really blowing, and the snain was coming down hard, so we headed back to town to get some coffee and let out the dogs. That afternoon was the same story. We decided that evening that it was time to head to a new place.
The next morning (Sunday) the snain had stopped, but the wind may have picked up slightly. We went to a cut none of us had hunted before. It looked like it had potential, but we only saw old sign. That day when we went to town, I stopped by the local sporting good store to buy a new set of studs for my sisters rifle. I asked if he'd heard of anything happening and he said "Only the crazy people are out in this weather" and he had heard of one bull being shot. This didn't inspire confidence in me. That evening we went to another new cut. We set up so that my mom was about 50 yards upwind of me, with the plan being if I could call a bull in, if he tried to circle upwind, my mom would have a chance. My dad and sister were in a different cut still hunting.
The wind was still blowing, by slightly lessening that evening. I swore right before dark that I heard something. When I was walking out with my mom, she'd confirmed that she'd heard something. We also jumped a Whitetail on the way out. I took this as a sign that game was starting to move.
That evening we discussed the plan for the morning. I almost decided that moose hunting was stupid anyways, and that the ducks we'd seen moving would be more productive to chase. I changed my mind though when my dad reminded me that this might be my last year here. I also discovered my ride was leaving to head back to Thunder Bay at noon the next day (Monday). I joked as I headed to bed, "I'll shoot a bull and leave right as the work starts".
When we woke up, the wind was gone. A light snow was falling. I was shaking with excitement as we parked the van and got out. Me and my mom silently walked to our respective sitting locations and said we'd meet at 11, which would give me and my sister just enough time to get home and meet up with our ride.
I switched up my routine of calling every 30-45 minutes to every 15 minutes. At 8:30 I heard the unmistakable roar of my moms .35 Whelen. I got on the radio to hear "I shot a moose! It's down! I can see it!". Running on adrenaline, I made it over to where my mom was. As soon as I got close, I saw a black lump laying about 75 yards away from her. I put up the binoculars and saw its head was hidden. I know by the body size it was an adult. "A bull?" I whispered, hoping it was. She confirmed it was. I sighed with relief as we'd had an incident a few years before with mistaken identity.
I put a shell into the 06', lowered the magnification to 2x and started walking up to the mass of black. I stopped at about 20 yards and shouldered the rifle. After no response to the whistle, I felt better. After seeing blood still pouring out its chest, I felt better. I confirmed it to be dead when I poked it with my barrel. I felt amazing happy right then. My mom had shot her first moose. The tag was filled, there was no more Moose pressure.
According to my mom, she'd be watching the cut and was just getting drowsy when she looked up and he was "Just there!" She aimed for the center of the chest, and after getting hit, he tried to spin around and just tottered over. The Whelen seems to have that effect on animals on the receiving end....
My dad and sister showed up a few minutes later with the packframe and camera. We had a quick photo shoot, and it was during this time I realized how BIG a moose is. We had no 4-wheeler. No truck. No way to get the moose back to the van. Except for some rope and a packframe that the bulls head dwarfed. I thought going home with my sister and her ride at noon seemed like a good idea now...
After gutting the bull, (which my Mora handled extremely well until I twisted the blade too far and snapped my handle in half), my dad took my sister back to town. She was not impressed in the slightest. I told her she was lucky. The bull seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. We discovered the Bull had followed the game plan exactly how it works in the books. He'd heard my calling and tried circling upwind, and while he would've normally scented me, 250 grains of Core-Lokt didn't allow that to happen.
Me and my mom quartered it while my dad was gone. After I broke my saw, I realized the moose had gotten BIGGER again! Which was amazing, as he was in 4 pieces now.
When my dad came back, he'd brought some much needed food and drinks. It was then we decided how we'd get the bull out. Stick a log through it's leg, and carry it out on our shoulders. It wasn't bad at first, but 2km's later, it was getting old. And tiring. I decided after carrying the first quarter to the van that I was never shooting another moose again, that it was too much work, and they weren't that much better then deer.
This opinion changed that evening while eating tenderloin and drinking a nice Pint of Guinness. The 12 hours of work faded away. The pain faded. But the memories are still clear. My mom is getting a plaque made to mount the antlers on. I tried to convince her to get a Euro mount, which she didn't like. As soon as my dad cut off the antlers from the head (which is apparently HARD work with just a hacksaw), she changed her mind. He tried to keep his cool as he told her it was a bit late for that now
I'm still trying to convince her that it would look good in the living room. I think she's aiming more for it to go in the basement. If I remember correctly, the bull was about 33". I have also decided that if I am ever crazy enough to shoot a moose, a 4 wheeler/snowmachine/or a proper packframe will be accessible . Here's some pictures,Me and my mom with the Bull
Mom with the bull (picture will be framed below antlers)
Packing out the head
Head and my rifle (WhyNot might recognize it
Or not...it's had quite the facelift since it left his house)
Sorry for the long post, and for it being....2 months late
