Friday 12 January 2024

Drop Tine Murphy – Part II (horseshit)

We spent the next hour or so walking through the oxbow/meadow complex hoping to bump into another bull that may have been drawn in from our calling. It was unlikely we would see or call in that young bull again, so we made the decision to pack up camp and hit up another spot. 

It was around lunch time when we got our gear together. Oliver cooked up the two spruce grouse that he had gotten a couple of days earlier. Low and slow over the warm coals. It was divine.
When Oliver asked if I wanted to do a moose hunt up in the Yukon with him under a special guide license this spring, I barely hesitated to jump on the opportunity. Not only was there high probably of success given his knowledge of this area of the territory, but, let’s face it, it’s been a tough few years. I won’t lie. I did want to get some more meat in the freezer, but this goal was secondary in my mind. I really just wanted an opportunity to hang out in the bush with a good friend. Good therapy. 

Standing on the side of the river taking in the fall colours, the smell of decaying leaves with a hint of smoke, while listening to the river gently babble along its journey… it was doing me some good. 

We consulted the map once more. There was a stretch of old cutblocks coming up where Oliver has had limited success in the past. However, we eyed another, smaller oxbow/meadow complex adjacent to the cutblocks. It was a spot that Oliver hadn’t called from previously, but it had many of the same attributes as our current spot; just smaller in scale. 

We made the decision to at least scout it out and, if it didn’t look right, then there were a couple of options a bit further downstream. We loaded the raft and began the float down the river, while always keeping our eyes peeled for dark objects on the riverbanks or signs of fresh tracks in sand.
We pulled off just before the meadow. We found a decent spot to set up the tent in the timber and then we started to scout the meadow complex. 

It wasn’t the easiest (or quietest) getting through the blowdown or the old logjams to get into the meadow itself, but once there we started seeing some recent sign. Oliver eyed an elevated bank on which we could get a bit of a better vantage point and 180-degree view of a good section of the meadow. There was a good stretch of conifer forest behind us to cover our scent, and we would be able to hear anything crashing in. This would be a good spot to be the next morning. 

We continued to explore the area. Still more sign. A couple of beds. Did we just flush a sharp-tailed grouse? I am convinced that we did. 

The spot was good, but there weren’t many areas that you had a good vantage point, while also being able to hear through the river’s persistent tune. The only question was where to set up for the night. Set up in the middle of the complex to draw things in without many sightlines and then set up on that bank the next morning? Or, set up on the bank this evening, leave early and get back in the morning? “You never want to shoot a moose in the evening. Butchering and packing it out in the dark... It’s horseshit.” 

I needed a coffee and a snack to think about it. We also needed a better sense of how the wind would play out, so we made our way back to camp to consider our options. I’ll be honest, after not really seeing two moose physically walk into our last sits, I wanted to hunt a spot with a view. After a good feed, a coffee and shooting the shit, we packed up our gear and slowly moved through the forest to get to our spot. 

There was a lot of blowdown to navigate, but we were able to find a decent route. We pulled out our chairs again and got ready for the evening call. The sky was clearing and you could feel that the temperature was going to drop for this night, so we were bundled up pretty good for this one. Oliver took back the reins on the cow calling. I was positioned near the edge of the bank with Oliver deeper into the timber; about 10 feet behind me. I can only describe my state as cozy. 

A couple of hours went by. Nothing. It was dead quiet. I can’t hide that I was a little disappointed, but I knew we were playing the long game. We were just laying the groundwork for tomorrow. 

My mind started to drift. The light was just starting to fade, so we probably only had another half hour, before we would start heading back to camp. I was contemplating dinner when I heard Oliver quietly say, “yup”. 

I slowly turned around and listened intently. Yup. There it was. A low, quiet grunt that sounded like it was at least 150 yards away. However, it wasn’t coming from the meadow. It was behind us. 

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Was originally slated to be Part III 

We were positioned at the intersection of a narrow, dried out creek bed and the expansive meadow we’d been watching. “He’s coming down the old creek”, Oliver whispered. 

I quietly got up and positioned myself to have a shot once the bull exited the creek and into the meadow. There were several overhanging branches in the way, but I had a tree to brace myself for, what I thought might be, a 40 yard shot. 

His grunts were coming in more regularly now and he sounded close; 70 or 80 yards. 

I have never called in a bull moose before. I have had them respond, but I inevitably spooked them or the light faded before I can have an opportunity for a shot. This one was coming in on a string. It felt like he made those 75 yards in one or two minutes. 

I was adjusting my stance and looking for new angles for the fast-approaching bull when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a brown/black mass moving through the brush and conifers to my right. He wasn’t moving down the creek bed, but the timber right behind us. And he was already within 40 or 50 yards! 

How he could move so silently, other than his grunts, through the blowdown and brush still baffles me. I gently whispered to Oliver, “I saw him”. 

Oliver’s back was to the moose, and he obviously couldn’t hear the beast move through the forest either. Knowing that he was between my loaded rifle and the moose, he slowly started plugging his ears with his fingers. Like Wiley Coyote as he realises that Roadrunner is going to push down on the detonator for the nearby load of TNT. 

You could hear the bull grunting as he continued his path towards, what he thought was a cow. I didn’t have a shot yet. Oliver slowly turned, recognised the situation and slowly and discreetly tucked himself out of harms way. 

The bull appeared and stopped broadside about 30 yards from us. However, his vitals were completely blocked by a dense stand of trees and a root wad. I had a view of 3/4 of his head or a gut shot. He stood there grunting. His eye directly on Oliver. 

I didn’t want to move; remembering our encounter from the morning. But I had no shot and I would need to move quite a ways to get into a position to have one. Fuck! 

After what felt like minutes, but was probably 20 seconds, he turned right around and started moving again. He was still obscured by the root wad. However, once he got to the other side he turned, took three steps towards us and stopped. He was head on and looking right at me. 

He was probably 20 or 25 yards at this point. I lifted my gun, but I was having trouble locating him in my scope (I would later realise that, in the excitement, I failed to adjust my scope for close range!). It took a few moments, but I had his fuzzy features in view. I put, what I thought was his sternum in my crosshairs, raised it to where I assumed the vitals to be and then BOOM! 

He bucked back and then took off. I reloaded, but he was already out of sight. Oliver was also unable to get off a follow up shot. We heard some crashing and then, “thack. Thunk”. And then… silence. 

Always the pessimist, I assumed that I somehow missed the shot. A 20-yard shot on a bull moose. Yup. Mr. Confidence himself! 

Oliver and I converged. “I am pretty sure I hit him, but maybe I missed?”, I whispered. “Oh, I saw him buck back. You got him”, Oliver responded. The question was, was it enough to put him down? 

It was getting late, so we didn’t want to have to track him in the dark. However, we didn’t want to move and spook him, which would drive him deeper into the woods. We decided to take a look for blood where he was standing. It wasn’t far and we got there quietly. Nothing. Now I am getting a bit worried. 

The “thunk” sound made me think a) it was his antler hitting a tree just as he got himself under control and out of there or, b) his antlers hitting a log as he went down. 

We reckoned that we didn’t have a ton of time, so we started moving through the bush. It wasn’t long before I found him on the ground. About 30 yards from where he was shot. I went over to do the old eye poke test and sure enough he’s dead. Fu. Ck. Ing. Eh! High fives all around!
After a few pics and inspection of our animal, we started making a plan to dress him and get him back to camp. Given the late hour, we booked it back to camp to get some tools and supplies for the long night ahead. 

 Now shooting an animal head on likely means that it’s going to be a messy job. As such, we went with the gutless method. Regardless of the shot placement, I am a big fan of this method that Oliver introduced me to.
As you can see, we had very little meat wastage and, in this case, many of the organs were still in good shape. At one point, when Oliver is cutting through the diaphragm he knicks himself on what he thought was bone, but it was actually the bullet! It was lodged in the diaphragm. We were a diaphragm width away from having punctured the guts! 

The dressing and butchering took a while, and we started hauling meat back to camp around 1 am. Each load was roughly 100 lbs or more and, although it was reasonably flat, the last stretch required navigating through blowdown and alder. We could actually do the first half of the route sans headlamp as we were greeted by the spectacular aurora borealis. Maybe not as nice as the last time I was on this river, but still a special sight and feeling. 

 I am getting a bit soft in my old age, and I couldn’t quite keep up with Oliver’s long legs, but we managed to get everything back to camp, including the full hide (your welcome Oliver😉) by about 5 am. We got the meat spread out on cool rocks and got a fire going to ward off any hungry creatures. 

I think Oliver wanted to stay up to watch the sunrise, but I was spent. 42 is a lot different than 33. I fall asleep in about 30 seconds after hitting my make-shift pillow. 

Dénouement and additional photos to follow…

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