The Details
Okay, in a nutshell. This little event started last October when I went back to Colorado to antelope hunt. I talked my cousin into coming up here for a ten day extended camping trip with guns! I have an area that I like to fly into for caribou and moose, but Alaska is too big and diverse to stick to one area, and I was ready for a change of scenery. In early December I booked with a reputable air charter just east of Fairbanks for a trip into some new territory and I called my cousin to inform him that he was going.
We left on September 2nd on the six hour drive to the air taxi. We flew in on a cub with floats. I have been on enough fly ins that I have packing down pretty much to an art, and I manage to run a comfortable camp with minimal excess weight, but enough to keep us in good spirits. We had to go in one at a time because the cubs are so small. We were going to be hunting an area that had burned a few years ago.
Now, we had a good solid tent, some lightweight cots, plenty of food, but by far the best thing I thought to bring was a small inflatable raft. I had studdied the topos and knew that we would be hunting an area strung together by a series of lakes and streams, and I had a hunch bet that the raft would come in handy.
The mornings were cool and crisp when we set out hunting, but by afternoon it was so hot we were usually in our longjohns hanging around camp. The moose were sucked down pretty tight in the heat, and we were not hearing much calling. Still, we just sucked it up and stayed out until dark (about 9:30) up here every night trying to catch a bull sneaking around.
This went on for seven days, then on the evening of day eight, lightening struck. We were finally enjoying the sunset and some relief from the heat, when the wolves started howling. I had a good feeling when I heard the wolves howling. They seem to be my good luck charm up here. Sure enough, we were using the raft to cross a small lake to get back to camp when I spotted a large bull coming through the timber.
We quickly beached the raft and put a stalk on the big guy. At about 80 yards, my cousin took his rest and shot. The big bull hunched up and I knew he was hit hard.
To my dismay, he started doing what injured moose do -- headed for the WATER! We quickly got back in the raft and I started rowing like hell back to the where the moose was. I found him holding his ground in about two feet of water.
I have friends who have dealt with an Alaskan moose in the water, and I knew I did not want to do this. I rowed behind him and yelled and splashed and prayed he would move back onto the shore.
The moose finally decided that I was worse than the pain in his lungs and he started moving back on shore. As soon as he hit solid ground I was yelling at my cousin -- SHOOT HIM, PUT HIM DOWN!
Another shot ended the moose. My cousin was amazed at the sheer size of the bull. If you have never seen on up close, they are truly impressive. We took pictures, congratulated each other, and had a quick snack, then set about the chore of getting him quartered and skinned.
We worked on the moose under the Northern Lights and a full moon until 3:30 in the morning. We went back to camp, slept four hours, and then finished him up.
We hung around camp for a few days after that, but I really did not want another moose. 1/2 a moose for me and the potentail that my daughter will kill a bison in a few weeks pretty much has my freezers full, so I was content to just be a camp rat.
Glad you guys enjoyed the pics. I will post some of him on the ground when I get them scanned in.
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