Opening day of the 2012 Southeast Alaska Unit 5A moose hunt started out with my good friend Jim, his brother John, and John's two teenage boys Cody and John Jr. hiking into an area that has produced an opening morning bull every year for the last 27 years that it has been hunted by Jim's family. He was kind enough to allow me to tag along. I don't think it is because he actually likes me, I think it has more to do with the fact that I own an ATV and convinced the Chief of Police to let me use his jet boat. The only reason Jim allowed John and his boys to come along was because, hell, they are teenagers with unlimited packing ability. Jim is a very ingenious fellow and this obviously is not his first rodeo with a moose.
We had planned on the 5 of us going in, wacking a bull and taking care of it. Once it was down, the plan was to walk back out, load the wheeler into the jet boat, transport it upriver, and retrieve the moose. Brilliant, I say! What could possibly go wrong?
Well, as the first part of the plan goes, it was brilliant. We walk a mile and a half into the area, get there right at daylight. Climb Jim's favorite tree, see a couple cows, possibly a small paddle bull. After 5 minutes, Jim gets antsy, which is a product of his severe hunting ADHD, I am quickly learning. The plan changes and we start walking through the swamp. We walk to the other side of the meadow, splitting up into two groups. Jim, John Jr. and I go one way, John and Cody another. After slodging through the muck, we get to a point where we can see back to the favorite tree. Right below it is a bull moose. Jim stays in place, John Jr. and I start sludging back the way we came. A couple cow calls and the bull moves toward us. We get to the last small spruce tree and wait. The bull turns at 165 yards and starts grunting, but not at us. John and Cody were cow calling and sounded way better than us, even from the other side of the meadow, 1000 yards away.
John Jr. gets set up to shoot, I'm his backup. John Jr. can't see the bull through his scope, not really his fault, it's not like moose are huge and easy to see at 165 yards in a perfectly flat, treeless setting, so I understand. Especially when I whispering to him in a really loud voice, saying "it's right fucking there, shoot it", no pressure at all for a first time moose hunting 14 year old. After a very long 1.27 second discussion, it is decided by a majority vote that I would shoot the bull.
I took out my kestrel, got my wind speed, baro pressure, temp, tapped the info into my Palm, got my dope, dialed it on my S$B 4-16, settled into a perfect prone shooting position, behind my AI .338 Lapua, and sent it, making a perfect heart shot. Ok, just kidding, I pulled an offhand shot with my Remington 700 .375 H&H, sending a 300 grain TSX into the barn door sized ribs of the bull, super difficult shot, lol.
As the bull humped up and began to run, John Jr. shot, hitting it low in the front leg. He said that he shot because the moose ran into his view of the scope. I had to laugh, he was serious.
We got to the bull, followed by Jim. John and Cody heard the shooting and shortly arrived. John, the ever vocal orator of the family, says "who got him?". Jim points to me. John tells the boys "lets go, burning daylight". As the boys and John leave the kill sight, along with all hope of me not having to pack this moose, Jim says "well, better get to it" as he tosses me a knife, grabs a beer out of my pack, and sits down while feigning a back injury.
Thinking I've been abandoned, I get to it, as ordered. No biggie, I've killed moose alone before, I can handle it, I got this. As I try to flip to moose over to get after it, I quickly realize that I'm not 25 anymore and butchering moose alone is not fun. I grab a hind leg, give it a shove, lose grip, and get kicked right in the face by a hoof. I shake it off, hoping Jim didn't see it. Fuckers left me to go home, Jim is enjoying the fuck out of my beer, I'm in the middle of what appears to be a romantic moment with a 1000 lb moose, and now I've got a fat lip. Great.
Sticking to the plan, Jim and I walk out, thinking John and the boys are long gone. We get back to the truck and realize John is still in the field. Ok, I can handle that, I feel better now. At least he and the boys are still hunting, maybe they will tip one over and we can get it out today. Hell, it's only 0900 hours, we got plenty of time. On the way back to pick up the boat, we stop at a local watering hole, for the celebratory beer, since I didn't get one yet. Of course, the hard part is done, right? Got it down, it's gutted, won't be a thing to finish this hunt up. Drag it to the boat with the wheeler, load it up, easy money.
We load up the boat and head the 9 miles back to drop it off in the river. On the way back, we run into John heading toward town. We stop and again, being the most vocal member of the community, he says "Cody got one". Cool! Right on! This has turned into a fantastic hunt. We can get two moose out in one day, no problem. John turns around and follows us to the launch. We get in, load the wheeler, and work our way up a very shallow, sweeper filled river.
We drop off the wheeler and I go back down to pick up John and Jim. The river is extremely shallow and is influenced by the tide. Not the best conditions for hauling heavy loads, but hey, I've done this for a living, no big deal. In order to not ground out, I had to keep the boat on step, careen around bends, duck sweepers, jump submerged logs, all in a good days work. I'm awesome at this, done it for years, expert. I only hit one sweeper, knocking myself out the back of the boat. I only killed John twice. He died the first time when I got knocked out and the boat hit the bank, the other time he died cause I was watching a spruce bow so I didn't take it in the face doing 20 knots upriver when I was sucker punched by the spruce bows little brother, again knocking me out of the boat. I'm ok, I took the blow in the same place as the moose hoof, cushioning the blow with my already swollen lip. At least the bow of the boat stopped John from faceplanting in the mud bank. Instead he faceplanted in the front of the boat, saving him from having to pick rocks and mud out of his teeth, he should thank me.
We get to the place where the wheeler is and start blazing a trail to where Cody's moose is supposed to be, with Cody and John Jr. waiting for us. We get to the moose, no Cody or John Jr. John says eloquently "little bastards better notta killed another moose". No way, I say, they wouldn't be that dumb. 2 moose is doable, 3 is fucking crazy. We yell, no answer. We yell again, no answer. After 20 minutes, I see two teenage boys walking through the timber to us, heads hung low. They get to us, John asks "where ya been?". No answer from either one. John says "ah, fuck, you killed another one didn't you?" "Uh-huh" they said in unison. Fuck, it's going to be a long night and with my stellar coxswain ability obviously apparent in the daylight, I was rather apprehensive about killing John a third and fourth time at night. Besides, I dulled the pointy end of the boat pretty good by slamming into a stump, I don't think it is sharp enough to cut through another one.
Cody with John Jr's bull (little bastard
)
We start dragging moose to the boat, which sounds really easy to do. It isn't. They hang up on all kinds of shit when trying to drag them out.
We get all three bulls to the boat and start bucking them up for transport downriver. It is now late in the afternoon and we are running out of light quickly.
We get two of the bulls broken down, but the third is still whole. As the last of the light falls, John informs me that he can't come back in the morning to help, he has to work. The boys inform me that they have school, can't miss it. Jim is pretty stove up from his "back injury" (fucker!), so I will be all alone dealing with the rest of the moose. Man, these guys got this shit figured out.
My bro Jim (thanks for the great hunt, really
)
We had planned on the 5 of us going in, wacking a bull and taking care of it. Once it was down, the plan was to walk back out, load the wheeler into the jet boat, transport it upriver, and retrieve the moose. Brilliant, I say! What could possibly go wrong?
Well, as the first part of the plan goes, it was brilliant. We walk a mile and a half into the area, get there right at daylight. Climb Jim's favorite tree, see a couple cows, possibly a small paddle bull. After 5 minutes, Jim gets antsy, which is a product of his severe hunting ADHD, I am quickly learning. The plan changes and we start walking through the swamp. We walk to the other side of the meadow, splitting up into two groups. Jim, John Jr. and I go one way, John and Cody another. After slodging through the muck, we get to a point where we can see back to the favorite tree. Right below it is a bull moose. Jim stays in place, John Jr. and I start sludging back the way we came. A couple cow calls and the bull moves toward us. We get to the last small spruce tree and wait. The bull turns at 165 yards and starts grunting, but not at us. John and Cody were cow calling and sounded way better than us, even from the other side of the meadow, 1000 yards away.
John Jr. gets set up to shoot, I'm his backup. John Jr. can't see the bull through his scope, not really his fault, it's not like moose are huge and easy to see at 165 yards in a perfectly flat, treeless setting, so I understand. Especially when I whispering to him in a really loud voice, saying "it's right fucking there, shoot it", no pressure at all for a first time moose hunting 14 year old. After a very long 1.27 second discussion, it is decided by a majority vote that I would shoot the bull.
I took out my kestrel, got my wind speed, baro pressure, temp, tapped the info into my Palm, got my dope, dialed it on my S$B 4-16, settled into a perfect prone shooting position, behind my AI .338 Lapua, and sent it, making a perfect heart shot. Ok, just kidding, I pulled an offhand shot with my Remington 700 .375 H&H, sending a 300 grain TSX into the barn door sized ribs of the bull, super difficult shot, lol.
As the bull humped up and began to run, John Jr. shot, hitting it low in the front leg. He said that he shot because the moose ran into his view of the scope. I had to laugh, he was serious.
We got to the bull, followed by Jim. John and Cody heard the shooting and shortly arrived. John, the ever vocal orator of the family, says "who got him?". Jim points to me. John tells the boys "lets go, burning daylight". As the boys and John leave the kill sight, along with all hope of me not having to pack this moose, Jim says "well, better get to it" as he tosses me a knife, grabs a beer out of my pack, and sits down while feigning a back injury.
Thinking I've been abandoned, I get to it, as ordered. No biggie, I've killed moose alone before, I can handle it, I got this. As I try to flip to moose over to get after it, I quickly realize that I'm not 25 anymore and butchering moose alone is not fun. I grab a hind leg, give it a shove, lose grip, and get kicked right in the face by a hoof. I shake it off, hoping Jim didn't see it. Fuckers left me to go home, Jim is enjoying the fuck out of my beer, I'm in the middle of what appears to be a romantic moment with a 1000 lb moose, and now I've got a fat lip. Great.
Sticking to the plan, Jim and I walk out, thinking John and the boys are long gone. We get back to the truck and realize John is still in the field. Ok, I can handle that, I feel better now. At least he and the boys are still hunting, maybe they will tip one over and we can get it out today. Hell, it's only 0900 hours, we got plenty of time. On the way back to pick up the boat, we stop at a local watering hole, for the celebratory beer, since I didn't get one yet. Of course, the hard part is done, right? Got it down, it's gutted, won't be a thing to finish this hunt up. Drag it to the boat with the wheeler, load it up, easy money.
We load up the boat and head the 9 miles back to drop it off in the river. On the way back, we run into John heading toward town. We stop and again, being the most vocal member of the community, he says "Cody got one". Cool! Right on! This has turned into a fantastic hunt. We can get two moose out in one day, no problem. John turns around and follows us to the launch. We get in, load the wheeler, and work our way up a very shallow, sweeper filled river.
We drop off the wheeler and I go back down to pick up John and Jim. The river is extremely shallow and is influenced by the tide. Not the best conditions for hauling heavy loads, but hey, I've done this for a living, no big deal. In order to not ground out, I had to keep the boat on step, careen around bends, duck sweepers, jump submerged logs, all in a good days work. I'm awesome at this, done it for years, expert. I only hit one sweeper, knocking myself out the back of the boat. I only killed John twice. He died the first time when I got knocked out and the boat hit the bank, the other time he died cause I was watching a spruce bow so I didn't take it in the face doing 20 knots upriver when I was sucker punched by the spruce bows little brother, again knocking me out of the boat. I'm ok, I took the blow in the same place as the moose hoof, cushioning the blow with my already swollen lip. At least the bow of the boat stopped John from faceplanting in the mud bank. Instead he faceplanted in the front of the boat, saving him from having to pick rocks and mud out of his teeth, he should thank me.
We get to the place where the wheeler is and start blazing a trail to where Cody's moose is supposed to be, with Cody and John Jr. waiting for us. We get to the moose, no Cody or John Jr. John says eloquently "little bastards better notta killed another moose". No way, I say, they wouldn't be that dumb. 2 moose is doable, 3 is fucking crazy. We yell, no answer. We yell again, no answer. After 20 minutes, I see two teenage boys walking through the timber to us, heads hung low. They get to us, John asks "where ya been?". No answer from either one. John says "ah, fuck, you killed another one didn't you?" "Uh-huh" they said in unison. Fuck, it's going to be a long night and with my stellar coxswain ability obviously apparent in the daylight, I was rather apprehensive about killing John a third and fourth time at night. Besides, I dulled the pointy end of the boat pretty good by slamming into a stump, I don't think it is sharp enough to cut through another one.
Cody with John Jr's bull (little bastard
We start dragging moose to the boat, which sounds really easy to do. It isn't. They hang up on all kinds of shit when trying to drag them out.
We get all three bulls to the boat and start bucking them up for transport downriver. It is now late in the afternoon and we are running out of light quickly.
We get two of the bulls broken down, but the third is still whole. As the last of the light falls, John informs me that he can't come back in the morning to help, he has to work. The boys inform me that they have school, can't miss it. Jim is pretty stove up from his "back injury" (fucker!), so I will be all alone dealing with the rest of the moose. Man, these guys got this shit figured out.
My bro Jim (thanks for the great hunt, really
