Got out for my only archery weekend with my middle son (13-yr old). Got camp set up on Friday evening in a beautiful draw. The plan was to try my hand at calling.
On Saturday morning we made our way up the draw a mile or so and set up to call.
After calling for an hour or so, we heard antler knocking and brush thrashing about 150 yards away in the aspens, but the early morning thermals were starting to mix and he winded us. He tore off through the timber sounding like a rhinoceros but not giving us a glimpse of him. We called some more but got no more responses. Still, it was nice to know a bull was in the area. We did enjoy hearing some bugles on the far slope.
We trekked up the slope to the top of the ridge to do some glassing (we had deer tags too). But it was already getting hot and the glassing turned up nothing.
With a steady uphill thermal, we worked our way down a new drainage through the dark timber thinking we might catch something bedded. Saw a single doe that slowly moved off from us at 30 yards but nothing else. Ended up back at camp by 1 PM for lunch and to replenish the gallons of sweat we had expended that morning.
It was pushing the upper 70s so we decided to drive around and explore some new territory. We ran into the game warden who told us some outfitters had seen a smaller bull on the trail in a drainage about 7 miles away. I had decided that with my bow I was going to be happy with any bull that was past his ears (the average bull for my area was only a bit above 30 inches--many less and very few over 40), so we made our way there. We hiked back in a mile or so and tried calling again. No dice. On the way back out we laid eyes on the first moose of our trip.
We drove around a bit more just looking over new country while we waited for the evening temperatures to come. Our plan was to return to our morning calling location and try again--I had tried making a mock scrape that I was hoping would bring a bull in. But before we did, my son wanted to drive back to a spot on the creek where we had seen a couple small bucks on Friday evening that he wanted to try for. While we were driving there, I looked across the creek maybe 120 yards and saw a bull moose in the timber on the hill.
I was able to move closer by keeping a couple large conifers between me and the bull. The running creek gave me some cover noise and the wind was in my face. We crossed the creek in the thick willows and ranged the timber he was in at about 40 yards. He was slowly moving to my right so I was waiting for him to present a clear shot. But even though there was still an hour of shooting light left the smoke from the fires and the cloud cover had made it seem much darker. I missed a 2 inch tree that was in front of him... but my arrow found it! He wasn't spooked and I was able to knock another arrow and promptly shot under him--how can anyone miss a moose at 40 yards?! I was starting to panic. I decided the rangefinder must have hit a tree in front of him that we missed in the dark timber. He took a couple steps and I squawked at him. He was quartering away fairly hard so I settled my 50 yard pin behind his ribcage and released. He lunched forward, clearly hit, but again because of the light I couldn't call the impact point. He took about 5 steps and laid down in thick cover on a steep hillside with only his antlers showing. I backed across the creek to listen and glass to see if he got up and moved.
After about 5 minutes he tried to get up, disappeared behind some thicker timber and I heard a crash. About 10 minutes later, my son thought he heard movement much farther up the hill, so I was worried that maybe I hadn't hit him as well as I thought, even though he went down so fast. While I was waiting and listening, two archery elk hunters stopped by. They agreed to watch and glass while I went in to either find the bull or try to find a blood trail. I easily found my first arrow that had stuck in the tree (the broadhead will remain there forever). I moved to where he laid down but I couldn't find blood amidst the red speckled yellow brush on the entire hillside. I moved a bit further to where I thought I heard the crash. There he lay, not more than 10 yards from where I had shot him!! The arrow had entered right where I had aimed and the tip of the broadhead was poking through the skin on the opposite shoulder. After much high-fiving and hugging, we called to the elk hunters who came up and helped us get him quartered and loaded for the ride back to camp (they were lifesavers!) -- 4 guys is much better than 2!
I know he's not a monster, but the whole experience (scouting, anticipation, calling, hiking, road-tripping, butchering, etc.) will be a memory my son and I will cherish forever. Definitely worth my once in a lifetime tag.
