
Wasn’t the bull I was after. This hunt was something extraordinary though. I had been out every day for weeks before season started. It was a three month season and as soon as it started I was hitting it hard. I had a bull picked out that was in the neighborhood of 46-48” and had double eye guards on one side, triple on the other. Beautiful paddles and 13 points a side.
Halfway through the season I had talked my dad into going with me. He’s been getting on in years and slowing down a lot, however he was excited to hunt moose with me. We sat over a moose hole all day listening to grunts and having those father-son talks about life, family, and whatever else came to mind. I had a 10 month old at home (our first) and my wife, bless her heart, was very supportive of my hunting addiction and this once in a lifetime tag.
We had decided to move on and check out another spot, when on the way out, we spotted a cow in the brush. Immediately following that, I heard grunting in the timber below me. Dad had no idea because he’s half deaf, but he wanted to keep moving and I was trying to whisper that there was a bull below us. After minutes of repeating that, he finally got it and said “oh, a bull! Let’s wait here then.” I laughed to myself and started grunting back.
About a lifetime of grunting later (roughly ten minutes) the bull came out of the timber. His cow above us, and him below us. He was ready to fight. Couldn’t have worked out any better. When he walked through the tag alder, he looked like the one I was after. I let out a bang from my 300 win mag and heard a loud thud and the air go out of his lungs. He was down but not done. I ran down the hill and stood on a stump while he thrashed around. It was at that point my stomach sank. He was the wrong bull. I pulled up and gave him two more in the neck and lungs.
When we walked toward him, I had a pretty heavy heart knowing he wasn’t the one I was after. We got up to him and my dad let out a holler and shook my hand. He said it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the one I wanted, but that I had gained a great experience. I had done something few people get to do.
Looking back, I find those words to be a true comfort. I had shot a moose. I had gotten to do it with the man that taught me to hunt, that inspired my passion and that was something to aspire to.
He wasn’t a B&C bull, nor a big one, but I hang him on my wall with pride and remember the day. The experience I got to have with my father.
I hope one day that my kids will have the same passion and I get to go on several hunts with them where we talk about life, relationships, experiences, everything I got to share with my dad on those sacred trips.
He was 47” wide.