A few months ago I made mention that I was going to northern Ontario for my first moose hunt. I asked a friend to join me. My hunting buddy, 25 years my junior, supplied the physical abilities of handling the heavy work while I took care of the planning, details and most importantly, culinary expertise. All in all it worked out very well. Those who have had the experience of sharing camp with the wrong person knows what I mean. We thoroughly enjoyed each others company and hunting together.
Unfortunately, the hunting gods decided that this was not the year for me to shoot the moose of a lifetime. In fact, they decided that I would sit on the sidelines for the season, I never saw a bull.
On day five, my partner returned to camp about noon more excited than a kid at Christmas. Still gasping for air he manged to get out: "I just shot a monster, I need help to find him. This was a semi guided hunt so we got the guide and his son and jumped in the boats and made our way to the mouth of the river where he shot him.
Eight inches of fresh snow showed a heavy blood trail from the river's edge into the bush. The blood trail was heavy and consistent. They tracked the bull for three hours before stopping to make sure they could get back to camp before dark. The following day they covered almost 5 miles of blood trail before losing the track when the animal disappeared into a massive swamp.
All in all I can't remember a hunting partner as depressed over losing an animal as my friend. He kept repeating, "I wasted the opportunity of a lifetime." The night before, a guide across the lake had informed us of a giant bull he'd seen the night before with a rack well into the 60's. His client only had a cow tag and couldn't shoot it. After listening to my partner's recital of the event, this was the same bull and the obvious became clear. His first shot at almost 200 yards straight on must have hit the brisket; his second shot, behind the shoulder with the animal quartering towards him must have hit too far back and missed the lungs. He was shooting a 300 Weatherby with Barnes bear claw bullets. More than enough medicine for moose.
The day before we left for the trip, I'd asked him for the third time to take an hour and make certain his rifle was on and he was comfortable shooting out to 300 yards. He compromised by taking one shot at fifty yards. After hitting the black, he was "good to go."
Two hundred yards is not considered extreme hunting. I can be though if the hunter has not done his job at the range. There is no substitute for practice and accuracy. The unfortunate loss for my friend reminded me of my post a few months earlier about extreme hunting. Hunters have a responsibility to shoot proficiently and kill humanely. The difference between a comfortable clean kill and extreme attempts differs for every hunter. Inside, I think we all know the limits of our ability. We can work to improve our skills or, live within are abilities. The shows only let the enthusiast see the incredible 700 yard kills. The inside story of lost opportunities, wounded and lost animals are unfortunately first hand experiences no one wants to talk about.
Unfortunately, the hunting gods decided that this was not the year for me to shoot the moose of a lifetime. In fact, they decided that I would sit on the sidelines for the season, I never saw a bull.
On day five, my partner returned to camp about noon more excited than a kid at Christmas. Still gasping for air he manged to get out: "I just shot a monster, I need help to find him. This was a semi guided hunt so we got the guide and his son and jumped in the boats and made our way to the mouth of the river where he shot him.
Eight inches of fresh snow showed a heavy blood trail from the river's edge into the bush. The blood trail was heavy and consistent. They tracked the bull for three hours before stopping to make sure they could get back to camp before dark. The following day they covered almost 5 miles of blood trail before losing the track when the animal disappeared into a massive swamp.
All in all I can't remember a hunting partner as depressed over losing an animal as my friend. He kept repeating, "I wasted the opportunity of a lifetime." The night before, a guide across the lake had informed us of a giant bull he'd seen the night before with a rack well into the 60's. His client only had a cow tag and couldn't shoot it. After listening to my partner's recital of the event, this was the same bull and the obvious became clear. His first shot at almost 200 yards straight on must have hit the brisket; his second shot, behind the shoulder with the animal quartering towards him must have hit too far back and missed the lungs. He was shooting a 300 Weatherby with Barnes bear claw bullets. More than enough medicine for moose.
The day before we left for the trip, I'd asked him for the third time to take an hour and make certain his rifle was on and he was comfortable shooting out to 300 yards. He compromised by taking one shot at fifty yards. After hitting the black, he was "good to go."
Two hundred yards is not considered extreme hunting. I can be though if the hunter has not done his job at the range. There is no substitute for practice and accuracy. The unfortunate loss for my friend reminded me of my post a few months earlier about extreme hunting. Hunters have a responsibility to shoot proficiently and kill humanely. The difference between a comfortable clean kill and extreme attempts differs for every hunter. Inside, I think we all know the limits of our ability. We can work to improve our skills or, live within are abilities. The shows only let the enthusiast see the incredible 700 yard kills. The inside story of lost opportunities, wounded and lost animals are unfortunately first hand experiences no one wants to talk about.