Reflections of a moose hunt…
Every year, thousands of people from across the country and beyond, wait for one fateful afternoon in June; the day that Moose tags are drawn! In a few short hours, several thousand lucky folks get the long anticipated news that they have been waiting for, while tens of thousands scroll through the list in disbelief that they again have yet to draw a tag.
It’s quite simple…not everyone gets a tag. It’s hard to accept, and easy to become discouraged, but you just have to hope for next year and try again. That being said, when you do win the coveted Moose hunting permit, you need to be thankful for the amazing opportunity that is now in your hands. It is an amazing privilege indeed.
Not long after the last name is drawn, the preparations soon begin. As a Registered Maine Guide, that means the phone starts to ring. Each season I receive phone calls from folks from all over the country, each doing their homework, asking questions, planning, and looking at their budget. During each of these phone calls, I ask as many questions as they do. I want to know fully what my potential clients’ expectations are and I want to make sure that we are a good fit for them.
At Orion Outfitters and Guide Service, we hunt Moose as it has done for many, many years…on the ground, in the forests, in the swamps, and on the mountainsides. We don’t road hunt, and we don’t use electronic calls. Our passion for hunting this majestic animal is reflected in our respect for Alces Alces the “twig eater.”
One of our favorite hunts is in Zone 7, known as the Rangeley area. We provide a traditional spike camp along the Kennebego River as our base camp where the river flows merely feet from your tent, and the moose roam freely through the valley, often heard calling to each other or walking along the river bed. Evenings are spent around the campfire replaying the day’s events, and setting the stage for the following days hunt.
A typical day begins well before daylight. The fire is kindled, lanterns lit, coffee is brewed, and a hearty breakfast is served. Soon we’re gearing up and on the road, with a “to go” cup of coffee of course! We have about a forty-minute drive to the remote hunting grounds that we’ve scouted intensively, and as we get closer to our destination, the anticipation grows. I’m very fortunate to have the opportunity to guide these hunts each year, but to our clients this is the hunt of a lifetime, and that is something that we take very seriously.
On one occasion several years ago we happened upon a young bull in the road as we rounded a corner. It was opening day, and about an hour before daybreak. The bull ran in the road in front of us for several hundred yards, even after I backed off and even stopped. Each time I started to move he started again in front of us. As I approached a wide stretch or road, I decided to get out around him and move on. I eased up carefully and he charged the truck. I backed off and tried to let him move on, yet he was intent on staying in the roadway. A half mile later I tried again as we approached a turn around. I was almost successful! The moose started to veer off to the left and suddenly hooked around and drove his antlers into the front fender and hood of my pick-up, pushing us about 3 feet sideways!
We both stopped, and I did finally get around him, but not before being on the receiving end of 1,000 pounds of rutting moose! We did manage to get to our first hunting spot on time, and that early morning encounter was retold around the fire all week long!
On another moose hunt in the same region we set out in an exceptionally foggy start to the opener. I nodded to my hunter to load his hunting rifle, as it was now first legal shooting light. I turned my head, cupped my hands, and made my first moose call, only to hear a large bull call right back-from less than 50 feet away! We had literally walked almost into this bull that was standing silently in the fog. His distinct bull grunt was so close it made the hair stand up on my neck. The only problem was that the low light and dense fog made it impossible to make a shot. He was partially visible, but a clean shot was out of the question. In seconds the bull vanished into the fog, but not before he gave us a quick glimpse of his large rack, adding to the excitement of the first day.
One crisp October morning we decided to walk a remote logging road bordered by a clear cut on one side and a thick swamp on the other, a perfect place to set up. The puddles that lie in our path had just a skim of ice on them, making it harder to sneak along. The smell of balsam, of mud, and the distinct musk of a rutting bull cut the air like a knife. I made my first cow call, and it was quickly met with call back, then another, and another. The problem was that all three bull calls came from different directions! We had a bull deep in the cutting just on the other side of a hill, and two others hidden in the swamp.
I called again, and again they returned with calls, as well as a cow now joining in. The breaking of branches and cracking of limbs gave away their location, and we found ourselves smack in the middle of at least 3 bulls. They began to call to each other, along with the cow, and it started to get a bit confusing as to which way we should set up. Without a lot of cover we were actually pinned down along the edge of the logging road. The calls got closer and the crashing got louder. Several more bulls joined in and started sparring and raking antlers. My hunter had put in for 23 years before drawing his tag, and he was now experiencing something that few people have ever had the opportunity to experience.
This moment will go down in history for Orion Outfitters, not because it was a successful hunt, but because I was able to provide an experience that reconnected two brothers that had lost touch with each other. The mud, the miles, and the moose that caught us off guard, the cow with a calf that curiously passed by were all part of the bigger whole. Hot coffee and a hearty lunch served in the forest of Maine, cool mornings, and rutting bulls, and the stories…
Every year, thousands of people from across the country and beyond, wait for one fateful afternoon in June; the day that Moose tags are drawn! In a few short hours, several thousand lucky folks get the long anticipated news that they have been waiting for, while tens of thousands scroll through the list in disbelief that they again have yet to draw a tag.
It’s quite simple…not everyone gets a tag. It’s hard to accept, and easy to become discouraged, but you just have to hope for next year and try again. That being said, when you do win the coveted Moose hunting permit, you need to be thankful for the amazing opportunity that is now in your hands. It is an amazing privilege indeed.
Not long after the last name is drawn, the preparations soon begin. As a Registered Maine Guide, that means the phone starts to ring. Each season I receive phone calls from folks from all over the country, each doing their homework, asking questions, planning, and looking at their budget. During each of these phone calls, I ask as many questions as they do. I want to know fully what my potential clients’ expectations are and I want to make sure that we are a good fit for them.
At Orion Outfitters and Guide Service, we hunt Moose as it has done for many, many years…on the ground, in the forests, in the swamps, and on the mountainsides. We don’t road hunt, and we don’t use electronic calls. Our passion for hunting this majestic animal is reflected in our respect for Alces Alces the “twig eater.”
One of our favorite hunts is in Zone 7, known as the Rangeley area. We provide a traditional spike camp along the Kennebego River as our base camp where the river flows merely feet from your tent, and the moose roam freely through the valley, often heard calling to each other or walking along the river bed. Evenings are spent around the campfire replaying the day’s events, and setting the stage for the following days hunt.
A typical day begins well before daylight. The fire is kindled, lanterns lit, coffee is brewed, and a hearty breakfast is served. Soon we’re gearing up and on the road, with a “to go” cup of coffee of course! We have about a forty-minute drive to the remote hunting grounds that we’ve scouted intensively, and as we get closer to our destination, the anticipation grows. I’m very fortunate to have the opportunity to guide these hunts each year, but to our clients this is the hunt of a lifetime, and that is something that we take very seriously.
On one occasion several years ago we happened upon a young bull in the road as we rounded a corner. It was opening day, and about an hour before daybreak. The bull ran in the road in front of us for several hundred yards, even after I backed off and even stopped. Each time I started to move he started again in front of us. As I approached a wide stretch or road, I decided to get out around him and move on. I eased up carefully and he charged the truck. I backed off and tried to let him move on, yet he was intent on staying in the roadway. A half mile later I tried again as we approached a turn around. I was almost successful! The moose started to veer off to the left and suddenly hooked around and drove his antlers into the front fender and hood of my pick-up, pushing us about 3 feet sideways!
We both stopped, and I did finally get around him, but not before being on the receiving end of 1,000 pounds of rutting moose! We did manage to get to our first hunting spot on time, and that early morning encounter was retold around the fire all week long!
On another moose hunt in the same region we set out in an exceptionally foggy start to the opener. I nodded to my hunter to load his hunting rifle, as it was now first legal shooting light. I turned my head, cupped my hands, and made my first moose call, only to hear a large bull call right back-from less than 50 feet away! We had literally walked almost into this bull that was standing silently in the fog. His distinct bull grunt was so close it made the hair stand up on my neck. The only problem was that the low light and dense fog made it impossible to make a shot. He was partially visible, but a clean shot was out of the question. In seconds the bull vanished into the fog, but not before he gave us a quick glimpse of his large rack, adding to the excitement of the first day.
One crisp October morning we decided to walk a remote logging road bordered by a clear cut on one side and a thick swamp on the other, a perfect place to set up. The puddles that lie in our path had just a skim of ice on them, making it harder to sneak along. The smell of balsam, of mud, and the distinct musk of a rutting bull cut the air like a knife. I made my first cow call, and it was quickly met with call back, then another, and another. The problem was that all three bull calls came from different directions! We had a bull deep in the cutting just on the other side of a hill, and two others hidden in the swamp.
I called again, and again they returned with calls, as well as a cow now joining in. The breaking of branches and cracking of limbs gave away their location, and we found ourselves smack in the middle of at least 3 bulls. They began to call to each other, along with the cow, and it started to get a bit confusing as to which way we should set up. Without a lot of cover we were actually pinned down along the edge of the logging road. The calls got closer and the crashing got louder. Several more bulls joined in and started sparring and raking antlers. My hunter had put in for 23 years before drawing his tag, and he was now experiencing something that few people have ever had the opportunity to experience.
This moment will go down in history for Orion Outfitters, not because it was a successful hunt, but because I was able to provide an experience that reconnected two brothers that had lost touch with each other. The mud, the miles, and the moose that caught us off guard, the cow with a calf that curiously passed by were all part of the bigger whole. Hot coffee and a hearty lunch served in the forest of Maine, cool mornings, and rutting bulls, and the stories…
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