Anticipation was high, along with the confidence. The tag we carried was five years in the making and we were unbelievably stoked for the first of October to roll around. The Limited Entry Hunt system in British Columbia can be a frustrating experience, everything simply relies on your luck, like drawing a name out of the hat. Every year you apply and pretty much every year you are disappointed. There is no rhyme or reason, at least with a points system there is light at the end of the tunnel, a way to earn the tag. I guess if it was instituted now it could take years to get past the old timers who have accumulated points, much like Ontario moose hunters are experiencing now, maybe relying on luck isn’t such a bad thing.
A homeade moose call, new rifle and wallet full of ammunition. Ready for moose.
My wife and I were sitting in the ferry line up after a summer backpack trip on the Sunshine Coast when I logged into my BC Wild account. There it was, in bright blue letters, our names had been drawn. For five years I had applied to a certain region for a bull moose tag and finally after increasing our group number we were up. Following a stunned moment of silence a flurry of text ensued to all the guys and a summer of planning, scouting and stoke followed. We spent hours online scouring maps, days in the field looking for sign, along with days in the gym and on the mountain bike, and a lot of shooting.
By time October first rolled around I was as prepared as I could be and confident, not that we would necessarily get a bull, but that we would at least get our chance. Getting to the area the day before wasn’t in the cards, originally the idea had been to get there for the afternoon/evening session, this changed when I was wide awake at 3:30am. Not able to sleep I quickly loaded the truck and was in place with my rifle for the minute the season opened. Sitting in a light drizzle watching a clear cut filled with moose shit for six hours cracked my moose hunting cherry.
A fresh bull moose track over my footprints dwarfs a 30-06 shell. It was as close as I got to him.
Over the first six days I had bulls grunting back to my calls, an evening of glassing up two mountain goats, one of them a real bruiser, cold, rain, grizzly bear tracks and three days of pulling a big bull in who would only come out once I’d left. In the darkness before dawn I would walk into a river bar that was pockmarked with his deep tracks, stepping over the logs I was sitting on when I called. The last morning, he had walked past my truck, down the access trail, stepping in my footprints until he was 50 yards away, turning around at the edge of the brush. No doubt the occasional swirl of wind gave me away, instead of being disappointed I was stoked to have come so close.
By the end of the month we had fought weather, lots of rain, some snow that had kept us out of the area for a weekend and had a blast. One of the fellas had seen a cow moose that first week and missed a shot at a huge bull seven days later. A new hunter, it was the first he had drawn a bead on a big game animal and the excitement took over. We’ve all been there and it’s what draws us back fall after fall. As I told him, the whole time I was out there I wasn’t sure if I’d have hit a shot, I was nervous that the shakes would take over if a bull stepped out, never mind the trophy of a lifetime. This is how the month ended, we had hunted hard, enjoyed nights where you could see nothing but stars in the sky, braved the elements, camped and experienced the wonderful camaraderie of four guys who got along well. We also got our chance and at least for me, that’s all I had been hoping for.
See you on the water or in the mountains.
-Matthew Mallory
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