Last night’s welcome rain softens the crunch of recently fallen aspen leaves. We cruise uphill in pre-dawn light, whispering our excitement. The evening before, solo, I almost stumbled upon a big bull moose bedded down in the meadow. I hunkered behind a tree and watched him as the light faded, and heard another large animal entering the meadow. “Probably his girlfriend,” I thought.
And then the 6×6 rack emerged.
And then another bull bugled close behind me.
After a week of little activity, it was on again. The big bull walked out into the meadow, and met the gaze of the moose. He turned, and headed back the way he came, silently. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the bull bugling from the direction he’d headed, down the hill. I tried not to spook the moose while starting to head in the direction of the bull. The moose got up an did the same. He cut me off, and I dared not get closer to a large bull moose at this time of year. I conceded, knowing the elk would likely not move far before morning.
And after a restless night of recounting the evening in my head, and the size of the bull I laid eyes on not 50 yards away, I enlisted a friend to head back in this morning to call for me.
We got on some bugling bulls early on, but couldn’t entice them. Spent the rest of the morning and half of the afternoon scouting new territory along the Wyoming border. Headed home for lunch and a nap. Woke up late afternoon, brewed coffee and headed out again.
An immature bull could be heard keening on the hillside below. We moved toward him…and then the primary bull bellowed from the aspens below, ending in a few deep, guttural coughs to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind about who he was, or what he was about. We set up and called. The big bull kept wailing from thick cover, but then a silent, satellite bull emerged into the clearing. A few mews and he began working toward us, the big bull bellowing in the background all the while. The wind shifted just as it became too dark to shoot anyway, and the satellite winded us and bolted back into cover.
We stood on the hillside, watching the orange and purples of day’s end fading into dark over our town in the valley below, serenaded by continued bugling. Neither of us wanted to leave, but it was now dark, and warm food and spouses awaited. “One more bugle, and then we’ll go….” And it came, and we did.