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Sept 5th started out as an 18 day solo Alaskan moose hunt in memorial of the ten year anniversary of my friend Bart Schleyer’s passing. Bart passed away on Sept. 14, 2004 on a solo moose hunt in the Yukon. The planned dates of my hunt would put me in the Alaskan bush during this important date.
After waiting two days at the hanger for the weather to improve, I finally got flown out to a remote river drainage in the Chugach Mountain range. I set up camp and began glassing the area for moose since I couldn’t hunt they day I flew. I saw several cows in the distance and an immature “40-inch” bull. I also spotted a nice bull with 3×3 brows and slightly over 50 inch spread. Excitement mounted.
The next day I got up before dawn and at first light I spotted 3 bulls together on the first shelf above the river at one and a half miles. I went after them. The biggest of the bulls went high on the opposite hill-side so I dropped down and crossed the river after him. The river was lined with alders and willow, so a tough task was at hand. I lost the bull and did not have good wind to continue, but I saw one of the other bulls back on the other side of the river going up toward my camp side toward the high country. I pulled up the waders and crossed the river again.
After calling on several set ups I lost this bull too. Continuing up the valley and side-hill, I stayed with my original plan to explore the upper basins, since moose tend to summer high. I could then concentrate my calling effort down in the thick spruce at lower elevation once the rut picked up more and the bulls started cruising.
At 1 PM, I was laying down eating jerky when I heard a bull grunt. I saw the bull I was after coming toward me, and he may have heard my calling a half hour earlier. He was a good bull with over 24 points, but his palm edges were parallel and turned in. He could have been over 50 inches (legal bull), but I could not chance it. So I only filmed him until he caught my scent at 40 yards.
After reaching the high ridge and glassing the upper two drainages, I only saw four more cows. This does not mean there were no other moose in the area, only that visibility and timing of movement (usually later in the day) must match.
Looking back at camp (3 miles away), I decided it would be good to start heading downward so I wouldn’t be in the thick brush after dark. With a little over an hour of daylight left, I spotted a good bull about a half mile past my tent on the same side-hill. I dropped down and hurried to get a better look. It was the same bull I passed up 2 miles up valley from camp earlier. Since I passed him up already, my excitement deminished. BUT, he had another bull with him. At 150 yards, I could see he was much wider, so I got low and moved closer. I crawled on hands and knees, bear crawled, and belly-crawled the last 60 yards, staying below their line of sight and using the dwarf birch as cover.
They were both above me, but I had a good wind as the cool 40 degree evening thermals were to my advantage. Glassing through the brush I could see the lower bull had a good swoop to his beams leaving his head and flared palms with long side tines. He did not have many brow points, only 2 on left and 3 on right, but his rack sure looked to be over 60 inches wide.
Their preoccupation and raking brush, allowed me to get among them. The upper bull kept looking in my direction, but he never knew I was there. I finally slid my pack off and crept up behind a spruce sapling. The wait was on. The sun was setting. I could get no closer.
Finally the upper bull moved down to the same plane as the wide one. He viewed this encroachment of his personal space as a threat and turned toward him. But once the first bull backed off, it turned around and headed up toward me. I glanced ahead and looked for a shooting lane, then back at the upper bull. His head was down feeding. Now all my attention went to the wide bull, as I rose to my feet. He came up the trail a little further with me standing behind the spruce at 30 yards. I thought about shooting, and then about the clear lane. I waited.
With his head down and moving forward, he turned to look over his shoulder at his buddy. This gave me a rare chance to turn my feet and take a perfect stance. I thought to shoot low in the chest. He took his step and stretched the front leg forward. The 66# Schleyer model Stalker recurve made for me by South Cox came all the way back and the long shaft was on its way. I saw my white fletching hit tight behind the shoulder as I heard a crack.
My fear of hitting a leg bone was only momentary, as the great bull lunged forward, ran thirty yards, and died in 20 seconds.
Since I knew he was down, I got my pack and went to him from the rear while the first bull was watching me from a safe 80 yard distance. It was now a rush to record the recovery and get photos before darkness fell.
I cut up the bull and cooled out the meat in the dark. I quite often thought of Bart as I toiled over this most rewarding task alone. This was not my first time doing it alone, but slow knife strokes and safety was on my mind. I reached my tent after midnight. There was a bright moon and clear sky that dropped the temperature below freezing, perfect for cooling meat. The next morning was PACK DAY!!! It was not bad at all, even though the shoulder ripped out the bottom of my 25 year old pack frame. Ha!
Even though my 18 day hunt was cut short by an agreeable bull, my thoughts of Bart were with me as I forded streams, climbed up through the willow brush, and found grizzly scat and tracks. We are never truly alone in the wilderness. Peace to you my friend. Mike
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