![]() ![]() ![]() A bull moose grunted softly, returning our calls.įive minutes later, the game changed when we heard the baying of a pack of dogs that we later determined belonged to a group of hunters chasing snowshoe hares.Ī minute after that (I know this, because I keep track of all important events during our hunts), the first mosquito of the week was buzzing in my ear. ![]() We crept in under cover of darkness, set up, and began to call.Īt 6:40 a.m., victory was ours … nearly. I called the site “The Living Room,” for one unfortunate reason: Some lout had discarded a couch in the clearing we decided to hunt. It wasn’t far from camp, it was near both food and water, and we’d received reports that a large moose had been spotted not far away quite recently. Armed with moose-hunting rifles, bird-hunting shotguns, and a truck full of food, snacks and supplies, we settled in and got down to the serious business of scouting for our moose hunt.Īnd if a wayward ruffed grouse crossed our paths while we were checking out a few final spots? Well, that would be a bonus.Īll day Sunday, we’d scouted a bit more, bringing our mileage total since June to more than 1,000, as we prepared for the opening day of our six-day season.Īnd finally, we settled on a spot we thought might produce a bull come Monday morning. Two days earlier, Chris and I had arrived at a camp on Brassua Lake that we’ve been fortunate to have been granted access to for several years. ![]()
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