MOOSE DROOL

The moment I had been waiting for came when the bull glanced back over his shoulder. In one motion I drew, hit my anchor, held low on his chest, and released the arrow.

Archery hunting in September is a magical time to be in the woods, the vibrant colors of fall are spectacular on a canvas of vivid green and earthy browns. The wild sounds of rutting bull elk and moose echo through the canyons on cold frosty mornings. The first of September found me on a trail to a spring frequented by bull moose. With the wind in my face I stalked along the trail, pausing every few steps to listen and test the morning thermals. The trail led to a wallow, and fresh sign oozed from the mud. I froze in my tracks as the strong musty oder of the rutting bull filled my senses. The silence was deafening, and tension filled the air as I slipped an arrow on the string. Suddenly the breeze shifted and hit the back of my neck, the bedded bull , bolted from the shadows of the quaking aspen, and only stopped to glance back as he crossed the ridge 100 yards away. I sat down as adrenaline overtook me. It was going to be a great hunt.

For the rest of September my focus turned to archery hunting elk and deer. As September slipped into October, it was a great time to be in the woods. The leaves were falling off the aspens, and there was a cool, crisp feel to the air. The moose rut was in full swing, and the deep grunts of the bull moose, and the moans of the cows, broke the morning silence.

October 10th dawned and the conditions were prime for a good hunt. It was overcast and slightly snowing. Daybreak found me overlooking a canyon where I had located some fresh rubs, and scent pits. I knew there was a big bull in the area, so I gave the sweetest cow wines I could muster. I thought I head a distant grunt, so I slipped down into the timbered canyon.

Using the wind, I stalked up the bottom of the canyon. A branch snapped and I looked to my right as a bull moved up the ridge away from me, grunting as he crested the top. The bull was the most majestic animal that I'd ever seen. I felt as though someone had hit me in the pit of my stomach, and wondered if I'd blown my chance. After giving the bull some time to settle down, I circled around the ridge to get the wind right. I gave a coaxing wine "Errrn, Errrn," and heard the bulls low grunting sounds in the distance, "Oough, Oough." The rut crazed bull approached with caution only stopping to kick a six-foot aspens butt, it didn't stand a chance. I knelt behind a small spruce tree, slipped an arrow onto the string, and tried to disappear. At fifteen yards he froze, searching with eyes and ears, all senses trying to zero in on my location.

The six foot spruce tree gave me little comfort, as the 1500 lbs bull started walking at an angle just above me. My heart was pounding as the tips of the monarchs antlers appeared in front of me. The flight or flight theory was put to the test, and adrenalin oozed from my pores, as I tried to stay focused. The wind was perfect, and at eight paces the bull stopped, and quartering slightly, glared in my direction, drool dripping from his mouth. The moment I had been waiting for came, when he glanced back over his shoulder. All the time and effort that I had put into this hunt was coming down to a split second. In one motion I drew, hit my anchor, centered my pin on his chest, and released to arrow. He let out a groan as the white crested arrow disappeared against his black vitals. He turned, stumbling sideways before disappearing into the forest. I gave the bull some time and then started tracking him to where he expired.

It was an emotional time for me, I had put in a lot of time and effort, had hunted hard, had blown chances, and wondered if it would ever happen. I snapped a few hero photos, then got to work field dressing the bull, quartering and boning the meat. Then I loaded the pack pack with boneless meat. The 100 lbs of boneless meat was a good feeling with fresh legs. By the time I had reached the creek bed leading to camp on the forth trip, my knees aked, my back was killing me, and I was scratched up from several face plants. Still strangely enough, That feeling of satisfaction and exhilaration of a successful hunt, are my best memories.