Templeton, R. (April 2007) Last-Chance Moose. Bow & Arrow Hunting, Volume 45, No 3, 28 - 33.

From my last conversation with Gene Halley, owner of Halley's Outpost Camps, the moose were just beginning to rut and respond to calling... The only means of getting to these remote locations was via floatplane.

On the average, bowhunters typically see succuss rates around 25 percent. However, considering the number of moose Gene had already seen, I had high hopes for better-than-average odds. The extended weather forecast was predicting cool temperatures and average precipitation, which meant we could expect to see rain throughout the week.

Hunting moose in Ontario was something I've dreamed about for many years. My inspiration came while hunting black bear in the fall of 1986. That first evening a 40-inch bull crashed off the hillside and stopped within yards of my perch. He raked his paddles up and down a small spruce until it was nearly naked, and then continued on his way. I knew then I'd be back someday. Little did I know it would be 20 years later, almost to the day!

We rolled into Minaki, Ontario, around 7:30 a.m. on Semptember 22. There we were, greeted with a warm welcome by Gene Halley. It took a few minutes to fill out the necessary paperwork for our tags, but we were soon loading up the Otter with gear and on our way. Forty-five minutes later we circled our camp - two cozy cabins along the banks of a large lake with several small lakes and tributaries connecting to it.

Gliding up the dock, we were greeted by our guides (Steve and Martin). They had been there for three days scouting the vast area and getting the camp ready. Forensic expert (Carman) for the northwest region of Ontario was also in camp. Carman was taking a vacation from his hectic job and agreed to be our cook for the week.

Not long after settling in we brought out our bows and shot a few practice arrows just to make sure everything was still A-OK from the journey. Afterwards, we grabbed our fishing rods and headed out to catch dinner from the lake bursting with walleye and pike. Needless to say, a short time later dinner was on the stringer.

That evening Martin, Tracy, and Mark went to the north end of the big lake to set up in a marsh where there was plenty of telltale sign. Steve and I went to the south end, where the big lake spilled into a smaller pond. It was there that Gene has spotted two bulls the week before in a marsh.

We positioned ourselved in the tag alders on the downwind side overlooking the grassy marsh. The wind was perfect for the first two hours, and I had a gut feeling that something would show. Unfortunately, during the last hour the wind switched continuously. As the sun began to set a low grunting noise came from the thick brush to the east. It was a bull and he was sneaking around behind us. After a few minutes of silence, it was obvious we had been betrayed by the fickle winds.

While motoring back toward the portage I spotted two dark objects along the shoreline. It was a pair of youg bulls feeding in the shallows. We continued on and made plans for the morning hunt. Arriving back at camp we learned that Mark and Tracy hadn't been any more successfull. They did, however, eyeball a marsh to hunt the following morning. If the wind held steady, it would make for the perfect setup.

MARK SCORES

The next day I woke up to steady rain and winds prevailing out of the east. At breakfast there was a change in plans. Mark volunteered to go with Steve to the small marsh we spoke about that evening. Tracy and I would hunt a marsh near the location where I spotted the two bulls.

Almost the instant the boat touched shore, the wind kicked up and it started pouring rain. The first two hours after sunrise was miserable, at best. Martin called every 30 minutes or so but failed to get a response. An hour later we packed up and headed to camp where Carman had a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and walleye waiting.

Shortly after arriving Mark and Steve pulled up to the dock. Despite the nasty weather, their smiling faces told the sstory of a successful hunt. "We had no more than set up and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon," explained Mark. "I was positioned about 30 yards upwind of the marsh. Steve started with a few cow calls, and it wasn't long befor a bull responded. Although he was still 200 yards away, I could hear him grunting and busting branches."

"Steve continued calling for the next 30 minutes, but the bull wouldn't commit. When he changed calling tactics to grunts all heck broke loose and the bull came charging out of the marsh. I wasn't sure whether he was going to offer a shot or not, but when he got within 35 yards he slowed to a walk. I drew my Diamond bow and settled the pin behind the shoulder and hit the release. The arrow passed completely through the bull and sent him charging back the opposite way."

Later that day found Steve and I calling for moose. After some intermittent calling, we had some action - an almost shot at a nice bull. Although it was only the second day of our hunt, that one close encounter had me hooked on moose hunting already.

As we trolled the lakeshore under the moonlight, Steve pointed to a beaver hut bordering a large marsh. It was there that he had called in a 50-inch bull for a Winsconsin bowhunter two years before. There was goood sign, so we decided to hunt there in the morning.

The next day the skies wwere clear and the temperatures had dropped below freezing overnight. After a cup of coffee we were off the the portage, where our 12-foot boat was waiting below the spillway. Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the beaver hut. I climbed aloft for a better view, while Steve hung back and started calling.

Almost immediately a mature bull responded back. A second bull grunted softly, obviously a much smaller bull. Steve filled his call using lake water and let it dribble out from about chest hiight, hoping to entice the bull - it worked. That excited the bull and he cut the distance - fast. I could hear him gruntinig and stomping back and forth through the marsh. Steve continued to call but, without warning, the bull clammed up an stopped just out of eyesight. I thought for sure he was coming in silently and waited with an arrow nocked. After two hours of silence it became evident that we had been beaten again.

Upon arriving at camp we learned that Tracy and Martin had seen a 50-to 55-inch bull siwmming across the lake in the dark. The bull was heading for the shoreline, but they couldn't cut him off nor call him back. Other than that, their morning had been uneventful.

During the next couple of days we were plagued by harsh, rainy weather. Despite this, once again, we did manage to get close to bulls, but there was no chance of shots. On day five of the hunt Gene called into camp, stating how two Wisconsin bowhunters had tagged out in one of his other camps 20 minutes away by air. He also noted that he had spotted two other good bulls... He offered to fly us into that camp for the remainder of our hunt. even though we had been into bulls nearly every day, we decided to give the are a rests and take Gene up on his offer.

CHANGE OF SCENERY

The sixth day of the hunt found us waiting with our gear in the morning to be flown to our new hunting spot. As Gene circled our next camp, I spotted a pair of large moose racks on the landing. When the door opened we were kindly greeted by guide Chris Halley and two very happy bowhunters. (Craig) and (Ron). After our gear was unloaded, I spent a few minutes speaking with Craig and Ron about their exciting hunts.

Accordinig to Craig, he shot his bull the first day out accompanied by guide Chirs Halley. After spotting the bull along the lakeshore, they moved in on him and called. Moments later Craig placed his arrow perfectly from only 12 yards.

A couple of days later, Ron got his chance, after he and Chris called near and old snowmobile trail. His shot came at only 8 yards! The hunting excitement proved to be truly unforgettable for these bowhunters.

That afternoon we hunted a bay about 1 mile from camp. Based on the fresh sign, we had high expectations, but that soon dwidled as darkeness set in.

After dinner we hovered over an aerial photo and made plans to canoe down a river to a lake 3 miles away. The river was bordered by marsh on both sides. It looked like prime moose habitat.

THE CRAZY COW

The following morning it was pouring down rain, but nevertheless we strapped the canoe across the Lund and made way to the mouth of the river. From there we pulled the canoe over a beaver dam and paddled downstream. The next three hours were spent paddling down the narrow snaking river, stopping every 300 yards or so to call. The rain came down in sheets, and by 10:30 we were soaked to the bone. We turned the canoe around and started back.

About half way I spotted amoose standing along the river's edge. Hoping there was a bull nearby, Steve made a few cow calls and grunted. She looked our way and chaged toward the river. We paddled closer and stopped. She walked back toward the marsh and started acting strange, walking in circles. At first, we thought maybe she had a calf bedded nearby or lost one to the wolves. Again, she spotted us and charged towrd the canoe. It was getting a little scary, so we backed up and sat still. Again she went back to walking in circles.

Ever time we tried to paddle around her the phccho beast charged toward us. This went on for nearly 45 minutes. Finally, when she turned to walk in circles, we paddled like hell down the river. She charged down the bank, but stopped after a short distance. Rounding the next bend, we looked back and the old girl had gone back to walking in circles.

By mid-afternoon our clothes were dry and we headed to the far end of the lake. Other than the large black bear circling our location, the evening was uneventful.

NEVER TOO LATE

Now it was time to go home - empty handed it seemed - though there were still a few hours left to hunt. The plane was supposed to arrive around noon, so we decided to hunt the the far end of the lake until 10:00, and then head back to camp. Martin and Tracy would hunt the bay across the lake.

By 9:45 we packed up and began motoring back. As we traveled along the shore, I happened to notice that Martin's boat was in a different location, not where they had originally planned to hunt. Nevertheless, Steve and I continued to camp. After packing, I stepped out on the porch for one last look at the surroundings and to reminisce over the highlights of our hunt. As I stood there I happened to notice two brown specs across the lake in the marsh where Tracy and Martin had been earlier that morning.

Running into the cabin, I grabbed my Nikon binocular for a closer look. There were two bulls headed for the tree line. Steve yelled, "We're here to shoot a moose. Get your bow and let's see if we can't call one in."

In less than a couple of minutes we were in the boat and motoring across the lake. We discussed our strategy along the way. About halfway there I heard something overhead. It was the Otter coming to pick us up. Regardless of the circumstances, we continued to the shore and took cover in the tree line immediatley.

Steve set up behind me and called tywice but didn't receive an answer. He called again and a bull responded with a grunt. Suddenly I spotted legs, and then his snout. He was staring down the ridge, maybe 60 yards away. My guide backed up and called again. The bull turned and began lumbering down th ridge, swaying his head back and forth, grunting with each plodding step. To me he looked and sounded like a small locomotive, cracking branches and plowing through the trrees. The moment of truth was approaching fast. I drew my bow and looked for an open shooting lane ahead.

At 25 yards, he stepped into a narrow opening and I let the string slip free. The Muzzy-tipped arrow made a bone-crunching crack upon impact. No doubt, with just 10 or 12 inches of penetration the broadhead must have clipped the edge of the shoulder blade. The bull charged toward the marsh, and my savvy guide grunted twice, which stopped him long enough to sink a second arrow deep into the vitals. He made a beeline for the thick cover and soon disappeared.

At that moment a massive adrenaline rush overcame me. Twenty years of wondering what it woul be like to arrow an Ontario giant had just become a reality. Immediately, Steve turned around, gave me a high five and said, "Let's go get your bull." Although it was tempting, I was a bit skeptical and talked my eager guide into waiting a few hours. We backed out quietly and headed to camp.

Rob Halley informed us that he had to fly out other hunters from a camt that afternoon. Considering the time it woul take to find and pack out the bull, we agreed to delay our trip home for another day.

After four hours of restless waiting, we gathered up the necessary gear and made way to the spot where the bull was last seen. Just a short time later, Martin found the bull lying stone dead. He'd gone just another 75 yards.

I've been on a number of hunts over the years, but none compare to this moose hunting adventure. To take a bull during the last few minutes supports the fact that it's never too late to score. Regardless of whether I'd taken a moose or not, there's no doubt I'd be heading bck to Ontario this fall.