Alberta Canada Moose Hunting story. Trophy Canada Moose hunts with Alberta Wilderness Adventures moose hunting outfitters offering guided moose hunting trips in northern Albert
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Around the Campfire with Alberta Wilderness Adventures
Read this exciting hunting story about harvesting a Canada Moose!

"I dare you to try it, " a wiry gentleman piped up, his eyes sparkling from the glow of the campfire as he challenged his comrade to do better than he did. A bearded man in his early thirties gave a roar of laughter, then sucked up a deep breath of the warm night air. He placed my birch bark horn to his mouth and discharged a blast of air into it. The frightening sound that echoed out the other end of that vibrating funnel was more like the groan of a constipated hunter than the longing call of a seductive cow moose.

His three companions who circled the red glowing light of the campfire bent over the front of their chairs and rocked with laughter at the embarrassing sounds of their friend' s humorous act. i grinned at their stories and the carefree entertainment as i kicked a block of firewood into the flames, trying to stir up more light to see the faces of my new clients. In a burst of crackles, red sparks streaked skyward from the flames, dancing into the darkness to join the endless laughter.

As the sparkles burst higher, so did the conversation of the excited hunters. Firelight flickered in harmony, highlighting each man's tale. From one hunter to another the stories unfolded, each a little more challenging, until a competition of sorts developed. Now it was my turn, and reluctantly I had to match an unbelievable event with theirs. "C'mon, it's your turn," the whiskered man with the horn burst out. "Tell us a tale that we won't believe."

Herb and I made our way into a chain of lakes that consistently produced large antlered moose. An hour later and a mile of walking through knee-deep, water-soaked swamps, we reached the ridge that hid these lakes from vehicle hunters. We set up a ground blind on the point of a peninsula that gave us a first class view of the entire lakeshore. While Herb nestled on a giant root that grew from the trunk of a one hundred foot spruce, I gathered up shrubs and dead branches and a few spruce boughs. In minutes, I had constructed a primitive blind on three sides of us, making sure to have branches protruding in every direction to break up our outline from the eyes of a wiley moose. Nothing would be too good for Herb, so, like a beaver storing his winter feed, I stuck branches in the ground, scattering them around the stand until the area looked like a miniature forest within a forest.

Our little bunker was well organized. The only interior decoration was a pole laid crossways, about three feet in the air, so my hunter could use it as a rest to steady his rifle. The movie camera stood on its tripod beside our blind, waiting to roll a few feet of film. The location was perfect, giving us a two hundred and fifty yard shot over most of the lake. The only exception would be straight across the lake to an inlet. If a bull showed up there, Herb would need to take a fine sight as the distance increased to four hundred yards. "I think I can make the shot," Herb answered when I asked him how he felt about the distance.

This lake was one of my favourite moose hunting spots and I was eager to prove to Herb that I could call in a bull for him. I rubbed the tacky material of my birch bark horn in my hands while I thought of just the right sequence of calls to entice a lonely bull to enter our lake. Satisfied with my decision, I rolled out a series of seductive cow calls that echoed across the lake into the endless forest beyond. After some time lapsed, I bellowed out a few more just to speed up any hesitant bulls.

We were excited at the prospect of a lonely moose charging in to our call, and we studied the surrounding forest with great intent. Not a blade of grass moved that we didn't catch. Soon an hour had passed without an answer, and we succumbed to the usual long wait. We settled deep within our blind, and the local wildlife soon forgot we were there. A variety of ducks and a family of whistling swans began swimming beside us, feeding and diving and grooming their feathers, getting ready for their long autumn flight.

The crisp edge of the morning gave way to the warming of midday. I wanted a video of a successful hunt from beginning to end. My calls brought no answers from nearby bulls so I turned the camera on Herb and took a few seconds of my hunter hidden behind the snarl of branches under the giant spruce. That done, I again turned the camera to the far shore, where I expected a bull to show himself, and pressed the start button. Quickly I snapped up the birch bark horn and let out another seductive call, inviting in the elusive bull. With a few seconds of film, I now had the beginning of a fine bull moose hunt on video. All I needed now was a moose.

Noon turned to early afternoon as we patiently waited for the giant of the woods. The long silence of midday was over and it was time to start calling again. This time I added the low soft grunt of a young bull to the end of my call. If a mature bull was out there playing hard to get, I wanted to make him jealous. Instantly I heard the faint coughs of a bull filter through the forest. I called back. Again the bull immediately answered.

In minutes we caught the dark form of a moose moving in the willows along the banks of the inlet. A moment later the head and the neck of a record book bull came into view in a small opening. The bull stopped. The rest of his body was hidden from our view behind trees. Silently he surveyed the shores of the lake and the surrounding forest looking for the cow. "Ya' see him Herb?" I whispered. In my excitement I missed his answer so I repeated my question in a louder whisper. "Do you see that moose, Herb?"

"Ya, I see it. Is it a bull?" he calmly asked.

With paddles standing three feet above the bull's head I was a little surprised at the question, but thought perhaps his vision wasn't as good as mine. "Yes he is. He's a big one too," I chattered instantly. "Let me get the camera on him before you shoot," I suggested. Herb sat patiently while I nervously fiddled with the camera, aligning and focusing the lens until I had just the right picture of this monster bull.

The bull didn't know we existed behind our blind. The call had brought this monarch onto the open shore of the lake in search of a cow, and he had no intention of leaving until he had gotten what he came for. We had time to enjoy this mighty animal and to experiment with different calls while we watched his reactions. Most of my clients would have shot the bull the moment it came to the shore, but Herb seemed to have the patience that is often needed for a more enjoyable hunt. "Let's play with him awhile, Herb. What do you say we make a few calls just to see what he will do?"

As serene as an experienced moose hunter, Herb answered in an agreeing tone, "Sure, why not." He nodded in confirmation, never raising his rifle or shifting his look from the bull.

The camera never stopped rolling while I made more low cow calls, enticing the bull to come closer. He licked his lips, then stepped out from behind the spruce and willow and dead snags that hid his chest and rump. With timeless steps he walked to the shore of the inlet and drank. I blew through the horn once again, echoing out the soft grunt of a young bull moose. The old patriarch of the lakes lifted his head and with challenging grunts, ran along the banks of the inlet toward us. When he came to the shore of the main part of the lake he stopped broadside to us, looking in our direction. I was sure I could get him closer but the time was right for a shot, and I thought I had better not push our luck too far with such a great trophy. "You have a clean shot now. Take him!" I whispered to my hunter.

The lake was like glass. Only the waterfowl along the shore stirred the otherwise motionless moment. With not a breeze in the air, the silence seemed deafening while I waited for my client to make a killing shot. Herb raised his rifle to sight on the moose; then he lowered it and shifted his position on the tree root. Again he sighted his rifle on the moose, then lowered it. I soon discovered my blind was build a little too well, and my hunter was looking for a space between the branches to shoot at his moose. The third time he raised his rifle, he seemed to be satisfied with his sight, and squeezed the trigger.

Like thunder, the boom of the rifle rolled over the forest and faded away in the distance. Water splashed across the lake as if a fish had jumped, but there were no fish in this lake. The bull never moved. Again Herb fired. Another volume of water splashed into the air. Herb shifted his position and fired again. The bull stood his ground, not moving an inch. Still as calm as before he'd fired his first shot, Herb discharged his last bullet at his trophy.

Seconds seemed like minutes before the bull moved. His giant head swayed back and forth, and then his legs weakened. He staggered, and then as if resting, he leaned against a twenty foot spruce on his opposite side. The top of the evergreen waved in the air as it desperately struggled to hold itself upright against the weight of the giant bull, but its strength gave way and the animal tumbled to the ground.

We froze in position, ready and waiting, just in case the bull wasn't dead. The minutes dragged by until we just couldn't wait any longer. Impatiently we jumped to our feet, gathered up our equipment, and hastily made our way around the lake to Herb's trophy. I had the camera rolling when Herb approached his monster bull, hoping to catch the surprised look on his face. "Oh, he is a big one," Herb agreed in his easy manner, as he carefully examined the antlers and the huge body of the fifteen hundred pound bull.

"What was so unbelievable about that hunt that would make us doubt your story?" a shadowed face across the campfire asked as he stirred the campfire with a thick branch.

I drank the last of the cold coffee that was in my cup, then smiled, knowing full well the question would be asked. "When we played the video tape we discovered some surprising facts. It was our conclusion that Herb's first two bullets must have hit the branches that camouflaged us from the lake shore, then they ricocheted onto the lake."

The hunters looked at me wondering where I was going with this.

"Upon closer examination of the tape by replaying it over and over in slow motion we were surprised to discovered that his first bullet also ricocheted off the water and hit the bull in the chest. This was proven by the spray of moisture that deflected from the bull's chest an instant after the bullet hit the water. The video tape also revealed the bull's reflex when the bullet hit him. The ricochet off the branches of our blind was our only conclusion ... how is that for unbelievable?"

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Alberta Canada Moose Hunting story. Trophy Canada Moose hunts with Alberta Wilderness Adventures moose hunting outfitters offering guided moose hunting trips in northern Albert