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"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?"
To book your hunt or if you have any questions regarding
our services please contact owner, outfitter-guide Louis Shilka
by telephoning 1-780-685-3815 or faxing 1-780-685-3300 or
by e-mail at outfitting@telusplanet.net
Please keep in mind that we have a limited number of permits
available. Feel free to phone for our reference list, and
remember - bookings are on a first come, first served basis.
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Alberta Wilderness Adventures
Louis Shilka
Box 261, Worsley, Alberta, Canada TOH 3WO
Telephone: 780.685.3815
E-mail: outfitting@telusplanet.net
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last updated November 23, 2007
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