My radio broke squelch and the traffic was for me. “Floyd, this is Kenny, you have your sidearm with you?” I told him I did. My 1911 pistol, was nestled in its holster on my shoulder rig, along with the rest of my gear in the back cargo area. I had debated leaving it home before I made the trip north to work the 2018 September moose season but my instinct has always led me to pack for every ‘just in case’ scenario – especially when camp is a good hour and a half drive on tote roads after I turn off the tar.
I was parked on a high ridgeline overlooking a few cuts, glassing a cow moose. I was waiting to see if a bull would break out of the wood line and seek the attention of that cow. I had found quite a bit of sign and fresh tracks in the area and if the amount of damage done to the alder and maple near me were any indication, there was a decent bull around. “I need you over at the block. My client hit a monster bull but it got up and took off before he could put another one in him. There’s lots of blood. He’s hit bad and we’re going to have to track him.” I dropped my truck in gear and told him I was on my way.
‘The Block’ is a nickname the moose guides at OMM Outfitters in Eagle Lake, Maine gave to an area in big timber country in Wildlife Management District 3. Viewed from above on satellite imaging, it is comprised of neatly squared cuts divided by equally squared tote roads. The main tote road rings the entire area and gives it the appearance of metropolitan city blocks. Kenny met me at the entrance to the cut he was hunting with his client and gave me the scoop. The client was fairly shaken and considering the terrain ahead of us and potential danger of a wounded bull lying in wait, Kenny decided to park the client with another guide until we located the moose. We’d retrieve the client and bring him to the moose when we either made contact or discovered the bull down.
Kenny and I set off following the blood trail across the cut and into the wood line. What troubled both of us was the lack of evidence you expect with a clean shot to the vitals. On the other hand, we didn’t see anything that indicated a gut shot either so we took that as a positive sign. As we started climbing ridge after ridge, Kenny marking last blood the whole way, we came upon a big smear on a mature tree about shoulder height. The scenario was becoming clearer. The bull was hit high. It was a clean pass through what some hunters call ‘No Man’s Land’ – above the vitals and under the spine. We kept tracking.
Six hours later, we finally got close to the wounded bull. We discovered a bed he made and was using to pack his wound with mud. Kenny spotted him first, 150 yards ahead. The bull squared off at us and for slow motion minute, we didn’t know if he was going to charge. Instead, he whirled and shot up another hilltop. We tried in vain to pick up another blood trail, but it wasn’t to be. The bull was gone like the wind. Later at camp, another guide who was positioned on the other side of the ridge told us he heard the bull coming toward him, cruising through the timber following a cow, grunting the whole time. The moose not only survived the hit, he was trying to breed a cow only several hours later. While nearly despondent at a lost opportunity for a trophy class moose, everyone involved, especially the client, breathed easier knowing the bull was ok and wouldn’t be lost due to a bad shot. The moral of this story is obvious, so I’ll just offer this to the lucky few – be patient, shoot straight and kill clean. Good luck Maine moose hunters and enjoy your hunt of a lifetime!