A Moose by Machan, 1908
By Double Barrel
The fall moon that comes nearest the first of October brings with it the height of the hunting season for moose and consequently, the best of the hunting season. Later comes the snow which closely rivals the rut. Between these two seasons comes the last two weeks in October which are likely to give barren hunting in the New Brunswick woods. As the rut is over, the old bulls are wary, and most of the fools are dead. Generally, ice has formed on the ponds and dead waters. The bulls are on the high beech ridges indulging in pleasant and tender memories of the last full moon.
Yet, despite the disadvantages of the season, the 17th of October found me starting a two-week hunt with Adam Moore on the little Tobique River in New Brunswick, Canada. The weather had turned warm. Two days of hunting convinced us that we had a better chance near the water than on the ridges. On the 19th after working over the ridges in the morning, we visited a lick at noon which Adam had discovered during the past summer. It was located about three miles back from our camp on the Tobique River and consisted of a small pond or mudhole about twenty-five feet wide by fifty feet long. This spot was in the depths of the forest surrounded by thickets of young firs and spruces. From every direction, muddy game trails led into it. The water and mud in the hole seemed to have no distinctive qualities, but something about it was evidently attractive to the moose.
Log Platform
When Adam first discovered the lick, he was confronted with a problem. It was impossible to lie in wait anywhere near the hole without the moose seeing or scenting a hunter before he could get a shot. To obviate this difficulty, he built a platform of logs in the top of a large yellow birch tree near the edge of the hole. A rough ladder led up it and formed a first-rate imitation of the machan* of East Indian hunting stories. The height of the machan prevented the scent from getting low enough to warn the moose while the hunter commanded the entire hole and its approaches. *Editor’s Note: Machan is a platform (as in a tree) used for observation in hunting.
Though this hole was evidently a resort for moose, the machan had not been a great success. Although Adam had tried it on various occasions, he had never seen a bull at the hole. Yet when we visited it, every appearance promised there were moose. Many of the bushes near the water were broken by a moose hooking its rack. The water in some places was still muddy where moose had been tramping at night. About fifty feet away, a desperate fight between two moose had evidently taken place a few days previously. The ground was tramped and torn, all the small trees and bushes were broken down and large wads of black and gray hair was strewn on the ground. This indicated that some damage had been done.
After looking over the situation, Adam and I retreated at once as quietly as possible. We planned to return toward evening and fought the need to sit down on the machan. Accordingly, after lunch and another fruitless hunt over the ridges, we took the trail back to the lick. I was carrying the little double barrel eight-millimeter rifle which had proved such a success on mountain sheep. I was anxious to test its effect on a big bull moose.
Moose
When Adam and I approached the water hole, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon. After arriving, we crouched behind a log and saw a spiked bull moose standing in the water. Adam and I watched this moose for a minute or two. I was troubled with an uncertain feeling that the bull had only one large horn. Suddenly Adam whispered to me, “There’s a big bull behind the little one. I see his horn. Come on.” We crawled onto a game trail which led down to the hole behind a screen of small fir trees. Adam and I were within fifty yards of the water when we heard a terrific rushing noise and splashing in the hole and saw the rear of a moose vanishing in a thicket. Whether this was the big bull or the spike, we could not determine. It was certain that both moose had not seen us or heard our moccasins on the soft ground, so they must have scented us even though it was perfectly calm.
This was most discouraging situation. When moose are badly frightened, they will often leave a waterhole for a week or more. Still hoping they might return that evening, we mounted the machan and sat patiently for an hour and a half. It was no light task to sit perfectly quiet for an hour and a half without moving, speaking or solacing your nerves with tobacco.
Personally, a couple of long trips to New Brunswick in 1907 and 1908 had taught me the great art of sitting quietly on a log. At last, it grew nearly dark, and as there was no sign of any moose, Adam and I climbed down and started back toward our camp. As soon as it got too dark to walk, we lighted a lantern Adam had brought for that purpose and stumbled our way back into camp.
The next morning, Adam and I got up before daylight and walked back to the hole by dawn. It had been undisturbed by moose since the night before, so we left and devoted the middle part of our day to once again tramping over the ridges. Four o’clock in the afternoon found us back at the hole. As no moose were visible, we climbed into the machan and sat down to wait.
Soon after, Adam and I heard a faint noise of something moving through the thicket. Presently the noise ceased. Adam whispered that a moose had evidently been standing close to the hole. Probably upon hearing us arrive, it had quietly sneaked away. This was far from cheerful news and seemed to put a pall on our chances.
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Noises
As there was no wind, the silence was perfect except when a red squirrel engaged in building a nest. This squirrel tore off a fresh piece of bark and ran dragging it through the leaves and bushes making a loud noise out of all proportion to its size. Finally, as it grew darker, even the squirrel ceased all his activities.
Adam got out his watch which showed 5:20. I folded down my peep and threw up the open sight on my rifle. Just as I was beginning to worry whether I could see the front sight at all, the silence was broken by a clear, loud clank. No words can really describe the sound. It was unmistakable, and I knew at once that a big horn had struck against a tree. Adam whispered, “It’s a bull and close.”
Then for an interminable period, there were no sounds. For at least twenty minutes, we did not move a muscle as the bull was evidently standing listening with his ears. Finally, we heard his horns strike again. Once again, this was followed by a long silence. It was quickly getting dark, and the last light was nearly gone. The fir trees looked black against the pearl-gray sky, and on the ground, only large objects could be distinguished.
The sights on my rifle were invisible. Suddenly, the moose moved again, evidently in the thicket close to the open space. The next moment we heard a loud “ker-whackety bang, ker-whackety bang” as the moose proceeded to hook a small tree to pieces. This was followed by two deep coughing grunts.
Bull Moose
Suddenly, the moose stepped out into the open about twenty-five or thirty yards away. He was an enormous black shape of distorted prehistoric outline, and from his head rose two great gray horns like sails. The moose stopped broadside toward me and turned his head directly toward the machan.
Let the man who thinks it’s easy to shoot a rifle in the dark try it sometime and realize the uncertainty that attends it. I attempted to look down the barrel as best I could, and the night was suddenly torn with the roar of my heavy rifle. The muzzle fire showed in the dark, and the bull went down with a crash.
At once, Adam and I climbed down from the machan and ran to the bull, I fired two more shots into him at point blank. We raised the moose’s head and counted twenty-four points on two broad symmetrical blades. Adam produced a little tape which showed over a fifty-two-inch spread. We left my huge moose where he lay and returned with light hearts back to our camp with the aid of the lantern.
Adam and I returned the next morning and found the moose’s head just as we had remembered it. The extreme spread of the antlers was fifty-three inches with none of the flatness which makes many smaller moose have large spreads. This moose originally had twenty-five points, but one big brow point was broken off probably in a recent fight. This bull had evidently been through a frightful battle. There were two large holes through the skin of his head and both badly matted. His neck beneath the skin was terribly bruised, and one of his forward ribs had been newly broken. As this bull was unusually large and massive, I would have liked to see the condition of his opponent.
Adam and I found that my first bullet had struck him high in the base of the neck splintering the backbone and cutting the arteries beneath the vertebra breaking the front shoulder. No second shot was needed. My successful moose hunt was over.
“Big Game Hunting Tales from the early 1900s.”(available as a paperback or eBook): https://www.amazon.com/dp/0963315544
The End
