If you’ve ever done a self-guided hunt for any animal, you know all the planning, research, and excitement that goes into it. Once Trina, Daniel, and I agreed we would do a self-guided moose hunt, it was decided we would split up, tackling the bits and pieces of what, when, and where we would need to go,to hunt big Alaskan moose. I felt the most important piece of the puzzle was the where. Where should we go to put us in the middle of big moose? If we could find that perfect lake or river valley to hunt, the rest would fall into place. This "what" seemed to be a small task, but it consumed hours, days, and weeks of my life. Many calls to biologists, wardens, and even outfitters turned up no clear answer. Every time we thought we had found our “honey hole,” it would be struck down with issues such as lakes too small to land on or rumors of other hunters who were headed to the same area. As I researched areas, Daniel and Trina inventoried our gear, supplies, and food needed. Trina mastered dehydrating our own version of Mountain House meals, only better. With a lake picked, second choice in our back pockets, and enough food for three weeks, we left Anchorage via floatplane on a journey that would take us 225 air miles away from the real world. On a crystal clear, blue-sky day, we flew out of Lake Hood on what would be an amazing adventure that the three of us will never forget.
We landed on “our” lake two hours later with enough time to set up our little tent, cook dinner, and gaze out at Denali Peak. That night, as Trina sawed some logs (snored), Daniel and I sat out and took in the amazing night sky. The next morning, with high hopes and clear, blue skies, we did a five-mile hike, surveying all the area around us. We came across some great hunting areas, but most were just a little too far from our main camp.
The following morning, we hiked to a “moosey pond” only 10 minutes from our tent. We called, grunted, raked ,and finally spotted our first moose. It was a cow and a calf across from our lake, but what a welcome sight! Later that morning, we spotted two 40" bulls with a couple cows about a mile away. With the evening hunt approaching, I decided to let Trina and Daniel head back to the pond and I would stay at the tent to organize some gear and haul up water from the lake for dinner. After my chores were done, I didn’t have much time, but I didn’t want to waste it sitting at camp. I grabbed my .300 and walked north of our camp to some beaver ponds. With many years of bulging in elk in Montana, the idea of cow calling and grunting still scared me, but as I found my spot to sit, I let out my first grunts. A few minutes later, my mind started to play tricks on me, or could I hear a bull moose responding to my grunts? I was wishing Trina or Daniel was with me to see if they could hear the phantom grunts or if I was losing my mind. As I grunted again and glanced up a hillside filled with brush and alders, a huge bull stepped out of the trees and was headed straight for my calls. I was in sheer panic. Was he over 50"? I eased my binos up but could only see three brow tines on each side. We were in a 50" or four brow tine unit.
As the bull made his way toward me, I slid my bolt forward and chambered a 220 grain bullet. Heart pounding, breathing like I had just run two miles, I used a method that Daniel had taught me to gauge width. As I raised the rifle to my shoulder, the bull caught the slight movement and glanced my way. As I squeezed the trigger with my crosshairs anchored behind his front shoulder, I knew he was well over 50" and probably over 60". I worked the bolt open and closed a couple of times, and at the third bullet, he piled up without ever taking another step. I headed toward the tent, as did Trina and Daniel as they had heard the shots, and as we greeted each other with high fives and hugs, I recapped it all. With waders on, we headed to my bull. When he came in sight, Daniel kept saying, “That’s a giant, buddy!” As we got closer and closer, the size of the body and horns kept growing. What an animal! The next few hours and most of the next day was a team effort to cape, quarter, and pack this 1,500 pound monster to the lake shore.
Fast forward through the days with me now tagged out. I would hunt with Trina, calling and grunting, trying to lure in her Alaskan trophy. We had a pond we regularly hunted, and Daniel would go back to the pond we had hunted from day two, with us being no more than a half-mile apart. Trina and I had some close encounters with bulls grunting and raking horns in the thick timber but just not showing themselves. Absolutely not lacking in excitement ,though, each time thinking this one was going to step out at any moment.
One beautiful evening as Trina and I sat with “Megan,” our moose decoy, taking in the sunset on Denali Peak, we heard the echo of four shots from a .30 caliber rifle ring out. I looked at Trina and smiled, “Well, let's go see how big Daniel’s moose is!” As me made our way to him, he was in disbelief and told us how he had called a bull from across the lake and got a clean shot at 80 yards. We gutted and opened up Daniel’s bull and then called it a night. After a day of quartering and packing it to the lake, with sore bodies and happy souls, we ate dinner that night and relived the hunts. We laughed, smiled, and just took it all in. It was an amazing experience with amazing friends. To be out there hundreds of miles from anywhere, sleeping in a four-man tent, sharing all the duties that needed to be done each day, you take friendships to another level. As the Northern Lights once again lit up the big Alaskan sky, we sat there enjoying what the three of us had accomplished. Daniel stood up and walked out to where he could see the lights dancing off the lake below, and he turned and said “I feel the same, but I know I’m not, because I'm a moose killer now!”
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