My 40-year moose quest began in 1978 when I spent 10 days in westcentral Alaska and didn’t see a moose. Five years later, I spent 15 days in the Yukon and only saw one moose. In 2012, it was back to Alaska for an 11-day Dall sheep and moose hunt. This was failure #3 as I didn’t see a moose.
In January 2018, I met Brandon and Rena Ponath, owners of Fire Mountain Outfitters. The Ponaths only book a small number of hunters each year and are booked up a year or two out. After bugging Brandon with my endless questions during the fourday SCI convention, I think he sensed that I might be up for a hard-core hunt. He explained that he had a vast high mountain area that had never been hunted. He had seen large moose when flying over the area and would like to try to find a way in to hunt the area. He said that if I was up for a “roll of the dice” hunt into an unknown area, he would send two or three guides into the area during the summer to find a possible access. After a few weeks of deliberation, I told Brandon I was in.
The summer of 2018 passed quickly as my friend, Max Smith, and I prepared for the September 6th departure. At the same time, guides Dalmon, Dennis, and Axle spent two to three weeks finding and marking a route into the new area.
We flew from Kansas City to Denver to Vancouver and then to Whitehorse, Yukon. Rena picked us up at Whitehorse and finished our travel on day two with a two-hour drive to the ranch and a fine evening meal. We each packed for going our separate ways the next morning by floatplane.
Day three began with Max and his guide, Manny, flying to their lake hunt while I flew to a lake alone to meet my guides, Dalmon (20) and Dennis (18). They had trailed in with seven horses, starting several days earlier. We immediately packed the horses and headed up the route they had blazed several weeks earlier. The five-hour ride up to where we decided to establish our spike camp was challenging. On the rough ride up, I wondered how we were going to get a moose down to the lake through this jungle. Shortly before dark, we decided to set up our small nylon teepee just below tree line, working in a cold, windy drizzle.
September 9th dawned gray and windy, but this was our first full day of hunting and we were anxious to explore this new area. Our strategy for the first few days was to stay high on the side of the mountains and glass down into the lower areas, looking for the tell-tale white antlers in the thick cover. We knew going in that we were a few days ahead of the rut, but sometimes the bulls actually call better now than a week or two from now when they are cowed up. Game was bedded most of the day, but we did watch a nice 50-55" bull for several hours about 1,200 yards out in a thick area.
On day five, we stuck with our plan to ride out a couple of miles from camp, tie the horses, and then hike to vantage points. We only spotted two or three medium bulls during the day, but at about 7:00 p.m., Dalmon spotted a giant bull about two miles out at the base of an opposing mountain, so we planned to key in on him the next morning.
Highly motivated by the prospect of relocating the giant from the night before, we rode out at daylight on day six. Eagle eye Dalmon soon spotted the bull, but he was another mile further out than the night before. Deciding he was the one we wanted, down the mountain and across the valley we headed. This soon turned into what I dubbed a “Dalmon Death March” due to the famous North Country willows, muskeg, etc.
After about three hours of fighting our way through the jungle, we reached the far side of the valley. Most of midday was spent glassing the hillside until we finally spotted the giant bull entering a patch of timber and bedding down. He stayed bedded for several hours, and with daylight fading, we made a move on him that resulted in him running over the mountain. Shortly into the evening’s death march, Dalmon stopped in his tracks and was glued to his binoculars. Quickly, Dennis and I also spotted what appeared to be two sheets of white plywood on the mountainside about two miles to the northwest. Dalmon is a young man of very few words, and all he could say was, “It’s a mega giant.” Needless to say, our next day’s plans were set.
Tired from the day before but excited about the new bull, we left camp before daylight, tied the horses, and hiked north up a boulder strewn slope to attempt to glass up and hopefully call in the mega giant. We spotted him almost immediately 1,600 yards away in thick cover with five cows. We lay high in the boulders for 14 hours, watching the bull, calling, and filming, but the high wind and unapproachable location let him live another day. Patience is not my strong suit, but they say good things come to those who wait. On our way to camp, I wondered if “they” were right.
Day eight would be our third day of concentrating on this bull, and we decided to make every effort to close the deal today. At first light, we spotted the big one now further out at about 2,500 yards. We decided to drop down the mountain and fight through the valley’s brush as calling had not worked all week. Forty-five minutes later, we stopped where the brush moderated somewhat to catch our breath. Dalmon gave a soft call. Instantly, the 10 foot tall brush directly in front of us exploded. We couldn’t see the source, but we hoped this wasn’t one of the satellite bulls that was with the big one. A minute later, we saw the antler tips coming our way and he was grunting with every step. At 50 yards, he was quartering to us and Dalmon whispered, “Shoot him.” The brush was partially covering his vitals, so I let him keep coming. At 40 yards, he turned broadside. Two quick 180 grain Nosler Accubonds from my Tikka 300 WSM dropped him right in front of us. I looked over my shoulder and will never forget the look of shock and amazement on the 18 and 20-year-old faces. Dalmon said, “You just shot the mega giant!”
As we approached the bull, there was no ground shrinkage. After lengthy high fives, chest bumps, and many pictures, the hard work began. As the weather worsened, the balance of the day was consumed with quartering, caping, retrieving all the horses, and getting the entire moose back to the spike camp. By evening, we were soaked, exhausted, and winding down from the non-stop days of hunting. The 40-year drought was over. No more meals of moose tag soup!
The Boone & Crockett Club official panel net score is 229 1/8", which is #6 all-time. The mount is on display at the Wonders of Wildlife museum in Springfield, Missouri through August 4th. Special thanks and credit to guide Dalmon Oler and wrangler Dennis Oler. They are hard-core hunting machines. We ate like lumberjacks, but they still sent me back to Missouri 10 pounds lighter than when I left. Their outfitters Brandon and Rena Ponath are the most honest, quality conscientious outfitters I have ever met.
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