In my teens, I began acquiring preference points for moose as a resident and continued after moving out of state at 30 years old. During the work-up for my first deployment in the service, my father, Michael Kruger, and his late friend, Don Klepper of Missoula, took interest in concern of me drawing the tag by chance while overseas and being unable to hunt that fall. By their efforts, Montana passed a law under Title 87 stating that if a service member draws a tag while deployed, they may forfeit and be reissued the tag the following applicable season.
Prior to learning of Huntin’ Fool, I didn’t know such a vast service and consulting opportunity existed. After talking to Robert Hanneman, we established a plan based on odds by preference points, timing, etc. and he helped me determine the area to fit my goal. His knowledge of the area and expertise were much appreciated.
It all became very real the morning I checked the results for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Several calls were made to various game wardens, biologists, successful moose hunters, and outfitters during the summer months, and soon, it was time for a scouting trip in early September.
I left Wyoming on October 25th and stayed at the Upper Canyon Ranch as an unguided guest over the next six days. Snow levels and weather prohibited partial access, but few moose were to be seen. For the last four days of this trip, one drainage had my strongest interest and one the outfitter had suggested firmly. I’d seen a fresh track by a mature bull on the morning of the third day and missed him maybe by an hour. The fifth day, I missed him again. That evening, I sat until the end of shooting light overlooking the drainage as a few hunters passed me and informed me they had seen a mature bull of 40"+ feeding there that morning, confirming my sightings. I was confident this was the only bull in the area.
On this last day of the trip, I couldn’t help but head back there before daylight. I started to come up a slight hill and stopped at eye level with the crest, looking over it and into a small flat in the drainage. There, something out of place and looking like a dark bunch of thick, bare limbs rising from a base at ground level brought me to a halt. They were mature bull moose tines! Crouched now, I moved down into the drainage. At arm’s length from a tree, I belly crawled through the snow until clear from low branches for a shot. He remained bedded, head to my left and broadside. Ranging him at 86 yards, I noticed he didn’t seem to have as many tines as I previously gauged. I settled behind the rifle and cow called to him through the wind. As he turned to identify the sound, my heart sank. In the last 48 hours, this mature bull had completely broken off his whole right antler about an inch from the base. I concluded this was not what my end goal was.
My final trip for a Montana bull would begin November 14th. The first morning was spent hunting while learning country both low and high. A couple tracks were found, but mainly glassing and trying to cut sign was the plan. This side of the mountain range was not scouted like the west side was in September.
On the second morning, one elk hunter had seen a very large, mature bull on the far side of the mountains I was in and was excited to share directions with me for the pursuit. Thankful and excited, I followed the directions and dropped off the ridge at about 8,000 feet. I spent the majority of the day making a large loop below, cutting what I believed were the bull’s tracks.
The third morning, I headed back to higher elevation for the sets of more recent tracks I had seen. With no luck trailing them out to where I imagined they would bed or feed, I returned to lower elevations where I saw a cow/calf pair along the creek the night before in hopes a bull may have found refuge there as well. I took a different approach that evening to glass the same drainage and creek bottom, and as I hiked up to where I would begin glassing for the evening, a large herd of 400-450 elk were moving up from the river and away from the hunting pressure near the roads. As the light began to dwindle, those elk were about to walk over my tracks. I decided to make a move on them. As the first cow came into view and lowered her head, I shouldered the rifle and calf called to her. Her head rose, and the first round went through both lungs with upper heart. She staggered, and a second round at the base of the neck anchored her at 235 yards. I was relieved and thankful for the good fortune that evening. The next morning, I would return to the Ruby for my remaining effort to find the bull.
Late morning of the fourth day, I arrived back at the Upper Canyon Ranch. They shared a few ideas on where bulls might be found. I left and headed for a few drainages we’d spoke about, stopping at the bottom to chain up. A pickup with two hunters was coming down from where I was headed, and they stopped and were glassing across the river behind me. I walked over to them, asking if they’d had any luck and if they had seen any moose sign. As the driver heard the word moose, he eagerly informed me they were hunting mule deer and had just seen a mature bull up the very drainage I was headed for. They were excited to share the location and offered to lead me up the mountain to where they’d seen him. We stopped on a ridge where we got out and introduced ourselves. Rodger Hutchinson and his son-in-law, Cole Reynolds, pointed out the bull as we glassed down the drainage. There on a bench above the creek at 552 yards in a cottonwood stand surrounded by heavy pine timber lay the bedded bull I had come for.
I needed to be closer for confidence in a shot such as this. Hunting alone and with only hours left of shooting light, I asked the men if it was possible to pay them for help dressing and breaking down the moose if I was able to get him killed. They agreed with enthusiasm.
Adrenaline flowing, I took off and dropped into the creek bottom. The drainage ahead curved to the right with the bull bedded on the opposite side about halfway up the steep ridge. I paralleled the bull’s tracks going up the creek bottom and saw where he had crossed and headed to bed. Finally, I reached a position behind a small pine from where I could see him without obstruction. I got a range of 205 yards. When I looked up one last time, I saw the bull now standing and looking in my direction. I threw the pack down in front of me and followed it to prone position. I held high lungs and shot. He trotted left, and I let out a loud cow call to him and he stopped. Another shot. He took off again at a shuffle, paralleling the ridge, and went behind a big pine. When he emerged on the other side, he stood quartering away left. I held high shoulders and sent another. The bull disappeared. I slung my gear and headed down the ridge to cross the creek and up the other side to the cottonwood bench he had bedded in.
After the steep climb up the north-facing slope, I reached the bench. I stood catching my breath with no bull in sight, but his tracks moved right to left in the shaded cottonwoods. I was sure about the shot placements but afraid I may be on a tracking mission now. I looked to where he took the second round and saw a small trickle of red on the offside. I followed the tracks in a lane behind the big pine he’d moved to and just ahead in the clearing where he’d taken the last round. There, a paddle stuck up from the depth of snow. At that moment, I was filled with relief and joy.
I moved to the bull, and the sheer size was most impressive. I prepared my gear to begin breaking down the bull, and soon I out some voices every slightly. I moved back to the bench to look below, and these men had kept their word. After an exchange of thanks, we quartered him and skinned out the head. Many laughs and smiles accompanied us as I expressed my thanks and we parted as friends.
The bull taped out with a 41 1/2" spread to include 20" brow tines. Unique and fulfilling in every way, I couldn’t be more pleased with the trophy and the experience. Thanks to my wife, Tasha, for her support in every way and to my father and uncle for many lessons and continued inspiration.
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