Back in 1999, I read a story about Canadian moose hunting below the border in the Northeast states, especially in Maine where it seemed the most moose lived. After a little research and finding they had seven districts, I picked one at random and applied. Those seven districts changed into today’s zones in 2001. I was still pretty much guessing as to where I should apply as Maine and moose were quite foreign to this Wisconsin whitetail hunter. In 2009, I read a story by a very satisfied hunter who had drawn a tag and employed the services of Bob Lawrence of Lawrence’s Lakeside Cabins and Guide Service located in Rockwood, Maine on the shore of Moosehead Lake. I gave him a call and found him to be very pleasant, knowledgeable, and most of all, helpful. Each year for the next 11 years, there was an annual call with an update as to where I should apply and he would give me 10 zone numbers in his selected order of preference. This year was no exception, and his number one zone was 8. In went the application. During the bulk of this time, my moose desire had grown, and my wonderful wife of 40+ years not only supported me, but she would even buy little moose knick-knacks for the house. Unfortunately, in 2014, the Lord decided he needed another angel and sent a cancer to take her to His home.
Her birthday was June 13th. As this year’s drawing was coming up, I noted that it was on June 13th. I commented to several people that after 21 years of applications, maybe she would send me a present from above to celebrate her birthday and make it extra special. When drawing day came, I was watching on the computer screen as it was being held. You probably guessed by now that my name came up, drawn for my first choice, a zone 8 bull tag in October with a season opener on the 12th. I quit watching or paying attention and called Bob to book the hunt.
That being done, when the license and other things were paid for, the wait began to get the tag in the mail and make it official. When it came, it was tag 20072. Twenty for the year, I assume, and tag number 72 in the drawing. She was teasing me from above as I was 72 years old at the time.
I drove out to Maine in October in time for the hunt, and despite Moose Crossing signs every little way as I approached Rockwood, all I saw were a few grouse on the side of the road. I got in early on the 11th, and after getting settled, Bob took me out to scout for the afternoon. He did not really explain why, but we took a truck out to where he had earlier parked a camper trailer and left it there. I found out later that he hoped it would deter other hunters from being in that immediate area the next morning as that is where he intended for us to hunt. He was guiding me himself, so I felt quite honored and a little in awe of that level of preparation. As we headed back in for supper, we saw a couple of cow and calf moose in one of the numerous cuts that we went by. I was to learn that the cuts are where the moose generally feed in the mornings and evenings.
Opening morning after an early breakfast, Bob drove us out in the dark, and not that I knew where I was anyway, we went back near that trailer but approached it from the opposite direction. We parked, and as light was just breaking, he led me on foot about 200 yards into the cut. I stumbled along as cautious as I could in the dark with all the small, downed timber left behind by the logging operation. We got to where he wanted to be and got up on some stumps for better visibility. Bob started cow calling, even though the rut should have been nearly over. After about half an hour with nothing moving, we heard two rapid rifle shots back near where the camper was parked.
The disappointment was obvious on Bob’s face, especially after a third, somewhat muffled shot that we assumed was a finisher. We went back to the Jeep and left with a discussion about hunting ethics. It is public land, but you can make your own call on the proximity issue. We left and went to a larger cut where we walked in some distance and saw a few cows. As they made their way away from us, they went toward some distant moose that we could just make out in the timber above the cut. We sat down and glassed, and Bob did some more calling, but there was no response. He said that he thought he heard some antlers clicking together below us, but nothing showed. After a time, we left and that was pretty much it for day one, except we went back by the morning spot and looked for evidence of a kill. None was found, and we started thinking that we had been duped. Fire some shots so they leave and we can hunt this spot. Ethics again. We checked some cuts by vehicle the rest of the afternoon with no bulls found. Another great supper and off to bed.
Day two started with a hearty breakfast and off we went. I never knew where I was since I was not driving, and I was just looking for big, dark shapes out the window. As we got near where Bob wanted to be, back by the camper, the road was blocked by an extremely slow-moving truck. After a short distance, it was obvious that we were not going to get to our desired spot by sunup, so we turned around and went back to the number two spot from the day before. We parked a short distance from the usual parking area and walked in on foot. Just as we got to the cut, three moose became visible in the brightening landscape. They were in range, and one was a bull.
My excitement level skyrocketed. In conversation, Bob had made it clear that between winter ticks and declining populations, his criteria for himself and his guide staff was a 45" spread and well palmed. This bull was minimal, so he said it was up to me. I had waited 21 years for this moment, and now, what to do? I got down on one knee and on the shooting sticks. Being altitudinally challenged, I could not see over the grass. The moose moved on. Maybe they were directed to as things were starting to develop as if guided again from above. A short walk into the cut and two better bulls and some cows emerged on the edge of the timber. Good enough to shoot if they cleared. A few minutes later, one bull cleared and presented a shot. Boom! The 30-06, 180 grain Winchester Fail Safe was on the way. Bob said he looked hit. No more shooting because they were milling around together and both bulls looked alike. They went off into the timber and disappeared.
After a bit, we went to look for blood or a downed bull or something to confirm a hit. Nothing! How did I miss an animal that size? Bifocal problem? An unseen branch? An angel wing swinging down to knock away the bullet? I still do not know, but I know what I think. With no moose, we walked about 200 yards further into the cut and came over a rise. Bob said, “That is an old, big bull there, and we need to shoot him.” I took a similar rest and fired. He staggered and fell on the spot. As we approached, I am not sure who was more pleased. The pictures will speak for themselves. He was officially scored at 169 1/8" B&C.
His greatest spread was 54 7/8". The Maine biologist aged the moose at 7.5 years. Did I mention that this was October 13th with tag number 72? On October 14th, I turned 73 and had about as good a birthday present as I could have ever gotten. How much my lost wife of 44 years had to do with it depends on what you are willing to believe. I know what I think, and I said my thank you to our Lord who makes all things possible and to one of his angels as well.
My thanks to Bob, his guides, Pete and Travis, and Kip, who all helped get him out. Thanks to Mel whose cooking is to die for and to anyone who I may have overlooked. This was truly the hunt-of-a-lifetime in more ways than one.
Maine Moose
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