Prepping for this trip started in 2021. A longtime friend of mine had gone moose hunting but came back empty- handed. After a few chats, we had decided we best go back to rid him of this empty feeling (and mine), but this time, we’d go self-guided.
The main idea was to hunt a river he had visited once before and make it a 14-day downriver float. Gear was accumulated, a pilot was secured, and the plan was set, or at least we thought. Seven days prior to the hunt, one of the guys had to drop out due to personal reasons. The problem was, he had the knowledge and experience of the area. Drew and I had to take the reins and go on without him.
We arrived in Fairbanks on September 3rd, and the plan was to fly into the bush the next day. Getting ourselves and gear would take two flights via Cessna 185 on floats. Unfortunately, the weather kept us trapped for four days in Fairbanks.
After four days of foggy weather, we were finally headed in the direction of our destination. We eventually came to the foot of the Brooks Range Mountains and saw our riverfront ahead. To our surprise, the river was way up and the pilot was able to land just about anywhere. After a few moments, we were beached, unloaded, and waving goodbye. We set up camp and went for a walk since we weren’t allowed to hunt until tomorrow.
The next morning was very cold, and we started a fire while making some coffee. As we enjoyed the warm beverage and ate breakfast, we focused on seeing if anything was within our area. We made a note to always start each day by calling right from camp and listening for at least an hour.
The pilot showed up later that day, which didn’t leave us enough time to assemble the boat and break camp. We were off to a very slow start.
On day three, we woke up to heavy, heavy rain, but we were finally heading downriver and checking all our onX locations along the way. It didn’t take long until we realized that hiking to certain viewpoints or getting to certain clearings was no easy task. It was at the end of day three that we settled on the 300 and in rule – no shooting a moose that was further than 300 yards off the river. Most importantly, no shots fired at moose over water.
On day four, we packed up and headed to our prime spot we called “Forbes Flats.” As we rounded the last corner, we heard the willows rustle with movement. Our first moose was coming out for a drink. We floated 25 yards away as the young bull watched us. We found an old campsite with moose sheds and good firewood nearby. Camp was quickly erected, and we hiked to the viewpoint for the remainder of the day.
The following morning, we returned to the viewpoint. The fog was thick up there and kept us by a fire until 9:30 a.m. Once lifted, we scoured everything top to bottom. We were confident that with time something would show up here and give us an opportunity.
At midday, we jumped in the boat and floated six miles down to see if anything had bedded on the riverbank. We then finished our day at the viewpoint. Nothing new, but we did manage to find that young bull again.
The following morning was socked in with fog and everything was frozen. I suggested we start with a river float since glassing was worthless. After we reached our six-mile mark, we turned around and motored back up. After a quick bite, we made it to the Forbes Flats viewpoint. Little did we know how quickly the pace of our trip would change from here on out.
After glassing for a few hours, I stood up to stretch while Drew tended to the fire. It would be dark in 30-40 minutes, and we figured it was our last effort for the day. I then heard a peculiar sound. I focused my eyes, and to my dismay, I saw a massive figure walk into the furthest corner of the flat 1,000 yards away. The white paddles were a beacon like nothing I had ever seen before! The bull grunted every other step. He never stopped to look or graze. We tried calling, but he gave us no mind. In less than three minutes, he had reached the river and was gone.
On day, seven, we woke up extra early and moved with precision as we gathered ourselves and stepped out of the tent. Before anything else, I let out a cow moan and something answered. A bull was in the area! We grabbed gear and made haste to the viewpoint.
Upon arrival, we didn’t see or hear anything and the rain arrived. We built a shelter, and for several hours, nothing. Then Drew spotted a body in a small clearing in the middle of the dense ocean of spruce. Cow moose. Seconds later, another figure appeared. It was a much bigger outline with head gear. He circled the cow, smelling the air, brow tines to the sky.
Drew whispered, “I only see three points on the brows, Dunbar.” He was right. Now we played the game of 50"+. All we needed was for him to face directly at us and hold for a quick photo. Finally, I got a halfway decent view and that made me say, “That’s a legal bull.”
I already had my .300 PRC bagged up and leveled with MOA adjustments made. I nestled in behind the Nx8, the bull stood broadside, and that’s when my brain decided to freak out. “Are you sure he’s 50+?” From this far out and having only several hours of field experience, this was no easy task. I got back up and walked to my spotter.
“What’s wrong?” Drew asked.
“I need to be absolutely certain before I send it. One last look, and this time, it needs to be a dead straight on stare down”. For three or four minutes, I stood behind that spotter. Then it happened. He turned his bus of a body about-face and gave me the 1,000-yard stare I was wanting. I returned to my rifle, and the first shot landed solid. The bull jumped 10 yards forward and stood stone still but now quartering hard away. I heard a whisper through my hearing protection, “Impact. Good hit,” Drew confirmed. With zero hesitation, I cycled and reset the cross on the last rib. The second shot landed spot on and sent a burst of precipitation in the air, rain that accumulated on his hair. I knew that was all that was needed, but I sent a third just to be sure. Big Boy was down!
We had a fix on his position using onX, and once the boat was beached, we moved in. The terrain was flat and thick with a few wet patches, but in a short time, we saw his left paddle reaching from the earth. After taking pictures and reminiscing, we knew there was no time to rest. We began breakdown at 3:30 p.m. and had everything to the boat by 9:20.
A quick float down to camp, and we were absolutely elated. I pulled Big Boy’s head up to camp and rested it on a tree by the fire. There I sat and stared until the last embers of the night burned out. My #1 bucket item was accomplished, and now my obsession moved to helping Drew punch his tag.
On day eight, we woke up and heard grunting. We quickly and quietly stumbled out of the tent and targeted the sound coming from the river by the boat. Slowly walking down the path and through the willows, I grabbed the collar of Drew’s shirt, “Sixty yards to your left, coming out of the willows.” Drew took a knee with this .300 Allen Xpress while I pulled the glass to my eyes. With one shot centered on the bull’s chest, a 200 grain Accubond sent the beast to the ground. The riverbank erupted with us hooting and hollering in disbelief. We jumped in the boat and went over to confirm what had just transpired. A gorgeous 54" with four on each brow.
“Uh, Drew, what was rule #1?” Don’t shoot a bull in the water! To no one’s fault, we had no idea the bull was standing in 24" of water. Now the work began. It took us until 2:30 to get everything out of the water.
This trip had a lot of mixed emotions. We were both feeling so fortunate and were lucky with how it all turned out. Going self- guided, you have to have the ability to face the unknown on a different level and confide in yourself. I give a lot of credit to my hunting partner, Drew. The man always keeps cool and thinks things through. His knowledge of the woods and mechanics coupled with a constant positive attitude made this trip. It was my first major outing with him and hopefully not the last.
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