Hunter: Mike Pjevach
Species: Shiras Moose
Location: Gros Ventre Wilderness, Wyoming
Method: Rifle (bowhunted the first ten days), guided horseback hunt
Why it took me until the age of forty to start applying for moose preference points in Wyoming, I will never know. With limited exposure to western hunting, this Wisconsin guy never gave a moose hunt much thought.
This changed in 1999 on an elk hunt in the Bighorn Mountains. The moose we saw were impressive—so different from the elk we were pursuing. My lifelong friend Gene, a Wyoming resident, planted the seed to begin applying for a tag.
Year after year, I dutifully applied for my preference point. As the point total grew, I started getting more interested. The yearly ritual of sending that application continued. To my disappointment, it seemed my chances of drawing a tag were getting worse instead of better.
Then in February of 2025, at the Western Hunting Expo with my daughter Anastasia and son-in-law Caleb, we visited the Huntin’ Fool booth. The glum news continued as I was told my dream of drawing the Bighorns was virtually unattainable. Look for another area, we were told. Dang! My disappointment must’ve shown, as Anastasia started going through drawing odds to find an area I might be able to draw.
Weeks later she gave me a number for a friend she backcountry snowboards with who knew a person I could talk to. After a few calls and emails, I was put in contact with Oliver from the Darwin Ranch, a 160-acre ranch located near the Gros Ventre Wilderness. In turn, Oliver put me in touch with the man he would have guide me if I could draw a tag.
The first time I spoke with Greg, I knew I liked him. A soft-spoken guy, he came across as an extremely knowledgeable man. After telling him I had no horseback riding experience, his calm reassurances had me convinced. He was also a bowhunter, which was my weapon of choice! One conversation with Greg had me committed.
Waking early on May 8, I anxiously checked my email. There it was: I had drawn my non-resident moose tag! Did I read that right? Heck yes, I did! Anastasia was the first person I called but far from the last.
Drawing was a part of this journey, as was all the busy work of preparing for this hunt. While I try to practice with my bow throughout the year, this news kicked me into high gear. Getting the bow re-tuned, sharpening broadheads, and extra workout time all helped pass the days until I’d head west.
West we were, and after an eternity of driving a gravel road, another turn put the Darwin Ranch into full view. Wow, it was gorgeous! Well-kept log cabins, a great lodge, and more horses than we could count filled our eyes. Then, the warm greetings from some of the staff reassured us we were in the right place.
The Darwin is a dude ranch throughout the season and becomes a hunting ranch in the fall. Being there before the deer or elk season, Anastasia, Caleb, and I were the only hunters in camp. The others were a group of super nice people who were looking to experience wilderness horseback riding. Although these folks were not hunters, they had a genuine interest in our hunt.
Waking up at 4:00 a.m., the only person moving aside from us was Greg, who was already saddling horses for the day. A quick breakfast and we were off. Greg wanted to get to the lake where he had scouted a good moose a few days prior to our arrival. Two and a half hours later, we dismounted, tied the horses, and made our way to the lake.
We saw no moose that first day, and the extremely warm temperatures kept daytime movement at a standstill. Back to the lodge we went, where we were greeted by countless questions from the other guests as to where our moose was. These people were very supportive with words of encouragement.
Day two began much like day one, but as we walked a ridge, high above a drainage, Caleb stopped as he spotted a bull mostly hidden in the willows. After a quick assessment of the landscape and wind direction, we had a plan. We went back down the ridge to where we could access the creek bottom. With the wind in our face and the noise of the running water, it was an easy stalk. Creeping up to within ten yards of the bull went well, but he was shielded by willows, and only his antler tips showed above. Then, without being spooked, he decided to head upstream. As Greg and I followed, he turned ninety degrees and stepped into the middle of the creek. Greg whispered, “Thirty yards,” as I drew my bow.
There was a loud whack as the arrow hit rocks, just under his belly! How in the heck I did that was beyond me, but nevertheless, I’d shot just under his chest. Oh, that gut-wrenching feeling of blowing a great opportunity. Dejectedly, we headed back to the horses.
The next four days produced no sightings, and suddenly, our six-day hunt was over. After some heart-to-heart conversation with Greg and my daughter, we came up with a plan to return. We would be back in ten days with a cooler forecast and a renewed outlook.
I never knew how long it could take ten days to pass, but finally, we were back on the road to Wyoming. A sense of calm fell over me as we once again turned the corner and saw the now familiar Darwin ranch before us. This time, the ranch had other hunters, and we soon met the six elk hunters we would be sharing camp with. Like the guests from the first trip, they seemed as excited as I was!
Cooler weather had elk moving, but our first four days produced no moose sightings. We knew they were there; the evidence was everywhere! By the end of day four, which was really day ten, I was seriously considering putting an end to the hunt. Both the cost and the frustration were growing, and my optimism meter tanked.
The evening talk with elk hunters who had been out changed my mind. They told me about a nice moose they had seen in another drainage, and their guide proved it with an impressive video!
I decided it was worth another “last try.” The next morning found us making our way up the Gros Ventre Wilderness trail. After tying the horses, a quick walk brought us to a big, open meadow...and at the far end of that meadow was our bull!
He was on the move, and within seconds, he entered the big timber. Checking wind, we quickly closed the distance. Once we were within a hundred yards of where we’d seen him, Greg began calling. At ninety or so yards, the bull appeared, looking straight at us. From our slightly elevated and wooded vantage point, Anastasia and I watched him while Greg took his call and silhouette decoy to the edge of the meadow.
Greg’s calls caught his attention and soon had the bull headed towards us. My daughter was videoing, and she moved behind me in anticipation of the bull coming. Steadily, he approached and then, as if seeing a hidden traffic sign, decided to enter the very island of trees we were in. I had lost sight of him, and suddenly Anastasia was hissing, “Dad, he’s coming through the woods.”
After he climbed a bit of elevation, he appeared at twenty yards. He was moving, and, with little time to react, I took the shot. The bull went about fifteen yards, stopped, stood for a moment, and fell over! My twenty-five-year journey had come to an end.
As Greg made his way to us and the moose, he wore a smile as big as mine. He knew what had happened, as he had heard the shot. Yep, he heard it; the previous evening, I decided to leave my bow in camp and bring my rifle. Go figure. Carry a bow for ten days, then kill the moose at twenty yards with a rifle!
After coffee, a sandwich, and a quick call to Greg’s daughter, we began to skin and quarter the moose. Darby and the pack animals arrived hours later, and we got to watch as she expertly loaded the mules for the trek down the mountain. The rain that started earlier continued for the three hours it took to get back to camp. A few slips and a slide gave a moment or two of concern, but the smile never left my face.
Arriving at camp just before sundown, we were greeted by handshakes, cheers, and beers! The radio call to the packers told the story, and everyone had gathered to congratulate us. What a surreal moment, sharing my good luck with people I only knew for five days yet who seemed to be the best of friends! Hunting is definitely a brotherhood, and I gained a bunch of new brothers.
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