by Roger Ager
Friday afternoon, September 19, I left the house to go on "my last chance of the season" overnight camping/hunting trip. I had maybe hunted 15 or 16 days of the one-month moose season and I knew this was my last chance to get a moose. I had decided on a place about eight miles from home. I had decided that place because the habitat looked good but I had never hunted there before. The place was by two lakes so I took a canoe and camping gear and paddled across the first lake, portaged a hundred yards to the second, paddled across the second larger lake, and set up a camp on the far shore.
I got the camp all set up just before dark and settled in for the night. From looking at a map, I knew there was a swamp with two little lakes a quarter mile to the northwest. A lot of the area on the high ground around there had a forest fire about fifteen years ago and was grown up with young aspen and birch, good feed for moose. I set out hunting the next morning a half hour after sun-up (about 7:30 a.m.). I started still hunting in the direction of the first lake which worked out well because the wind was coming from that direction. I was noticing trails and some moose tracks, got to the first lake, walked along the shore looking carefully... nothing. Headed in the direction of the other lake, standing in the spruce looking across the lake about 400 yards away I saw a moose. I turned my scope to 9 power; I saw it was a legal spike bull, the first legal moose I had seen all season.
On the Kenai Peninsula, a legal moose is either a young spike or fork, or a large mature trophy bull with a spread over 50 inches, or a mature bull with three brow tines on one side no matter what width the spread is. I decided not to shoot from there, I am inexperienced at long-range sniping. I decided to sneak along the edge of the lake, staying downwind and getting a good one-shot kill. By the time I got close enough, the spike bull had wandered away into some thick cover. At that point, I went in after him but had no luck locating him. I tried calling with a birch bark funnel call and scratching a tree with a set of caribou tops I had brought along. The first series of calls soft, wait five minutes, and then a louder scenario, wait again, no luck. I decided to look for another moose. I moved due west. The area had taller trees and openings with high grass. It looked good. I noticed matted down grass where moose had bedded, walked, and fed. I found a strategic spot where I could see two of the grassy openings, leaned my rifle against a tree and started my first soft calls. Three grunts, scratch the tree, about 20 seconds there was a clack, clack of large antlers on alders to my left. I turned my head slowly and saw a large paddle being shook up and down back behind some trees. It was a big bull and he was pissed off.
I put down my caribou antler and grabbed my rifle. He must have seen the movement because then he came directly at me out of the trees into the grass, plowing a path right to me through the grass, throwing grass in all directions and leaving grass hanging from his horns. This is an intimidation tactic used to scare off other bulls. He was also grunting all the way. He was getting closer fast and I was trying to judge the spread of his antlers. I could see he had only two brow tines on each side which means to be legal, he had to have a spread of over 50 inches. Eyeball to eyeball is 10 inches on a mature moose. I tried to picture this 10 inches twice on either size of his head and decided it looked like he was better than 50. I put the cross hairs on his neck, right under his chin, and shot. He didn't react at all except that he stepped sideways. So I shot him in the shoulder, he didn't react to that shot either, just kept walking. He walked behind a clump of trees, stood for a while and collapsed, kicking. I walked over to him, he was still kicking and blood coming from his mouth. His kicking was destroying all the small trees around him. He looked as big as a Clydesdale horse.
I waited about 10 minutes so I could stop shaking, then took my shirt off and got my skinning knife out and started working on him. I got one side skinned off and was disconnecting a hind quarter when I heard a big stick snap behind me. There was a big cow, then another cow walked up, then on the other side of me another cow, then I heard noise farther back and there was two more cows. The first three cows were only 20 to 30 yards from me just standing and watching me. This was a harem bull and I was hoping his harem wasn't too mad at me. One by one, the cows filed by me as if paying there last respects.
It took me 4 hours to skin and quarter this bull. I had an idea his horns were from 50-55 inches across. I left the quarters covered under a tree because they were too heavy for me to hang from a tree. I decided to go back to gather up a crew to help haul the meat out the next day as it would be too close to dark by the time I got home.
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by Gloria Ager
Roger got a big bull moose on Saturday morning, so we will have a freezer full of meat this winter and be able to give some to others. We packed it out yesterday. What an ordeal. Getting a moose is like getting five deer at once. Five of us took two canoes, drove seven or eight miles down Swanson River Road, dragged the canoes to the lake (approximately .1 miles down hill) then canoed across one lake, portaged to another lake, canoed across that one, walked 1/2 mile into the bush, and spent ~1 hour bagging and tying one quarter on a pack frame; plus there was one big bag of meat scraps that Roger had cleaned off of the ribs the day before (it was bigger and bulkier than a quarter).
Roger had also caped out the moose (that is to save the skin from the head and shoulders all in one nice piece for mounting) so that was one heavy pack and then there was the horns, also a heavy load all by themselves. By the way, his rack was 54 inches. Then we all helped each other stand up with our heavy loads, Mike and I each carried a front quarter, Rich (a big, young guy that works with Roger, and Greg Merle (Sharon's husband) each carried a hind quarter, and Roger carried the big, heavy, bulky bag of scraps, and walked back the half mile to the lake. On the way, of course a few of us tipped over or sank into the muskegg and it was a struggle to get back on our feet with our heavy loads, somewhere in the process, Rich, took a wrong turn and the rest of us all eventually ended up back at the lake without him. So we spent an hour calling, shooting in the air, and looking for him.
Roger, Mike, and Greg all went back the half-mile to where Roger killed the moose and brought back the horns, cape, and miscellaneous bags, meat saw, etc. we left behind and they found Rich on the way there, over by another muskkeg that looked the same. He was a little embarrassed but glad to see everyone. He had been wandering around with that heavy pack at least an hour longer than anyone else. While they were getting the horns, cape, etc. I stayed back at camp and took down Roger's tent, rolled up his sleeping bag, etc. and started a camp fire to warm up by. I also banged on a cook pot the whole time hoping Rich would hear it and find his way back to camp. Then there was the loading of the canoes and the trip back the way we came, and of course this time, it was uphill to the truck, carrying all the meat, and dragging the canoes. We left at 10:30 a.m. and got back home at 5:30 last night, tired, but happy to have the meat.
Well, that is what moose hunting is like after a hunter pulls the trigger. Greg said it was a good reminder as to why he no longer hunts for moose. Well, that is the news from Alaska today, my shoulders are sore and it is time to get ready for work.