The Opportunity Moose
Each year we apply for a chance at the moose permit lottery. We’ve been extremely lucky to have already gotten several. I have had one in 2011, another in 2016, and John had one in 2012, so we enter each year with no expectation of getting drawn again since there are many hunters who have never been drawn. To our total surprise, John got drawn for his second moose, only this time for a bull in Zone 5 during the September hunt. Zones are very important since a permit in a higher number zone has less permits and less favorable chances of getting a moose. I know…I had zone 23 in 2011, and John had zone 16 in 2012.
We have always taken a lot pride in the fact that we hunt. We don’t do drive-by shootings. We scout, we call in moose and then we shoot. Even when we don’t have permits, we practice calling in moose just for the excitement of it. When John got his permit, he decided he’d try to take a moose with his bow. We’ve called moose in many times within bow range, so it seemed realistic. As the sub-permittee I would carry my new 6.5 Creedmor rifle as backup, and he’d carry his bow. I decided to carry my gun instead of his 30.06 because my gun is much lighter than his.
Since we’ve moose hunted Zone 5 a number of times, we felt pretty prepared. I even wrote about what to bring on a moose hunt in The Maine Sportsman, a magazine in which I write monthly articles.
We were set to hunt, when our youngest son decided he wanted to join us for a few days. We had made the trip up in July to scout and check things out. It was so weird to find not nearly the number of people we expected to see during the summer. We literally had this section of the North Maine Woods to ourselves. We camped on Chase Mountain road in the same spot we had for Tyler’s hunt. We scouted all our known spots, and found sign, but it was very obvious that moose move with the cycles of forest harvests, and many of the spots we thought would have been teaming with moose weren’t hot.
September came quick. We packed and headed up two days early to scout. It was hard to not get discouraged by the forecast. Our whole week was looking like rain except for one day. It rained when we left, but broke as we headed north. The dirt roads were muddy and gross, but at least it kept the dust down. We headed to “our” spot only to find an outfitter set up there in both campsites, so another hour plus of driving and by then dark, we found Malcolm Branch campsite off the Pell & Pell Road. High winds and rain continued overnight. At about 4:30 am, we were awoke by the roar of a truck flying by our campsite. Holy crap! That empty log truck had to have been traveling more than 60 miles an hour we thought; however, once we got on the road and started to drive, we realized that we were “flying” at 35 miles an hour. The truck probably wasn’t even going 45, but the size and shear sound of the truck made it seem a lot faster. We did know that when, not if, we met a truck, we’d pull over and stop. They have the right of way and get as much of the road as they want.
Day 1
Tyler arrived Sunday night, and Monday morning we were up and ready to hunt faced with pouring rain. We brought our rain gear so at least we’d be dry for the most part. To start the hunt, we decided to go to the spot where I shot my moose in 2016. It had the best sign of any other spot.
By the time we arrived, it was just before daylight, and Tyler was completely car sick. We left him in the truck to recoup while we hunted. We called but there were no answers. Just when we were ready to leave, I heard a large crack like a branch breaking. We quickly set up, and tried to keep calling. After awhile, the wind started swirling and changed direction to our disadvantage, so we decided to not take a chance of being busted and headed to some of the other spots. On the way out to our truck, we flushed four partridge and there I was holding a rifle.
We did get a glimpse at a young bull moose that literally darted out in front of us and crossed road. By the time we pulled over to a safe spot, loaded our guns and got in the woods, that moose was gone. It was disappointing but then again, it gave us another spot to go back to and it made us hopeful since that was our first sighting of a bull moose. Tyler continued to be car sick so we headed back to the campsite. That night Tyler decided he couldn’t do the hunt because he’d be car sick the entire time, and would be headed home in the morning.
Day 2
We were excited to see that it stopped raining and clouds were actually breaking up. We kept our rain gear on because everything was so wet. We went back to our spots, parking about a quarter of a mile out, then walking in, calling, waiting, calling, but the moose simply weren’t answering, or we weren’t being patient enough. John and I decided we needed to be more patient; if the moose weren’t answering, it didn’t mean they weren’t still responding to the call. We’ve seen this before, and in 2016, it was Thursday before we heard a moose grunt to our calls.
As we moved from one area to another, we drove by a spot where a bunch of guides were on their phones, which is unheard of in the NMW. Sure enough, we had a couple bars. Taking a break to eat, we decided to check out one of the roads headed up a mountain. It was steep, narrow and the road was made of crushed stone with shards the entire way. I was very thankful for our ten-ply tires, and once we drove to the top of a hill, we had a spectacular view and great cell service to text the family that we were okay, but not successful moose hunters.
As we drove, we got to a spot along a clearing with a natural spring beside the road. We had found it earlier in the summer and so we decided to fill up a jug to wash the windshield off. The night before when were were headed home, we waited at an intersection for a truck to pass. When he flew by us, a spray of mud and rocks splashed across the windshield. As we filled our jug, a truck approached. A young couple got out to fill their water bottles. We ended up having a conversation and chatted for about 10 minutes. Just as we were wrapping things up, the guy looks past us and says, “hey, there’s a moose!” We turn around and sure enough, there is a moose..a bull moose…a nice bull moose.
John and I jump in our truck, which was luckily headed in the right direction, and sped up the road. The moose continued to walk straight down the road toward an intersection of the Jack Mountain Road. We parked at the intersection, got out as quiet as we could. John grabbed my gun and the moose call, and we tried to sneak run up the road at the same time out of no where, a red Subaru wagon drives by….a bird hunter. I had seen the moose, and we ducked. When we stuck our heads up, it gone and that red Subaru was driving oblivious to what had just transpired. The moose was gone….Gone.
John was convinced it went off to our left into the woods since that was closest to where we last saw it. Being almost completely deaf and having no hearing aids in, John was frustrated because he couldn’t hear me, and I was trying to whisper and listen for the moose. Meanwhile, the couple watched from the spring, which only made matters worse. How embarrassing to lose a moose.
I took the moose call from John and began calling. John was super annoyed and didn’t see the point. I continued to call just for the heck of it, as we made our way back to our truck about 100 yards away. Almost to our truck, I heard a large noise at the edge of the clearcut directly across from our truck.
And there it stood on the edge of the treeline. As I called, the moose walked out of the treeline and into the clear cut looking for love.
John jumped into position and took a shot. The moose hunched. Not thinking he hit the moose, he got on the ground and using a tree stump as support, he fired again. And then again, which was an obvious hit but the bull was still moving. On the fourth shot, the bull stood still. I knew he had hit it before then, and then it fell. Note to self, don’t be an ass and make your husband use your gun instead of his own gun…he had never shot it before then.
There was great relief that we hadn’t let this opportunity go by us, but it was not the hunt that we had planned. It wasn’t a remote stalk. It wasn’t a private event. It was a successful moose harvest moose that we were thankful for, but at the same time it was a moose of opportunity. John was disappointed that he didn’t get to do his bow hunt as he’d wanted to do for so long and that it was not solo as we’ve always prided ourselves in doing. It was an opportunity moose with the help of strangers, which for some hunters would be ecstatic, and we had to keep reminding ourselves of that. Ironically, as trucks with hunters passed by below, we heard one of them use an electronic caller…to which we waved and then continued to work on our moose.
By the time we hiked up that clearcut to claim the moose, we found out that clearcut was a hellish tangle of trees hidden by raspberry bushes as tall as us. There was absolutely no way we could get it down in one piece despite all the block and tackle we brought. It was already 3pm and we had to cut a trail just to get to the moose. Despite working tandem and as quick as we could, darkness fell quick. By the time we skinned and quartered the moose, got the tenderloins and packed it all out, it was well after dark and we had to work by headlamps. Since Miss Prepared forgot to bring the jet sled to drag out a moose quarter, John had to lug each quarter out one by one about 300 yards each way up and down a mountain with a newly healed Achilles tendon to boot. I tried to help, but I simply did not have the strength to do it. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.
Once we were loaded, we headed back to the camper for the night. We packed up and headed home the following morning. I drove my SUV and pulled the moose on a trailer while John pulled the camper. At the tagging station, we weren’t the only ones who had to quarter and pack out. There was a lot of camaraderie among hunters, which was nice to see. We got an idea of the size of the moose by hunters who were tagging out whole. We estimate it would have weighed around 850 pounds.
The hunt was over, and John was one step closer to achieving the Grand Slam, which he missed in 2012. Now it was back to bear hunting and moose processing. Thank goodness we have a Cool Bot room in the barn to keep the meat.
What this has taught me is that no matter how much you plan, each and every hunt is different. Yes, we could have just said, no, we want to do it on our own, but what if that had been the last moose we’d see that week? We didn’t want regrets and have always said, “don’t pass on a moose on the second day that you’d shoot on the last day.”
Maybe I’ll get the luck of the draw and get a moose permit in 2023. If so, I’ll give it a go with the bow and see if we can’t relive our dream of getting a moose with a bow.
Bear season seemed to go on forever, and just when I was ready to throw in the towel, the bear returned, and I trapped my first bear ever. By then, deer season was literally two weeks away, and I hadn’t so much as put out a game camera let alone scouted any place to decide where to hunt.
I decided to sit in my tower stand on the hill. I hadn’t even been there since last year. Last year was an awful deer season since there were no acorns, so the deer that normally hang out there, had to find food elsewhere. This year was looking much better, so John and I hacked down the chest deep weeds and made our way up the hill with the four-wheeler. Some quick scouting, and a nice rub line convinced me to sit in the tower stand. I wanted to move it, but forgot the keys to the cable lock, and there it stayed.
A morning later, work was called off due to the snow/ice storm. I got everyone else off to work and then I headed out. I figured I’d see if there were any sign of deer, and make my way to my stand in the bog. Just behind the house, I came upon fresh deer tracks. There was a very noticeable doe-in-heat pee and big buck tracks right along with it. Dang. I’ve never tracked a buck, so I wasn’t sure if I should plus I hadn’t prepared. I decided they were probably too far gone, so I kept to my plan and made my way toward my stand. Almost there, I came to the hemlock tree that had a scrape under it all season and where I caught a smaller buck on the camera. 
As I walked, I came across new rabbit and partridge tracks in the snow…literally walking together. This made me smile so I took a picture with my phone, which doesn’t do it justice. A few feet more, I came across the tracks of the same buck and doe. It was tempting, but I had to keep a clear head. They hadn’t traveled where I was headed, and I had already decided I wasn’t going to track them, so I continued to the stand.
I called John and told him I shot a buck. He came down and together we went to claim my bounty. I called my work and told them I’d be in late. I had just gotten my deer.
Meanwhile, the landowner was growing impatient that we hadn’t cleared all the nuisance beaver out of his creek in a matter of a couple weeks. He was threatening to breach the dam. Communicating through Erin, we decided we were pulling our traps if he did that. You can’t catch beaver in a puddle, and frankly, we’re doing this guy a favor, and I didn’t like being treated that way, so it was no loss in my mind. And I don’t even know if it’s legal for him to do that to a beaver house. As trappers, we have so many regulations to abide by that I was just stupefied by his actions. He then told Erin that he was definitely going to breach the dam, so Erin and I made a date to pull the traps on the following Sunday. John had made other commitments, so it would be the girls pulling the traps.
It weighed so much! I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to lug it out of the woods. At first, I was like, oh yeah, I can get it. Then reality set in. It’s not an easy trek, and my knees were already screaming in full protest of what I was doing. After pulling the last trap, I had three #330 conibear traps in a backpack, along with set poles and H-stands to carry out. There was no way for us to take the remaining trap off the beaver, so using one of the poles we had to bring back, I slid it through the circle of the spring and together, Erin and I carried the beaver, and all the other equipment back to my truck. The male beaver weighed nearly fifty pounds. There was no way I could have ever pulled that thing out on my own, so I’m thankful I wasn’t alone.
With the start of bear baiting season, and only once-a-week visit to the site, I wanted to know if my bait was getting any action during the week. I discovered a new way to see my bear photos during the week, and there’s nothing more exciting than getting that notification on my phone sound that “you have pictures.”
Saturday will be the first day of baiting season. For the first time ever, we put out game cameras ahead of the season, just to see who, if any, bear roam our woods.
I’ll use this time to enjoy nature, but also to reflect on how lucky I am to have such a great place to hunt with my husband, John, and how much my father’s influences made me who I am today. I’ll try my damnedest to hold up my chin and be strong for my Dad. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
I laugh when I hear this because it’s usually in the context of hunting and fishing and all the things we do together. It’s quite a compliment, but honestly, it’s just about being together and enjoying what we do. Our kids are grown and off doing their own things with friends and family, so we have more time together that we didn’t have when we were raising our three kids. Hopefully they’ll take some of the times we spent hunting, fishing and wildlife watching with them and pass it onto their families.
I strategically drove my four-wheeler most of the way to my stand, but left it about 100 yards away at the bottom of the mountain. I hiked up to my tower stand and took my seat. The sun was hot on my back. I had my new Ozonics running above my head, and I also had a jelly donut scent stick burning. Behind me I could see far off mountains, and the light breeze kept the mosquitoes and bugs at bay. I watched several gray and red squirrels duke it out over who could steal the most bait. As the afternoon closed to an end, and with only about thirty minutes left, I reached in my bag for my prescription glasses. As soon as I looked up, I watched the biggest bear from nowhere, come out of the woods from behind the barrel and step out in front of it. At this second, I had a “Holy Crap” moment. Seeing a bear that size, with his black face and back as tall as my barrel, that close, was not something I had ever seen. I pulled my gun up. The bear looked right up at me as I sat in my tower stand. I took aim making sure the front sight was seated at the top of the back peep site. I let out an exhale and shot. The bear acted as though I had hit it and it bolted into the woods.
I sat there in shock. This bear was huge. I think I heard him go down, but I don’t know. I texted John a few expletives that I had shot a bear. I began to shake, which I never do. I had so much adrenaline running through my body, I didn’t think I’d ever stop shaking.
Morning finally came after a toss and turn night. We spent the night in our camper and I awoke to rain drops coming in the roof vent. How are we going to track a bear in the rain?! I was devastated at the thought we might not find my bear. We searched for four hours following just tiny spots of blood, and we never found him. Later I went back to where I had shot at him in front of the barrel. There in the root of the tree was my bullet and some bear hair. I had only grazed him, just enough to make him mad and guarantee that he wouldn’t return this season. I was sick to my stomach that I had lost best chance yet at getting a bear, and a big bear at that.
We moved cameras so that we could monitor bear activity in case the trail we chose wasn’t working. I had a small bear trip my trap, but with the cable stop, it prevented it from being caught. I moved my snare as to not educate the bear. The second tripping was simply the bear didn’t step perfect. I moved my snare again. This time, I put branches in the way so that the bear wouldn’t have any option but to go where I wanted it to go. I set the trap on a downhill walk right where it had put its paw time and time again. Two days went by and I had not hits. Then it rained, which washed away any of our remaining scent from being there. I think this was key to the bear being caught. Yes, I caught a bear. I caught a bear for over 8 hours! And he was mad! He fought and clawed, and chewed at trees to get free. He eventually got himself tangled around a small maple sapling that I had thought wouldn’t be a problem. And he got free. Bears two. Staci zero. So close but no bear for this girl.
My Mainely Girl Adventures 
