Two Bulls in Four Days

I was the last hunter of the year, since I’d planned my trip to sync with the moose rut and the caribou migration. I knew the weather might be rough that late in the season, but I’d take snow over giant mosquitoes and DEET any day.

In mid-September of 2022, I left Alabama for Norman Wells in the Northwest Territories via a series of jets and airports visited over several days. From Norman Wells, a large float plane flew me and seven other hunters to Raven’s Throat Outfitters. My fellow hunters and I were greeted at the dock by the entire crew of the outfit to begin the great hospitality that was carried out through the entire trip.

After sorting and reducing our gear to essentials, the guides loaded all my gear on a quad trailer and hauled it down to the flight pad. The crew came down to see us off before Matt, our chopper pilot, took me and my guide, Brady, up the mountain to begin my Alaska-Yukon moose hunt.

Once back on the ground, we pulled our gear out of the chopper before pausing to glass for moose and grizzlies. And wouldn’t you know it, we spotted the biggest boar the concession can grow, just 800 yards from our camp. Luckily, he ambled up the mountain away from us, and that was a good thing. I said my bear repellant prayer and went about setting up camp.

After camp was ready, it was too late to glass for moose, so we gathered some wood to burn in the stove housed in the Kifaru teepee where Brady bunked and cooked. We had a light dinner of Mountain House fare and slipped into our sleeping bags with great anticipation of the tomorrow.

I was a little keyed up from the last days’ events, so, I turned on my head lamp, and read the beginning of my latest book – “Undaunted Courage” by Stephen Ambrose. It was about the Lewis & Clark expedition, and I thought it was perfect for this trip. You always take a good book on a mountain hunt because it is common to get rained or snowed out a couple of days over a 10-day hunt.

Saturday, 9-17-22: Day 1 of (Moose) Hunt … We were up before daylight and after gearing up, we had some coffee and Mountain House Oatmeal with Blueberries – my favorite mountain morning start. After strapping on packs, we started up the mountain enroute to a nice plateau that would provide a great vantage point to glass and survey the valley below.

We saw a nice bull who was receptive to the cow call, but he wasn’t what we were looking for in this quality concession. Later, we saw a nice shooter bull, but he was several miles away and on the move with his cows. Regrettably, we had no chance for a move on that ‘McKenzie Mountain’ monarch. We glassed all day until night was approaching then strapped on our packs and headed back to camp.

After having a conversation about life lived and life planned, we called it a night. Again, I grabbed my book, turned on my head lamp, and delved further into Merriweather Lewis and Jefferson’s ambition to open the West. After about 30 minutes of reading, I felt sleep coming on. After prayers, I thought about the success of what tomorrow might bring and faded to sleep.

Sunday, 9-18-22: Day 2 of (Moose) Hunt … Brady didn’t need to wake me this morning. He had told me the night before that we needed to be on top at first light so we didn’t miss a big bull wandering through the valley. With that, I was up and dressed by the time he came to rouse me in my tent. After our oats and berries, and cowboy coffee, we were back up the mountain to our perch. We dropped our packs, started to glass, and within minutes, Brady said, “Jay, you need to come look at this bull; he’s pretty good.” This bull was rutting and had come in during the night and had gathered a handful of cows. I excitedly leaned over the Swarovski spotting scope and saw a magnificent bull who had the size and “trash” character that I was hoping for on this hunt. I responded with, “I like him if you do.” I’m always going to pull the trigger on “good early.” No tag soup for me, thank you.

Brady said to get my pack on and get ready, but he wanted to wait a minute to see where the bull and his harem were moving before dropping off the mountain into the evergreens and willows beneath us; that would all but remove any visual advantage we had at the moment. After watching them for awhile, Brady had an idea of where they were going and formulated a plan for our stalk to avoid detection by sight or by wind. Incredibly, after dropping down the mountain almost a mile, my capable guide had us at 150 yards from the bull when we got a glimpse of him again. The tough part was that we were then in thick, waist high, willow brush so it had to be a standing shot. I prefer not to shoot “freehand” for fear of a misplaced shot. I have been in a similar situation, so I asked Brady to extend his spotting scope tri-pod as high as it would go so that I use it for a rest.

“Jay, he’s behind those spruce trees,” murmured Brady. “See those small gray looking spots? Those are his paddles.”

The trees were so closely spaced that I wondered what kind of shot – if any – this bull would give me. All I had at that point were “gray spots” moving here and there.

“Be ready,” Brady whispered. “I’m going to cow call, to see if he will step out.” Then he gave out a soft call, and the bull appeared between two evergreens, looking straight at us. I had a very narrow opening with a straight-on shot – not what I was hoping for yet, at such a close distance, even with a wobbly rest, I felt I could calm myself enough to place the 160gr Partition.

The Kimber Mountain Ascent in .280 A.I. roared and the bull turned and ran to my left. Brady exclaimed, “Jay, you hit him good! I think I just saw him stumble and go down. Reload to ready, and let’s go find him!”

We walked to where the bull had stood when I’d first shot, “There he is, Jay. Good job – go put your hands on him.”

“Not without you,” I responded. “You did the hard work, and we’re together in this deal.” We walked up to where he had fallen, just 40 yards from where we first faced off. The sight of this majestic beast brought tears to my eyes. After praying over my bull and giving thanks to him for giving his life and thanking God for the opportunity to harvest such an animal, I thanked my guide for making it happen.

When I asked Brady what I could do to help with skinning, he said, “You just keep your eyes wide open for Griz.” And I did keep an eye out. We radioed for the chopper, which soon came and picked up the quarters, cape, and antlers. We hiked a couple of miles back to camp, quickly packed it up, and awaited the chopper’s return to get us back to base camp.

After cape and skull prep in the skinning shed, we cleaned up and had a wonderful evening around a big bonfire after dinner. I slept in a bed that night, in a wood-heated cabin, that I shared with a great new friend, Travis Crane – a game warden from Cody, WY. Life was good.

Monday, 9-19-22: In the late afternoon, we flew to a beautiful tundra plateau, flanked by mountains, with lots of creeks running through it. We set up camp and glassed until dinner and again after dinner. We saw several bulls, and there was one dark antlered bull that was unique that I liked. These boogers move at all hours of the day and night, so, just because you put one to bed, it doesn’t mean he will be in the same spot come daylight. And so it was, we saw one late that I liked and we decided ‘we’d walk off this mountain and kill that bull if he’s there in the morning.’ Right.

That night, we had some sheep and moose meat to spice up our Mountain House pasta, then Brady surprised me with a flask after dinner, saying, “Ginger thought we would enjoy a dram.” I thought that was a swell idea, so we had a little ‘Kentucky’ before I headed to the tent and wound down with more stories of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. A fitting end to a good day.

Tuesday, 9-20-22: The sun rose but, of course, the bull we had bedded along with his four juvenile companions had vanished. But Brady found them several miles west – bedded at the base of a mountain.

We devised a plan of approach and dropped off our camp perch – the plateau that offered miles of sight where caribou have migrated for thousands of years. The crazy spider webs of trials sure were cool to see when flying over them in the chopper.

Using creeks and riverbeds to conceal our stalk, we found a place where I could throw down my pack for a preferred prone shooting position. The tripod improvision employed on my moose wasn’t going to be an option at 400 yards. I slowly crawled out of the creek bed, and placed my pack while Brady remained low peering over the edge. He whispered. “Jay, he’s the second bull from the left; do you see him?” “Yes, I’m on him.” I replied. Brady whispered again, “Do it.” The Kimber roared and found its mark, but a stiff wind drift pushed my bullet a little left of the intended target so I hit him too far back to drop him. “Hit him again, Jay!” The caribou were running, but the big bull was fading; I stayed on him, played the wind a little right this time, and hit him right behind the shoulder with the second shot. At that point, he staggered and went down. I got to see it all, and it was a marvelous sight.

We caped and quartered the bull out, and called for the chopper. We then hiked back to camp with antlers and cape in case wolves or bears showed up before the chopper did. We got back to camp, directed the chopper to the caribou, and watched as they loaded the meat, while we got our gear in order. They came over and picked us up, and we left the camp standing for a hunter who would be using it later that day.

This was one of the best—and shortest—mountain hunts I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t want it to end.

Yet – the memories will last for the rest of my life, and I hope my story lasts long enough to inspire others to hunt and also prompts others to give back to our great hunting way of life.

Thank you to my wife and best friend, Kelley, for your support, and thank you Lord; you make all things possible.