A U.S. Marine Captain matches wits with Canada moose in the wilds of northern British Columbia.
Jan 18, 2008
TOUGH SLEDDING Late on the second day, the weather changed, and for the next few days we experienced everything from hail and sleet to thick fog and even snow. As a result, animal movement slowed considerably, making glassing either impossible or pointless.
"This is why these hunts are slated for ten days," said Stone as we sat around camp on the afternoon of the third day, waiting for the fog to lift. "There's obviously a ton of animals around here, but sometimes you just have to wait out the conditions in order to go after them." On our fourth day we awoke to find the tops of Lucille and White Ram mountains across the lake covered in snow. It was raining at camp, but luckily the fog had lifted enough that we could at least go out and try to glass a bull, so we headed for the pass between the peaks. As we gained elevation, the rain quickly turned to snow. The going was tough over the slick ground through the pass, but the horses seemed to be nervous about something other than just unsure footing. Fresh grizzly tracks, belonging to what Stone thought was probably an 8-foot boar, were visible all over the pass. In fact, he said, the bear most likely had watched us come up the trail. "And it could be watching us right now."
With the weather continuing to be uncooperative, the only way we were going to find a moose would be on foot. Glassing was out of the question, as most animals were bedded down because of the snow.
"Well, guys, we could hitch up the horses and try to cut a bull's track…" said Stone. Mohr, Donlon and I looked at each other. "Uh, I can't feel my fingers," said the photographer, who was operating without gloves for the most part. "You know, my feet are pretty numb," I added. "Yeah, man, I'm soaking wet," said Donlon. As much as we all wanted to track down a moose, we decided it would be best to head back to camp and get dried out and warmed up.
ALL GOOD THINGS… When morning came on the second-to-last day in camp, and Donlon had yet to pull the trigger, let alone have a bull in his sights, it was decided that Bartosch, Donlon, Mohr and I would ride three hours to a spot known as Magic Pond. (Years before, Bartosch and another guide were glassing the area around the small body of water. They had spotted five cow elk, when they decided to take a short nap. When they awoke those five cows had been replaced by five bulls. Hence the name "Magic Pond.")
Since the pond was so far away from Grizzly Lake, and we would have to take advantage of every hour of daylight remaining, there was a good chance we'd be spending the night under the stars. With the temperature dropping into the 20s at night, it wasn't something any of us were looking forward to, but you know what they say about drastic times.
We packed a tarp to use as shelter, sleeping bags and extra food, said goodbye to Stone and Sawchuk, who would hold down camp while we were away, and headed off, knowing that this would be a do-or-die situation. If Donlon didn't kill a moose at Magic Pond, he would more than likely go home empty-handed and become the first hunter Bartosch did not guide to an animal. Clearly this was on everyone's mind, as the joking and lightheartedness that characterized our previous rides was notably absent. It was time to focus. Fun time was over.
We require
all participants in interactive areas to accept the terms of the Bonnier Corporation subscriber agreement. Please
read the agreement
before making comments. When you click on the button above to submit your comments, you are indicating your acceptance of and
are agreeing to adhere to the terms of the subscriber agreement.
RELATED ARTICLES
