|
Features
|
||||||||
|
|
Semper FiBy John Taranto A U.S. Marine Captain matches wits with Canada moose in the wilds of northern British Columbia. Jan 18, 2008 We weren't 45 minutes out of camp when we came around a bend and Bartosch, who was leading the train of horses, stopped abruptly and quickly dismounted. Atop a knoll roughly 600 yards from where we stood lay a large bull moose, soaking in the morning sun, getting warm after the frosty night. One look at Bartosch and it was clear she was already devising a plan. We had to act fast. "You two stay with the horses," she said to Mohr and me. "With the terrain so open, we need to minimize our movement. Just hunker down here. Brian and I will take a roundabout route, since the bull has a good view of this whole area." From 600 yards away, Mohr and I kept an eye on the bull with binoculars, being careful not to let the sun reflect off the lenses. As the hunter and his guide made their approach, the bull stood and began to wander around. "They gotta get moving," I whispered. "If he goes down the other side of the hill, he might disappear and they'll never find him." When the bull wasn't looking, Donlon and Bartosch covered as much ground as possible. When he turned around, they hit the deck. The bull was getting restless, and it was obvious to Mohr and me that it was just a matter of time before he got a move on. What we didn't know was whether Donlon and Bartosch could see him from where they were and if they realized the same thing. Twenty-five minutes after they began their stalk, Donlon and Bartosch eased up the side of the knoll as quietly as they could, being careful with each step. Bartosch would say later that it was one of the top five stalks she'd ever put on an animal. When Donlon shouldered his Ruger No. 1 in .405 Winchester, the bull stood broadside, just 26 yards away. With his first shot, he knocked the moose to the ground, but it quickly scampered to its feet, this time facing the other way, trying to figure out what had hit him and where it came from. Donlon's second shot hit the bull in the vitals, causing a cascade of rich blood from the exit wound. He quickly reloaded the single-shot for the third time and put another 300-grain Spire Point no more than an inch from where his second shot had hit. The bull fell for the final time, and a flood of emotions, ranging from elation to relief, washed over Donlon. The task he had set out to accomplish more than a week before was completed. His bull's rack, still in velvet, sported a 45-inch spread and 20 scorable points. It had 12 on one side and 4 on the palmated left brow tine, one of which was a dropper. Bartosch, Donlon and Mohr set to work caping and quartering the moose, while I stood sentry, watching for grizzlies. "Sometimes, they'll hear a shot and come running," said Bartosch. "They've learned that the sound often signifies a free meal." Seven hours after dropping the bull, we rode into Grizzly Lake camp for the last time, victorious. LESSONS LEARNED To his credit, Donlon never let the adverse conditions and hours of fruitless glassing dampen his spirits. His mantra throughout the hunt was, "I don't need eight good days of hunting. Just give me one good hour." As it turned out, he needed only 30 minutes. Earlier in the week, on one of those days when we were socked in and the fog forced the group to do nothing but sit in camp and tell stories, Donlon mentioned how combat could be described as long periods of extreme boredom, punctuated by brief moments of mind-blowing intensity. It would be naive to liken military combat to moose hunting, but surely Donlon drew upon some of the lessons he's learned as a Marine to get him through an experience that will stay with him for a long time. Read Captain Brian Donlon's original winning essay HERE Watch the videos from the Battle Lines Hunt HERE. PROPHET-MUSKWA OUTFITTERS ONLINE ADVENTURE!
|
|
||||||
|
||||||||
RELATED ARTICLES
PREVIOUS 
