The Bull

At our annual Moose meeting one year some of the guys mentioned taking their boys along for the excursion.
I was a somewhat apposed to this as it is a rather rugged place and I didn’t know how the young fellows would make out.

I moose hunt with my wife’s family, consisting of her two brothers, her dad and a few cousins thrown into the mix.
Our hunting assemblage also includes a cluster of other guys but I primarily hunt with my family.
The decision to bring the boys was met with a few discrepancies but after ironing out all of the bugs we decided to go ahead and invite them to join us.
My son and his two cousins were the newest members of our gang and were overwhelmed with enthusiasm.

Unfortunately that particular year I had acquired a new job position and was denied the week of holidays I had requested.
I had to settle for the Friday and the following Monday off, but I felt that this may be a long enough trip for my son Jake in any case.

We hunt in and around Sultan Ontario and from where we live, it’s about a seven hour drive give or take a pee break here and there.
It seemed fairly distant to travel for only a few short days but I had promised Jake that I would take him and he had his heart set on it.
So, we swapped my car for a van, removed the back seats and installed a double bed.
I had a battery inverter and a heater that would keep us quite toasty. We packed our gear and headed North mid Friday morning... The rest of our party had departed a few days earlier and our arrangement was to meet them at a selected location in our hunting area.

The drive up was filled with striking autumn colours, rock cuts, lakes and rivers. It was so charming in fact that we took our time and had some good chat along the way, something that Jake and I didn’t often get a chance to do.
We twisted and turned through the array of northern highways until we reached our cut off spot at the Domtar road. This road is private but is open to the public and is owned and operated by the Domtar paper Industry, (formerly Eddy Match road). It is a very rugged road at times and when you spot a truck with a load of timber headed your way you must try your best to keep clear. This desolate thoroughfare is approximately one hundred kilometres long and at the entry spot from the highway there is a gas station, store and restaurant. This is called the Water Shed and it is the last spot to gas up before entering the long, dusty and isolated roadway. Hitting this location also means only one hour left of the drive and is quite a welcome site.
After gassing up, Jake and I visited the washroom and grabbed some snacks from the store.
Once again, back in the van we went and started the voyage down the Domtar road.
The rock-strewn road ends in the humble little village of Sultan. At this point, we travelled a few more kilometres on highway 667 and made a turn off on Kormak road, an old logging route. We now began looking for the cardboard sign my brother in law had set out for us to locate the rest of the group.
Jake and I drove along leisurely until we spotted the cardboard sign and eventually found our base camp.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by the gang and without delay mounted the four wheelers to have a quick reconnoitre of the area.
The camp spot that my brother in law had selected was situated flanking a lake and had a craggy, boggy little trail to it that linked to one of the main logging roads. It was nicely secluded and they had built a huge camp tent complete with a propane heater, tables, cots, barbecue,, TV,DVD and all of the comforts of home. We had a campfire area outside and parked our vehicles around the fringe of the clearing to further shelter us in….. Quite a picturesque spot!
When we arrived back from our scouting ride, we had a bite to eat, a couple of cold beers and told some far fetched and stretched out tales from back in the day.
Opening morning would be the next sunup so we all said good night and headed to our camp beds for a cozy nights sleep.
Jake and I had “pre heated” our van and found with all of our sleeping bags and covers, we didn’t need the heater after all. . We had had a very full, long day and we drifted off with visions of gigantic moose falling victim to our rifle.

It was dark when I heard the rest of the guys awaken and listened as their vehicles pulled away from our little camping paradise. I figured I’d let Jake sleep for a little while longer as we would have a long day ahead of us.
In an hour or so, I gave him a shake and asked him if he were ready to roll.
He kicked off his sleeping bag and in no time we were sitting at the camp table for a quick breakfast before venturing off into the wilderness.
Our friend Trevor had also chosen to wait until a little closer to light and joined us for a bite.
While Jake ate, I packed us a little lunch and some snacks in a cooler and secured it to the ATV we would be using that day. I also packed on my 303 Enfield rifle and a pump shotgun for any grouse we may encounter along the trail. The trails that we cruised in this part of the North were full of grouse and I figured that Jake may enjoy harvesting a few.
I had made Jake a custom hunter orange coat prior to the trip. I used an old winter coat and purchased florescent orange material from the Wal-Mart back home. Surprisingly enough, it is very hard to find anything “hunter orange” in kids sizes. With hot glue and some handy stitch work, once again Jake was suited up and ready to go.
After his breakfast and the ATV was loaded, Jake jumped into the passenger “up seat” and I on the bike and we headed off into the misty twisted trails of Wakami Ontario.
We started making our way through the network of logging roads and trails to an outfitter’s place called Marty’s Bear Den. Marty’s offered cabins, a bar, beer store, general store, gas pumps, and a telephone.
We had been going to this spot for years and we knew Marty and his wife quite well.
Marty had built this place from scratch and had one of the nicest “post and beam” bars I had ever seen.
It was full of custom made hardwood chairs and tables, pool tables and a huge stone fire place.
He had stuffed critters all over the bar including wolves, deer, moose racks and bear.
It was kind of strange seeing something this nice out in the middle of the tim buck two like this and it kind of offered some degree of comfort.
Marty would always greet us with a wild tales of his hunting escapades or his Vietnam days or even the days when he served as a Police officer in Detroit before coming to Ontario’s northern wilderness to build his dream. Quite a character ol’ Marty was and I enjoyed seeing him each year. He had a rather long grey beard and a braided pony tail that ran half way down his back. He usually dressed in camouflage and sported a thick black belt complete with a shiny Yankee buckle that secured a large hunting knife to his hip.

As Jake and I traversed through the trails I could see a grouse on the roadway up ahead. I brought the bike to a stop and pointed it out to him.
We slowly and steadily retrieved the shotgun from its case on the front of the ATV and I chambered one shell.
After showing Jake the safety mechanism on the gun, I told him to walk quietly down the gravel trail towards the grouse and take a shot.
He slowly crept towards the bird stopping every few feet to make sure to not startle it.
As he grew closer and came into an acceptable range to shoot, I gave him a quiet “OK take it”
With that, Jake took his stance and readied himself for the kick of the gun.
The shot rang out through the northern birch trees and the grouse lay twitching on the trail.
Jake yelled with contentment in his voice, “Gottem’” and moved ahead to retrieve his bird.
I shook his hand, snapped a quick picture and we were on our way once again.

We slowly cruised along the trails as the warm autumn sunshine cast down upon us. We talked and laughed and from time to time Jake would take a turn at the wheel.
Every so often I would see a good spot to stop and do some calling. I had purchased a funnel type of moose call at our local Canadian Tire and had listened repetitively to the cassette that came with it. I wasn’t positive that I was presenting my calls correctly but it sounded analogous to the cassette so I carried on.

After a few hours and a few more grouse encounters, we decided to head back to our camp to see how the other guys had made out. We hadn’t seen anyone from our party or anyone at all for that matter the whole morning and thought we should maybe check in.
We were about twenty miles from our camp so we donned our helmets and swiftly sped through the trails back. When we arrived, my brother in law and my buddy Trevor were there, just getting ready to head out for the afternoon hunt. They said that they had spotted a big bull earlier in the day and were going to that area. I asked if this was an invite and they said yes so we all barrelled down the trail on our ATV’s once again.
We headed down a main logging road and then turned off onto a gravel side trail. I remember it being very dusty as all three bikes roared along the road and I wished that I had a visor for my helmet. The trail was extremely long and led us far from the main logging road. We kept together for the most part but when we neared the end of the trail, my brother in law turned off without warning and Trevor, Jake and I were left alone.
When we realized that we had lost a rider, Trevor decided to go back to look for him.
Jake and I carried on up the trail and it led us to a huge clear cut deep in the heart of God’s country.
The clear cut was about five miles square and the trail made a huge loop around the outside of it.
Where to sit? I thought to myself and spotted a big rolling hill on the far side.
It was getting to be rather late in the afternoon and I figured it would be a good time for Jake and me to take a seat, do some calling and maybe have a snack. I pointed out the hill and explained that if we sat there we would have a good view of the bush line and the clear cut. We rumbled over to the hill, parked the bike and grabbed our gear, including our cooler of treats.
I could see a spot on the hill that would offer us both comfort and camouflage due to the foliage. We made our way into the rugged clear cut through logs and saplings and every other jagged object that could trip up a duo of good men.
When we arrived at the selected spot we quickly nestled in, opened the cooler, set up the moose call and readied my rifle.
Jake had a quick bite to eat and proclaimed that he was sleepy. We had been up very early that morning and had quite an eventful day. The breeze was warm and the lovely afternoon sun bathed us as we rested in our little spot on the hill. Jake lay back and said he was going to have a quick cat nap. He closed his eyes and I sat there ogling the bush line and munching on a few hunks of Kielbasa that I sliced with my hunting knife.
Every time I figured Jake may be drifting off, I would pick up the moose call and give a loud and lengthy “cow in heat” call. He caught on to this after a little while and realized that I was teasing him and only wanted to keep him from falling asleep. I would even go as far as to give him the odd little poke with a nearby twig to bug him, and at one point he giggled and said that he would let out a scream to spook off any moose that might be in the area. I said while chuckling “ya better not!” and stopped poking him with the stick but still kept up with the harassing calls.

About twenty minutes had passed when something off to the left of me caught my eye.
Suddenly a huge bull moose stepped from the tree line and began trotting into the clear cut to see where the racket was coming from. My heart hit my throat. I whispered to Jake who was sleeping beside me at that point “Jake, there’s a great big bull moose” He snapped up like a shot and immediately saw the beast running through the clear-cut in front of us. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as I swiftly snatched up my rifle. I cocked back the hammer on the 303 and lay the bead above the bull as the distance was far greater than the rifle was sighted for. A thunderous shot ripped through the clear-cut but the bull appeared to be unscathed and continued running. He seemed so smooth manoeuvring through the stump and log ridden cut that he appeared to be almost rolling.
I stood up for the second shot attempt and lay the bead even higher this time and added some lead to it as well.
I squeezed the trigger and the rifle drove into my shoulder once again. The big bull reared onto his hind legs as a stallion would and fell to the ground.
As I witnessed him fall I said in an extremely quivering whisper “I hit him”. Jake screamed out with excitement not realizing that he should still keep quiet as the beast rose to his feet again.
Again and again I hurled shots at the bull but none appeared to hit their mark. He was however, stumbling when he moved at this point and would fall about every twenty feet or so. I knew I had hit him in a vital spot but wasn’t exactly sure where. When I saw him collapse into the grass and brush of the bush line and out of our sight, I decided to venture down across and give him a finishing shot. I told Jake to stay on the hill and started out towards the bull.
It took me a little while to reach the spot where he fell as the terrain was extremely rugged and hard to cross. I had only one shell left in my firearm and approached with extreme vigilance. I had not taken my eyes off of the spot in which the bull last fell but to my dismay he had, without our seeing, moved and was not where he was laying previously.
I placed myself in the exact spot that he had fallen and did circles a few yards apart around the area to try to locate the beast.
Jake was yelling something to me from the hillside but due to the distance and the strong breeze I could not here him. He did however keep pointing over to his right so I assumed he could see the bull. Slowly I continued to look on the bush line for the moose until I began hearing something.
It sounded like a jet flying over but was in short spurts and grew louder and louder as the seconds pressed on.
As I pinpointed the area where the sound was coming from and yelled back and forth with Jake, again I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I quickly whipped my head to attention and focussed on the large mass standing approximately twenty yards in front of me. It was the bull and he was not in very good spirits,
He stood watching me, pawing and stamping the ground and throwing his massive rack side to side.
He snorted out loud huffs and grunts and appeared to be on the verge of charging me. Without hesitation, I turned and ran for all I was worth. I knew that I had only one bullet left in my chamber and had witnessed the size of this creature up close and personal. As I ran for my life I looked for a tree to climb but quickly realized that all of the trees in this area were dead and had no branches. Thoughts of the great beast overtaking me and smashing me into the ground were running through my head as I felt his nearing presence. As I ran along I drew back the bolt on my rifle and chambered my last shell.
When I finally realized that there was no where to run, I hurtled myself up onto a big bolder and quickly snapped around with my rifle.
Expecting the bull close on my tail and breathing down my neck, I was delighted to see that he was only a few feet from his original position and that I was safe at this point. He fell down once again but quickly stood up.
It was at this point that I realized that my shot from the hill must have broken his back and that he was immobilized. My heart eased its pounding somewhat but I still shook as the adrenalin surged through my body. I positioned myself for a finishing shot and lay my sights upon his neck.
I let my last shot go and the bull was driven to the ground. I was so close to him that I witnessed the blood splatter on the foliage behind him and the pink mist in the air.
He huffed and snorted while lying on the ground and managed to pull himself to his feet once again. I had no control at this point as I was out of ammunition and stood and watched as he rose and fell time after time.
There was a cluster of cedar trees directly in front of him and each time he would ascend he would try to smash through them to escape to the safety of the forest. Fortunately for me, his gigantic rack would get caught in the trees and not allow him to go any further back into the bush.
I stayed within twenty yards or so in case he did make it to his feet and past the cedars. I didn’t want to loose this big guy and I knew he was almost finished, but if he did move, I wanted to follow him and mark my way out of the bush at the point in which he expired.
The bull now lay quiet and his snorts and huffs became calmer. He would give a kick once in a while as I stood staring with awe. I looked down at my trembling hands and figured a cigarette was what I needed to calm myself.
The wind was blowing directly against me so I figured that the moose wouldn’t smell anything and he wouldn’t be startled. All was well until the wind changed direction and wafted the smoke towards him. The beast lunged to his feet once again.
Scared and startled I quickly extinguished my smoke as the bull fell back to the ground once again.
I had no more ammunition and the moose was still thrashing. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t leave him for fear he would get past the cedars and venture deep into the bush.
I yelled to my son, still up on the hill to jump on the ATV and go and find his Uncle Ricker for help.
He agreed and as I heard the bike pull away, I realized what I had done. I had sent my son into the wilderness alone. I became overwhelmed with worry at this point, left the bull and started off across the clear-cut to find him. With all of the excitement, I had made a bad decision, and sent my son out on his own. I now wanted desperately to have him back with me and scrambled through the brush in a panic.
As I jumbled thirty or forty yards into the clear-cut, the sound of an ATV drifted over the hill.
It was Jake back and I have never been so relieved in my life. He had gotten scared and returned.
I yelled for him to stay where he was and turned back toward the bull.
The bull had stopped moving by now and I couldn’t hear any breathing. The king was dead.
I slowly and cautiously walked toward him with empty rifle in hand to confirm his expiration.
His rack was huge and he was enormous. A smile emerged on my face as I turned to start the journey back to the bike.
It was getting to be late afternoon and I knew that there wasn’t much light left. I pulled my florescent overalls off and hung them in a tree to mark the spot.
After the long scramble back to the ATV, I hugged Jake and apologised to him for sending him out on his own. We secured our gear and fastened on the rifle and sped off to Marty’s to tell the guys and get our tag.
I stopped at our camp along the way and told Trevor that I had killed a bull. Jake jumped off and stayed with Trev at this point as I wanted to make some good time and knew I would be driving fairly erratically.
When I reached the cabins, I made the rest of the guys aware of my afternoons success, grabbed the tag and we all headed out back to the bull.
As I slid the bike to a stop I could see my brother-in-law Ricker down standing with the bull. He knew the area and must have spotted my orange cover all’s marking the spot.
When the rest of the gang arrived, we congregated around the bull and I began the field dressing.
Upon completion, we tied the head of my monster to the back of my father-in-law’s four wheeler with another bike tied to the front of it and started to slowly drag the moose out. This is where the hard work began and where I saw a crew of men come together. Everyone had some sort of job to do, weather it be clearing a path for the bikes to go through or reefing the bull’s head over logs, rocks and brush. The bikes sure got a work out that day and by the time we had dragged it across the clear-cut and loaded the bull onto the trailer we found ourselves under the cover of darkness.
It’s hard to explain the feeling I had that day but I must say that it was most definitely the hunting highlight of my life and the best part is that my son was by my side the whole way.