An Unsuccessful Hunt
by Bob Garrett
The light rain coming down felt like a little slice of heaven It was just enough to dampen everything without soaking through my clothes Instantly. Just enough to quiet down my steps on the trail. A gentle breeze caressed my face, coming straight out of the direction I wanted to go. In short ft was all I could hope for during the waning hours of the opening day of Moose season.
I live on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska. It is a place a lot of people would like to live, but only a few get the chance to. I had just gotten off work and had decided that I needed to make an evening hunt. It was imperative, for I never miss opening day, even if it just a token hunt.
After helping out all afternoon in my store’s sporting goods section, I was definitely ready to do a little hunting. Upon arriving home, I changed into my camouflage hunting togs, left my wife a note, and dashed out the door with rifle and pack. Climbing into my car, I realized that I would not have time for a real elaborate hunt. I sifted mentally through the dozen or so 'small spots' that were near Soldotna, picking one ten minutes away.
Getting out of the car I was greeted by the light rain and easy breeze. Buckling on my fanny pack, I locked the car and shouldered my ‘glass stocked .375. I also checked to be sure I had my compass. The trail I was walking down was an old, wandering, brushed-over road, but it never hurts to have a compass.
As I started down the trail, I felt the worries of the "normal" world slip away from my shoulders. As I hoped, the rain quieted my steps down, and the wind In my face guaranteed that I wouldn't spook anything ahead of me. Using the 'walk a little, look a lot" principle that my father had taught me, I made slow progress. That was fine, I was out here to hunt, not tear up the trail. I took the time to pick apart the spruce trees and sparse underbrush with my eyes.
I slowly crested a small hill, and was greeted by a piercing cry. I froze, then realized I had startled a hawk not twenty feet from where I stood. I'm not sure what I interrupted, but he cried five or six more times as he flew rapidly away. After looking to make sure that I wasn't
disturbing a nest, I continued on. Already I counted this walk worthwhile, After all, how many denizens of the concrete jungle can say they saw a wild hawk in it's natural habitat?
A quarter of a mile past where I encountered the hawk, I came to a rolling hillside along the trail. It was a grassy hillside with small stands of shrub trees scattered about, A perfect place to try a little calling. I sat down in the tall, damp grass just off the trail. I laid my rifle across
my knees and started with a calf call. For some reason the high-pitched calf call works great for getting a bull moose's attention. I repeated this call every four or five minutes for a quarter hour, then changed to the slightly deeper cow call. After a further fifteen minutes, I decided that if there was a moose in the immediate area, he wasn't interested. Of course, this didn't surprise me, as it was early in the season and the bulls weren’t in the rut yet
I decided that I should check the hillside to see if there was even any recent moose sign. As I zigzagged toward the bottom, I found several recent beds in the tall grass, and ample evidence of browsing on the small shrub trees. Though I had guessed right about the area being good habitat, I came up empty on animals. After ducking under a fallen tree, I continued on down the trail. At the very bottom of the grassy hill, the trail made a sharp left and ground got a little boggy. Now, I don't particularly enjoy hunting in boggy ground, but moose love it. Proof of this was only a couple hundred yards further on in the form of a freshly rubbed tree. This early in the year I figured it was a small moose, a mulligan, doing the rubbing. The big bulls start fighting the trees a little later on.
Not far from the rubbed tree I noticed some Black Bear scat. The area I was hunting had a good population of Blackies. Though normally I prefer to have another person with me when I'm hunting for bear, I decided that if I chanced to see a nice animal I would go ahead and bag him. Of course, he would have to be an excellent animal to interrupt my moose hunt.
The trail crested a small hill and I was out of the bog. I crept around a couple more corners and startled a couple of Spruce Grouse. I was looking the other way when they took off, but they were only a couple of feet from me. As I can attest, a couple of grouse exploding out from under your feet in an otherwise quiet woods can jump start the cardiovascular system. I had to wait until my pulse had slowed to the double digits before I moved on.
The trail ended overlooking a large swamp that had a creek running through the middle. I sat and decided to call some more. I went straight to the cow call this time, and I sat for about forty minutes. The light rain was finally soaking through my clothing, and I realized I had forgotten my insect repellent. It was about two hours before dusk, and I would need an hour or so to walk out. “Just right,” I thought, as I got up, and started back the way I had come.
Walking back, my mind began to wander. Though I paid as much attention as ever to the woods, I began to think about the future. My wife and I had decided to take the last week of the season off to hunt together. I compiled mental lists of where to go and what to take. I thought about the weekends I would hunt with my dad before then. I thought about past hunts and hunting seasons. I was glad of the fact that I hadn't bagged a moose, for it allowed all the rest of the season to enjoy. I allowed myself to relax and feel the therapeutic value of even an unsuccessful hunt.
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