From our base camp noted above, we could scan the frontal faces of Terminus and another set of hills.
So, the two spotting scopes were set up and manned almost constantly from the moment camp was established.
It wasn't difficult to spot the several groups of goats up there, but the only one that looked like he needed a closer inspection always (and I mean always) was seen in areas impossible to get anywhere near without wings. Still, a watchful eye was on him frequently in the hope he would eventually offer an opportunity...
There were several groups of rams, and a handful of ewes & lambs on those hillsides as well.
Despite staring at them so hard it felt like our eyes were being sucked out of our heads, we simply could not make any of the rams grow the extra few inches required for an uphill effort. One thing I did notice about those rams was that several (over half in fact) were sporting deep & wide curls, indicating great promise for the next few years of developing some very fine sets of horns. That mountain and area has always been known for tight-curl rams (not lengthy) with minimal examples of the Argali style flare. Looks to me as though that is changing there now. Can't really understand the why, but certainly can and did recognize the what. Days were spent analyzing each ram in full detail. One looked as if he would be "just shy", while the balance were lesser that that. Terminus is among the first mountains hit by the outfitter crew each year, and it is often said that by the end of the first day or two, all the legal rams will be taken. Heard it had some rather intense pressure on the opener this year, and to us, it rather did look like a clean sweep had been accomplished...
Elk season was nearing it's end by now, so we decided to put a little effort into seeing if we could dig up a bull or two.
Mornings and evenings would find us hidden in natural blinds, and calling to entice anyone within hearing range to respond.
During the days, those not manning spotting scopes were quietly prowling in wide searches for sign.
And sign there was! From wallows to scrapes to bootprints, it was obvious some were about.
And we did get the odd reply from both sides of the valley, letting us know the bulls were there, but wary.
One encounter was quite the rush for my local Partner.
He had never called in a bull before, and so had spent a fair amount of time earlier in the fall practicing bugling and cow chirping until he had it down pat. A couple of mornings after we landed in this spot, he and I crept out well before the first light, and set up in an area that would allow us to watch any approach from most angles, and especially so downwind. At the first fairly quiet bugle he let go, there was an immediate response that echoed eerily through the chilly morning's frost.
Almost sounds too good I muttered.
But when challenged again a few minutes later, it was obvious this was the Real McCoy, and headed right at us like a heat seeking missile!!
My Buddy's eyes started to glow, and he actually gave a few twitches that gave away the level of adrenaline roaring through his veins at that moment.
The bull closed quickly, taking perhaps 20 minutes to cover over a kilometer. Only to stall out in some dense timber. A few cow chirps was enough to get him raking the trees violently, while gorilla grunting the whole time. Eventually he could stand it no more, and roared into the open, threw back his head, and roared his own challenge into the brisk air. It was chilly enough his breath seemed to hang for hours. Binocs up, One, Two, Three, Four, Five... again. Same result. This was a huge bodied very mature bull that was never going to grow a sixth point. Bases were monstrous, and it was obvious that he considered himself King of this particular mountain!
Although a little disappointment, my Buddy swelled with pride as he put his rifle down. I did it! I actually called that bugger right in! From the corner of my eye I could see his hands shaking a little, and fondly recalled the first bull I called in myself so many years ago. And yeah, as I recall, there was a little shaking on in my hands that morning too!!
The bull swung his head from side to side seeking his adversary. Not finding him caused him to vent his anger repeatedly to the sky. Was one hell of a fine experience, and we both saluted this magnificent creature as he slowly headed back up the mountain...
Back at camp this occurrence spurred a rather lively debate on the effectiveness of antler point restrictions on game management. Almost all of the Western States that had at one time tried these restrictions ended up doing away with them, and many the paper has been written as to why. In some of those areas, 5 point elk became the dominant breeders as the 6 points basically no longer existed. The same holds true for Mule deer wherein large 3 and even 2 points become the dominant mature bucks under 4 point only restrictions. I believe what we saw that morning was another manifestation of this syndrome, as that elk was as old and big as he is ever going to be. Odd that BC, and in many cases even Alberta seem driven to re-invent the wheel in this matter...
A few more elk were heard over the next two days, and more sightings uphill of not only sheep & goats, but several large black bears, and a small handful of elk. Interesting for sure, but not putting much in the way of food in our bellies, and the MRE's were getting a tad redundant...
One morning we awoke to an obvious impending weather change. It had been cool, and heavy frosts developed most mornings, but all under clear skies. This morning there was but little frost, and the red sky at morning spoke loudly to the two offshoremen in our camp. She's changing...
So, we decided to change up our strategy for the day, to explore another area, and to expand our horizons just a little. We loaded up the smaller jet with a couple day's worth of rations, a couple tarps, the hound and all four of us. Target was the Frog River system, and off we went, stopping to explore areas of interest along the way. The amount of sign of moose and elk was promising, but there were also a good number of black & grizzly bear bootprints, and the ever-present trails of the wolves...
During this run the weather did indeed turn, and the snow began to literally pummel the high hills. Here's a few shots I took along the way:
The Frog was a little down from last year, and the sledding was exhilarating in the skinny water.
This was the last day of elk season, so we had hopes of locating a good bull further up the Frog drainage which is well known to harbor decent numbers of them. We spread mean out in enticing spots to call from time to time, and wandered many side channels and meadows looking. Although the sign was there, there were NO responses to our calls....
Upon rounding one sharp corner in the river a giant 6 point bull and 3 cows were caught in the open, 1/2 across the skinny channel. Our eyes merely grazed him as he lit out like his tail was on fire, straight through the thick stuff and madly up a steep hillside! His run was so swift none of had a chance to do anything but stare in shock as he disappeared like so much smoke. No way he was going to reply to a call, so we decided against educating him in that matter, and carried on. That spelt the end of the elk ambitions (but not sightings) for this year's hunt.
A few hours later we dropped in at the Trappers Cabin to sign the Guest Book once more. Quite a few names have been added since I was last there, and a new roof appears to be damn near completed. One day I would like to shake the hands of the men who brave this country in the dead of winter in pursuit of fur!!
We did note a goat down low right from the beach in front of the cabin, but quickly determined he was a semi-mature billy of no interest to our group. The wander home required the balance of the day, and we went to bed stuffed with military rations once again...
After the previous day's efforts, I found myself a little worn out. And so it was that I found myself stirring from slumber, only to discover I had slept in some. As I laid there wondering what the rest of the trip might bring, I heard the far off moaning of a cow moose. Hmmm... Did I imagine that? Nope, there it is again!!
Scrambling I was soon in my heavy camo to brace against the morning chill, rifle in hand, and was preparing to head out in the direction of those calls.
Kid's pretty good came a hushed whisper across the campsite. Huh?
Yeah, that's him that got you going. Any bull hears that he may well respond.
Only ever remember hearing anyone better, and that was an ancient Cree in Northern Saskatchewan decades ago...
Just then the call came again, and DAMN! He is GOOD!
Always prided myself on my efforts to call moose, and have been downright successful doing that over the years.
But this was magical. Better than I had ever been, and still had me yearning to run out there with a ready rifle!
When my Buddy returned to camp, we all congratulated him on his calling.
He blushed with hidden pride, and accepted the comments in a reluctant manner.
Little did we know just what the effect of those calls would have on our next couple of days...
We spent much of the day again watching the animals on Terminus, and their response to the snow that had accumulated. Most had dropped down a fair bit, but the Big Goat, and the better of the young rams still held court on the highest of country.
Towards late afternoon, we decided to head over to a huge set of moose meadows we knew of which were not much more than a couple miles away. Again we loaded up the little jet rig for a possible extended stay, and again off we went to explore.
As we got to the channel that leads to the meadows, a HUGE Bull Moose appeared - feeding along the side of the channel about 200 yards out...
We immediately landed, and a spotting scope was set up FAST. Moose have to have 3 up front, ten around, or be a spike/fork in order to be legal in that zone. A shift in the breeze suddenly carried our scent his way, and the reaction was immediate! As he turned the spotter murmured I count 12 one side! All i needed!! As the bull raced dead away, I lined up on the back of his neck just below the base of his skull. A little over 250 yards now, bullet would be still climbing from my ancient 300 Weatherby, so I adjusted slightly down the spine. BOOM! The rifle bucked almost unexpectedly against my shoulder, only to come down back on target to see him shake his huge head violently, and race into the timber!!
WTH? 180 partition didn't simply dump him at that range??
We backed off for an hour and a half, collected the tracking dog and his leash, and went in for a boo. The bull had run 100 yards uphill, then laid down. Two drops of blood was all. And he had departed well before we entered the picture. The next few hours were spent behind the dog as he worked out the exit trail. At 3/4 of a mile, darkness dropped over us like a suddenly dropped wet blanket, and we had to return to the boat and make our way back to camp with the aid of headlamps. The moose had not laid down again. At camp the other Ladz jokingly accused me of shootin for the horns, suggesting I may have put one into an antler. No damn way, I KNOW where that hit...
It was a tough night of little sleep for me. I kept going over the shot in my mind, wondering just what the hell had gone wrong. Before daybreak I was up drinking coffee in the morning's chill, waiting for the rest of my crew to rise and accompany me for an extended tracking effort. Picking up the trail where we had left it the night before, we began to decipher where it lead from there. Into a bunch of deadfall that literally took hours to struggle through. He knew we were in pursuit. And he had not laid down yet again. At another 3/4 of a mile, our crew was drenched in sweat, and more than a little disappointed. Back to camp to rethink and regroup was my suggestion. It was well taken, and it wasn't iuntil early afternoon we made a late breakfast back in camp.
While we were chowing down, the dog suddenly began his I SEE SOMETHING YOU SHOULD LOOK AT whine!
My Alberta Buddy & I glanced over, and saw a monster of a bull moose slightly upstream of the camp, knee deep and swallowing great amounts of water from the river! Nobody Panic (worse this to say as invariably everyone does each time you say it) and a mad scramble ensued. I nodded towards our Young Gun and smiled at the tall Albertan. Yep. Danny, get your rifle on him I said, having already centered my scope on the 200 yard distant bull. I count 12 one side came the comment from the man behind the rapidly deployed spotting scope!
My Friend, shoot that bugger right in the heart were my words that followed. Ka-BOOM!
The bull simply collapsed like a cheap lawn chair, nose first, right into the river! WOAH!
Another mad scramble to get the small jet rig launched, as the current pushed the bull towards our shore.
Minutes later a couple ropes were secured, and we managed to push the bugger right to the beach, less than 75 yards from camp!
Did I say BIG?
Check out the size compared to the jet rig!!
There was absolutely no way the four of us could ever drag or push the weight up onto that beach!
So, drawing straws and two men donned the boots.
Quartering the high side kept the meat clean & dry...
After which we were able to roll him up onto the beach to finish processing him:
While doing so, we came across a bullet hole in the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull.
And a little digging produced a perfectly mushroomed 30 caliber Nosler Partition.
How that did not drop him on the spot I will never know.
He is only the second of dozens of animals that rifle has taken not to literally drop in their tracks.
We also found another bullet track, one that both entered and exited.
Along it's path, it found the exact item I had requested:
We all were grinning at recovering the big boy, and at the mountain of meat he provided us!
No more MRE's!!!
My Young Partner has always dreamed of taking a moose over 50 inches.
Well this time, that dream came through in spades!!
And of course there were the mandatory Trophy Shots to be taken...
The pictures don't really do that boy much justice.
He was near 9 feet at the shoulder, and likely weighed in around 1,400 pounds.
He produced just over 500 pounds of boneless meat, which I am happy to report had a great flavor, and was downright tender!
Well before the rut, and damn fat!!
That night's dinner was something special for all of us!!
We rested a day after that happy happening, and gorged ourselves on this wonderful bull.
Prepping for the next chapter to come... The Mountain Assault!
In the interest of Happy Wife, Happy Life, I unfortunately will have to quit here for the day.
She Who Rules is off today, and apparently I am somewhat involved in the daily schedule...
The bullet out of the 300 Weatherby penetrated right to the bone, several inches below the base of the skull.
It had caused great bruising, a few hairline fractures, and given the amount of blood in both ears, most likely permanently deafened the moose.
I am still at a loss as to why.
I did check several others from that lot by pulling the bullet and weighing out the powder.
It is right where it should be.
Guess this one gets to remain a mystery to me...
HuntingBC Champ
Re: A Kechika River Adventure
RJ
Re: A Kechika River Adventure
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