by Boone
The third day of the hunt was Friday, October 7. I was so saddle sore that I begged to walk. Rod, Terry, and I drove into Angus Creek area, about 15 miles northeast of Soda Springs. We saw a nice moose early, but the silly thing had a beautiful antler on one side, and only a spike on the other. Rod asked me if I would want to shoot him. I said that I only wanted a nice mount. Then, I joked that maybe our taxidermist, the local Fish and Game officer, could add a plaster antler on the other side so that we could hang the moose in our family room.
As we went on, we spotted another bull moose walking across a clearing. It was the same size as the one we saw opening day by our horse trailer. Then, Rod and Terry spotted something moving in the quaking aspen below the small moose. They saw two moose, one with what seemed to be a nice rack. The moose were down at the edge of a large triangle, thinning to a small patch at the right of the moose. Other than that, it was open mountain side. Rod and I left to find a position where we could better see the moose.
Terry went to the place where the quakies thinned. If I only wounded the moose, he would try to drive it into the open. If it went any other direction, I would have a second shot. Rod and I had to cross a very large beaver pond, with narrow footing. I’m not at all fond of water, so this was not exactly a thrilling experience for me. All I could think was that if I fell into the water and couldn’t shoot my .270, I would have to use Rod’s 7mm. I didn’t want to shoot his rifle. Well, I thought, once we cross, it will be easy from there on. Hah! Have you ever walked on a steep slope covered by deer brush? It was impossible to be quiet.
I knew when we finally got into position that the moose must have heard us and would be miles away. We went around the hill, and I took a look through my scope. The early morning sun was glaring in the scope. We decided to walk back behind the hill and then go lower. It wasn’t the best idea. When we got into position, the glare was worse. I wanted a clear shot. The other moose lying by the bull was a cow, so I really needed a better vantage point. Rod suggested that we climb the north face of the hill and look down on the moose. We climbed another 200 yards through deer brush. Finally, we came out in the open.
Bad news. From the bottom of the hill, the hill looked flat; it wasn’t! Now we could not see the moose because of a slight ridge between our position and that of the moose. Rod said, “Let’s crawl on our hands and knees to the juniper tree in the middle of the sagebrush on the rise.” We crawled out to the tree, holding our rifles up with one arm. It must have been another 100 yards. You should have seen the juniper tree. It might have been six inches taller than the sagebrush!
Rod told me to steady myself and raise up and shoot. I told him that I hadn’t really had a clear look at the pair of moose yet. I didn’t want to shoot before I was sure that the cow was out of my line of fire. He told me to raise up a little, take a look, then stand and shoot. I raised up and whispered, “He’s got his back to me.” At that point, I forgot my sore shoulder. I stood up, took steady aim at the middle of his back, and fired. What happened next, I never expected. He started to raise up on his front legs, then toppled over. We found out later that the bullet severed his spine right behind his hump.
I’m not a very mature hunter, based upon what I did at that point. I glanced at Rod who was standing, staring at the moose, completely stunned that he was down. I don’t remember traveling the 150 yards to the moose, but I do remember crying and yelling, “I got him,” the whole way. The moose was still alive, so a final bullet through the neck killed him almost instantly.
The action was all over by 9:30 a.m. I was so excited. All I could think of was what a nice, even mount he would make. Terry had brought a camera, by chance, and he took our only pictures in the field. The first clue that this moose was very large was when I tried to place my rifle across the rack. It fell through!
Rod and Terry then told me that it was time for me to clean my kill. The hide was so thick, I couldn’t get the knife through. After laughing at my predicament, they pitched in and did all the work. It took them until midnight to finish, and also deliver the meat to the store to be butchered.
I have to admit that my husband is the best hunter I know. If it wasn’t for his skill in locating the game we hunt, I surely would never have gotten my beautiful trophy. It was one of the most exciting days of my life.
Photo from B&C Archives
Shiras Moose, Scoring 185-5/8 Points, Taken by Mary A. Isbell in Bonneville County, Idaho, in 2000.
Quest for the Giant Moose
By Mary A. Isbell
24th Big Game Awards Program
HUNTING HAS ALWAYS BEEN A VERY IMPORTANT ACTIVITY FOR OUR FAMILY. MY GRANDPA ISBELL TAUGHT MY DAD HOW TO HUNT AND THE TRADITION HAS CONTINUED THROUGH THE GENERATIONS. OUR FAMILY CONSISTS OF MY MOM, DAD, AND FOUR DAUGHTERS. I’M THE YOUNGEST OF THE GIRLS. DAD STARTED EACH OF US SHOOTING WHEN WE WERE ABOUT FIVE YEARS OLD WITH .22S AND USED VARIOUS FIREARMS WORKING UP TO A BOLT ACTION, SCOPED .22 LONG RIFLE. WE’VE ALL SPENT COUNTLESS HOURS PRACTICING SHOOTING. ONCE WE REACHED TEN YEARS OF AGE, WE STARTED WITH HUNTING RIFLES. WE ALL STARTED WITH THE SAME .243 AND THEN PROGRESSED ON TO OUR .270 AND .30-06 RIFLES. SHOOTING ISN’T ALL; WE JUST LOVE THE OUTDOORS AND THE WILDLIFE. WE RIDE OUR HORSES, HIKE, STUDY ANIMALS, AND THEN WHEN WE’RE HOME, WE POUR OVER BOOKS AND VIDEOS.
The hunt for my moose took place when I was 12 years old. Even though this was the first trip I was the hunter, I’d been going for years when my sisters and dad were hunting. I’ve hiked with them over some of the most difficult country in southeastern Idaho that you could imagine. My dad loves the steepest, roughest, and rockiest mountains he can find. My sisters and I have given them names like “Death Mountain,” “Heart Attack Hill,” or “Heart-stroke Mountain.” I actually shouldn’t complain, though, because we’ve been very successful in finding our game.
In Idaho each hunter can apply for special controlled permits for hunting. If you apply for moose, sheep, or goat then you can’t apply for special deer, antelope, or elk permits. Each year seems to be a ritual in deciding what each of us wants to apply for. My quest for moose actually began in late summer 1999. On a late August morning, my dad and one of my sisters had gone on an early morning hike while the rest of us stayed at our cabin. When they returned, my dad was almost speechless. He claimed that he had seen a moose bedded about a mile away that appeared to be a top-end B&C class animal. They had hiked down reasonably close to the animal and studied it through the binoculars. As I listened to the excitement in their voices, I could tell that this one must be very special. Dad’s very objective and knowledgeable about evaluating trophy game and doesn’t usually get as easily excited as he was this time. Right then and there it was decided that all of us would apply for moose, hoping that someone could draw a permit while this special animal was still alive. None of us had drawn in 1999, but one of our close friends did. She took a gorgeous bull, but it wasn’t the one that Dad had seen.
As 2000 approached, we did the traditional application scheme. We’d check on the Internet each evening until the results were posted. When the results were out, we couldn’t believe it. Even though drawing odds are low, my older sister Becky and I, along with our close friend Craig Heiner, had drawn! The quest for the giant moose began.
It was traditional in our family that I would use my grandpa Isbell’s .30-06 for the hunt. It is a Model 70 Winchester that he bought in 1945. My dad had a custom stock made for it in 1982 and had developed some handloads with 165-grain Nosler Partition bullets. It shoots very well and my older sisters had taken great game with it including trophy Shiras moose. Dad had me practice all summer with the rifle in anticipation of the hunt. My sister, Becky, would also use the rifle since it wouldn’t be likely to have us both see two great bulls together at the same time.
Summer is a hard time to find trophy bull moose. They are in the thick timber bedded during most of the day, and we didn’t see very many large bulls on our scouting trips. We did spend a lot of time scouting by hiking, by horseback, and
by riding in the pickup. About two weeks before the hunt, our close friend, Bob Hudman called. He could hardly speak. When he started telling us about the moose, I could tell it was the one we had hoped to find again. I could get a good impression of the size of the animal by listening to my dad and his friends. When they seem uncontrollably nervous, then I know it’s special. As he described this great animal and its location, we decided that we’d all try to keep an eye on him until opening day in August 2000. We tried to keep track of the animal, but he seemed to disappear a few days before the hunt. We were afraid that something had happened to him or that he’d just left the country. Even though we hadn’t seen the moose for four or five days, opening day was a must. After some discussion, it was decided that I’d have the opportunity on opening day and my parents arranged for me to miss school. I must thank our dear friend Craig Heiner. He was present and helped on the hunt, and didn’t even bring his rifle so that it would be my day.
We all met at Hudman’s cabin near the Tex Creek Wildlife Management Area on opening morning. Our group included my mom and dad, Bob, Sandy, and Charity Hudman, and Craig and Debbie Heiner. This was one big moose expedition. We traveled by ATVs to a place where we could glass. It wasn’t 30 minutes until the monster was spotted. He was back in the exact spot where Bob had seen him two weeks earlier. We immediately maneuvered in front of him, but couldn’t get a shot. We watched him through binoculars as he went into the next canyon and into an aspen stand. Then we crept over the ridge above him and I prepared for the shot. The wind was howling, blowing a light drizzle of rain and the range was about 250 yards. All in all, it was a perfect moose day. My dad got me set up on a large rock. Bob and Craig were using separate video cameras so we’d be sure to record the event. The rifle seemed to jump around uncontrollably with the wind and the pounding of my heart. It seemed like a long time, but my dad told me to wait until there was a break in the wind and then take the shot. When the wind slowed, I carefully pulled the trigger. Immediately after the shot, Bob exclaimed, “You got him! You don’t realize how big of a moose you just shot! He’s going high in the records book!”
This really got me shaking. All of a sudden the moose stood up again, Dad and Bob both told me to hit him again. As I squeezed the trigger for the second shot the bull went down for good just as the shot went off. The next few minutes were pure chaos. My dad, Bob, Craig, and Sandy were all acting almost crazy with the excitement of this great animal. They hiked down to the moose first, leaving Dad and me on the ridge in case the moose got up.
As my dad and I hiked down to him, I can still hear Craig almost screaming what a monster he was. He was everything we’d imagined and more. Bob and Sandy went to get the remainder of the crowd. Dad, Craig, and I simply marveled at the size of the animal. Not only were his antlers huge, but his body was immense. We all discussed this, and later when the carcass was weighed at the meat processor, they confirmed how big he was. The photo session went on for a long time. There was video with both cameras and several rolls of film from three different 35mm cameras. After the photo session, I really learned how big a large moose is. With all eight of us helping, it was a real chore to take care of and pack out a large animal like that. When we checked my moose in at Fish and Game the excitement rose again. It was a continuous emotional high.
Our moose hunting didn’t end that day. For the next two months we hunted every Saturday, several weekdays, and after school for my sister Becky’s and Craig’s moose. We spent those days hiking, riding, and checking out several trophy bull moose. There are many unique stories about those two other great bulls like the day my sister got hypothermia, but that’s another story. They both did get their trophy animals near the end of the season.
After getting this bull, we took him to one of the premier taxidermists in the west, Jay Ogden, in Richfield, Utah. Even though he’s mounted some amazing trophy animals, he was excited about the opportunity to mount this magnificent specimen and will create a mount that compliments my trophy. We have already chosen a spot in our home for him.
I’ll probably never take another animal as large for its species as my first bull moose. This day will be with me forever; the memory of the hunt, the family and friends, and the privilege to be in the great outdoors hunting.
Photo from B&C Archives
Barren Ground Caribou, Scoring 465-1/8 Points, Taken by Roger Hedgecock near Mosquito Creek, Alaska. in 1987.
If You Have to Look Twice
By Roger Hedgecock
20th Big Game Awards Program
ON ONE HAND, I CAN SAY BOONE AND CROCKETT HAS NEVER REALLY BEEN THE OBJECTIVE OF ANY OF MY HUNTING TRIPS. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND, I CAN NEVER REMEMBER SITTING ON A COLD DEER STAND, RIFLE IN HAND, THAT THOUGHTS OF A RECORD WHITETAIL DIDN’T CROSS MY MIND. IN FACT, ON MY SECOND ELK HUNT, I FELT THE RUSH OF ADRENALIN ON A WYOMING MOUNTAIN. BUT THAT BIG BULL, THE LARGEST ONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD TO ME AT THE TIME, MEASURED 320 UNOFFICIALLY AND IT TAKES 360 TO MAKE THE AWARDS BOOK.
That elk hunt was back in 1986, and I figured that was the biggest of big game for me. There’s an old adage about not knowing what the future holds. I believe in it.
At the time of the elk hunt, I had never seen a barren ground caribou. I had never seen a caribou of any kind. To be perfectly clear on the matter, I had never seen a caribou until September 25, 1987, the day we flew into a base camp that was located about 80 miles north of Nondalton, Alaska.
The next day, about two miles from camp, I squeezed the trigger on my .300 Weatherby. It was nearly one o’clock, an hour-and-a-half after the guide, Bob Tracy, had spotted the animal and said we were going after it. I could detect some excitement in his voice as he pointed it out in a herd of about 20. As we slowly worked our way from Mosquito Creek across barren tundra, using ridges as shields, trying to reach the highest point nearest the herd, I kept remembering what Bob had said, “If you have to look twice at the size of the rack, it ain’t worth going after.”
We were going and going hard. We crawled the last 200 yards. The cows, apparently sensing something was wrong, got up and started moving from left to right. Flat on my-stomach, I was watching through my 3x9 Nikon scope. My eyes were watering, my vision was blurred, and I raised my head to wipe my eyes. At this point, I got my first really good look at the rack. Rack was all I could see. Quickly I put my binoculars before my eyes to take another look. I saw the rack, the head, and then the body. He was walking slowly behind the cows.
As I eased the rifle into a shooting position, Bob was whispering, “Wait. Wait. Give him just a little more time, and you, take your time. Make the first shot a good one.”
Finally, after what seemed longer than the trip from North Carolina to Alaska, the big bull showed me his right shoulder. I fired! The animal spun completely around and just stood there. I fired again, and he spun completely around once again. Each time I could hear the impact of the 220-grain bullet. The novice of my caribou hunting came out. I asked Bob, “Did I hit him?”
He nodded his head and added, “He’ll die standing. Just wait, you have placed two bullets right on target.”
The cows ran and the bull didn’t, and I began feeling comfortable. Finally, the huge body crumbled to the tundra. At such a time I guess most hunters find something to worry about. I knew the hip boots were lighter as we walked the 200 yards, but I was worried about a broken tine, or just simply broken antlers. You allow a lot of things to pass through your mind. Bob’s first words were comforting. “It’s a really big one,” he said. “And it may make the book.”
Of course we took a lot of pictures before caping the animal out and quartering the meat and packing it out, but my real excitement didn’t come until we were back at camp. We did not score it at camp, but Bob talked seriously with my wife Molly and me about the possibility of a records-book caribou.
Bob packed the meat and antlers and sent them back to Nondalton. I knew it was a super way to begin a hunt. For the next nine days, we hunted moose and brown bear. It was the k
ind of hunt you dream about. I was able to fill both tags, a moose that rough scored 218 and a bear measuring 9-1/2 feet. Molly bagged a moose, caribou, and brown bear.
After the hunt, we returned to Nondalton and began rough scoring the caribou. Three people scored it from 470 to 477. Bob told me that after the 60-day drying period, he felt sure the animal would score close to the current World’s Record. This makes you get a lot more excited about records than you have ever been.
After the drying period, an official measurer for the Boone and Crockett Club scored the antlers at 465-1/8. Then, we shipped the cape to Cody Taxidermy in Wyoming, where the trophy was mounted and then shipped to North Carolina.
It was a long year-and-a-half, waiting to know if this trophy will go in the records book, and how it will rank. It’s like Christmas morning for a 45-year-old farm boy from the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, who until recently seldom dreamed of a records book trophy, especially a records book caribou.
NOTE: Shortly after the 20th Awards Banquet, Roger Hedgecock agreed to a continuing loan of his trophy to the Boone and Crockett Club’s National Collection, where it can be enjoyed by the vast throngs of hunters who visit the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming.
Photo from B&C Archives
Central Canada Barren Ground Caribou, Scoring 407-6/8 Points, Taken by Kendall J. Bauer near Repulse Bay, Northwest Territories, in 1996.
Inuit Culture
By Kendall J. Bauer
23rd Big Game Awards Program
BOARDING A PLANE IN WINNIPEG, MANITOBA, MY HUNTING PARTNER, CURT WELLS, AND I, ALONG WITH EIGHT OTHER HUNTERS, STARTED ON A NINE-HOUR FLIGHT TO REPULSE BAY IN NORTHWEST TERRITORIES. ONCE THE PLANE LANDED WE MET UP WITH OUR OUTFITTER, JACK SMITH OF SWAN RIVER, MANITOBA, WHO HELPED US GET OUR CARIBOU TAGS. AFTER LOADING OUR GEAR INTO THE BOATS DRIVEN BY OUR INUIT GUIDES, WE STARTED OUR 30-MILE BOAT RIDE TO BASE CAMP.