Home Forums Miscellaneous Topics Humor, Jokes, and Riddles Huntin' with Gunwriters - Pts 7 & 8

Huntin’ with Gunwriters - Part 7
copyright 2004 - Stephen Redgwell

Jack looked at Ken and they both smiled. Then Ken said, "Do you want us to sign it every time we use it, or just the first trip?" Joe sorta turned red and said, "Oh, jeez Ken, you only have to sign it once!”

It didn’t take long for to get everything squared away. A short time later, them Yanks took out their guns and checked ‘em over. They each had a small pack too what they filled with snacks, knives, a compass and other things a fellow needs when he’s huntin’. Declarin’ everything ready to go, they left it all by the door.

“So Al, now you can fill us all in on tomorrow’s activities. Will we actually be hunting tomorrow or are we going to take some time and scout around?” A good question. Jack was a smart fellow.

I said, “Us guys know where the moose is movin’. It would be proper for to show you fellows the lay of the land though. It never hurts to double check. But hey, the season’s on, so if you see a nice bull, don’t be shy. Take him. There’s enough of us to quarter him and bring everything back here.”

“Fair enough.” Jack replied. “I’m actually quite excited. It’s been a few years since I’ve been moose hunting. No matter how many years that I’ve been privileged to hunt, the excitement and wonder always hits me. And you can see why the moose is king here. What beautiful country! The leaves of the hardwood trees add a perfect splash of colour. There’s a really eye pleasing mix of reds, yellows and orange. You’re all very lucky to call this place home.”

Ken added, “Absolutely. And before we start out on this safari, I’d like to get some pictures. Would one of you fine gentlemen care to join me for a walk? I’ll take my camera. You bring a shotgun. A friend told me about your famous grouse stews Al. We’ll bring back some pictures and some birds!”

Rene jumped up. “I go wit’ you Ken. I’m love a good partridge stew! There are six of us, so we needs twelve birds. We takes only da ruffed grouse. No spruce ones! Da spruce grouse ‘ave gots da purple breast meat and dey tastes like pine needles dis time of year. Al, you better start getting’ da vegetables ready. I’m gettin’ hungry!”

So, Rene and Ken took off for partridge and I went into the kitchen. Jack took out a book and started writin’ in it. Elmer and Joe had a few drinks and shot the breeze. By the time it started getting’ dark, Ken and Rene was back with some birds and the rest of the crew was sittin’ in the lounge talkin’ about tomorrow.

We ate, had a few drinks and turned in for the night. I wanted to start early, so everybody would be woke up around three thirty. Things was goin’ to be great!

I guess I shouldn’t have let the excitement get to me. Okay, so we got a good crew of guys. I know Rene and Joe is both experienced hunters. I know that them Yanks is experienced too. What I didn’t understand was what happened over the next two weeks. You're probably confused, so I better explain. Them gun writers got skunked!



For the two weeks them writers was here, the moose was everywhere. We set up teams of two guys - one Yank and one guide. Me, Joe and Rene knew all the spots and picked out where we would go to get a moose. It seemed easy enough. Here’s a few things that happened.

I went with Jack. Rene went with Elmer. Joe took off with Ken. We was spaced about a mile apart and could keep things that way even if one place turned out to be dry. Movin’ to another spot wouldn’t be a problem. The nights was cold and overcast, with a chillin’ kind of wind what would blow right through you. You could hear the trees and brush makin’ noise at night and the poor light meant that them moose wasn’t gonna move around much. I thought that things would be just about perfect for an early mornin’ or late afternoon shot. I’ll just give you some of the highlights, ‘cause basically things didn’t work out... at least, not for the Yanks.

Rene and Elmer was the first team to bring down a moose. But it wasn’t Elmer what shot it. Oh, he tried, but them huntin’ gremlins got him. Them two was on the side of a hill, lookin’ over a beaver meadow. There was a small stream about a hundred yards from where they was set up. So, you got this flat space, water and food. The wind was fairly calm and blowin’ right at them two. There was a couple of well-traveled paths that a moose could travel, in order to end up in the meadow. One of them was a small lane way that came out right beside that stream. Heck, us guys watched plenty of moose go in and out of these places for years, so nobody was too concerned about wastin’ any time there.

Huntin’ with Gunwriters - Part 8
copyright 2004 - Stephen Redgwell

Well, this nice bull come out of the bush pretty much where it should have. Complete with a nice rack. Elmer smiled and give Rene a thumbs up. Rene just sat there with his 303 cradled and motioned towards the critter. Elmer raised his rifle, took aim and pulled the trigger. “Click!” He lowered the rifle slowly and looked at the moose. It didn’t hear the noise so he carefully opened the action and got rid of the bad cartridge. He chambered another, took aim again and pulled the trigger a second time. “Click!”

That’s when Rene seen the moose start walkin’ back towards the bush. Up come his 303 and a 215 grain bullet thundered out of the barrel, droppin' it like a stone.

Rene and Elmer watched that thing for about fifteen minutes. Neither of ‘em said a word. After the wait, Rene stood up and started walkin’ over. Right on the side of the stream, about twenty feet away from the safety of the bush, was one dead bull. Shot right through the lungs. That’s when Elmer spoke for the first time.

“Damn! This is fresh ammunition! I bought it just before we came up here. I wonder how many of them are no good? Well, at least you got him Frenchy. He won’t be too hard to dress and quarter right here. Damn!”

And that was the end of that.

A couple of days later, there was me and Jack. We was huntin’ a natural hollow that was carved into of the bush and the side of a hill, right beside Butter Lake. It was a depressed spot that run for about three hundred yards, on a slight downhill angle. It was overgrown with alders for the most part, but there was plenty of lane ways for to take a shot. It didn’t matter which direction a moose would be travelin’. We was off to one side, makin’ sure that the wind was in our favour. We both sat down and propped ourselves against a tree. We wasn’t there five minutes when we heard a moose comin’ down towards us. This was goin’ to be easy...or at least that’s what I thought.

Jack was cool as a cucumber. You could tell he’d done this a million times. He moved into shootin’ position and raised up his rifle. As he done that, he hit a tree branch with his rear sight, and the darn thing fell off! Jack just lowered his gun and give me this sheepish look. We couldn’t tell exactly where the critter was, but we could hear it getting’ closer. Well, I was ready anyways, and only waited long enough for to have a look and confirm what it was.

About fifty or sixty yards from where we was sittin’, out of the alders come this trophy sized bull. It had a rack on it as wide as a Buick! It was absolutely the biggest I seen in years. This time, my 303 barked, lettin’ loose a 215 grainer almost head on, straight into his chest. That moose sorta bounced and took off sideways, rippin’ through the alders towards the trees. It must have gone about seventy-five yards when we heard the thing fall! Boom!

Me and Jack sat there, listenin’ for signs of movement. After a bit he said, “Fate is a fickle woman.” I didn’t understand what he meant exactly, but you could tell by the way he said them words that he was dejected.

We walked towards where we thought it fell. He wasn’t hard to find. When we got there, Jack figured that the rack had to be close to sixty inches. He congratulated me, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice. It’s hard to have a small thing go wrong and lose a trophy. Nonetheless, his tone changed, and he started jokin’ about the whole thing.

“We better start dressing this monster out. It looks like moose heart for supper tonight!”

That was strike two.