The long weekend in September I returned to the hunting area to see if the moose trail I found before had fresh tracks on it. I also hoped to find a spot where I could set up for a hunt. I wanted to make my way down to what appeared to be a meadow/scrub area between three large ponds to check for signs. The topography lines on the map indicated this area was somewhat flat compared to the surrounding country; and I hoped it would be holding moose.
I parked the truck on the new extraction road and began the long walk across the new cutover. I used the wood extraction trail to walk in and immediately noticed abundant moose tracks. As the crow flies, the truck was only 500 meters from the back edge of the cut, but I can’t fly like a fucking crow. I was forced to walk 1000 meters up and down hills to get there!
Having made my way to the back of the cut, the boundary line to the park was just beyond the wooded strip. I followed the moose road (too large to be called a trail) well into the park and I realized that I was walking on an old logging road system. The park would have been harvested in the past prior to its induction into the Canadian National park system in 1973. I caught a glimpse of the smallest of the three ponds I was targeting before finding a gentler slope to descend into the valley.
The gentle slope turned into Mount Everest about half way down and – as I was starting to question my decision to ever start hunting in the first place – I experienced my greatest blunder. I must’ve been daydreaming because the next thing I knew, I was sliding down this hill on my ass in the mud! As I scraped myself off, I cursed myself for my clumsiness and the two new holes in my pants. I looked around and realized I had made it to the scrub-like area on the map, but – more importantly – I realized I wasn’t alone.
Through the fir and birch mixed forest, I noticed the outline of the big black fella I was hoping to see. I tentatively lowered my knapsack to the ground and extracted my camera. I stalked between trees to get a better view while doing my best imitation of a small inquisitive bull. After 25 yards of stalking, I found myself in a staring contest with a wide racked moose.
I snapped photos as fast as my camera could take them while I made my way back to my gear. I didn’t want to spook the moose from the area so I was trying to be as quiet as possible. When I arrived back at the trailhead where I left my pack, I noticed that Bullwinkle was not content in letting me leave just yet. I had aroused his suspicion with grunts and now he wanted to let me know I wasn’t welcome in his house!
I scampered up the side of the hill somewhat and nestled myself in behind a blown down tree. I set my camera up for what was promising to be a vivid and close encounter. The 16 point bull-moose was sporting 3 brow tines on one side, 2 on the other and was showing impressive antler growth on his young frame, a true testament to the quality habitat he called home. He slowly approached me, swaying from side to side. He dropped his head in numerous places to show me his impressive antlers. He blew and grunted on a couple occasions and I was starting to get nervous.
At this point, I realized he was locked onto me and was showing minor signs of aggression. Being alone and with no gun I had to speak up and tell him “That’s enough! Get out of here!” Hearing me speak confused him enough that he became alert to the situation and he began to change his mind about running me over. He postured up, turned away, and slowly trotted back through the scrub and stopped to looking back at me, wondering what I was. I envisioned the shot and marveled at the opportunity I just had. If only it were moose season!
I was convinced; this was the spot to hunt! I made my way back onto crown-land to find a place to set up camp (I wasn’t driving 200+ KMs everyday just to sleep in my bed). With a good location marked out I vowed to return another day to set up Moose Camp!
To be continued…..
- Two men save shark from choking on moose (foxnews.com)
“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.”
― Abraham Lincoln
When I arrived in Newfoundland last fall I had the unfortunate designation of “Non-Resident”. This meant anything larger than a coyote was off limits to me, as far as hunting goes. I was going to miss those early mornings in the tree-stand with the bow, but I hoped the small game license would maintain my interest — it didn’t help that NB was having one of the best hunting years in recent memory, but I digress. Anyways three months, $140 at the DMV and a trip to the Wildlife Division later, I had my Newfoundland Hunter’s Card.
Newfoundland has a lottery system in place for big game tags. You apply for both Moose and Caribou at the same time indicating in which zone you would accept tags. You also choose which type of tags you prefer — Bull only, either sex etc. There are nine different pools for ranking applicants; the probability of success increasing with decreasing pool number. Pool 1 is reserved for applicants that have applied for several consecutive years without success, those who received a tag in the previous year are entered into pool 9. I was a first time applicant – Pool 8 – looking for the coveted either sex moose tag on a single license.
In typical Matt Chase style, I got my application in on the last day, during the last hour of business. That puts my ticket at the top of the pile right?! I completely forgot about it after that, figuring my chances were very low. Until one night in late June – during Grant’s visit – we were hanging out around my charcoal BBQ having a couple cold ones when my neighbour stopped in for a chat. He offered us some moose sausage for the grill; explaining he got his license again this year. True to form, I had no idea that the results were even out! I thanked him for the sacrifice to the grill gods and hurried inside to log onto the Wildlife NL website. A few clicks and a couple minutes later, I was staring at this:
I was ecstatic! I called my dad immediately to tell him to save some vacation for this fall. We were going moose hunting in Gros Morne National Park!
Most Canadians will tell you that, when they think of Newfoundland they think of three things, great accents, codfish, and a huge moose population. And, when they think of Gros Morne National Park they’ll think moose problem. Moose were originally introduced to Newfoundland from New Brunswick stock in 1905 to provide a food source for residents of the island. With the virtual extinction of their only predators, wolves, in the 1920’s moose populations have been rising unchecked. In places balsam fir and white birch have been so heavily browsed, that the park’s forest structure has been changed. A recent report by Memorial University released information that some bird species which inhabit middle aged stands within the park boundaries are in population decline. In 2011 – in an attempt to control the population -Parks Canada began awarding moose tags for usage specifically within the boundaries of Gros Morne.
This might lead one to believe that a moose hunt in Gros Morne would be like shooting fish in a barrel. However, just like anything, you need to read the fine print! Within the National Park boundaries you must not: use a motorized vehicle other than a boat/plane or snowmobile in approved areas and when conditions merit safe travel, cut any trees or shooting lanes, set up camp outside of approved spaces, have an open fire or transport your firearm in the view of other public members using the park. All this, and the topography in the park changes faster than a woman’s mood! This makes things a little more interesting eh?
Armed with little knowledge of moose habitat and behavior, I began scouring over maps and satellite photos of the area. I was looking for a place I could access from a crown forest road that would facilitate a short bushwhack into the park — and hopefully good moose habitat. I identified areas with sufficient cover, edge, and bog all in relatively gently sloping terrain. With a couple of places in mind, I began planning an in-field scouting session.
In late August, I traveled the 102km from my house in Corner Brook to the Little Bonne Bay Pond area just south of Gros Morne National Park (GMNP) limits. I traveled in on a road that was in an active logging area, which turned out to be a bust. The slope down into park-land was so steep that it wouldn’t even facilitate safe walking, let alone moose extraction. However, I was able to view the park from a good vantage point — looking down into the river valley where I wanted to hunt.
I went to option two. I drove as close as I could to the park boundary and followed a bear trail (I know because there was fresh shit everywhere) through a 15-year-old balsam fir thicket singing “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley, the last song playing in my truck, in order not to spook a bear. When I finally arrived at the park boundary, I was faced with yet another steep slope – this one more manageable. This knob also provided yet another great view of GMNP limits.
I negotiated down the hill on the boundary while looking for the bogs and ponds that I could see on my maps. On the way down, I found a great moose trail connecting a couple of the water bodies that excited me. As I was wandering around aimlessly doing what I thought was scouting (taking pictures to show my dad and playing with my axe) I happened upon a recent cutover that I hadn’t noticed on my drive in. I was sure this meant a new road and, more importantly, a shorter walk. Turns out Google Maps are not always the greatest source of info! I marked a tree at the base of a hill in the cutover so I could reference my location. If a road was indeed at the top of the hill, I figured I would be able to see the marker. I returned the way I came, whistling the same tune. On my way out, I found the new extraction road, scampered up over the hill and was able to locate my marked tree 600 meters in the distance. I had found a new way in for the next scouting trip!
I hope you’ve enjoyed hearing about my moose hunt thus far! The hunt is ongoing and I plan on producing a series of posts that document the trials and tribulations my first Newfoundland hunt! So follow me while I continue to search for this elusive ungulate — until next time!
When hunting from a deer blind roughly 90% of your time is down time. Some of us — myself included — often have trouble staying awake during the quiet hours. I generally try to beat the sandman by bringing something to read that doesn’t require batteries. I recently enjoyed Albert Bigelow Paine’s classic The Tent Dwellers. Originally published in 1908, the book chronicles a canoe and trout fishing trip through — what is now — Nova Scotia’s Kejimkujik National Park and Tobeatic Wilderness area. It gives an insight into what trout fishing was like over 100 years ago in south-central Nova Scotia. I particularly enjoyed Paine’s concluding essay, so I thought I’d share it:
“…When the wind beats up and down the park, and the trees are bending and cracking with ice; when I know that once more the still places of the North are white and the waters fettered—I shall shut my eyes and see again the ripple and the toss of June, and hear once more the under voices of the falls. And some day I shall return to those far shores, for it is a place to find one’s soul.
Yet perhaps I should not leave that statement unqualified, for it depends upon the sort of a soul that is to be found. The north wood does not offer welcome or respond readily to the lover of conventional luxury and the smaller comforts of living. Luxury is there, surely, but it is the luxury that rewards effort, and privation, and toil. It is the comfort of food and warmth and dry clothes after a day of endurance—a day of wet, and dragging weariness, and bitter chill. It is the bliss of reaching, after long, toilsome travel, a place where you can meet the trout—the splendid, full-grown wild trout, in his native home, knowing that you will not find a picnic party on every brook and a fisherman behind every tree. Finally, it is the preciousness of isolation, the remoteness from men who dig up and tear down and destroy, who set whistles to tooting and bells to jingling—who shriek themselves hoarse in the market place and make the world ugly and discordant, and life a short and fevered span in which the soul has a chance to become no more than a feeble and crumpled thing. And if that kind of a soul pleases you, don’t go to the woods. It will be only a place of mosquitoes, and general wetness, and discomfort. You won’t care for it. You will hate it. But if you are willing to get wet and stay wet—to get cold and stay cold—to be bruised, and scuffed, and bitten—to be hungry and thirsty and to have your muscles strained and sore from unusual taxation: if you will welcome all these things, not once, but many times, for the sake of moments of pure triumph and that larger luxury which comes with the comfort of the camp and the conquest of the wilderness, then go! The wilderness will welcome you, and teach you, and take you to its heart. And you will find your own soul there; and the discovery will be worth while!”
In two short paragraphs he eloquently summarizes why being an outdoorsman is so rewarding and fulfilling — and why it’s not for everyone. Something tells me Dr. Eddie Breck would have brought a gadget or two for some in-blind entertainment!
Lucky for you the book is in the public domain and can be downloaded for free here! Hope you enjoy it!