'Ricochet'
"I
dare you to try it, " a wiry gentleman piped
up, his eyes sparkling from the glow of the campfire
as he challenged his comrade to do better than
he did. A bearded man in his early thirties gave
a roar of laughter, then sucked up a deep breath
of the warm night air. He placed my birch bark
horn to his mouth and discharged a blast of air
into it. The frightening sound that echoed out
the other end of that vibrating funnel was more
like the groan of a constipated hunter than the
longing call of a seductive cow moose.
His three companions
who circled the red glowing light of the campfire
bent over the front of their chairs and rocked
with laughter at the embarrassing sounds of their
friend' s humorous act. i grinned at their stories
and the carefree entertainment as i kicked a block
of firewood into the flames, trying to stir up
more light to see the faces of my new clients.
In a burst of crackles, red sparks streaked skyward
from the flames, dancing into the darkness to
join the endless laughter.
As
the sparkles burst higher, so did the conversation
of the excited hunters. Firelight flickered in
harmony, highlighting each man's tale. From one
hunter to another the stories unfolded, each a
little more challenging, until a competition of
sorts developed. Now it was my turn, and reluctantly
I had to match an unbelievable event with theirs.
"C'mon, it's your turn," the whiskered
man with the horn burst out. "Tell us a tale
that we won't believe."
Herb and I made
our way into a chain of lakes that consistently
produced large antlered moose. An hour later and
a mile of walking through knee-deep, water-soaked
swamps, we reached the ridge that hid these lakes
from vehicle hunters. We set up a ground blind
on the point of a peninsula that gave us a first
class view of the entire lakeshore. While Herb
nestled on a giant root that grew from the trunk
of a one hundred foot spruce, I gathered up shrubs
and dead branches and a few spruce boughs. In
minutes, I had constructed a primitive blind on
three sides of us, making sure to have branches
protruding in every direction to break up our
outline from the eyes of a wiley moose. Nothing
would be too good for Herb, so, like a beaver
storing his winter feed, I stuck branches in the
ground, scattering them around the stand until
the area looked like a miniature forest within
a forest.
Our little bunker
was well organized. The only interior decoration
was a pole laid crossways, about three feet in
the air, so my hunter could use it as a rest to
steady his rifle. The movie camera stood on its
tripod beside our blind, waiting to roll a few
feet of film. The location was perfect, giving
us a two hundred and fifty yard shot over most
of the lake. The only exception would be straight
across the lake to an inlet. If a bull showed
up there, Herb would need to take a fine sight
as the distance increased to four hundred yards.
"I think I can make the shot," Herb
answered when I asked him how he felt about the
distance.
This lake was one
of my favourite moose hunting spots and I was
eager to prove to Herb that I could call in a
bull for him. I rubbed the tacky material of my
birch bark horn in my hands while I thought of
just the right sequence of calls to entice a lonely
bull to enter our lake. Satisfied with my decision,
I rolled out a series of seductive cow calls that
echoed across the lake into the endless forest
beyond. After some time lapsed, I bellowed out
a few more just to speed up any hesitant bulls.
We were excited
at the prospect of a lonely moose charging in
to our call, and we studied the surrounding forest
with great intent. Not a blade of grass moved
that we didn't catch. Soon an hour had passed
without an answer, and we succumbed to the usual
long wait. We settled deep within our blind, and
the local wildlife soon forgot we were there.
A variety of ducks and a family of whistling swans
began swimming beside us, feeding and diving and
grooming their feathers, getting ready for their
long autumn flight.
The crisp edge
of the morning gave way to the warming of midday.
I wanted a video of a successful hunt from beginning
to end. My calls brought no answers from nearby
bulls so I turned the camera on Herb and took
a few seconds of my hunter hidden behind the snarl
of branches under the giant spruce. That done,
I again turned the camera to the far shore, where
I expected a bull to show himself, and pressed
the start button. Quickly I snapped up the birch
bark horn and let out another seductive call,
inviting in the elusive bull. With a few seconds
of film, I now had the beginning of a fine bull
moose hunt on video. All I needed now was a moose.
Noon turned to
early afternoon as we patiently waited for the
giant of the woods. The long silence of midday
was over and it was time to start calling again.
This time I added the low soft grunt of a young
bull to the end of my call. If a mature bull was
out there playing hard to get, I wanted to make
him jealous. Instantly I heard the faint coughs
of a bull filter through the forest. I called
back. Again the bull immediately answered.
In minutes we caught
the dark form of a moose moving in the willows
along the banks of the inlet. A moment later the
head and the neck of a record book bull came into
view in a small opening. The bull stopped. The
rest of his body was hidden from our view behind
trees. Silently he surveyed the shores of the
lake and the surrounding forest looking for the
cow. "Ya' see him Herb?" I whispered.
In my excitement I missed his answer so I repeated
my question in a louder whisper. "Do you
see that moose, Herb?"
"Ya, I see
it. Is it a bull?" he calmly asked.
With paddles standing
three feet above the bull's head I was a little
surprised at the question, but thought perhaps
his vision wasn't as good as mine. "Yes he
is. He's a big one too," I chattered instantly.
"Let me get the camera on him before you
shoot," I suggested. Herb sat patiently while
I nervously fiddled with the camera, aligning
and focusing the lens until I had just the right
picture of this monster bull.
The bull didn't
know we existed behind our blind. The call had
brought this monarch onto the open shore of the
lake in search of a cow, and he had no intention
of leaving until he had gotten what he came for.
We had time to enjoy this mighty animal and to
experiment with different calls while we watched
his reactions. Most of my clients would have shot
the bull the moment it came to the shore, but
Herb seemed to have the patience that is often
needed for a more enjoyable hunt. "Let's
play with him awhile, Herb. What do you say we
make a few calls just to see what he will do?"
As serene as an
experienced moose hunter, Herb answered in an
agreeing tone, "Sure, why not." He nodded
in confirmation, never raising his rifle or shifting
his look from the bull.
The camera never
stopped rolling while I made more low cow calls,
enticing the bull to come closer. He licked his
lips, then stepped out from behind the spruce
and willow and dead snags that hid his chest and
rump. With timeless steps he walked to the shore
of the inlet and drank. I blew through the horn
once again, echoing out the soft grunt of a young
bull moose. The old patriarch of the lakes lifted
his head and with challenging grunts, ran along
the banks of the inlet toward us. When he came
to the shore of the main part of the lake he stopped
broadside to us, looking in our direction. I was
sure I could get him closer but the time was right
for a shot, and I thought I had better not push
our luck too far with such a great trophy. "You
have a clean shot now. Take him!" I whispered
to my hunter.
The lake was like
glass. Only the waterfowl along the shore stirred
the otherwise motionless moment. With not a breeze
in the air, the silence seemed deafening while
I waited for my client to make a killing shot.
Herb raised his rifle to sight on the moose; then
he lowered it and shifted his position on the
tree root. Again he sighted his rifle on the moose,
then lowered it. I soon discovered my blind was
build a little too well, and my hunter was looking
for a space between the branches to shoot at his
moose. The third time he raised his rifle, he
seemed to be satisfied with his sight, and squeezed
the trigger.
Like thunder, the
boom of the rifle rolled over the forest and faded
away in the distance. Water splashed across the
lake as if a fish had jumped, but there were no
fish in this lake. The bull never moved. Again
Herb fired. Another volume of water splashed into
the air. Herb shifted his position and fired again.
The bull stood his ground, not moving an inch.
Still as calm as before he'd fired his first shot,
Herb discharged his last bullet at his trophy.
Seconds seemed
like minutes before the bull moved. His giant
head swayed back and forth, and then his legs
weakened. He staggered, and then as if resting,
he leaned against a twenty foot spruce on his
opposite side. The top of the evergreen waved
in the air as it desperately struggled to hold
itself upright against the weight of the giant
bull, but its strength gave way and the animal
tumbled to the ground.
We froze in position,
ready and waiting, just in case the bull wasn't
dead. The minutes dragged by until we just couldn't
wait any longer. Impatiently we jumped to our
feet, gathered up our equipment, and hastily made
our way around the lake to Herb's trophy. I had
the camera rolling when Herb approached his monster
bull, hoping to catch the surprised look on his
face. "Oh, he is a big one," Herb agreed
in his easy manner, as he carefully examined the
antlers and the huge body of the fifteen hundred
pound bull.
"What
was so unbelievable about that hunt that would
make us doubt your story?" a shadowed face
across the campfire asked as he stirred the campfire
with a thick branch.
I
drank the last of the cold coffee that was in
my cup, then smiled, knowing full well the question
would be asked. "When we played the video
tape we discovered some surprising facts. It was
our conclusion that Herb's first two bullets must
have hit the branches that camouflaged us from
the lake shore, then they ricocheted onto the
lake."
The
hunters looked at me wondering where I was going
with this.
"Upon closer
examination of the tape by replaying it over and
over in slow motion we were surprised to discovered
that his first bullet also ricocheted off the water
and hit the bull in the chest. This was proven by
the spray of moisture that deflected from the bull's
chest an instant after the bullet hit the water.
The video tape also revealed the bull's reflex when
the bullet hit him. The ricochet off the branches
of our blind was our only conclusion ... how is
that for unbelievable?"
Read 'Just the Way
I Always Imagined'- Trophy Bear Hunting Story
Read 'Never Give Up!
The Black Wolf' |
