Opening day of Idaho Panhandle general elk season brought with it a fresh
dusting of the year's fist snow, and great anticipation, as this was my first
year to hunt Idaho as a resident, after moving from Southern Oregon where I was
raised. Archery season had proven a great excuse to get out and learn some
country, and locate some animals. I hadn't thrown a stick all season, but
had located several small resident bands of elk not far from home, each having a
respectable bull.Arriving before daylight at the top of an old, brushed over burn, I turned
off the lights on my pickup and sat to enjoy a cup of hot coffee before my
hunt. Enthusiasm swelled within as daylight approached, no other
vehicles had been in before me in the fresh snow, and climbing the switchbacks
up the mountain, there were no other headlights behind me. I had all of
the north ridge of Quartz Mountain to myself for the opening day of general elks
season! Archery season on this ridge and drainage to the north had been a
continual cat and mouse game, with several cows, a spike bull and a very nice
5x6 branch antlered bull. Never had an opportunity offered itself
for a shot with archery tackle, but I was confident that I would find the elk
this morning.
The first gray light of daylight began to show in the eastern sky, through a
heavy cloud cover delaying dawn by nearly half an hour. Snow fell lightly,
but steadily in the dead calm morning silence. The temperature at five
thousand feet that morning was just below the freezing mark, making the woods
absolutely silent for still hunting. A thrill raced through my mind as I
chambered a round in my rifle and tucked my lunch into the back pouch of my wool
mackinaw coat, in anticipation of what awaited that morning.
Within eyesight of the pickup, I noticed a set of fresh black bear tracks in
the snow, fresh and distinct, a small bear, perhaps a yearling, traveling alone,
and checking out every elderberry bush along the trail. Soon his tracks
headed deep into the drainage to the west of my ridge, and I slipped silently
through the fresh carpet of white, savoring the freshness that comes with the
season's first snow. Two whitetail does jumped to their feet,
alarmed by my appearance, I was merely twenty feet from them when they finally
saw me. There being no breeze, and the forest so quiet, they hadn't even
heard my approach. I was feeling great about this hunt!
Still hunting down the ridgeline another quarter of a mile, I heard the
distinct sounds of an animal feeding. I slowly crept down a game trail to
my north, slowly, silently picking my way through the heavy alder and scrub
willow brush that characterized this forty year old burn I was hunting. As
I approached the sounds, a gentle breeze kicked up from the north, perfect for
my path of travel. Two cow elk and a calf were busily feeding on a
patch of elderberry. The recent freezes had set the sugars in the leaves,
and they were scarfing down every elderberry leaf they could reach. I
waited, and watched for what seemed like an eternity, a few minutes in reality,
waiting and listening for one of the bulls that I knew were in the
area. All I heard was the immediate noises of the feeding cows and
the calf, and they put on quite a show for me from a distance of only thirty to
forty yards. The biggest cow was very possessive of her elderberry
bush that she was feeding upon. If either of the two other elk
approached, she bared her teeth, and kicked at them to run them off! Of
course she had selected the biggest of the elderberry bushes, and the one with
the most leaves within reach.
Before too long however, the calf, being rather frisky, came within ten or
twelve feet of me during his playing and frolicking, kicking up snow and racing
in circles as he went. Complete stop! That calf froze,
mid-stride, knowing I wasn't supposed to be there. He snorted, called to
mama, then wheeled and raced over to the smaller of the two cows. They
gave me a thorough stare-down, but the breeze was nearly entirely in my favor,
being only slightly cross-wind, and they couldn't scent me, so the biggest of
the two cows approached one or two hesitant steps at a time, until she was about
twenty feet from me, then, sensing that things weren't all they should have
been, she led the departure down a game trail parallel to the one I had come
down. They never spooked, but rather walked away at a brisk pace, and
never even broke into a trot.
I absolutely could not hear them on that trail, the woods were so quiet that
morning. When I saw the last cream colored rear-end disappear into
the brush, that was it! I picked my way back up to the ridge trail I
initially was traversing, and very soon cut a huge set of tracks! It had
to be my bull! The animal was traveling alone with feet that left near
saucer sized tracks. Again, the breeze was in my favor, and I followed the
tracks, quite fresh tracks at that, down the ridge trail for about three-eighths
of a mile where they too dove off the ridge on a game trail leading to the
north.
This area had been ravaged by an intense forest fire during the late 50's,
and the brush had come in very thick, then in the early 70's the Forest Service
had contracted to have a cat come in an clear the brush from the burn, piling it
into windrows that were burned the following spring. Then the whole area
was replanted with pine and fir trees. Natural reforestation from a few
old, standing trees provided a little more diversity with some Western Larch,
Idaho White Pine, White Fir and Cedar being dispersed among the planted nursery
trees. Although there was an excellent survival of trees, the brush came
back in, and grew faster than most of the trees, creating an almost impenetrable
jungle fifteen to twenty feet high where the burn had been. However,
running parallel to the ridgeline were still the remains of the windrows, acting
as travel corridors for game, providing pretty much unhindered passage through
this burn. These windrows were spaced about every hundred yards or so
apart, paralleling each other, just at spaced intervals through the burn where
the brush had at one time been cleared.
I followed those bull tracks down the game trail until once again, I heard
the distinct sound of feeding animals.... big animals! I stopped and
listened for several minutes trying to decide what to do. The wind was
quartering towards me, and basically in my favor, the animal sounded as if it
was within seventy-five yards of where I stood. Slowly I crept, ever so
slowly along the game trail through the thick, forbidding brush, until I came to
one of the old windrows that afforded some ease of mobility, and speed in
travel. It was headed in the general direction of the feeding noises which
were now very distinct.
The snow had nearly stopped falling by now, and mid-morning thermal lift from
below began making the breeze a bit shifty as I approached the sound of the
feeding animal down the windrow. Still, being silent as a cat I slipped
within what must of been just a few yards of the animal, but I heard
nothing. I stopped, waiting for some clue to the whereabouts of my
bull. Then, less than forty feet from me, heard the rattling of brush,
then saw them! The white ivory tips of antlers, and a great pink tongue
reaching up to some choke-cherries hanging from a branch! I couldn't make
out the head or neck in the thick brush, but my bull was right there!
There was no mistake, it was antler tines and a tongue I had seen, because here
it came again! I watched, expectantly over the sights of my rifle to see
his head and or neck, but no such luck! He grabbed another bite of
choke-cherries, and the antler tines and tongue disappeared into a tangle of
brush.
The wind shifted slightly with just a puff of breeze from behind me, then I
heard what sounded like a muffled grunt, then I could see brush moving, and hear
the sound of a big animal pushing his way through the alders and
choke-cherry brush. His movement was roughly parallel to the windrow I was
on, but about twenty yards now, to my left. He wasn't spooked, but was
definitely aware that he wasn't alone either. I followed paralleling him
through the brush, via the old windrow. We played this little cat and
mouse game for nearly half a mile, over a time span of about forty-five
minutes. Occasionally I could distinctly hear him feeding and
chewing. We were that close! Finally the wind began shifting even
more, being very unpredictable as the morning wore on, and the sun broke through
the cloud cover and the temperature rose above freezing. The falling water
from the trees helped to mask what noise I was making following this big boy,
but I knew that it was only a matter of time that he would get a good, full
whiff of my scent with an unfavorable gust, and he would be gone, along with my
chance to harvest him.
In Southern Oregon, and extreme Northern California, I had hunted much the
same type of cover, old windrowed brush-fields that had been replanted with
trees and then over-run with brush once again. They had been very
productive places to hunt both mule deer and black-tail deer as well. One
of the tactics that we used when deer knew full well that you were there, but
kept up the little cat and mouse game of paralleling you through the brush, was
to find a game trail that ran across from one windrow to the next, and simply
put your head down and run directly towards the deer through the brush, using
the game trail for passage. Often times, more likely than not, the
deer would simply stand still to see what you were, and wait for you to come out
of the brush. Several deer have died due to their curiosity when
I've crashed through the brush on an over-confident buck!
Well, with the shifting wind, I had reached a time for action.
Something of an offensive nature was in order, so I called up the
charge-through-the-brush play! I had remained fairly even with the bull
the whole way down the windrow, and finally, I came across a well used game
trail leading directly towards where I heard him feeding. Putting my head
down, I charged through the brush like a madman the twenty or twenty-five yards
to a small clearing in the brush about twenty feet wide and forty feet long, and
there he stood!
My bull was standing stock still at the end of this little clearing in the
brush! His four-foot wide antler spread topped his six-foot bearded
frame. Yep, bull moose! This big boy stared me down, from a distance
of less than twenty feet, then snorted, blowing yellow mucous all over the snow
in front of him! Was he ever annoyed. Although not a huge moose, any
moose with an attitude at that distance looks pretty darned big when you are
looking up at him! Then, he took about four steps towards me, pawed the
ground as he came to a larch tree about twelve feet high and three inches in
diameter. Then he proceeded, in almost the blink of an eye to absolutely
shred that larch tree with his antlers, as his hooves pawed the ground!
I suddenly realized that this was not Southern Oregon, and this North Idaho
Panhandle was a place of critters much bigger than me, and some that carried an
attitude as well. It certainly wasn't Kansas, and this raging bull looking
at me surely wasn't Toto! I began talking to the moose in slow, even, low
tones, and at the same time slowly, backing away, back along the game trail I
had charged down. Never did I turn my back on him, or stop talking to him,
for fear he might rush me. Until now, I had never considered the
proposition of a moose, having never been raised around them, or hunted to any
extent in habitat supporting moose. The Lord had preserved me that
morning, and provided an unforgettable lesson, and thrilling memory.
After reaching an old cedar log about two hundred yards from the scene of my
confrontation, I sat down, very weak kneed, and shaking! It occurred to me
that I could have been made a red grease spot in the snow before ever having
time to react to the moose! I was glad that the Lord had seen fit that my
first introduction to a bull moose while hunting would be with an understanding
sort of critter. He was, after all, a true Northern Gentleman about the
whole affair!
