STANDARD’S SUPERB SCORE IN SWEDEN’S SKOGSMARKER

Clean harvest via a single, suppressed, .30-06 round! Every big game hunter has a moose in his dreams.

Mine was about to come true as I’d recently reestablished a connection with an old high school ice hockey buddy while on a business trip to Sweden. While Skyping, we marveled at the fact that we had both gotten into hunting as adults, neither having had family traditions to encourage us. After swapping many lies (hunting camp tales) and photos, he invited me to join his boys and him for a moose hunt on their lease. He told me his hunting team had shot an unbelievable 18 moose on their lease last year, an incredible number to me. I said “YES” before knowing how I was going to get there, how I was going to pay for it, nor, especially, how to get the days off of work, as a good week is generally needed for a reasonable chance at spotting a good moose in this highly-taxed, sparsely-populated, Scandinavian country of 10 million tall blondes. Yep, I was about to go MOOSE HUNTING in Sweden!

SWEDiSH FAUNA

Sweden is home to an astounding 300,000-400,000 moose which they call Älg (pronounced like our Elk). 100,000 moose are harvested by hunters and wolves every season and 100,000 baby moose bless Sweden’s verdant forests each spring. Shoulder height for mature animals ranges from 170-210 cm (~5 1/2 -7 feet) at the shoulder with moose males weighing from 380-850 kilos (~840-1,875 lbs) and cows weighing from 200-360 kilos (~440-800 lbs). (source www.wildsweden.com)

This sparsely populated Nordic country’s coniferous forests and wetlands are additionally home to wolves, foxes, lynx, beavers, black bears, marmots, wolverines, and a few other mammals.

BACKGROUND

A proud NRA certified firearms instructor trained RSO, and a Pew Semi-professional, I make it a point to get in a good amount of range time every year. I religiously do this just in case I get invited to New Zealand or Scotland for

Red Stag, to South Africa for the Big 4, to Argentina for Doves, for Wolves anywhere on the planet, to Georgia for Quail, Pheasants in South Dakota, or Moose in Sweden, Canada or Alaska (hint hint). You get the picture.

When not performing volunteer NRA duties, I can frequently be found sending money downrange via AR-15 pattern modern sporting rifles, a quiver of 12- and 20gauge shotties, or by focusing on the front sights of a very diverse assortment of hand artillery. I only occasionally break out the well-worn, truly loved, and 100% proven, bolties. I additionally hunt feral hogs a couple of times each year, manage to squeeze in a Pennsylvania deer hunt with a bunch of outlandish Eagles fans every winter, and get myself invited to the occasional dove hunt. So essentially, “Have Gun, Will Travel,” if adventure is to be had.

PLANNiNG

I really desired to stalk the Skogsmarker, or woodlands of Northern Sweden during the rut. The rut, AKA “Moose Prom Season” has these giant beasts of the forest

recklessly careening through the woods in hot pursuit of that which Shakespeare, James Brown, and Alan Jackson all put to poetry, LOVE. Like a 17-year-old with a muscle car, a fifth of Wild Turkey, and a hot date to prom, the rut can prove deadly for thousands of hormone drunk moose studs and their lovely ladies.

PREPARATiON

Wanting to maximize my chance for success in case I were to actually see a suitable moose, I dusted off a number of bolties and headed to the range. I fired my Yugo Mauser 98, my Thompson Center Icon .30TC, and my Browning A-Bolt II .338WM from the bench, standing and kneeling positions until I could nail the 100- yard, 10x10, gong, effortlessly, and the 3” diameter gong with concentration. I silently thanked my various marksmanship instructors as I rang steel again and again. (Ray-Dog Sanchez, Neal Ashe & Jason Wilson) I imagined hitting the moose’s heart, spine, or shoulder as I worked the actions over and over. Note: for the record, all of my precious firearms were lost overboard in a bizarre boating accident.

THE MENTAL DEBATE

Browning’s A-Bolt II, chambered in .338 Winchester Magnum, was the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation’s “Gun of the Year” back near the beginning of this 21st Century. I won it at the banquet in Greeley, Colorado. The A-Bolt II was built to accurately and efficiently knockdown big game, precisely, the size of elk and moose. I really wanted to harvest my first moose with this special stainless steel and camouflaged polymer masterpiece. I knew it was seriously accurate as I had consistently rung steel at 1,100 yards with it during a long-range workshop in Wyoming, and the bolt and trigger are both really smooth. The recoil is a bit tough; but hey, that’s a small price to pay for a moose memory of a lifetime.

Alas, the USA and so many other government’s onerous regulations diminish so much fun for the brotherhood of sportsmen worldwide. The International Trafficking and Arms Control Regulation (ITAR) control the export of weapons from the US. If you take your rifle out, you must bring it back in, or it is deemed an export; and that means a lot of paperwork. I really wanted to bring my shooting iron; but my business trip was going to take me in and out of 3 or 4 European countries. Reluctantly, I decided to borrow one of my buddy’s rifles when I got to Sweden rather than risk running afoul of the authorities and risking losing my awesome A-Bolt to some bureaucrat as I crossed multiple international borders.

ESCAPE FROM THE OFFiCE

As my children required my help paying for their education and my bookkeeper wife enjoys an aspiration of a retirement, my corporate day job prevented me from crashing the Moose Prom (AKA hunting the rut). Woe was me. I was going to miss it unless I quit my job and got a divorce.

Fortunately, my despair was short-lived and my marriage remains intact. A number of European customers suddenly needed some of my world-class night vision business development expertise at the beginning of November, As I had a few vacation days available, I sensed the stars starting to align. I immediately booked my European ticket, got my mini-vacation approved, called my buddy and told him I was coming for 3 days bridging the end of October and the start of November. The joy of anticipation started warming my soul.

My itinerary took me from the US to London, Gatwick to Oslo, Norway and then to Stockholm, Sweden where I deliriously discovered that the last train ticket for the 9PM Express was sold out. I frustratingly waited 8 hours in the Stockholm airport’s train station and, eventually, caught the 3:56 AM train for a 4 1/2-hour northward journey. The side trip to Oslo was a surprise gift from Norwegian Airlines. I still don’t care to add up all the travel time.

THE HUNT

The air was crisp, fresh, pine-scented and delightful. Sleep deprived brain cells jumped to alert. A few minutes off the train and I was hunting in Sweden with a borrowed Ruger Hawkeye 77, chambered in .30-06, topped with a nice Leupold VX3-15-5x20mm scope and enhanced with a Finnish-made, Ase-branded, Utra S .30 Cal suppressor, was neatly ensconced, within reach, in my Eberle backpack’s scabbard. Although I hadn’t fired the rifle, I had been told that it was zeroed at 50 meters. I trusted that my buddy’s son was correct. He appeared a competent woodsman and hunter, jaw full of chew; and all. The borrowed rifle felt good. Both the suppressor and the scope were tightly mounted with no wiggle. My familiarity with bolt actions, the Leupold’s clear glass and duplex reticle gave me confidence that if I could see anything shootable, I would hit it.

Swedish swamp water immediately soaked the inside of my boots, making me even more alert while testing my wool socks, as the falsely frozen clumps of green and brown marsh grass yielded to my weight. With many a splash, my feet sunk until the ice water crested the top of my boots. It was -5⁰ centigrade (~23⁰F) and windy as snow flurried from Northern Sweden’s immense steel gray sky. My hunting buddy and I slogged through the muck in pursuit of his dog which was trying to help us locate a moose in a vast 4,500 hectare (+11,000 acres) sized parcel of unspoiled Swedish timberland (surprisingly swampy woodland).

At the time I didn’t realize I was due for several grueling days of hiking up and down hills, through swamps, bushwhacking through thick Pines and Asps, ducking branches, high stepping countless fallen logs, skirting boulders and attempting to elegantly leap nearfrozen, poorly delineated, streams. We came across bunches of wild, intensely red, Lingo berries, a few remaining Blueberries and several giant colonies of super-tasty wild mushrooms which we stopped to pick. The bears clearly loved the Lingo berries too. We saw ample evidence of their meals during our hikes. I started missing my trusty SA 1911 as I encountered all the bear sign.

The hunting dogs search out and follow the scent of moose. How they can discern the freshness of one moose track from another, not get sidelined by a bear, fox, lynx or wolf scent, I do not know. However, these gleeful hounds routinely run 20 plus kilometers per day once on the scent. Once they pinpoint the moose, they follow silently for a bit, then start barking, which generally slows the moose. The hunters need to identify the direction of the dogs and start hiking in that direction. Once within a couple of hundred yards hunters slow to ensure a silent approach from upwind. The woods are so thick that they usually try to get within 50 yards of the moose in order to get a clean shot, sometimes as close as 30 yards. Maximum stealth is required to avoid spooking the moose.

After two days of wet feet, moose tracks, bear scat, mocking crows and campfire-cooked “dirt pancakes,” we had not seen a single giant brown thing. Maybe the moose had swum to the other side of the lake. They are apparently great swimmers. My buddy was convinced there were still some in our territory. I had one morning hunt left before I had to think about packing up and heading across Europe to my meeting. I have been buffaloed before and I needed to consciously push away a miserable gnawing feeling in my gut so I could get some sleep.

Giant Swedish logging machines are modern marvels.

The third, and last, morning’s coffee was downed at daybreak. We loaded up and headed to the hunting grounds. White flurries drifted down from a blurry grey steel sky. The plan was to enter the edge of the woods from different positions, a mile or two apart. I was finishing the adjustment of my gear’s straps and buckles while standing on a huge boulder getting ready to head into the woods.

THE HARVEST

A tiny clip-clop of hooves from within the Skogsmarker tickled my ears and jerked my eyes wide open, intensely focusing my attention on my goal. Staring toward the direction of the rhythmic footsteps, I inhaled deeply and let a half a breath out as I shouldered my rifle. Forcing my heartbeats to remain calm, I stared at an opening in the woods as I solidified the purchase of my sling around my left forearm.

A brown and gray ghost trotted in and out of view. “A MOOSE” I screamed inside my own brain. My safety magically switched to hot as muscle memory welded that Ruger to my shoulder and cheek. The finger pressure on the trigger increasing as I assessed if the moose was a shooter. Yes! Good to go! Big, brown, and moving too fast; fortunately, broadside. I let a small whistle sail across the clearing. The moose halted his trot for a millisecond, looked my way, and 180 grains of .30-06 caliber Norma goodness center punched his chest, with about 2,500 foot-pounds of energy (~3,500J), as he performed his threat assessment. The moose’s alarmed, next step was interrupted by the shock, sound and fury of a red-hot projectile. A gleaming fresh round worked itself into the Ruger’s action without any thought on my part. A gallon of adrenalin dumped into my bloodstream as I watched the empty case arc to the ground in extreme slow motion. My body’s thermostat shot up to 100 something degrees and I became nearly weightless.

The moose’s heart was missed by 1/2 inch (visualization works). He jumped backward, pivoted, and drunkenly careened downhill, disappearing ever deeper into the forest. I thought about pursuit as I replayed the shot in my mind. I knew in my gut that pursuit would not be needed as I had heard, saw, and almost felt the “kugelschlag.” The bullet hit him precisely as I had intended. The shot’s distance was only 50 or 60 meters away, point-blank distance for Norma’s Oryx 180gr .30-06 hunting round traveling at 2700 FPS (823M/S). I walked to the sight of the shot and laid my blaze orange hat on the ground next to a small patch of blood and finally exhaled the remaining half breath I had been holding.

THE HARD PART

My hunting companions, having all heard the shot, stopped hunting and called on the radio. Because moose are such awesome and magnificent creatures, local custom dictates that everyone on the lease quit hunting and assemble at the sight of the shot, ASAP, in order to assist with the rapid recovery of any wounded or killed animal. My team of lovable, Swedish, tobacco-dipping fellows rapidly appeared. They had taken sixteen moose so far this season, so they know exactly what they are doing.

My teammates brought their eyes, their dogs, a chainsaw and an ATV with a trailer. It was easy to follow the blood trail down the hill right into the swamp. My moose had expired in about 8 inches of near-freezing water and swamp mush. One antler was recovered. Part of the team felled a good 1/2 dozen trees, hacked bushes and sawed through fallen trees in order to make a path for the ATV (fortunately, my buddy’s sons are lumberjacks). We gutted the moose, removed the huge and beautiful heart, the kidneys and discovered that the liver had been destroyed by the round. A birch twig was gifted to me in honor of my first moose and I had to wear it in my hat as is the custom in Sweden.

Four men and a winch manhandled the moose into a narrow trailer which was attached to the ATV after 15 minutes of struggle. Then, after 20 additional minutes of pushing, pulling, cajoling, skidding, rocking, sliding, sweating, swearing and of spinning/ sinking tire mud spraying everywhere, the ATV and my moose arrived back on the road.

THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE

In the slaughterhouse, the team efficiently got the animal ready for final processing.

We turned off the lights, locked the barn door and then headed for a whiskey. Comfortably ensconced by the fireplace I was informed that I am the first American to harvest a moose in this part of Northern Sweden and that I am invited back.

Yee Haw! ★

Devin Standard is a night vision industry executive, a global adventurer and a member of the NRA since 1970something. When not hunting, shooting, teaching marksmanship, or advocating for the Bill of Rights, he may be found skiing, motorcycling, scuba diving, hiking or exploring. A New Hampshire Man at heart, he wishes you Liberty in Your Lifetime and encourages you to take young people hunting and fishing.