THE BEST BULLS OF MY LIFE

HEY, THERE’S A MOOSE!

HEY, THERE’S A MOOSE!

Big bulls like this are what fuels moose hunters during the clear, cool days of Alaska’s fall season. From perches on tall hills, hunters glass the spruce and willow river flats below, looking for the brown hides and tan palms of bruiser bulls. Harvesting such an animal is a challenge author Paul Atkins

HARVESTING A BULL ISN’T EASY, BUT ONE HUNTER HAS HAD A LUCKY ENCOUNTER OR TWO OVER THE YEARS

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

Iwas fast asleep in my mummy bag, all wrapped up dreaming about the day to come, when a commotion outside seemed to shake the entire tent.

As the ground shook below me, I wondered what the hell was making all that noise. Like so many times before I knew it could only be one thing.

It’s a bear, I told myself, it must be a bear and he’s probably tearing up Lew’s boat; or he’s found our food cache. I carefully unzipped the tent and peered outside to see what was going on.

What I saw was unbelievable.

MOOSE HUNTING HAS ALWAYS been one of my favorites, even more so now than it was when I first came to Alaska all those years ago. Back in the early days it was all about caribou, where catching a glimpse of brown bodies and white manes on the tundra was the ultimate. Taking that “symbol” of Alaska was my primary goal back then, but to see a sea of antlers each time I went out was a sight unto itself. Alas, like grand sunsets, things never last long enough. Those same herds now take a different route and are much harder to come by.

With these changes, hunters have changed too, especially in the far north. Moose have now become the primary quarry. Scoring a big bull or even a small one will provide enough meat to feed an entire family for the year. Indeed, moose are big and produce a lot of poundage of what I consider the best-tasting meat on the planet.

Yet the monsters that once roamed the far north, specifically here in the northwest of Alaska, aren’t as common

as they once were. Oh, there are still moose here, but not as many as in the past. To truly find a big bull can be tough at times.

The Arctic is vast and, yes, there are places where moose die of old age. But getting to those places can be quite difficult. Brave or not, hiking or flying into a location where most won’t go can be scary – even more so if you happen to score. Packing out an animal that can weigh a ton through miles of wilderness isn’t for the weak-hearted.

Back in the old days, when tags could be bought over the counter and hunters flocked here by the hundreds, moose were a common bag. If you planned a trip to the Arctic, it always included moose and many were taken quite frequently.

These days, moose tags are drawonly for nonresidents and the season for resident hunters is September 1-20, unless they have a special subsistence tag good for a larger portion of the year. One thing is for sure: Finding a bull with antlers at least 50 inches wide has become a tough endeavor these days.

I’ve been on many memorable moose hunts throughout my career and lucky enough to take a few, either on my subsistence tag or meeting the minimums. But I’ve never taken a giant bull; not even close. Admittedly, I like antlers, but it has never been truly about that. In the Alaskan bush, where it can be expensive to live, it has always been about filling my freezer and providing food for friends and family.

I’ve had friends and acquaintances venture north over the years to fulfill their moose wish, but never have I achieved the kind of moose that I wanted to hang on the wall. During this time, I didn’t really need to. My freezer was always full, thanks to those same friends who usually gave me half of their quarry. I was always glad to receive some.

IT ALL STARTED WITH my first bull, which took place long before there were any restrictions. He was a young moose with barely enough horn to be called a bull, but he fit the bill and provided a lot of table fare.

Fall colors brighten an Arctic landscape. Sitting eating blueberries right off the vine, waiting for what hopefully will be a big bull to appear from the spruce trees is what it’s all about for moose hunters. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

It happened while we were on a subsistence hunt and boating down one of the many river channels in search of caribou. It was early fall and while we were looking for caribou, anything else that turned up would go hand in hand, though the thought of taking a moose wasn’t even on our radar. I had just become a resident and was still a novice to the dos and don'ts of boat hunting in the Arctic.

We had a great time on the river, except for the mosquitoes that attacked us from all directions. I would have done anything for a Thermacell back in those days, but a can of DEET had to do, even though the bugs seemed to chew through every application.

The willows were glossy green and summer was still evident everywhere you looked. We were on the way back to camp and there he stood feeding on the green grass in the shallows of the river. My partner and boat captain dropped me off and I made my first Alaskan stalk, not knowing if I was doing anything correctly or not. As I made my approach, the bull never even noticed and was as surprised as I was when my newly purchased .300 Win. Mag. rang out. He dropped in his tracks and I had my first Alaskan moose. Many more have fallen since then, and most were taken in similar places. Good moose country is usually always good moose country, and I’ve learned it’s always a good bet to check those same areas every year. The season doesn’t matter, either; I’ve taken them early, like my first bull, and also as late as December and January, with snow on the ground and minimal daylight. Those hunts are a lot of fun and different in every way, but each animal tasted as good as the last.

Searching for moose with snow on the ground and temperatures way below freezing takes a totally different mindset than hunting them in September. I’ve done it many times. You dress differently and your mode of transportation changes from boat or bush plane to snowmachine.

The hunting is pretty much the same, using the spot-and-stalk technique

Seeing the next generation is always a welcome sight. The moose population has taken a pounding the last 10 to 15 years due to predators – as in bears - so you just hope calves can survive to

Atkins and moose hunting partner Lew Pagel reflect on the day in front of a roaring fire. “And to be honest there is no strategy and no game plan; just go to places that we’ve found moose before and hope,” he says. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

to get close. My first late-season bull happened in December many years ago. We loaded our sleds and headed north. Luckily, we found two bulls early, when we still had plenty of daylight during those short winter days. The two bulls were standing side by side and one was quite a bit bigger than the other. The bigger bull only had one antler, having lost the other somewhere on the tundra. I decided to take the smaller bull, which appeared to be a lot younger and would taste better anyway. The shot was long, but the bull disappeared into the willows. We got home long after dark, but it was a great hunt resulting in a great bull.

Most of the moose kills I’ve been associated with have been a surprise, occurring while hunting something else. Like the time when I had just killed a caribou and was in the process of field dressing it when up walked a 60-inch bull looking for a mate.

My buddy dropped him seconds later, but it took two days before we packed out the last load. Or another time when we were boating to a neighboring village for a cross country running meet when we ran into a bull standing on the bank. Needless to say, we didn’t make it to the race.

Other than the searching part, hunting and shooting a respectable bull has always been the easy part for me. It’s after the shot when all the work begins. Most people can’t quite understand or comprehend the sheer size of one of these monarchs. A big bull can weigh close to a ton and a smaller one not much less. Unlike a deer or even a caribou, a moose produces a lot of trips to the boat or backbreaking walks to the landing strip; plus you get to use a lot of game bags!

THE NOISE THAT WOKE me that September morning wasn’t a bear or even a group of bears. It wasn’t the herd of caribou that I had been dreaming about in my mummy bag either. No, it was moose – two of them standing right outside the tent fighting like a couple of Roman gladiators in an arena. It was surreal to watch as I stood there shivering in my long underwear. The early-morning light combined with the fog rolling off the river made it feel like a dream. The big bulls were close to the same size. With each charge the echo of their antlers shivered the water along the shore of the ancient river.

Not really knowing what to do next, I finally came to the conclusion that I

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These two velvet bulls (above) are buddies now, but when late September rolls around they won’t be. It will be game on and survival of the fittest for these giants of the tundra. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

should try and take one of these bulls. I headed back to the tent to grab my rifle and noticed my bow case laying on the front of the boat not 30 yards away. Understanding that this would be over soon, I decided it would take too much time to get the bow and get back fast enough for a shot. I wanted to get this on film too, but my camera was buried in my pack and would take a lot of time to get it set up. Since I wasn’t prepared, looking back I should have taken the time.

I stuck my head in the tent just as my good friend and hunting partner Lew Pagel was starting to stir from all the commotion I was making. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“There’s a couple of monster bulls fighting behind the tent, man,” I told him. “Get up quick; you gotta see this.”

I grabbed the 7mm Mag, jacked a shell and headed to the back of the tent. A barefooted Lew followed, still thinking I had lost my mind.

The bulls had begun to back off and the bigger of the two broke and made for the willows across a shallow pond. He was enormous and would have been the shooter had he given me the chance. The second bull stood there in all his glory and gave me the perfect quartering-away shot. All I could see was the right side of

“Sometimes I can’t believe it really happened,” Atkins says of his largest bull. “To see this monster squaring off against another equally big bull right behind our tent was incredible.” (LEW PAGEL)

his antler crowned with six brow points to form what appeared to be a “soup bowl.”

I looked at Lew, who looked back at me in disbelief. Wishing I had my bow, I raised the rifle and found the bull in the rifle scope. The loud boom vibrated through camp and the big bull swirled and fell. It was unbelievable, to say the least. Here we were on the first morning of our hunt and we had a big bull down right behind our tent not even 40 yards from the boat. How lucky can a couple guys get?

The second, bigger bull didn’t go far. We could hear him a short distance away crashing and thrashing the dense willow. Lew made a couple of calls in hopes he would decide to make another appearance and he was coming closer, but we decided then that one bull was enough. The thought of getting two back across the vicious lake on the way home was too foreboding. We never got the chance anyway. The big boy had had enough and ventured elsewhere looking for another foe.

Even though it wasn’t in the “classic” hunting style, I finally had my moose – the big bull that I had searched for so many long years.

He measured at 61 inches and weighed upwards of 1,500 pounds. The big boy was an easy pack to the boat, but only after Lew and I had a breakfast of coffee and cherry Pop-Tarts.

We earned it all. ASJ

Editor’s note: Paul Atkins’ proclaimed new book Atkins’ Alaska is available on Amazon and everywhere good books are sold. It can also be ordered through his website, paulatkinsoutdoors.com, and if you want an autographed copy contact Paul at atkinsoutdoors@gmail.com.