Published by archerchick on 21 Feb 2010 at 08:49 pm
Father And Son Adventure – By Ted Nugent
Here’s some real giant-deer excitement!
Enormous antlers emerged from the impenetrable scrub bordering Moose Lake deep in the Yukon wilderness. Guttural grunts came forth with every long-legged stride of the dark-brown behemoth, and what we had here was a timeless standoff in the primeval hunting grounds of the majestic North Country, our predator nerves on fire. Twenty-seven-year-old son Toby was facing the beast with his NugeBow at the ready, his old man shaking over his right shoulder, video camera rolling, spirits electrified. Behind me was Keith Mark, owner of the MacMillan River Adventure concession, operating camera number five, and behind him was Master Guide Rod McGrath raising moose hell with grunts and tree-smashing sounds of his own. And on came the beast-step by brutish step, brush thrashing and grunting up a storm, ready to crush the Caucasian foursome who dared tread on his sacred breeding turf. What I was capturing on digital tape was gold!
After a year-long preparation, we were finally enjoying the glory of the mystical Canadian Yukon Territories. The breath-taking wilderness setting way out here on Moose lake was in itself worth the entire logistical endeavor. Keith and Rod have a slice of heaven on earth here in this unspoiled God’s country. With a beautiful log cabin with a generator and motorboats, we were both remote yet cushy in the heart of trophy moose habitat. In fact, more than half the recorded trophy Alaska- Yukon moose entries in the big-game record books come from this MacMillan River concession, and Keith and Rod’s camps produce 100 percent trophy book kills year after year. Truly amazing, but understandable when one witnesses the sheer gargantuan effort put forth by such masterful guides and outfitters. These guys live hunting, moose hunting in particular, and it is impossible to distinguish real moose sounds from the sounds these guys produce themselves. Thrilling stuff.
With bad weather and a giant full moon compromising an already difficult hunt that was to be much too short in duration, we had a few close encounters on our first three days of hunting, but no shots as of yet. Now we had the beast in our face in the proverbial last hour of light on the last day of hunting, and the boys were cocked, locked and ready to rock, doc!
We had spotted this huge bull from a mile away and had circled the big lake to get the wind in our face for our final half-mile stalk.’Walking slowly and cautiously along the shoreline, carefully stepping over slick rocks and ducking noisy vegetation, we heard the telltale huff-grunts of the old bull ahead. Moving at a snail’s pace, we weaseled our way amongst the thick stands of saplings and blow-downs when Keith said, “Here he comes!”
Making his entrance from the heavy spruce thicket 70 yards ahead, the old boy gave us the show of our lives, doing every exciting thing God designed a moose to do as he defiantly strode toward us. As badly as I was shaking, I was surprised to see such a clear and steady video unfolding in my viewfinder. Being as moosified as one can get, I was even more excited that my son was in front of me, experiencing this electrifying dynamo that only a close bowhunting encounter with a territorial moose can deliver. I was in total nerve control mode at this point. And on he came.
At 35 yards, he hung up and terrorized some innocent vegetation, slobbering, grunting and tongue wagging the whole time.With the beast facing us square on, Toby knew there was no shot here. After ample nerve-wracking face-off time, he turned broadside, but of course there was a bent spruce hanging directly over his vitals, negating any arrow shot. ‘We stared down. The giant turned to leave and Rod emitted a perfect, chesty, grunt-huff that stopped the bull. I could now see Toby and the bull in full frame together as Toby began to draw his bow. I slowly zoomed past Toby’s
flexed form to the moose as the dull thud of the release brought his white arrow into frame, chunking square into the bull massive left shoulder just above his outstretched foreleg. The 30-inch zebra-striped arrow was now showing only 10 inches as the bull frantically pivoted to escape the sting. That my video footage remained smooth was nothing short of a miracle, for the hardcore bowhunter that I am wanted to leap maniacally for joy knowing exactly what this ail meant. You can hear a tense whisper from me on film, “He’s had it son! You got him! Perfect!” I was about to implode!
How my camera remained steady as the huge bull trotted 30 yards and fell over dead in a matter of seconds, I will never know. Somehow I maintained the wherewithal to actually slowly pan wide back to Toby as he thrust his bow into the air and exalted,”YEAH! Unbelievable!” Panning slowly to Keith
and Rod, the celebration was well out of control now. We all but danced naked upon the tundra with sheer joy and abandon. The beast is dead-long live the beast!
Just up the knoll a short way before us lay the largest deer in the world, and one of the largest moose you could ever dream of, We filmed a joyous yet solemn recovery and marveled at what we had just been a part of Tobys Renegade NugeBow, set at a very lightweight 50-pound draw, had sent a 100-grain Magnus Stinger four-blade broadhead on a 400- grain Gold Tip carbon arrow clean through the behemoth chest cavity of a monster bull moose from 32 yards. At 50 pounds, he was shooting the lightest bow we have in our archery arsenal, and proved irrefutably the terminal killing efficiency of the lightweight bow and arrow. The bull had traveled but a short 30 or so yards after the hit and had died in mere seconds. It was captured on film as proof positive that anyone can cleanly kill the biggest of North American big game with lightweight tackle. Surely the killer design of the Stingert scalpel sharp cutting edge is a critical ingredient’ but ultimately it was Toby’s dedication to responsible proficiency that put that arrow dead center into the pump station of the mighty beast. That’s how ya do that.
Of course, now the fun begins as the four of us worked diligently to render the beast into family-sized portions of the greatest pure protein God has ever offered mankind. There is something deeply stirring in working on the carcass of any animal killed for food, but a more than 1,500-pound beast such as this bull moose truly humbles one to better appreciate the amazing creation and balance of it all. The animal was ultimately respected by reverently handling the sacred flesh as the precious gift that it is. And the Spirit of the Wild soared on.<–<<
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