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The Moose. As promised in the Weirdo Overlords thread jack
#1
Prelude:

I am not a hunter, although an old unit of mine's unofficial motto was: "Those that hunt the hunters." This is to say I don't like the idea of hunting Game animals for sport. I have nothing against hunting, even trophy hunting. Trophy hunting tends to take the biggest and oldest animals and tosses a spanner into the gene pool of local game. This can be a good thing. The money these great white hunters pour into game hunts really helps the locals and the economy. I know there is another side to the coin, I am not naive; but the guides know better than anyone else what the status of the local wildlife is. 

So sport hunting in BC as a resident is really not much of a sport for someone that can easily make 500 yard kill shots. Our Mule and White Tail deer are as thick as mice in a Disney Cartoon in some places. If they don't end up in freezers then they end up freezing to death in the winter. Or a vast majority do as Conservation used to set up feeding stations for winter. Then budget cuts happened and...Killing fields of deer skulls. Wolves ate well those years. 

Anyway I don't want to turn this into a hunt anti hunting thread. I have hunted as a social recreation and loved the stalking and camping elements of hunting just not the killing wildlife part. A social choice and a hypocritical one as I love eating wild meat and regular protein sources too. SO it is as they say complicated. I prefer not to kill wild animals as I like them. If you kill it, I'll eat it. But I guess that isn't too far off the norm. If you had to stab a little pig for bacon...

I think we'd have more vegan types. 

The Cabin is located two hours down a forest service road away from the very small town of Quesnell BC Canada. It had been in Johns family for three generations. The area is remote and brutally cold in the winter. Dangerously cold with temperatures dropping to -25 metric in the winter months. It is accessible only via four wheel drive, with any certainty as heavy rain can turn the roads carved through the bush into sticky axle snapping mires. 

The sun crested the peak and pierced the interior of the Cabin. Reveling dust motes and soiled windows well in need of cleaning job we had been invited to participate in. The others were sleeping, having restless laughed off last nights entertainment. I had played the cult classic Evil Dead on a eight by ten foot bed sheet, complete with surround sound. The whiskey/vodka and beer had combined with the atmosphere of the remote cabin and had made easy sleep; difficult. 

I flipped the ten pancakes and tossed a kilogram of bacon on the remaining cast iron cooking surface. The stove was huge and until the other two pot bellied units had been installed, served as the only heat source for the cabin. I marveled at the effort it would have took to drag it here. Wider than any opening in the cabin, it was obvious the cabin had been built around it. I remembered it had taken six of us to move it a few feet to hook up a new chimney a few years ago. 

The cooking bacon, and coffee scent drifted into the main living area and stirred the sleepers to awaken. Tomorrow was hunting season, so today would be spent cleaning and washing the cabin and sighing in rifles. My job as camp chef would continue for the week. I thought I might go along for a couple of hunts just to watch, but wasn't certain. The stream of  hung-over half dressed men began and I took my breakfast outside to enjoy a cigar and see how much damage the beavers, that I'd blow up last year, had managed to make. 

These industrious rodents might be the symbol of Canada but in this location their activities had surpassed many human damming operations. Flooding the meadow to the point of submerging the cabin. A market for the beetle kill pine that were numerous in the region had brought commercial logging to the cabin. The roads turned to beaver highways when the rain filled them and like an organized rodent army they had constructed a dam that flooded the meadow and log sorting areas. I didn't care about the flooded machines in the logging camp but the cabin was someplace I had been coming to for 20 years. It had grown from a shotgun shack to a two level swiss style chalet, complete with solar power and running water. A bathroom indoors was on the agenda for next year complete with a Swedish sauna. The beavers were driven, organized, and relentless. The beavers hadn't had the faintest understanding of home-made plastic explosive and Perlite. Perlite is a mixture of diesel and common triple zero fertilizer at a four to one ratio. I had made some plastic and brought a floating style boom used to contain oil spills at sea. Last year the great die off had begun with filling the forty yard/meter boom with the mixture. The boom was then floated over to the dam and plastic charges placed on each end. I laughed remembering we had used an 18650 cell and an old style bell alarm clock as the timer. 

The blast had shattered the trees damming the meadow into kindling. It had been the typical if three is good six is better and twelve is just right error in planning. The explosion had created a small tsunami and with our ears still ringing from the blast we found ourselves swamped by it. The Beavers abode was 20 meters away and Shawn and John both said they had seen water splash up out of the mud and sticks igloo at the very top. The water rushed for freedom towards the sea many hundred kilometers away. Five days later, in the summer heat the meadow was dry and showing new life as flowers and grass began to grow and the stench from the beaver house confirmed the noxious rodents had been vanquished. 

That had been last year. This year had brought a new crew of the rodents and come the summer another deterrent might be necessary. But that was for another time. The rest of the day was spent in ideal work and with six pairs of hands the cabin was clean and my pot roast ready for the hungry. Tonight the Christmas Movie Die Hard was on the agenda. An early starting time as hunting season opened the next day. 

Opening Day

The deck in the early morning is a magical place and John joined me silently to smoke and enjoy his first cup of coffee. Wordlessly we listened to the birds begin to complain of cold feet as the dawn grew closer. Each of us rose and inhaled the clean crisp air before going inside. Adam, John's hunting partner, was young and excited. Playing with gear and going over some mental list to insure he had everything they would need for his first moose hunt. Each of them had drawn a tag in the lottery run by the government that allowed them to take an adult male. The cabin was warm and the coffee pot on the stove was making the dying gurgle sounds of a fresh pot of perc coffee. 

I poured John another cup. "John, what size is the front optic on your scope?" I asked.

"48mm Why?"

"I have a really expensive enhancing filter I used for photography. I thought it was the same size so I brought it along for you. You can have it if you want. It enhances contrast and the like across different colors. It should make a moose pop into view quite well." 

" Cool. Lets see if it fits." 

I handed him the filter and he screwed it onto the rifles scope. First checking the chamber and making sure it was empty he brought the rifle up and pointed it across the meadow, through the kitchen window at the amber lit logging camp. 

"Holy crap. Yeah! The colors really pop and the contrast is nice. Awesome thanks." 

"No prob."

Adam, feeling left out quipped in. "Are you coming with us this morning?" 

"Yeah. Everyone else is still snoring and I got a cigar to finish." I replied. 


Forty minutes later found us bouncing down a cut block along the edge of the road toward another beaver flooded meadow John thought might be the best place to find a moose. Day break was just cresting the tall mountains turning them silver and then gold. The big fords diesel was idling along and had just come up to temperture. It was Adam's new truck and he was being very anal about shutting it off. I listened to the two argue about if it was hard to shut it off on on while doing small scouting trips into the bush and down into the meadow/swamp. I watched the low cloud as they were chased up the mountains to the peaks by the warming wet valley floor mists. The gold swirling into the silver as the day arrived. 

The bickering of two threatened to turn my good mood foul. I was now driving, and Adam was in the passenger seat, with John in the back. I was contemplating treating one or both of them to a corrective back hand as my father had employed years earlier on similar roads. 

Then I saw the cow. She was in the middle of the swamp to my left and happily enjoying some 'poke' salad breakfast. 

"Cow!" I pointed out the front. 

"We don't have tags for a cow Scott." Adam replied and then continued. "Pull over, and don't turn off the truck. I got to take a piss." 

As I pulled the big truck slowly to the shoulder John and I caught each others eye. The look communicated what Adam's inexperience  had shown. Cow equals Bull as this was the season where the magic happened. I stopped the truck and all of us got out. 

I heard John work the action on his rifle and chamber a round. Adams rifle was still inside the vehicle. John used binoculars to look on the opposite side of the swamp. I looked up the cut block and road forward. Adam was complaining of cold hands and John sushed him. 

I saw the first tree sway against the wind a few seconds later. I reached in and turned off the truck. This got Adam squawking about turning off the truck so he never heard me on the other side say to John. " Tree sway my side two hundred meters." Adam continued to go on about how it was his truck and brand new...

Out of the freshly replanted cut block emerged a monster moose. He was about 180 years away and totally sillouetted against the morning dawn. John raised his rifle beside me. I stepped back and against the truck and watched as he swore and tore off his glasses, letting them fall. He continued to sight the rifle. 

"Fuck! It's fogged, I can't see."

"Use the open sights!" I replied, understanding that the filter we had put on in the warm moist air cabin had trapped that air and turned to moisture inside. 

"I can't too far for my eyes. I can't be certain. You take it." He said handing me the rifle. "Safety is off."

I swung the rifle up and using the iron open sights picked a spot just behind the front flank. I was standing in the middle of the triangle of the open door. The barrel pointed between the hinged opening, and a little back. I squeezed the trigger. 

BOOM! 

"Ouch! Fuck!! What the fuc, jesus christ owe!" Adam protested from the passenger side and the barrels shockwave travelled across the inside window. 

The Moose skipped two steps forward and went down nose first. 

"Great shot! Took his lungs for sure!" John cried out. I cleared the rifle and placed it back on safe, handing it to John. "Empty chamber, safety on." 

Adam came around to our side and both John and I could see how the blast had interupted his aim, evidenced all over the front of his grey hunting pants. "Fucking guys jesus I almost tore my dick off." 

"Follow us up in the truck, there might be another, never know what these horny swamp cows are going to do." John said as he chambered a round and started walking. I followed John. 

We arrived at the kill to find a bloody nosed huge bull moose. The round had indeed taken out both lungs and his heart. The heavy bullets punch forcing the bloody damage up and out its nose. As I stared down at his big dulap and huge brown eyes I felt tears trace their way down my cheeks. Here he was one moment going to get himself some nice sexy swamp cow action and boom game over. The tears continued as Adam pulled up and excitedly exited the truck. "Holy shit he is a monster! Wow that has to be one of the biggest fuc...What? Really is the big dangerous mercenary crying over a moose? Seriously captain super soldier is a enviropussy..."

My gaze, tear stained met his, and stopped his mouth. 

John stepped between us. "Adam! Shut the fuck up. He likes animals more than he likes you. You he'd gut and leave hanging in a tree for the fucking wolves, crack a beer and go home. He likes wildlife alright? Enough! Scott you got overwatch." He finishes handing me the loaded rifle. My gaze remains on Adam for a second more than he is comfortable with and he drains of color. I walk to the back of the truck and climb into the back to watch for predators looking to steal a kill. 

The full morning arrives and the birds come fully into the game and intrude on my thoughts. 

Do I really like animals more than Adam?
Could I really gut and then crack a beer?
Does John really believe this to be true or was he just talking for effect? 
Why don't I feel these things like everybody else?

The Zen and Overwatch...
Beast Master,JunkyMonkey,Drinks with Wolves,Fup'd Duck,Sheriff Ricochet Cockroach 4B's 1 cluster,3 TFMS Tempory Weirdo Overlord replacement 
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  • rvpopeye (04-22-2020), Cammalu (04-22-2020), BCGuy (04-22-2020), Snikwahjm (04-22-2020)
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#2
I had a showdown with a ton+ of moose once ,in the end he jumped ten feet up onto a ledge and walked away...
I think we both won that round !

And YES a ton of moose CAN fly. yyyyyyyyyup!

Hope the greenie made it back from that trip..........
Stay Tuned
rvpopeye



Weirdo Overlord  YARC 
ROOIRIA  
15 "Stinkin'Badges"  a "Full Monty Badge" 2 "Just Ignore Me" clusters  10 "Pine Cone" clusters  , one "Stinkin' Badger" and 8 of the coveted "Flying Manure Spreader"awards
(What a "Stinkin' " honor !)
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  • Scott7022 (04-22-2020)
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#3
I've nothing comparable.

Back in my BB gun phase of youth I often aimed at birds or squirrels, but never pulled the trigger.

One time I had a friend over after school and he was like: 'lets hunt something.'
We stalked the woods, and I lined up this little bird and pulled the trigger and it dropped, motionless.

We both walked up close and looked at it with an incomprehensible sadness, and wound up burying it.

I've never seen a Moose but on TV.
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#4
Yes the Greenie survived. Although he did the great white hunter stupid and ate a piece of raw liver and spent the next three days in the outhouse splashing the walls. Lol.

Sternwake I think your experience is slightly more to the norm. Better too. I was raised around hunting by soldiers. Dad was a WW2 vet and Brother Vietnam. So I grew up hunting gophers in the summer. Stallin like numbers of gophers.

Moose. Moose are magical in abilities number one. I once had one tear a Ford F-350 apart because it was in the rut and the stupid driver honked at it on a one lane road. Whole front end totaled.


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Beast Master,JunkyMonkey,Drinks with Wolves,Fup'd Duck,Sheriff Ricochet Cockroach 4B's 1 cluster,3 TFMS Tempory Weirdo Overlord replacement 
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#5
Hahaha. Good story as usual


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monkeyfoot
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  • Scott7022 (04-23-2020)
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#6
Great story! I had a remote bear camp on the west side of the Upper Penensula 10 miles on 2 track off of M38. 580 miles from home in the same state that's why I learned to fly. Even in prewar antiques it was 3 hours & in the Bonanza (sister ship to the one Buddy Holly died in & 1st year they made them 1947) It was under 2. We must have taught 100+ people to bear hunt but anymore I have no desire to kill the majestic bear who owns the forest. Camp life was always fun & I had 6x6s, snocats, Tokon 2x2 moterbikes with tractor tiires to get in the 10 miles of 2 track. What I loved was when there I only thought of the basics, eating, sleeping, bathing (had a great sauna). I miss those days but had to quit after breaking my back. Had to stop for a couple moose near Thunder Bay on a motorcycle trip are ound the great lakes. Thanks for them memory!
"If a law is unjust, a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so." - Thomas Jefferson
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