Newfoundland Day 9 (9/30/17)

​Well, the sun has set on my Newfoundland moose hunt. I’m going home without a moose, but with a heart renewed with adventure and swelling with new friendships.

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​The last day of any hunt is filled with high anticipation and today was no different. We awoke to clear skies, light wind, and a skimmer of ice on the ponds—a perfect day for hunting moose.
 
In the morning Steve, Bob, and I did a 5-km loop across a large flat that was dappled with forestland, bogs, and cutovers. We moved slowly into the wind, interspersing cow in heat calls with bull grunts. On a forested ridge, we found a fresh rut pit that reeked of bull-moose urine. We hid ourselves among some spruces and called for about 20 minutes, but got no response. The rest of the morning went along in much the same way—walk, hide, call, no response.
 
In the afternoon, I went with Michel, Mario, and Steve. We dropped Steve and Mario off at the trailhead leading to the location where I missed the cow, while Michel and I hit a new spot a few kilometers away. We worked timber, bogs, and blowdowns, but didn’t see or hear anything.
 
Back at the trailhead, we waited for Mario and Steve and when they didn’t show up by 30 minutes after dark, we started calling their cell phones. We didn’t hear back from them until nearly an hour after dark. Steve said he got confused on the way out and they wound up on the wrong side of the lake. He asked Michel to blow the horn, so they could find their way out. By this point, Michel was unhappy that Steve had gotten lost with a client in tow. After a long wait, we could see flashlights coming. Mario was first and you could tell by his body language that he was pissed!
 
He went straight to Michel and demanded to know why his guide was not carrying a GPS. Steve soon arrived and tried to explain what had happened. It was tense for a second, then all of a sudden, Mario thrust his arms in the air in a sign of victory and yelled in English heavily tainted with French, “we kill, we kill!” His smile beamed in the flashlight and we saw Steve’s bloody hands to confirm Mario’s antics.
 
It turned out, they worked the same group of cows that we encountered the night before. Just before dark, the cow I missed emerged from the timber showing no signs of injury, but this time she had a small bull in tow. Being the last day of the hunt, Mario happily took the small bull with his rifle.
 
I’m too tired for coherent writing at the moment, but tomorrow, I’ll draft a wrap-up post with a few thoughts about this hunt.
 
Keep the Traditional Spirit Alive!
 
Ron