A Father’s Christmas Present to his Son.

This moose article was written by Craig Johnson via his 2011 moose hunt with us.

A few years ago I found myself in the mood to hunt moose. So I contacted every outfitter that was listed as a nonresident moose guide on the Manitoba Conservation Department website. After corresponding with many of them, I felt that Russ Bettschen at Lynn Lake Fly-In Outpost Camp Outfitters offered the best combination of price, success ratio, and trophy potential. I could have booked a cheaper hunt, but not one that offered the success ratios experienced by hunters at Lynn Lake. There were hunts that promised better trophy potential, but not at a price I could afford. I talked to a representative from every group of moose hunters that hunted with Russ in the previous two years, and one thing that impressed me was the rate of return customers. Most had hunted bear or fished with Russ in the past, so they were obviously satisfied customers. I put Russ through the wringer with questions about his operation, and he was able to satisfy me in every case.

This was important, because I wanted to bring my 12 year old son Luke along to hunt. When he was 9, Luke started doing long road trips with me to hunt deer, and by the time he was 11 he had already taken a half dozen deer with my big Remington 700 seven mag. I knew he had the desire, the stamina, and the ability to go on a moose hunt. He knew I was planning a moose hunt for the next fall, and at Christmastime he found out that he would be tagging along. I am sure that I have inspired many tears in my life, but his were probably the first that were tears of joy. Luke said he didn’t know that he could ask for a moose hunt for Christmas, but he would have if he had known.

We counted the months and days until the hunt, and when the time came we found ourselves on a remote fly-in lake in the Northern Manitoba wilderness accompanied only by our guide Al and the supplies we brought with us. Early in the hunt we spotted a pack of wolves moving along the lakeshore. Luke and I had discussed this possibility, and I had promised him that if it occurred, he could have first shot. He held me to my word, and when one of those wolves stepped into the open to cross some rapids, Luke put him down with one shot. The wolf was not large, but Luke is still one of the only people I know personally who can claim to have killed a wolf.

Later on we were motoring down the lake when I spotted two light colored oblong parallel shapes about 75 yards into the bush. I knew immediately that it was a bull moose and I excitedly pointed it out to Al. He spun the boat around as Luke readied the rifle. Between the wind and waves, and the moose moving in and out of cover, Luke was not able to get a shot. The bull moved into heavier cover, and we lost him—for the time being.

Since it was midday and we were heading back to camp we continued on, ate our lunch and took a short rest. Then we got in the boat and headed back toward where we had seen the moose. We hadn’t gone far when I caught a glimpse of a black shape in a break in the lakeshore brush. From a distance, moose appear to be pitch black with stark white antlers. I concentrated on the spot where I had seen the black shape, and in the next break in the brush I realized it was a bull! I pointed it out to Al and Luke, and while Al directed the boat toward the moose, Luke got the rifle ready.

In preparation for the trip, Luke and I had discussed the strategy for killing a moose. Moose are large animals and they can soak up a lot of lead. When you get a shot at a moose, no matter how good the shot is, if the moose is on his feet, you shoot him again. If he is still on his feet, you shoot him again. And you keep shooting until the moose goes down. Luke did a great job in following this strategy. I particularly remember the third or fourth shot he took. The moose was moving parallel to the shore about fifty yards into some marshy brush. As he stepped into an opening, Luke made a great broadside shot. The bull hunched up and lunged forward, crashing brush and flattening trees. After another shot or two, the moose turned away from the water and made his way into some trees on higher ground. We watched the area patiently for about five minutes, occasionally discerning some movement. Al decided it was time to check it out, so we carefully stalked to where we last saw the moose. He was there, down but not quite out. Luke made the coup-de-grace, and he had his bull, a fine six by six 45” prehistoric-looking monster. I doubt anyone has ever seen a happier twelve year old. It turned out to be the same moose that we had lost earlier in the day.

We were hunting the first week of the season and it was unseasonably warm. It was sunny, 70’s during the day, and the moose were not responsive to calling. We were seeing lots of tracks near shore, but no more bulls. Three days after Luke got his moose, we tried a new area. Al would call, we would wait, and then move to a new spot. At our third spot that morning, after calling and waiting, I was anxious to move to a new spot. But Al kicked back in the boat, lit up a cigarette, and poured a cup of coffee. I know it is best not to second guess your guide, so I bit my tongue. Al’s forced patience paid off, because a few minutes later I looked across the bay and saw the black shape of a bull framed by two white paddles of antlers. “There’s a bull!” I shouted.

We made our way around the bay and got as close as we could to the bull. The wind and waves prevented me from getting a steady rest, and the bull was not interested in Al’s calling. He wandered back into the heavy cover without presenting a good shot. Fortunately, Al knew what to do. He knew there was a creek flowing into the lake between us and the moose. He thought that the moose wanted to cross it, so he pushed the boat a short ways up the creek and waited. After about ten minutes, he pointed up the creek and whispered urgently, “There he is!”

I snapped the rifle up and took a shot, and the moose immediately lunged across the creek and out of sight. We pushed the boat a bit further up the creek and got out to stalk closer along the bank. We spotted what at first appeared to be a large mottled gray rock protruding out of the brush but turned out to be the hindquarters of the wounded moose standing there, mostly obscured by the brush. With my scope I could see how the moose was positioned. I put the crosshairs on the point of the shoulder, and at the shot the big bull fell over like a brick wall. We got back in the boat, crossed the creek, and the tough animal still required a final shot to end the hunt. My bull measured 51”. It is a lot of work to field dress, quarter, and haul a moose out of the bush, but as I like to say, it is a good problem to have. I have pictures of the cargo canoe we were towing, packed with quarters and topped with a moose rack, with the sun setting on the horizon.

Most guys probably wouldn’t take a 12 year old on a hunt like this, and it is probably unusual for a boy to be ready for a hunt of this magnitude at such a young age. But none of us know what will happen next year, so I always seize opportunities like this when they arise. Don’t put the trip off. Do it! We experienced the emotional highs and lows that only hunters understand– the disappointment of losing an animal, the rewards of persistence, and the euphoria of success. For the rest of our lives, every time Luke or I look at the moose antlers hanging on our wall, we will remember the incredible adventure we had with Lynn Lake Fly-In Outpost Camp Outfitters.