As I’ve yet to pull a tag for 2023 I figure it’s a good time to share some of what 2022 held for me. . .
I was lucky/unlucky enough to snag an archery moose tag.
It was in the same unit a good buddy had hunted the year prior and our wives hadn't fully recovered from the 2021 hunt when I broke the good news in 2022. The upside of the tag was that it was not terribly far from home. But that also happened to be the downside when the season runs from August 30 to November 23.
I'm no talented storyteller so I’ll spare you the bulk of the details. But - I had a brand new truck in June that hit 10,000 miles by December. I worked trail cameras, hiked and boated some of the nastiest, thickest river bottom country that I came to love and hate all at the same time. The biggest bulls stayed where they were safe as a low water year plagued my season, but just knowing what could be if the stars aligned kept me dragging my bow out day after day. I had a ton of help and support from family and friends; although I was about disowned when I passed on the biggest bull we knew to be in the unit as he stood up from his bed on a riverbank at 35 yards during the first week of November. He was a great bull, but I still had 3 weeks left to hunt, and who knows, maybe I could wish a bigger bull into existence. I spent the next 2 weeks trying to no avail. Then spent a week kicking myself as I waded frozen River-bottoms trying to turn back up the bull I had already passed on.
Well, at 3:30 pm, on November 23rd I turned him up and got a shot at 44 yards. I enjoyed some time reminiscing while waiting for family and friends to arrive and share in the spoils. The pack out was a little over a mile and necessitated waders and piggy back rides but made for memories that will never be forgotten.
I was lucky/unlucky enough to snag an archery moose tag.
It was in the same unit a good buddy had hunted the year prior and our wives hadn't fully recovered from the 2021 hunt when I broke the good news in 2022. The upside of the tag was that it was not terribly far from home. But that also happened to be the downside when the season runs from August 30 to November 23.
I'm no talented storyteller so I’ll spare you the bulk of the details. But - I had a brand new truck in June that hit 10,000 miles by December. I worked trail cameras, hiked and boated some of the nastiest, thickest river bottom country that I came to love and hate all at the same time. The biggest bulls stayed where they were safe as a low water year plagued my season, but just knowing what could be if the stars aligned kept me dragging my bow out day after day. I had a ton of help and support from family and friends; although I was about disowned when I passed on the biggest bull we knew to be in the unit as he stood up from his bed on a riverbank at 35 yards during the first week of November. He was a great bull, but I still had 3 weeks left to hunt, and who knows, maybe I could wish a bigger bull into existence. I spent the next 2 weeks trying to no avail. Then spent a week kicking myself as I waded frozen River-bottoms trying to turn back up the bull I had already passed on.
Well, at 3:30 pm, on November 23rd I turned him up and got a shot at 44 yards. I enjoyed some time reminiscing while waiting for family and friends to arrive and share in the spoils. The pack out was a little over a mile and necessitated waders and piggy back rides but made for memories that will never be forgotten.
