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It seems only appropriate that I compose my December column about my 2007 Maine moose hunt while being inspired by the mouthwatering smell of the moose roast roasting in the oven at this very moment.
As I envisioned in my October “Ruth’s Rifle” column, a bull moose wide and heavy of antler did indeed come to a cow call, grunting from deep down in his chest. And yes, the heirloom Savage .300 rifle barked and the shots were true. As expected, this proved to be a special event for a variety of reasons: having waited 20 years to draw a Maine moose permit, carrying that old Maine rifle, and hunting with my subpermittee, Scott, and his son Ethan. The icing on the cake was that my friend and guide, Dick, used a handmade birchbark call to make cow moose vocalizations to bring in this bull. It couldn’t have been a more traditional Maine moose hunt.
I’m not going to raise blood pressures here with a blow-by-blow account of this hunt, as that’s best left for Hook and Bullet magazine. But I will say that any illusion that all moose hunts consist of driving mindlessly for hours on logging roads, hoping an unsuspecting moose is spotted within winching distance of the road, simply isn’t the case. Outside of considerable preseason scouting, this hunt took place on foot, with a concern for concealment and wind direction similar to deer hunting. And the bull was enticed into range using cow moose calls not unlike a wild turkey gobbler strutting into hen calls. I’m not suggesting that moose are as wary or as challenging as whitetail deer or a wild turkey. But they are evolving into a much more wary creature than is commonly believed, likely due to this annual moose hunt. I’m not going to try to justify the Maine moose hunt here but found the feedback to my successful hunt interesting, enlightening, and a bit sobering.
For the most part, the reaction I got after taking this bull moose is why I love living in Maine—at least this region of Maine. My hunting crew got plenty of smiles and thumbs-ups from motorists and road workers as we trailered the beast to the registration station and off to the butcher. We even had a Channel 5 TV crew come over at the registration station and video the bull and ask us questions about the hunt, which was aired that evening. A crowd gathered around the trailer when we stopped for coffee, and people took photos and congratulated us and remarked at what a wonderful trophy it was and what good eating it would make. I particularly remember a good-natured comment that was made by one of the people gathered around the moose, “Best not drive through Massachusetts with that.” Someone else responded with, “or southern Maine.” The group all laughed and nodded in agreement, but I fully realized how true and poignant those observations were.
Along with the positive response, I also received negative comments about my moose hunt: that people felt bad for the animal; that it was wrong; that I should be ashamed in some way. The photos we took disturbed some people. I’ve grown to expect that sentiment as hunting has become less acceptable to the general public. What perplexes me is that many, if not all, those people are meat eaters, and some even requested some moose meat. It appears to be only acceptable to them as long as they have no responsibility for procuring the meat. Their ham sandwich or fried chicken is disguised and packaged—and is far enough removed from the slaughterhouse that it no longer has any relationship to the actual animal it came from. To be faced with the real on-the-hoof creature, even a picture of one, is simply too much for some to, quite literally, stomach. The disparity, to me, seems absurd. I have no problem if someone chooses to buy store-bought meat and thus separate themselves from where it came from, and expect equal consideration when I and other hunters choose to provide our families and friends with wild game whenever possible. In this case, the 760-pound field-dressed animal, once processed, yielded over 300 pounds of lean, healthy moose burger, sausage, steaks, and roasts.
I’m bothered that this area of Maine is becoming like other states, where you no longer see photos of hunters with their deer and bear and moose alongside photos of baseball players and golfers on the sports pages of local newspapers. I am troubled that, as this area becomes more popular and developed, the smiles and thumbs-ups will be replaced by frowns and being flipped “the bird” as hunters bring their game to be weighed and registered. I think something real and honest will be lost. I’m sure others will say good riddance. But for the time being, I am thankful that we still live in an area where a moose taken legally is something to be proud of and the hunt an experience to treasure.
Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.
As I envisioned in my October “Ruth’s Rifle” column, a bull moose wide and heavy of antler did indeed come to a cow call, grunting from deep down in his chest. And yes, the heirloom Savage .300 rifle barked and the shots were true. As expected, this proved to be a special event for a variety of reasons: having waited 20 years to draw a Maine moose permit, carrying that old Maine rifle, and hunting with my subpermittee, Scott, and his son Ethan. The icing on the cake was that my friend and guide, Dick, used a handmade birchbark call to make cow moose vocalizations to bring in this bull. It couldn’t have been a more traditional Maine moose hunt.
I’m not going to raise blood pressures here with a blow-by-blow account of this hunt, as that’s best left for Hook and Bullet magazine. But I will say that any illusion that all moose hunts consist of driving mindlessly for hours on logging roads, hoping an unsuspecting moose is spotted within winching distance of the road, simply isn’t the case. Outside of considerable preseason scouting, this hunt took place on foot, with a concern for concealment and wind direction similar to deer hunting. And the bull was enticed into range using cow moose calls not unlike a wild turkey gobbler strutting into hen calls. I’m not suggesting that moose are as wary or as challenging as whitetail deer or a wild turkey. But they are evolving into a much more wary creature than is commonly believed, likely due to this annual moose hunt. I’m not going to try to justify the Maine moose hunt here but found the feedback to my successful hunt interesting, enlightening, and a bit sobering.
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For the most part, the reaction I got after taking this bull moose is why I love living in Maine—at least this region of Maine. My hunting crew got plenty of smiles and thumbs-ups from motorists and road workers as we trailered the beast to the registration station and off to the butcher. We even had a Channel 5 TV crew come over at the registration station and video the bull and ask us questions about the hunt, which was aired that evening. A crowd gathered around the trailer when we stopped for coffee, and people took photos and congratulated us and remarked at what a wonderful trophy it was and what good eating it would make. I particularly remember a good-natured comment that was made by one of the people gathered around the moose, “Best not drive through Massachusetts with that.” Someone else responded with, “or southern Maine.” The group all laughed and nodded in agreement, but I fully realized how true and poignant those observations were.
Along with the positive response, I also received negative comments about my moose hunt: that people felt bad for the animal; that it was wrong; that I should be ashamed in some way. The photos we took disturbed some people. I’ve grown to expect that sentiment as hunting has become less acceptable to the general public. What perplexes me is that many, if not all, those people are meat eaters, and some even requested some moose meat. It appears to be only acceptable to them as long as they have no responsibility for procuring the meat. Their ham sandwich or fried chicken is disguised and packaged—and is far enough removed from the slaughterhouse that it no longer has any relationship to the actual animal it came from. To be faced with the real on-the-hoof creature, even a picture of one, is simply too much for some to, quite literally, stomach. The disparity, to me, seems absurd. I have no problem if someone chooses to buy store-bought meat and thus separate themselves from where it came from, and expect equal consideration when I and other hunters choose to provide our families and friends with wild game whenever possible. In this case, the 760-pound field-dressed animal, once processed, yielded over 300 pounds of lean, healthy moose burger, sausage, steaks, and roasts.
I’m bothered that this area of Maine is becoming like other states, where you no longer see photos of hunters with their deer and bear and moose alongside photos of baseball players and golfers on the sports pages of local newspapers. I am troubled that, as this area becomes more popular and developed, the smiles and thumbs-ups will be replaced by frowns and being flipped “the bird” as hunters bring their game to be weighed and registered. I think something real and honest will be lost. I’m sure others will say good riddance. But for the time being, I am thankful that we still live in an area where a moose taken legally is something to be proud of and the hunt an experience to treasure.
Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.
Reader Comments:
hi i grew up in maine, i now live in n.h. i have to say i liked your article l have 6 brothers and they are all hunters one brother is also a trapper and he has gotten 2 moose i agree with you that the response to hunters is not like it was years ago there is nothing wrong with feeding your family and friends i am getting this magazine for my father for christmas after reading your article i think he will really like it thanks so much julie
I too appreciate your article. I grew up in Southern Aroostook County. I am a hunter and have had one oppertunity to take a delicious Maine moose. I now live in the Central/Eastern part of the state, and some of our new friends are disgusted by the game pole in the back yard that my hunting friends and I use. Sometimes, there are several deer hanging at once, which I find as an opportune time to invite my "disgusted" friends over for dinner! I do my own butchering in the garage and customarily throw a piece of tenderloin on the grill while processing the rest of the deer. All of the hard work involved (from the hunt to the meal) makes it taste that much sweeter!
AG