A MOOSE FOR MAGNUS

A MOOSE FOR

A very cold morning dawns in Canada’s Rocky Mountains, where guide Cassidy Caron and her Swedish client, Magnus, a lifelong moose hunter, hoped to find a mature animal. A big bull lurks in the woods at close range; this moose was lucky, as its antlers didn’t meet the minimum requirements to be legal in this part of British Columbia.

A Swedish hunter gets a bit more than he bargained for during a guided hunt for a big bull in British Columbia's frigid and grizzly-rich backcountry.

STORY AND PHOTOS BY CASSIDY CARON

One of the most rewarding parts of being a big game guide is helping clients fulfill their dreams. Sharing our rugged lifestyle and the wild backcountry we call home is all in a day’s work. While functioning in extreme conditions and in extreme places becomes almost “ordinary” to a guide, we are aware of the privilege and responsibility of revealing the secrets of the chase, in a traditional and ethical fashion, to someone who has traveled from as far as half the world away to join us for a unique experience.

When Magnus’s family contacted me to arrange a moose hunt for him as a surprise for his 60th birthday, I knew this was going to be one of those super-special hunts. As a lifelong moose hunter in Sweden, it had been Magnus’s dream for many decades to travel to Canada and hunt our larger moose species in the vast and unmatched wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.

Being entrusted with such a dream comes with a lot of pressure. ere are so many variables in hunting that can’t be controlled. Bad weather and bad luck can move front and center very quickly. e mountains don’t always yield their treasures, even when a deserving person works hard to earn them.

Trying to help someone cross off a bucket-list item in nine days of an unpredictable wilderness adventure can be a challenging task.

WHEN MAGNUS’S HUNT began in late October, our unseasonably warm and mild fall weather held. But my gut feeling – and glances at the (rarely accurate) forecast – told me that winter was going to hit at any moment. A change in weather is usually welcome to spark up lateseason hunting action, but our neck of the woods doesn’t ease into things. Winter has a tendency to arrive like a runaway coal train.

Access would become difficult as winter arrived, temperatures dropped and snow began to stack up. A big bull migrates to winter range.

e first days of Magnus’s hunt were amazing. e moose sensed the coming onslaught of tougher times and were heavily on the move. We saw many bulls, but none made the minimum requirement to be legal under British Columbia’s antler restriction rules.

On day three, Magnus’s friend Claus, who joined him on the hunt, missed a shot at an incredible bull. Although it was a shame to lose a chance at one of that caliber, it was a good sign that the mature bulls were still in the area. Despite Claus’s close call and seeing an exciting number of moose, Magnus and I had not had a chance at his dream bull.

By the fourth day, the action was slowing. As I had suspected it would, the weather suddenly changed as an extreme cold front rolled in. e moose hunkered down. It never ceases to amaze me how hard it can be to find a black animal, approximately the size of a pickup truck, when they don’t want to be found.

I decided that our best chance at fulfilling Magnus’s dream would be to hunt in a high-traffic migration corridor that moose might be using to

“LET’S GO.” MAGNUS clearly wanted to try something new for the evening hunt. Believe me, I did not need much encouragement to call it quits on sitting in that tree stand. An igloo would have been more comfortable. But my gut – the secret weapon of every good guide – told me we had so much invested in this spot, we couldn’t abandon it. ere is a saying, “If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.” But for me, the question is, What if you stop just short of the treasure that led

exit the mountains as winter barreled in. We set up in a tree stand. Despite having a Buddy heater to keep the frigid edge off, it was painful to sit.

In the first hour, a small bull passed by. I sensed I had made a good call on choosing this location, but as the cold day dragged on, nothing else emerged from the low, dead light of the frigid willow meadow.

We returned the next day to see that the game trail by the stand was trampled with fresh tracks. at gave us the motivation we needed to sit another day. But it was agonizing. e freezing day crept by without any sign of the moose that had made all the tracks during the night.

It wasn’t until 4 p.m. – eight brutal hours of sitting later – that a decent bull materialized out of the surrounding forest. After so many hours of dreadful boredom and discomfort, seeing the huge body just appear seemingly from nowhere was a rush. But it quickly became apparent that this was not the bull of a lifetime that we had been waiting for.

It was a long, cold hike back to the truck and the mood in camp that night was subdued. e sudden temperature change had brought a lull in moose activity and guides in other areas were not having much luck either. Despite not wanting to spend another second in that tree stand, I forced us to return to it for a third day in a row.

It was the worst day yet. Nothing stirred, except a few pesky squirrels that came by so routinely that we began to name them. By midafternoon, Magnus had had enough. He had not traveled such great distances in pursuit of a dream to name squirrels!

This smaller bull got a pass earlier in the hunt.

As late-season weather set in, a cabin offered a cozy sanctuary from the conditions.

Moose were on the move as winter weather finally arrived.

you to start digging in the first place?

It’s very challenging as a guide to have to make these decisions, particularly when you are getting down to the wire with time. Secondguessing yourself, and then having a client second-guess you, can really get into your head and throw you off your game. Of course, I knew how much this hunt meant to Magnus.

I made the call to wait longer. Magnus’s response was less than enthusiastic. As the sun dipped down and the temperatures plummeted to “holy crap” level, Magnus again wanted to leave the stand.

“No, we are committed now.”

I told him that we didn’t have time to hunt anywhere else that day and, though the truck heater and padded seats did seem pretty inviting, it would be silly to leave at that point. It was numbingly cold and numbingly boring. We had not seen an animal all day.

And then there he was.

It had been so many hours of nothingness, not counting the squirrels. We had logged 30-some hours in the past days of gazing around that empty snow-covered meadow. en suddenly, there was that huge black body towering above the deep, white sea of willow, his long, powerful stride taking him with ease over the frozen tangle. For his size, the moose was impossibly silent and graceful.

At only 130 yards, it was easy to see his details. e hair on his head was light brown with age, the rounded tops of his big antler pans confirming this was the mature bull we had been dreaming of.

“Magnus!” I elbowed him hard as the moose crept silently on his long black legs farther into the clearing.

It had been so many days with a stagnant lack of activity that Magnus was a bit slow getting the gun ready.

“Good bull, good bull!” I normally pride myself in staying calm in these moments, but my heart was nearly hammering out of my chest as the bull swung his rack through the willows.

After what seemed like ages, Magnus was ready. A well-placed shot and a followup put the bull down, and just like that, the days of patience paid off and Magnus had his dream Canada moose in the bucket.

Although it was only 130 yards, it took a while for us to fight our way through the tangled willow to the fallen bull. What the moose did effortlessly was a clumsy battle for us through snow-crusted, chest-high and head-high brush.

He was down in a particularly thick patch and it was difficult to move around and maneuver him into a good position to get to work on the huge task of butchering.

AS DARKNESS SET in, we started skinning. Magnus had forgotten his headlamp, so with one light between the two of us, it was going to be an even tougher job.

Ever cognizant of the extremely high grizzly population in our area, the rifle was loaded and leaning on the bull’s rack. Late season can be particularly dangerous, as the cold and promise of a long winter can put the grizzlies into a last-ditch feeding frenzy before hibernation. ey can be extremely aggressive around kills.

We had the bull half-skinned with the top quarters removed and were getting ready to roll him over when I heard it.

Something was barreling at us through the brush. It was now pitchblack and I knew instantly I couldn’t have been in a worse position. I was at the back of the moose, 12 feet from the rifle.

I could hear the willows whipping and cracking as the charging animal got closer. en I heard heavy panting.

“Hey! Heeeeeey!” I was yelling as loud as I could, moving for the gun. e tangled mess of mashed willows under the moose were wrapped around my feet. Between that and poor Magnus flailing around blindly in the dark without a flashlight, it felt like I was locked in place.

Yelling for everything I was worth, I reached the rifle. Being that far from my rifle, even for only a few seconds, felt like a deadly mistake. Luckily, the charging animal broke stride just before I could see it in the edge of a headlight beam that was only reaching a pathetic few yards out into willows. ere was no doubt in my mind it was a grizzly. As the creature circled down below us, staying just out of sight, it stomped belligerently and cracked its teeth. ere was some muttering in Swedish and I was certainly getting the impression that this was more of an adventure in the Canadian wild than Magnus had bargained for when he had put a Canadian moose on his bucket list!

With only one gun and one flashlight, it was an obvious choice to leave and return in the morning to deal with the moose in daylight. e bear did not seem to be in a hurry to leave, as we could hear it in the bushes not far off.

I fired a few rounds into the darkness to allow us to hopefully get out of the meadow unscathed.

THE NEXT MORNING, with the benefit of full sunlight, we went back to the moose. I snuck up into the tree stand, hoping to locate the bear before diving into head-high brush. Shockingly, almost eerily, the bear wasn’t there and the moose lay undisturbed. I had not counted on that, but it was a stroke of good fortune.

We worked as fast as we could to get the remaining quarters off the moose and everything loaded onto the quads. e bear didn’t make another appearance but my senses said it wasn’t far off, either.

Magnus’s bull itself was an amazing and ancient moose with tattered ears and a nontypical point sprouting from

Magnus with his bull before darkness set in and things became very interesting with the arrival of a grizzly bear.

Half the moose loaded onto a quad the following morning as guide and client raced the grizzly to recover the bull’s meat and horns, one palmated antler branch of which (right) featured a unique nontypical point.

the palm. Not only did he get the moose he had dreamed of, but he got a true tale to go with it.

His friend Claus got a very good bull as well on the last day of the hunt and I’m pretty sure there are a few stories being told in Sweden about those beautiful moose. ere is a saying amongst guides and hunters and it is this: “It is called hunting, not shopping.”

In a day and age when nearly anyone can get anything they dream of, perhaps part of the powerful appeal of hunting is that there are no guarantees. In a world where “safety” has become paramount, there are no certainties in hunting.

My graduation gift after high school was a muskox hunt with the late great Arctic guide and outfitter Fred Webb. He introduced us to his camp with a little speech, in which he said, “I’m not guaranteeing you a g**damned thing. Not an animal, not even getting out of here alive.”

For me, as a guide, this is part of what I share with my clients. Hunting immerses us all in a more primal way of being in the world. It requires an ability to endure discomfort, and possibly boredom, to deal with disappointment, to face danger and unexpected challenges.

Hunting is about embracing life as an adventure in experiencing highs and lows. It’s really about discovering what you are truly made of.

For me, and hopefully my clients, it is that moment in the hunt where there is that sigh of pure recognition: Ah. is is what it means to be fully and completely alive. Editor’s note: Cassidy Caron is the owner of Compass Mountain Outfitters. For more information, visit compassmountainoutfitters.com.