A Bowhunter's Dream: Moose!

(Picture courtesy of Alaska Game and Fish)

It struck me like a rock to the foot; I’m under 30 days before I go to Alaska. My heart raced as I thought about everything that could happen between now and then. I closed my eyes and focused myself again. I drew my bow and settled into the shot.  The twang of the release echoed through out my ears as I watched for the arrow to hit the target. It quickly came to view, high right.

I sighed and stepped back to let Jace shoot. Restlessness settled inside me as my knee throbbed with pain; I winced but didn’t let him notice. I thought about the Alaskan brush and the amount of pain I will be subjecting myself to. Is it worth it in the end? Yes, of course. Is it going to hurt like no other pain I’ve ever felt? Yes, of course.

I’m still struggling with my bow. Sometime it shoots great other times it really lets me down. Of course it’s only going to take one arrow out of it to bring down my moose, but still it’s slightly nerve racking going in with a bow I’m not 100% confident in. It’s also slightly stupid. But at this point in the game it’s too late to do anything about it.

One of the clearest memories of my childhood is my Great-Granddad’s moose. I named him Alfred when I was younger. He was mounted above the fire place in the game room. He is what started my love for moose. Alf was an Alaskan moose shot in the Western Yukon. I’ve never heard the story about the hunt, but I imagine it was an adrenaline rush for Grandpa Bernard. Alf now hangs in the local gun shop. I’d love to bring him back to the family and mount my moose right next to him as part of the continuation of the legacy. The difference between the hunt that brought Alf home and my hunt is that Grandpa Bernard shot him with a rifle; I’ll be carrying a pink Parker bow.

At night I lie in bed and imagine myself laying in the brush. I can see my draw and release, sometimes in my imagination I miss. But most of the time I’m right on target. It’ll be different as I lay in the brush for real. I’m sure my heart will be pounding hard, my breath will be short, and my lack of confidence in my bow will swallow me whole. I’m afraid of the choke. It’s a question I constantly ask myself, what if I choke? The other is, what if I miss? They are valid questions in my mind. It’s possible that I’ll do both. It’s possible that it will take me the full ten days to bring my moose down. I may be hunting clear up to the moment I leave for the air port.

As I prepare myself for the hunt I try to maintain a positive attitude. After all this is the hunt of a lifetime, when will I ever be able to do this again? Possibly never. I just wish Mr. “I have no more vacation” would be right there with me. That’s right you’re going to catch all sorts of flack for that!

Becks