Title: A True Moose Hunt Adventure
There were two moose on the shore of the lake, both cows. One was an emaciated big old girl, and the other was a smaller, healthier yearling. The older cow was feeding in shallow water near the marshy shore, unperturbed by our canoe approaching. The younger cow, however, remained cautious and stayed back in the brush.
I carefully aimed my camera, waiting for the perfect moment. When the old cow lifted her head from the water and glanced our way while munching on marsh grass, I captured the shot of the two moose. It turned out to be the only trophy from my first moose hunt, but a great one at that.
Despite not bagging any other trophies on that initial hunt, it turned out to be a stroke of luck. It led to five incredible hunts in the rugged wilderness of western Quebec. Back then, my hunting partners and I could spend weeks paddling the lakes and rivers without encountering another hunter. We were able to bring home some amazing trophies.
It all began in 1936 when two friends dropped by my sporting-goods store in Canonsburg, Pennsylvania. As we chatted, one of them spontaneously suggested, “Let’s go moose hunting next fall.” I was immediately captivated by the idea and decided to embark on this adventure.
I was 29 years old, married, and had a four-year-old son. Growing up in a large family with little money, I took on a newspaper delivery job in my youth to save up. Eventually, I earned enough to buy my first gun, a Stevens single-shot .22, followed by many more firearms over the years.
Fast forward to the fateful journey. I made the decision to hunt in remote, secluded areas where trading posts were scarce and solitude was plentiful. After researching outfitters and guides in Canada, I settled on a hunt in Quebec.
However, my choice of outfitter proved to be misguided. My two friends backed out of the hunt, leaving me undeterred. Determined, I purchased Hudson’s Bay blankets as a makeshift sleeping bag and packed my hunting gear, including a .35 caliber Model 14 Remington rifle. I embarked on the journey, eager for the hunting experience.
The train ride to La Tuque, a small station in Canada, was eye-opening. The train consisted of two cars filled with a diverse group of intoxicated individuals, including First Nations people and French-speaking lumberjacks. After witnessing the chaos onboard, I desired a different kind of adventure.
Upon reaching the station at Parent, I found myself stranded. It took 15 minutes for my guide to arrive, and even then, I soon realized he was ill-equipped. He only carried a burlap bag of food supplies, a teapot, a skillet, and two pie tins in a cardboard carton. The lack of camping gear was evident, leaving me disappointed.
When I confronted my outfitter about the inadequate provisions, he dismissed my concerns and offered to take me jacklighting for a bull moose. Dissatisfied with this solution, I packed my gear, prepared to leave. However, he refused to let me depart until I paid the remaining $75 owed, despite our written agreement stipulating that payment was due upon the successful hunting of a bull moose.
Feeling trapped in the situation, I spent my time fishing while waiting for a potential opportunity to leave the island. One day, I spotted a man paddling past in a canoe. I beckoned him to the dock and offered him a day’s pay to take me to the railway. Luckily, before we could load my gear, the outfitter showed up with a .30/30 and ordered the man to leave.
Defiantly, I armed myself, and we engaged in a standoff. Ultimately, the outfitter retreated, and I was free to go. It was during this encounter that I met Edouard Decoursay, a disgruntled former guide for the same outfitter. He shared his story, explaining that he had been paddling around in search of employment after quitting.
Impressed by Edouard, I decided to hire him as my guide for the next hunting season. After offering him the same $150 fee I had agreed upon earlier, he hesitated, finding it excessive. Unbeknownst to me, I had struck gold with one of the most talented guides and moose callers in the region.
With our plans set, Edouard instructed me to write to Eric Tutching, the manager of Hudson’s Bay Company at Barrière, to arrange the remaining details. Eric, a remarkable individual from England, became a treasured friend. In addition to managing the trading post, he utilized his medical training to provide care for the sick among the First Nations.
When the time for the hunt arrived, my anticipation knew no bounds. Although I returned home empty-handed, the thrill of the adventure remained with me throughout the winter. Unfortunately, my attempts to recover the $75 paid to the previous fraudulent outfitter proved futile.
Undeterred, I continued corresponding with Eric to finalize the arrangements for the following hunting season. Equipped with a new Winchester Model 70, various hunting gear, and a wealth of knowledge from my first trip, I embarked on the journey with renewed enthusiasm.
After enduring a grueling drive and navigating treacherous roads, I finally arrived at Hunters Point, where Edouard awaited me. We loaded my gear into his canoe and set off on a 90-mile journey via Lake Cabonga, powered by a nine-horsepower outboard motor.
The journey was shrouded in darkness, but Edouard skillfully navigated the familiar route through the timbered shoreline and numerous islands. Exhausted, I fell asleep and awoke to the commotion of voices and dogs upon our arrival at Barrière.
Eric warmly welcomed me to his quarters, where I was treated to tea spiked with Hudson’s Bay high-proof rum. The next morning, I devoured a hearty breakfast of eggs, ham, and toast made with homemade bread while taking in the sights of the post.
That evening, Eric surprised me by inviting us on a late-night duck hunting excursion. Although skeptical about hunting in the dark, I eagerly joined the expedition. Guided by Edouard and Nona, an experienced First Nations guide, we silently paddled towards a raft of ducks.
Harnessing their privilege as First Nations people exempt from game laws, Edouard and Nona unleashed a barrage of shotgun blasts upon the unsuspecting ducks, successfully bringing down a substantial haul. We savored a delicious meal of bush-style roast duck simmered in its own juices, a taste I will never forget.
The following morning, I was awakened by loud noises and barking dogs. Two bear cubs housed in a cage behind the buildings had been attacked by a marauding boar. As we ventured out, the chaos and destruction were clear, and it became necessary to eliminate the dangerous bear.
Tracking the bear with determination, we eventually located him feasting upon the remains of one of the cubs. Setting a trap with care, we waited until the next morning to find the trap gone but a clear trail left in its wake. Following the trail, we finally encountered the ferocious bear. Leaving the confrontation to Edouard and Nona, whose respect for the animal was immense, I observed as Nona dispatched it with his .30/30 rifle.
I later discovered that the First Nations people at Barrière despised bears due to their propensity for raiding food supplies and causing damage. Consequently, they refused to consume bear meat and held no regard for bear hides.
Days after this thrilling bear encounter, we embarked on our search for moose sign. With Edouard’s incredible talent as a moose caller, we lured a bull with the haunting and mesmerizing calls of a lovestruck cow moose. As the bull approached, I prepared to take my shot, only to be interrupted by the booming grunts of a second bull nearby.
Reacting quickly, Edouard and Nona paddled swiftly towards the incoming bulls, aligning the canoe for the perfect shot. Unfortunately, I missed my intended target due to the unique challenges of shooting from a moving canoe, but we soon realized we had been following the wrong bull.
Correcting our mistake, we quickly identified the trail of the wounded bull, who had succumbed to my shots. Despite the bullets not expanding as I had anticipated, the bull was successfully taken down. Edouard and I began the task of skinning and dressing my first moose, exhilarated by the triumph.
This hunting trip held a special place in my heart, as it marked the beginning of a lifelong friendship with Eric, Edouard, and Nona. They taught me the art of hunting in the wild, shared their remarkable stories, and made every moment memorable. The adventure continued, leading me to more extraordinary experiences in the years to come, all stemming from that fateful decision to embark on a moose hunt in the remote regions of Canada.
It had all happened so fast that I could hardly believe it. When we put a tape on the rack, I found that my first moose rack was a respectable trophy with a spread of 58½ inches.
Moose hunting with a guide like Edouard was my dish. I had found the right place for it. Come another fall, I’d be back. Next month, I’ll tell you what happened on that hunt.
This text has been minimally edited to meet contemporary standards.
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A skilled hunter, dedicated conservationist, and advocate for ethical practices. Respected in the hunting community, he balances human activity with environmental preservation.