By Gord Follett
Never have I put as much pre-season scouting and effort into a moose hunt as I did for the 2025 season.
Each holding an either-sex licence for MMA (Moose Management Area) 35 – St. John’s – Tony Vinnicombe and I began mid-July – in between salmon fishing trips – hiking to what we considered prime moose country around the southernmost parts of our zone.
We had set a modest goal – to fill our tags in the first week of the season – so that we could get right into training and conditioning Tony’s beagles for the upcoming snowshoe hare hunting season
By the time moose season rolled around on September 13, this 67-year-old and my 66-year-old buddy had put considerable mileage on our “ol’ bodies,” and not one metre of it was aboard quads or pickups. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you; it was just quite different, especially for me.
With the abnormally dry summer experienced throughout much of the province, finding tracks wasn’t always easy. Marshes and trails that were usually wet and muddy were hard and “crispy” underfoot. So dry were conditions, in fact, that even as a regular cigarette smoker, I left mine at home, fearing that if I happened to fall and drop a lit cigarette among grass and bushes, it wouldn’t take long to ignite.
On the occasional days when we did have “a drop of rain,” we were in the woods the next morning before the sun and hot temperatures had a chance to dry up what bit of moisture did fall.
Trail cameras were another integral part of our “homework,” as Tony often referred to our efforts. Once we determined three spots offering the best chances of spotting animals, we set the cameras on trees in those areas and would hike back to check them every few days. We had the sites identified by numbers to help determine where we would set up before daylight on opening morning.
We also found cover in strategic locations to use as blinds, with a small bit of trimming and some camo netting completing the tasks.
Wind, of course, was another important consideration, which is why we set each of our lookouts facing different directions and went with Site # 3 and its north-facing view on opening weekend.
Sighting-in scopes on my son-in-law’s 303 WinMag and Tony’s 30-06 took a lot longer – and more bullets – than we had anticipated, but eventually we managed to set them up and group our shots where we felt comfortable firing from various distances.
While we didn’t fire a shot on opening day, we did see two huge bulls 1,000 metres or more across a couple of marshes, casually browsing at the edge of a treeline. I figured they would disappear before we advanced within range, so we tried calling.
Much to our surprise, the bulls never reacted to Tony’s calling – and he is one of the best I’ve ever heard – so we determined they still weren’t in the rut. Plus, they were hanging out like buddies, not combatants.
At 6:50 a.m. on Day 2, Tony’s grandson, Carter, spotted a moose, which the range finder showed was 315 yards northeast of us. Tony fired first but wasn’t sure if he hit the animal, and then his second cartridge jammed.
“You fire, Gord,” he said anxiously while trying to eject the jammed casing.
I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger on the “elephant gun,” as I later described the powerful 300.
What? No sign of a hit? I fired again, and we discovered that the young bull had indeed been hit but apparently went into complete shock from the impact for 30 seconds before taking a few steps and falling among the high “yellow grass.”
The bullet hole we found while skinning convinced me that I’ll be sticking to my 30-06 for the rest of my big game hunting days.
On the third day of the season – again at 6:50 a.m. – Carter tapped me and pointed northwest, where a large cow was sauntering across the far end of a large area of barrens and relatively dry marsh.
He and Tony set out on foot to get closer while I watched with my Vortex binoculars.
I saw Tony set up to fire from about 450 yards and wondered why he didn’t (a) try to get closer, and (b) wait to catch his breath so that he would be steadier.
“Carter was getting excited and wanted me to shoot,” he said later with a chuckle.
Nothing was happening at the range, so he moved in another 100 yards or so, caught his breath, set up the shooting stick and fired two more shots, the second of which dropped the hefty cow.
When I finally made my way to Tony and offered congratulations, the first thing he said was, “Our homework paid off, buddy.”
