Moose hunting did not go as planned this last year. Life conspired against me for the main, intended hunt in September, and I never even got out. And the moose conspired against me for the shorter, second hunt period during one week in November.
We did see a nice-looking young bull in the yard after the September moose season ended. And while snowshoeing up in the Boombah in early November I’d found a spot where I think the same animal had bedded down at least four times. I stopped disturbing that area for a week or two before the short, week-long season arrived in November. Then I suited up in my winter camouflage gear, picked up my bow, and stalked the woods.

Out for the November hunt.

But to no avail. Our woods proved to be moose free for the entire week. And then, soon after, a moose showed up to lounge in the yard. Of course. They seem to know when it’s safe. This was a female, so she’s always safe from us human hunters in this area, but still, they all seem to get the secret message and vanish during the season.

So we left fall and early winter with the usual status quo – us with no moose in the freezer, and the moose out there free to do their things. We did have a goat sacrifice to solve the meat issue, and those three kids have been very welcome.

But lately the moose have been pushing back. Just as I climbed into bed the other night and got warm and comfortable, there was a hard bang on the side of the house. A second bang made it clear that we had a visitor. I put on a bathrobe and slippers, went downstairs, turned on the porch light, and opened the curtain – to see the window pretty much completely filled with the side of a very large female moose. She was happily licking shelled sunflower seeds out of our hanging bird feeder and continuing to loudly bang it into the wall.

I don’t usually get to stand inches away from a moose. Damn, they are big. I rapped sharply on the window, which made her pause. But I realized that glass is not a good barrier, and that the deck is really slippery when covered in snow, so I went outside and slowly shooed her off from a little more distance. She was reluctant to go. That seed must be like moose candy. I brought the feeder inside to be sure of undisturbed rest, and put it back out early the next morning.

But what a goof she is. The very next night, at the same time, there I was in bed all warm and drowsing off when the banging began again. “You’ve got to be kidding me!?” I thought. Bang! (Nope.) Bathrobe, very cold air in delicate places, snow in slippers, repeat.

So we’re in a bit of a standoff. The birds use the feeder all day long. The moose has only shown up lately at night. But that’s when the night squirrels come (northern flying squirrels). Life at a fever pitch in the far north. Somehow, we’ll manage.

Got the memo. Season over. I’ll just lay here in your yard…

* The title refers facetiously to the annual 70-inch Club, a roundup of the mighty hunters who slew a bull moose with an antler spread of 70 inches or more. These manly men and womanly women are featured in the newspaper with a photograph of them with their massive moose. These are moose that are so big one would crush a small car if it fell on one. I’m afraid I’ve never even seen a moose that big during the hunting season, but that’s alright with me. I want only one feature in the moose I get: tasty. A tough old moose in rut is about the last thing I’d want filling the freezer (only superceded in the negative rankings by rutabegas and yams).