The annual Maine moose hunt is often a family affair, not just for the fellowship and fall fun. These animals are big critters, and once one is down, whether on the edge of a bog or in the middle of a clear-cut, getting it out of the woods and onto a trailer or truck bed “ain’t no easy thing.” A lot of hands and backs can make the job possible, if not easy.
There are almost as many theories about how to get a moose out of the woods as there are moose hunters. It pays to have a plan.
Our friends Becky Unobskey and Scott Hosmer, from Great Pond, invited Mark Cain and me to join their September moose hunt a few weeks ago. Both Mark and I had been on several moose hunts and were familiar with effective extraction methods, or so we thought. My chainsaw-powered winch was supposed to be the ace in the hole.
Although we found plenty of moose sign in Zone 5, saw several cows and calves early in the week and had a couple of bulls hang up just out of range or disappear into thick cover, we just couldn’t close the deal.
Then, on the next-to-last day of the hunt, amid a cold, overcast sky and light drizzle, we got a break. At first light, a medium-sized bull appeared in a clear-cut. Scott Hosmer, Becky’s subpermittee, dropped the animal about 100 yards from the logging road with three shots from his .30-06. The bull weighed 578 pounds field-dressed and had six points. Ideal table fare.
After some celebratory hugs and photos, we began the extraction. For the first 20 yards or so, my chainsaw-powered winch did its job, slowly but surely moving the moose toward the road. No sweat. Then the winch’s carburetor balked. Under the load, the dang thing just wouldn’t take the gas. The moose was still about 50 yards from the road. We considered quartering the animal, which wasn’t a bad option under the circumstances, but Becky really wanted to weigh her first moose at the tagging station and take photos.
While we scratched our heads, a truckload of bird hunters showed up. There’s more than one way to skin a cat — or get a moose out of the woods. Putting our heads together, we attached a heavy rope to the moose, ran it to my truck’s trailer ball and then connected it to the bird hunters’ trailer hitch. It was a makeshift pulley system. Simple geometry, right?
And it worked. The bird hunter slowly drove his truck forward, using the trailer ball on my truck as a fulcrum. Inch by inch, the rope pulled the moose to the road. Slick as a smelt.
As luck would have it, the bird hunters had a Starlink dish atop their truck. It gave us a connection we otherwise wouldn’t have had, allowing us to contact a friend back in town. He agreed to find us using our coordinates and bring a trailer to transport the moose to a meat processor in Crystal.
During the two-hour wait for our friend to arrive, the bird hunters decided to stick around and help us muscle the moose into the trailer. Conversation flowed, mostly about hunting. Before long, a worrisome extraction had turned into a festive gathering on a logging road. One of the bird hunters remarked that it was more fun than driving around looking for birds that didn’t seem to be around.
It was a good day in so many ways. It also reminded me of the old saying that “it takes a village.”
Maine sportsmen tend to be good folks, always willing to lend a hand when others are in need. Our moose hunt was made memorable not only by the bull in the clear-cut, but also by the people who came to our aid: St. Albans residents Michelle and Brian Crocker and Stephen Bubar, and Patten residents Bob Bates and Paul Levesque.