HIS WOODLAND HIGHNESS, 
THE MOOSE 
As Hunted in New Brunswick 
BY JAMES LEDDY PEQUIGNOT 
ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR AND PHILIP A. CASTNER 
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“] of the moose family on 
“| this continent and 
while many a hunter 
has killed his bull in 
Maine or others of our 
United States, New 
Brunswick, I think, 
‘>. should head the list, 
vé-#::| taking everything into 
; consideration; al- 
though Ontario and 
Nova Scotia must not 
be passed over when we are looking for 
good moose-country. In Maine the moose 
are growing scarce and have seldom as 
fine heads as are to be found in Canadian 
forests. An army of hunters has killed 
off many of the big bulls and many others 
have betaken themselves farther north, 
like the caribou, to more secluded wilds. 
I predict that in a very few years a moose 
with a good spread of antlers will be a 
rarity in the State of Maine. 
The largest moose I ever saw was one 
killed on the banks of the Yukon, by an 
Indian, but as there are very few who will 
take Alaska into consideration when plan- 
ning a moose-hunt, I say,if you wish a fine 
head and look for sport in its getting, go 
into the lake-dotted, pine-scented woods of 
New Brunswick. 
There are three bits of advice for the 
tyro at moose-hunting that experience has 
taught me the value of: ‘‘Be patient, be 
nervy and be game!” Patience I put first, 
for I consider it paramount, and the im- 
patient man, he who must do everything 
right off and cannot bide his time, will 
never—without fool’s luck—hang the cov- 
eted trophy in his den if he hunts from now 
until doomsday. I know of a man who 
after three days’ hunting gave up and 
decided to “hang around” the main 
camp, while the guide took his gun and 
went off to find a moose for him. Such 
a man needs slippers and a house-coat— 
not a huntsman’s garb. You must be 
ready to put up with long and difficult 
tramps over rough paths and through 
mire; your bones may ache from a heavy 
pack, you may have to lie out nights in the 
cold and in the snow, you may go all day 
with but cold biscuit and bacon to appease 
your hunger, but you must smile, always 
smile, and remember that in moose-hunting 
patience gets its just reward. 
Be nervy! Ah! how often a man has 
stuck to the chase for days and days, and 
finally, when the chance for a shot was 
offered, ‘“‘lost his head.” ‘The ‘‘wild-cat”’ 
tales told him by city friends of the danger 
of facing a bull moose loomed large in his 
mind’s eye and distorted his perspective, 
so that he might as well have fired at the 
clouds in the sky. And let me say that the 
tales brought back to town by some hunters, 
of the lightning charges made upon them 
by bull moose they finally killed, are in 
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred plain, 
unadulterated “‘rot”’ and foolishness. When 
I hear a man talking in this strain I doubt 
if he killed the game himself, and am prone 
to give the guide the credit. Misunderstand 
me not in this, for I do not say a moose will 
never charge a hunter. But if he does, 
you can reckon he is badly wounded and 
in the blindness of his pain he may make 
for you if you are in his path. Keep your 
