November, 1921 
FOREST AND STREAM 
491 
THE MOOSE OF THE MIRAMICHI 
WHILE SUCCESS IN HUNTING MEANS MUCH TO THE SPORTSMAN, 
QUIET OBSERVATION OF GAME IS BY NO MEANS A MINOR PLEASURE 
O N the tenth clay of October Jack 
Lumsden, the head guide, met 
my brother and me in Newcastle, 
N. B., with team and driver, and 
our duffle and provisions were soon 
loaded. On a glorious morning, through 
the crisp, invigorating air, we started 
to treck out Chaplin Road toward our 
camp in the Nor’west Miramichi coun- 
try, and at one of the settlements we 
picked up Frank, the other guide, and 
Charley, the cook. 
The country was typical of the north 
woods at that season. The tamarac and 
fir and spruce were dressed in their 
varied shades of green, and the hard- 
wood ridges were a riot of color. Ever, 
as our road led over a hill or through 
an opening in the forest, we were treated 
to pictures of God’s Out - of - Doors, 
adorned in its multicolored robes. 
After many miles we left the public 
highway and started ’cross country on a 
road that terminated at our camp. Be- 
fore these last eight miles were covered, 
however, team and hikers came to a 
halt. Our road seemed to pass right 
through the center of a small lake, and 
I heard Jack say something about “those 
blanked beavers that had dammed the- 
stream” and flood- 
ed his road. A 
detour was soon 
effected and we 
were on our way, 
seeing many moose, 
deer and caribou 
signs. At five 
P. M. we reached 
our cozy log cabin, 
unpacked and be- 
gan to prepare for 
the hunt on the 
morrow. 
Charley soon had 
supper ready. We 
had “biled the kit- 
tle” with a sand- 
wich lunch on our 
way out, so no 
“second call for 
supper” was neces- 
sary. Charley soon 
demonstrated his 
ability to cook, while the guides were 
companionable and seemed to know their 
business. From all signs, the country 
abounded in game. 
r T’HE next day my brother and Frank 
^ started south from camp. Jack and 
I went north. We had gone but a short 
distance from the cabin when we saw 
two moose — a cow and a very large bull. 
They were on a birch ridge and about 
sixty yards away. Jack whispered: “The 
one on the right is the bull. Don’t shoot 
until I see if he has a good head.” The 
trees hid the head, but in a few seconds 
he turned, and he was a “mooley” ! 
By J. C. NUGENT 
Jack said he had seen that same bull 
several times that fall and that both horns 
had been lost, probably in battle. I think 
the moose had not seen us, for without 
alarm they finally trotted off. As they 
went a crotch-horn bull ran out of the 
big fellow’s way and stood broadside to 
me at seventy-five yards. This young 
bull, though armed, did not seem to care 
to contest the right of the “mooley” to 
his lady love, but ducked and ran every 
time his rival approached. 
We felt that we had made a good start 
in sighting game at least, as we were not 
yet twenty minutes from camp and had 
seen three moose, also some fresh cari- 
bou tracks. We hunted and called all 
day, seeing two more cows and a spike 
bull, but no good heads, and I returned to 
camp happy and tired and hungry; but 
a splendid roast-venison supper, which 
was made possible by my brother having 
bagged a yearling deer near camp as he 
started out in the morning, was waiting 
for me. 
I NDIAN summer weather prevailed all 
that first week. Break o’ day found 
us ready to start on the morning of the 
twelfth, and my brother and Frank went 
east while we went toward the west. 
Jack and I saw cows, calves and young 
bulls, but the bull with the good spread 
was elusive. 
At lunch time, while I was inspecting 
a beaver dam, and Jack was sitting on 
a log near by calling, I was startled by 
the e-ugh ! of a bull just back of me. In 
a few moments a moose came through 
the trees on a trot not seventy-five yards 
away. By agreement, Jack was to pick 
my head. I threw the safety off my 
rifle and was waiting the signal to place 
220 grains of lead into his shoulder, but 
I could get only glimpses of the head as 
he came through the trees. 
Presently Jack said disgustedly, “No 
darn good.” At the same time I, too, 
saw that half the pan of his right antler 
was broken off and the rifle was lowered. 
The fight which had lost for him the 
beauty of his head had saved his life. 
We jumped and shouted, and with the 
“cough” of alarm he crashed off through 
the forest. 
About ten o’clock we had heard four 
shots to the east of us, and as I knew 
that we two were the only hunters in all 
that vicinity, I concluded that it must 
have been my brother’s rifle that had 
spoken. As we approached the camp 
that night we saw a big head resting on 
its tines. It was that of an old bull with 
a spread of fifty-one inches. His teeth 
were worn and broken. Several years 
before he probably wore a set of antlers 
more harmonious and beautiful, but 
never a set more interesting or effective. 
The brow tines — the fighting tines — re- 
sembled those of an immense elk in ar- 
rangement. They were single-pointed, 
long and strong. And he was an old 
warrior ! My brother said that his en- 
tire body bore evidence of recent and 
repeated encounters. There were gashes 
and puncture wounds from head to tail. 
Even when he fell 
the blood was still 
trickling down 
from a big con- 
tused wound on 
his face, the sou- 
venir of his latest 
battle. 
N the third 
day Jack and 
I went east and 
Frank took my 
brother to Juniper 
Bog in search of 
caribou. Before we 
had reached the 
beaver dam where 
my guide had in 
tended to call, we 
heard the call of 
a cow and the an- 
swering grunt like 
the bark of a distant 
dog. We were on one of the small streams 
with which this country is abundantly 
supplied. Down this stream about half 
a mile was the cow. The bull was mid- 
way, but up a gulch that opened at right 
angles into our ravine. He started down 
toward the creek, thrashing the brush 
and grunting, but when he reached the 
stream he halted, for both Jack and the 
cow were calling, one on either side. For 
some minutes he hesitated, then, with a 
snort that resembled the report of a 
shotgun, he started, not toward the cow, 
but straight for the birch-bark horn! 
I quickly took a position behind a 
( Continued on page 514 ) 
A trophy that the most exacting sportsman would be proud to own 
