beaten several feet below the level of 
the deep surrounding snow, and so long 
as the feed holds out they show a great 
disinclination to leave its limits unless, 
when pressed by danger, they dash off, 
to flounder through the deep drifts 
where, however, they can be soon over- 
taken by a good snowshoer. 
UCH a form of hunting, which was 
known as “crust- 
ing,” has, however, 
long since been dis- more 
continued as giving 
the poor beasts little 
or no chance of es 
cape. 
The two methods of 
hunting moose which 
are recognized as le- 
gitimate are calling 
and still hunting, 
which latter, though 
meaning much the 
same thing as _ stalk- 
ing, is a term more 
often used in Amer- 
ica. If indeed there 
is any distinction be- 
tween the two terms, 
I should say that 
stalking is more prop- 
erly related to the 
‘stealthy approach to 
game in a compara- 
tively open country 
and after the game 
has been sighted, 
whereas the term still 
hunting includes more 
the catlike advance of 
the Indian to forest 
game. Both methods 
have their enthusias- 
tic followers and both 
have their -undeni- 
able fascinations, yet 
if forced to compare 
the two we must per- 
force admit that the 
still hunter, who finds 
the sign, trails, stalks 
and finally brings his 
game to bag has done 
so in the most sport- 
ing manner known to 
the big-game hunter. 
The calling season 
comes first, during 
the rut, and as most 
American sportsmen know, consists in 
so imitating the call or bellow of the 
mating cow moose as to attract a bull 
within shot of the hunter. 
GIVEN through a birch-bark horn 
or cone, it was originally most 
practiced by the Micmac Indians of 
New Brunswick -and Nova Scotia and 
learned from them by their successors, 
Page 143 
the white hunters and trappers of 
Canada. I’ve heard a good many ex- 
perienced and _ successful old moose 
hunters call, both white and Indian, 
but hardly think that any two were 
exactly alike; but for that matter, 
neither is the call of every cow moose 
identical. The main essentials are, 
however, fairly similar, usually begin- 
ning in a sort of moaning whine and 

trailing off into a long bellow or howl 
and ending up in one or more shorter 
grunts. The art is not so difficult to 
learn with a bit of practice, under a 
good teacher, provided one will throw 
the call from his chest into the horn, 
not call too often, once in each quarter 
of an hour is enough, and be careful 
not to call too loudly once a bull an- 
swers. Indeed, after an answer, it is 
sometimes better 
near at hand. 
not to call if. he’s 
IDED by those big ears, his sense 
of direction is almost faultless, and 
he can find you if he wants, without 
your risking his discovery of the deceit 
by too frequent calls from your horn. 
It’s at such tense moments of indeci- 
sion on the part of some wary old bull 
that the almost un- 
teachable art of the 
real hunter and caller 
must be brought into 
play. Just what or 
what not to do seems 
to be instinctively felt 
rather than adopted 
from any fixed rules. 
I’ve listened to cow 
moose call on several 
occasions, but was 
never fortunate 
enough to avail my- 
self of their services 
in bringing up a bull 
for me. It was, how- 
ever, useful as a 
music lesson. 
When the rutting 
season is well ad- 
vanced and most of 
the bulls are mated, it 
becomes more difficult 
to bring them to the 
call. Under such cir- 
cumstances, a bull will 
often answer, but the 
lady with him is not 
infrequently success- 
ful in persuading him 
not to desert her for 
that other cow off 
there! When this 
does happen, and 
after giving him a 
fair chance, we are 
satisfied that a bull 
who has answered us 
is not coming, we may 
test our ability as a 
still-hunter by going 
to him or trying to! 
In doing this one 
must be doubly care- 
ful not to startle the 
cow. She is, as a 
rule, much shyer and 
more on the alert 
than a bull and is 
very apt to spoil your shot if she sees 
or gets wind of you. 
’VE been lucky enough to secure sev- 
eral moose in this manner. On the 
last occasion I was hunting in northern 
New Brunswick with Fred Connell, of 
Chatham, than whom it has seldom 
been my lot to meet one in whom were 
better combined all those qualities that 
