A Dusk Encounter: My First Solo Moose Hunt and a Grateful Harvest.

First solo moose hunt, proudly sporting a W.M.O Fusion Camo Hoodie.

July 26, 2025 – The sun was beginning its descent, painting the western sky in hues of orange and purple as I headed home from a grocery run. The mundane task of stocking the fridge often feels like a necessary evil, but little did I know, this trip was about to take an exhilarating detour.

As I drove along the familiar stretch of road, my eyes, accustomed to scanning the landscape, caught a flicker of movement to the right. Up ahead, a turn before a small bridge over a creek, something large and dark stood on the road. Moose.

My foot slammed on the brakes, the truck lurching to a stop. Adrenaline surged. I grabbed my rifle, heart pounding a rhythm against my ribs, and quickly chambered a round. Peering through my trusty Bushnell Banner 2 50/15 optic, I could just make out the dark silhouette against the fading light. His antlers, still in velvet, blended seamlessly with his ears as dusk crept in.

I waited. A minute stretched into an eternity. He stood still, magnificent and oblivious, offering no clear shot. Then, he shifted, taking a slow step towards the side of the road. Now.

My shot was quick, precise. One good neck shot, and he dropped instantly. The roar of the rifle echoed in the quiet evening, followed by an immediate, profound silence.

The initial rush of adrenaline began to recede, leaving me with that familiar mix of awe and exhaustion. “Why do I do this to myself all the time?” I muttered, a half-hearted chuckle escaping my lips. The hard work was just beginning.

I managed to drag him into a nearby cut block, the setting sun casting long shadows as I prepared for the harvest. Two hours later, hunched over, skinning and quartering, my muscles screamed in protest. Mosquitoes, drawn by the scent, descended in a relentless assault. Each cramp, each bite, was a reminder of the raw reality of providing. But despite the discomfort, a deep sense of satisfaction swelled within me. I’d done it. My first entirely solo moose hunt and harvest.

With the last of the meat loaded into the back of my truck, and my son's knife set carefully placed in the passenger seat, I walked back to where the moose had fallen. In the quiet solitude, I offered a heartfelt prayer, thanking the Creator for this incredible gift and expressing my profound gratitude to the moose for offering its body to feed my family and elders.

In accordance with my customs, and as a deeply personal way to honor this first solo experience, I decided to give away all the meat. It felt right, a way to share the bounty and extend the gratitude beyond myself. This wasn't just about a successful hunt; it was a profound connection to the land, to tradition, and to the enduring cycle of life.