The "one that got away" for me was a bull moose during the first season I had drawn a tag in SE Idaho. I lived in a moose-rich area and had the opportunity to spend a lot of hours that season chasing this once-in-a-lifetime tag, and by mid season had found 3 bulls that met my criteria as trophy Idaho moose. I had seen the #2 and #3 bulls numerous times, studied them enough to be fairly certain they'd make Boone and Crockett, and would have been perfectly happy with either one except for the fact that I had also seen #1, which was in a completely different league. I had the chance to watch him from afar one evening thru the spotting scope, and his antlers had it all -- mass, width, symmetry, 13+ points on each side, and huge palmated front shovels. Unfortunately, he was also very smart -- he disappeared completely during the rut, and then later in the season would only come out right before dark, melting back into the brush at the least bit of pressure. I ended up playing cat-and-mouse with him for over a month -- I'd usually find him while glassing from a ridge at day's end, catching a flash of antler across the canyon, and then watch him walk from one patch of quakies to another w/o staying out in the open too long. Whenever I saw him, he'd be too far away for me to get there in time (I tried once, and just about made myself sick from the exertion) but not so far away that I couldn't admire him.
That fall was extremely warm which didn't help my effort, but about 2 weeks before the season end, a major weather change hit and we went from 60 degrees and sunshine one day, to mid twenties and snow the next. I had taken that day off to hunt and woke up early to 12" of new snow. My moose hunting ground was about 4 miles up a private 2-track from my house, and I only managed to make it about a mile in my Bronco before I got stuck. I abandoned my rig (nobody else would be stupid enough to be out there in the middle of nowhere in this weather) and started hoofing it thru the snow, choosing a direct (but ugly) "overland" route that cut thru a rocky canyon, sagebrush flats, and talus slopes in trade for the mile it would cut off my hike. About 1/2 way into my shortcut I entered a pocket of pea soup fog, and with the worst of the terrain behind me, crossed over a rocky ridge into a small sagebrush bowl. I had slowed my pace considerably (didn't have much choice with zero visibility) and hadn't gone 10 yards into the bowl before I sensed the earth move in front of me, glimpsed a black wall rising out of nowhere, and then disappear again with the sound of antlers raking brush and heavy hoofbeats departing deeper into the fog. I knew instantly that I had just jumped a bull from his bed, but had no idea which bull it was. Interestingly enough, he must have been just as uncertain as to what had disturbed him, because he stopped as abruptly as he started. He quit running almost immediately, and I could hear him milling around in the sage brush. Not quite sure what to do, I sat down, pulled the scope cover off, and went stationary, trying to keep track of his general position based on sound in case he popped back into view. This turned into a very interesting (and sort of uncomfortable) 10 minute standoff -- visibility was maybe 25 yards in the fog and falling snow, and I could hear him moving close by (probably trying to get my scent) and occasionally stomping and snorting as a challenge to get me to reveal myself. I elected to sit there and wait it out, which was hard to do with something very big just outside my vision working equally hard to figure me out. After what seemed like an eternity, the fog started swirling a bit, giving brief glimpses into parts of the bowl before closing in again. In one of these brief windows in the fog, I found myself staring right into the eyes of #1, standing broadside to me about 70 yards away. I knew immediately which bull he was, and was raising my rifle and flipping the safety off the instant I set eyes on him. As the butt pad hit my shoulder, I was deciding where to place the cross-hairs and settling into the scope when I realized my sight picture had all the clarity of vaseline. 10 minutes of exposure to the fog and mist at freezing temps was all it took for my scope to turn #1 into nothing more than an amorphous black blob in a sea of white. Seconds later, my window in the fog closed, and I heard #1 break into a trot as he put distance between himself and the guy that ruined his sleep.
My experience with moose told me that when he broke into that ground-covering trot, likelihood of me catching up to him wasn't very good, but the excitement of being that close to him and the ease of tracking in the snow was enough incentive to give it a shot. I followed him from that sagebrush bowl all the way into the canyon I was used to seeing him in, and stopped for a much-needed break on the canyon rim. While sitting there, the fog broke, visibility returned, and I got one last look at #1 as he topped the ridge on the far side of the canyon, still in his trot and still increasing the distance between he and I. That pretty marked the end of my cat-and-mouse game with #1, but I'll never forget the anticipation of chasing him, and the excitement of that day. I hunted hard thru the end of the season, and never did see him again. (I did manage to run into the #2 bull again the day before the season closed, but he gave me way too much time to think about it and I talked myself out of pulling the trigger in favor of turning my tag back to F&G and the chance to draw again in a future year.)
That fall was extremely warm which didn't help my effort, but about 2 weeks before the season end, a major weather change hit and we went from 60 degrees and sunshine one day, to mid twenties and snow the next. I had taken that day off to hunt and woke up early to 12" of new snow. My moose hunting ground was about 4 miles up a private 2-track from my house, and I only managed to make it about a mile in my Bronco before I got stuck. I abandoned my rig (nobody else would be stupid enough to be out there in the middle of nowhere in this weather) and started hoofing it thru the snow, choosing a direct (but ugly) "overland" route that cut thru a rocky canyon, sagebrush flats, and talus slopes in trade for the mile it would cut off my hike. About 1/2 way into my shortcut I entered a pocket of pea soup fog, and with the worst of the terrain behind me, crossed over a rocky ridge into a small sagebrush bowl. I had slowed my pace considerably (didn't have much choice with zero visibility) and hadn't gone 10 yards into the bowl before I sensed the earth move in front of me, glimpsed a black wall rising out of nowhere, and then disappear again with the sound of antlers raking brush and heavy hoofbeats departing deeper into the fog. I knew instantly that I had just jumped a bull from his bed, but had no idea which bull it was. Interestingly enough, he must have been just as uncertain as to what had disturbed him, because he stopped as abruptly as he started. He quit running almost immediately, and I could hear him milling around in the sage brush. Not quite sure what to do, I sat down, pulled the scope cover off, and went stationary, trying to keep track of his general position based on sound in case he popped back into view. This turned into a very interesting (and sort of uncomfortable) 10 minute standoff -- visibility was maybe 25 yards in the fog and falling snow, and I could hear him moving close by (probably trying to get my scent) and occasionally stomping and snorting as a challenge to get me to reveal myself. I elected to sit there and wait it out, which was hard to do with something very big just outside my vision working equally hard to figure me out. After what seemed like an eternity, the fog started swirling a bit, giving brief glimpses into parts of the bowl before closing in again. In one of these brief windows in the fog, I found myself staring right into the eyes of #1, standing broadside to me about 70 yards away. I knew immediately which bull he was, and was raising my rifle and flipping the safety off the instant I set eyes on him. As the butt pad hit my shoulder, I was deciding where to place the cross-hairs and settling into the scope when I realized my sight picture had all the clarity of vaseline. 10 minutes of exposure to the fog and mist at freezing temps was all it took for my scope to turn #1 into nothing more than an amorphous black blob in a sea of white. Seconds later, my window in the fog closed, and I heard #1 break into a trot as he put distance between himself and the guy that ruined his sleep.
My experience with moose told me that when he broke into that ground-covering trot, likelihood of me catching up to him wasn't very good, but the excitement of being that close to him and the ease of tracking in the snow was enough incentive to give it a shot. I followed him from that sagebrush bowl all the way into the canyon I was used to seeing him in, and stopped for a much-needed break on the canyon rim. While sitting there, the fog broke, visibility returned, and I got one last look at #1 as he topped the ridge on the far side of the canyon, still in his trot and still increasing the distance between he and I. That pretty marked the end of my cat-and-mouse game with #1, but I'll never forget the anticipation of chasing him, and the excitement of that day. I hunted hard thru the end of the season, and never did see him again. (I did manage to run into the #2 bull again the day before the season closed, but he gave me way too much time to think about it and I talked myself out of pulling the trigger in favor of turning my tag back to F&G and the chance to draw again in a future year.)
