Shiras Moose: Once in a Lifetime!

A 25-year wait makes a Shiras moose hunt super sweet.

October 11, 2024 By Jeff Stonehouse

The shiras bull was with three cows. Glassing from a high vantage point 400 yards away, I concluded that it would be difficult to close the distance — sneaking through the dense willows quietly would be a challenge.

I put away my spotting scope and carefully descended the steep hillside. It took a while to find a good point to cross the creek separating me from the moose. I entered the willows, trying to be silent as I advanced. The shrubs were so tall I could no longer see the moose. When I calculated that I was within 75 yards, I began calling. Cow sounds were out of the question, since he already had ample female company. With my natural voice, I imitated the “rah” of an eager bull moose. He returned with an equally belligerent grunt, and seconds later I heard him coming closer.

The bull was following a very narrow path through the high willows, and I watched his rack appear and begin rocking from side to side as he negotiated the thick cover. Backing into a patch of vegetation, I sank to my knees. He entered the small clearing head-on.

Please turn broadside, I commanded him psychically. As if he had understood my silent entreaty, he turned to his left.

A bull moose at 25 yards is hard to miss. I focused on a precise point behind his shoulder and released the arrow from my Stalker Vortex Recurve. It hit exactly where I was hoping it would, and the massive beast lumbered back into the willows and crashed. I could see his rack wavering above the brush just before he tipped over with an enormous bellow.

At that moment, I came undone. I was completely rattled for a half-hour or so. After waiting 25 years to draw a Colorado moose license, I felt as if this was just a dream. In the Centennial State, a hunter is allowed only one bull moose during his or her lifetime. I would never pursue a Shiras bull again.

A Surprise Draw

Over the previous two and a half decades, I had always applied for an archery moose tag. I figured it would be the easiest to draw. My last go-round in 2023, I decided to put in for a season choice license, not expecting much. When I checked Colorado’s draw results and discovered that I was one of the lucky few, I got pretty emotional. It was like winning the lottery.

From that point on, I was all about moose. I surrendered a hard-to-draw elk tag for a premium unit because I knew I would not be able to divide my time between northern Colorado, near Walden (my moose unit), and southwestern Colorado, near Creede, for elk. Colorado Parks and Wildlife issued me a refund and restored my 11 elk preference points (I did draw that coveted elk tag this year).

When in possession of a season choice permit, a bowhunter must wear blaze orange during all open firearms seasons. It took me some time to dig out fluorescent orange clothing from the vast collection of hunting duds stored in my basement. The season for both archery and muzzleloader opened on Sept. 9, and consequently I began my pursuit of Alces alces shirasi in an orange vest and hat. Not exactly my style, but what could I do?

My season choice license extended my hunting time by two weeks, and the blaze orange requirement was a small price to pay for the additional days. As a matter of fact, I really didn’t mind that I was forced to don blaze orange for the majority of my hunt. There were only 13 days out of a five-week season when I could leave camp wearing just my customary camouflage attire.

A Helping Hand

I bagged my bull on Oct. 4, early in the rifle season, but that was not my first encounter with the monarch. During the second week of September, I had made two unsuccessful stalks on the brute. The first attempt got me to within 100 yards. The second got me to 80. On several occasions, I was within 20 yards of average bulls, and I got to 15 yards on a small bull.

During a couple of those stalks, I drew my bow, simply to see if the moose would spook at the movement. They did not. But the big boys do not get old by being stupid. I tried to sneak up on three other trophy bulls, but they got away. Something always seemed to go wrong. As I said, the bull I eventually harvested outfoxed me twice before I achieved success. All of these failed attempts made my final stalk that much sweeter. After so much time chasing moose around the high country, I felt as if I had earned my stripes.

As I gazed down at the massive beast lying before me in the soggy meadow, my mind went blank for several minutes. I finally decided to approach the task the only way I knew how — piece by piece. First, I skinned and removed the front leg, placing it in a game bag. Next came the hindquarter, followed by the backstrap and tenderloin. But even after taking apart one side of the animal, I could not flip him.

After many attempts, I concluded help was needed. With a backpack full of moose meat weighing me down, I proceeded to hike out of the marshy area, cautiously avoiding countless holes in the spongy ground. A quarter of a mile is not a tremendous distance to pack out an animal, but in this terrain it was anything but easy.

As I struggled on my way, I imagined what my first taste of moose meat would be like. Most of the knowledgeable folks I talked to raved about how delicious it was. I was relieved to cross the ankle-high stream because I knew that I was now on solid ground, although it would be a steep hike up to the road. Once in my vehicle, I raced off to recruit assistance. I had befriended several deer and elk hunters during my time afield, and they had offered to help me pack out a moose if I was successful. So, now it was a matter of tracking down these selfless individuals. They would be sacrificing valuable hunting time to lend a hand.

It took me about an hour to locate them. We then finished the chore as a team. I offered to pay them, but all five men declined any form of remuneration. It is a wonderful brotherhood we belong to!

DIY Or Bust

Essentially, this was a DIY hunt. Credit must go to my loved ones for their support, and I definitely appreciated the help packing out my moose, but no outfitter was involved. As I previously mentioned, I am proud to be a solo hunter. Nonetheless, I did research the cost of a guided moose hunt. After all, this would be the hunt of a lifetime, and I wanted to have every advantage.

stonehouse-moose-camp — My hunting camps are always very basic, but a solid canvas tent is one thing I will not sacrifice.

I quickly determined I simply could not afford a guided hunt, although horses certainly would have made packing out the head and meat much easier. But now, looking back on all of the days spent scouting, the miles of strenuous hiking and the disappointment of my failed stalks, I would not have had it any other way. Despite some hardships, I got the job done on my own, with minimal expenses.

Breathtaking Country

I don’t want to focus on just the travails of hard mountain hunting. There is a bright side. First, the scenery is amazing. There were countless hikes in search of moose that ended in remote places with the most spectacular vistas. I was continually reminded of nature’s majesty. The terrain was challenging, but the surroundings never disappointed.

stonehouse-moose-scenery — The area I hunted moose was undeniably God’s country, and views such as this were common.

During the first few days of the season, I decided to undertake an exceptionally difficult hike up to a small lake reputed to hold moose. At the conclusion of the lung-busting ascent, I shed my pack, sat on the edge of the lake and caught my breath. I then explored the area surrounding the lake, finding plenty of fresh moose sign. I immediately ruled this spot out, however, because of the potential difficulty of packing out a moose from such a remote locale. But I was glad I had expended the effort,because the views were inspiring.

I never let anything deter me from my focus on getting the job done. I was out there to hunt moose, plain and simple. Lakes were everywhere, as were fishermen and fisherwomen, but I never even contemplated tossing out a line. Some of my fellow hunters who had brought fishing tackle invited me to join them for a day on a boat, relaxing with a couple of cold brews. Ordinarily, that would have been tempting, but not on this trip! If I was not in moose habitat with my bow in hand — someplace I might encounter a big bull — I was not interested in being there.

Hunting For Closure

After driving home with the meat and head of my bull, and after fulfilling the associated requirements such as a mandatory check-in with the state wildlife office, I returned to my hunting unit to say goodbye to my home away from home. One last hurrah!

Including summer scouting trips, I had spent so much time in the area that it truly felt like my second home. My tent had sheltered me from rain, hail and monsoon winds. My Coleman air mattress had replaced my Sealy Posturepedic. The woods had become my living room.

Back at my moose camp on Oct. 7, I set off in the early evening along a nearby trail in search of grouse. This would be a great way to wrap up my fantasy hunt — I needed a sense of closure.

stonehouse-moose-grouse — Whenever I get a chance to zap grouse for camp meat, it brings a smile to my face.

My mind was still struggling to process the fact that I had actually achieved my unreachable goal. A Colorado moose license was something I had never really expected to draw. Was it worth the wait? Absolutely! It turned out to be my greatest hunt ever. And now the head of a trophy bull was at my taxidermist’s shop. It might be hard to imagine, but three days after arrowing my moose, I was still somewhat in a state of disbelief.

Slowly sneaking through the familiar terrain, now hunting birds instead of a Shiras bull, I could not help but recall in detail every moose encounter. My eyes instinctively sought out black shapes in the timber. As I said, the reality of my success had still not settled over me completely.

A small gray figure suddenly caught my attention, and I instantly came to full draw. My eyes focused on the exact spot I wanted to hit. It dawned on me that my target was now a grouse, not a moose. Talk about extreme opposites!

When the blunt-tipped arrow thumped the bird, there was a resounding sense of clarity and acceptance. As I quickly cleaned the grouse and slid him into my canvas satchel, I realized my big Colorado bull was in the past and that there would never be another.

Since taking my Shiras bull, I have considered hunting Colorado moose again in the future, but I would be restricted to harvesting a cow. Initially, I figured that would be a bit of a letdown after taking such a beautiful trophy bull. But over the past few months I have been eating a lot of moose meat. Now, I cannot wait to throw my name in the hat again.

Jeff Stonehouse lives in Simla, Colo. His books, “Stickbow Trails” and “Traditional Archery Adventures in The Modern World,” are available on Amazon.