This little feller wasn't a roadkill. This was my first moose that I successfully hunted. He was not very keen on the idea of being supper. Dad and I were "on patrol" early one morning. We were headed south when heard someone open up with a mini-14. A dozen shots later all was quiet. We figured there was no point in going that way so we turned around and headed North.
After a dozen steps, or so, I heard a branch snap behind us. I stopped Dad and told him, but he thought I was hearing things. As we were standing there arguing about whether I had or had not heard anything...Herbert walked out in front of us. He was staggering and wheezing. At 15 yards broadside we opened up on him. I fired 4 rounds and started to reload when I noticed that Dad had a jamb (on his Winchester Mod 70 Featherweight). Herbert had turn 90 degrees away from us and bolted.
So, I took off running after him... and ran right past him. Dad called me back to where he was laying (head up looking at me). I walked around behind at delivered the coup de grace.
That tough young ungulate soaked at least 5 .223 and 4 180 grain .30s before he finally went down. 2 of the .30s went through and through the lungs broad side, and 2 more entered through the hams and lodged forward of the lungs in the low neck area. The .223 entered and broke ribs breaking apart , but did did not penetrate all the way through rib cage.
1 comment:
The tongue makes the picture that much more cool.
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