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I just observed that Wade
"Buck" Stockman has become a member of the ATBA.
That's great, it's about time. I also observed that he,
very quickly, submitted a photograph of a fine bull moose he
took three or four years ago while he hunted with Cal Briggs,
Bill Mikaluk and myself.
That was a good story, if memory
serves me right....it goes something like this.
Wade set off from camp one evening in
early October with confident optimism that he would get into a
conversation with a moose. (I really don't know if that
was the case, but it sounds good in the story) Anyway,
Wade had done some scouting and did have a fair idea of an area
that holds moose. He located the only good tree suitable
to cover a little bog that was at the bottom of a funnel
coming out of a larger swamp. Sign told him that it would
be a good ambush spot so he climbed into his sling and began a
sequence of calls. He told me (and everybody else) that he
is a great caller and that moose don't stand a chance once he
enters the woods wearing his Ghillie suit, railroad cap and
carrying his Jack Kempf Falcon long bow. They stand even
less of a chance once he sets his golden tones to work
pretending to be a love sick cow moose.
As Wade was headed toward the
bog. Cal and I headed away from camp in my vehicle.
We walked a long distance and, try as we might, we had no
success. We should have known better because Wade was in
the woods. We should have also known that any bull in his
right mind would be headed Wade's way and not ours.
Shortly after the sun set, we headed back to camp scratching our
heads and wishing we were half as good as Wade. As we
drove down the cut line headed to camp, a figure popped out of
the bush in front of us. It was Wade. He had that
"you should have seen what I just done" look on his
face. Of course we both asked "what did you just
do"? Wade modestly and "matter of factly"
said, I shot a moose. We all high fived each other and Cal
and I patted him on the back and pulled the story out of
him. Wade told us all about finding this tree and getting
into it. He described his patented calling sequence (I'd
tell ya but he made us promise not to). The excitement of
telling the story caused his voice to elevate in volume and his
hands began to tell the story at the same time as his words.
Wade said that he bellowed out a
pattern and, very shortly thereafter, received a short little
bull grunt coming from the east.....due east. Normally
that may be a good thing, but unfortunately in this case due
east meant that the bull was likely going to end up on a trail
that was only 3 yards north of his tree. Wade let out
another set and that cinched the deal, in he came. Grunt
after grunt after grunt. Once again, the man known as
"The Moose Terminator" had one on the line. As
quick as this all unfolded, he was there. Directly under Wade's
tree, nose sticking out of the forest and a careful and studious
scan of the bog for the cow that requested his attention. Wade stealthily bent at the waste, steadied himself and
patiently waited until the behemoth stepped forward. One
step, tension on the
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string, Two step, raise the bow and
begin the cycle and as the third step touched the ground, Wade
released his self made cedar arrow. The arrow buried
exactly at the spot behind the shoulder that Wade had focused
on. The bull bolted forward, kicked out to the side at
whatever just poked his side and trotted across the 75 yard opening to the other
side of the funnel and back into the forest. Wade listened
intently and had a lock on the location where he last heard the
bull. He quietly snuck out of the tree and crossed the
muskeg to the opening he entered it from. He stopped
glanced back, looked up into the tamarack and the spruce and
smiled. He was proud.
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"Tell me
Wade...did ya shoot a black moose or did ya shoot a
brown moose" |
We continued to pat him on the back
and urged him to go and attempt a recovery at that moment.
He asserted that the cold October air would keep him in good
stead until morning. We continued to prod and he
conceded. We returned to camp to gather lanterns, cheese
cloth, knives and Wade's loyal hunting partner, Bill
Mikaluk. We returned to the scene and as soon as we
entered the bog, Cal and I both looked at each other and stated,
"from here on and forever more, this sacred place will be
reverently referred to as "Buck's bog". Wade
smiled, he was proud. Well as it often does, life doesn't
turn out the way we hope it would. We had trouble in the
dark finding sign and decided to take Buck's advice and return
in the morning. Even though he said he was confident that
he had dispatched the trophy, there was concern and trepidation
in his voice and in his face.
Bright and early, Wade rousted us out
of our racks. We returned to Buck's bog and quickly picked
up a faint and sporadic trail of blood. It quickly ran out
and the mood became troubled and somber. We began
searching trails that could have provided escape for the big
bull. As I walked down this hint of a trail, I decided to
break off of it and head toward this depression that I could
tell was over a slight rise. As I crested the rise, there
was Wade's bull, 100 yards from where he was shot. It was
evident that he had simply collapsed and peacefully and quickly
expired. The mark on the hide confirmed Wade's account of
the shot placement. A perfectly placed arrow had entered
at a steep angle behind the shoulder and failed to exit the
bottom. I was very happy to see my friend's anguish come
to an end, but I had to have some fun. I yelled out in my
best Scottish accent, "Tell me Wade...did ya shoot a black
moose or did ya shoot a brown moose". Wade was
not impressed. You could tell in his retort that he was
not a happy man and was deeply concerned that he may have lost
this bull. He responded, "Did you find my
moose?" I responded, "Just answer the flippin
question". He thought, "you better not be
f***ing around" but replied "it was a brown
moose". I happily replied "well I suppose that
it would be the one that I found right here". Wade
covered the ground in Carl Lewis pace and gave his trademark
yodel and fist pump. Cal and Bill quickly joined us and
congratulations were heaped upon Wade. His gate and
presence returned to one of confidence and surety. He was
proud. Wade transposed into a photographic director and
orchestrated the photo session that documented his
success. It was a good day. Buck's bog has offered a
number of glimpses of the big swamp donkey and several
conversations, but no one has followed up on Wade's success
there.
At the end of all this, the only
question that you, the reader, and those that know Wade have yet
to answer is..... "Why is Wade's nickname Buck when it
should be Bull?"
Written By: Gary
McCartney
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