Examples from the book

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Facebook post from my Russian sick bed, December 8, 2015

I wrote this on Facebook December 15, 2015.  I was lying in bed in Moscow, sick, and remembering what I went through and accomplished.

I am the first one up this morning. I drink instant coffee in the dining cabin, with my ass by the roaring fire place. I am feeling pretty emotional as I sip my coffee in the dark. I got my ass beat yesterday, beat badly. I was pounded on that sled, I was frozen to the point of severe pain, but I kept going and I would not quit. We only stopped the sled once all day, and I peeled my frozen solid gloves off and put new warm ones on. We got within a mile of camp, almost pitch dark. The guide stopped and pointed to camp, then to the swamp on the left. I pointed to the swamp. I can see so I still want to go. My fingers did not like that decision so much. When we finally arrived at camp, I shook my guides hand, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Tomorrow.” I wanted him to know I was not done. I was going out to do it all over again even though the odds were starting to stack against me. 

We were warned that if you didn’t get your moose in three days, they would head to the mountain to get away from the snowmobiles. Every track I saw yesterday headed to the mountain, every one. 

We rode so hard because I think Albert either wanted me to get a moose really bad, or he wanted to beat me into quitting. Either way, I knew that he knew that it was getting impossibly hard to get in front of the moose.

I was having a hard time feeling sorry for myself for wanting a “trophy”, after all the hardship I had seen on the trip to camp. I felt ashamed to even feel bad about it. Plus, it is such a tough thing to come home empty handed. People shun you, like you did something stupid. “How could you spend all that money and not get anything,” some say. Those people never really get why I do this. In contrast, the other hunters in camp were only focused on a rack. I hated their uniquely American attitude.

What I could say was this. I was leaving everything I had out there in that -30 degrees Celsiustemperature. Every now and then I would yell, “I am hunting is Russia” and I would suck it up. I knew one thing for sure, I was probably never coming back here, and I am not going home regretting not doing everything I could. The only thing that was going to stop me was a moose on the ground, or them pushing me in that Russian army truck to go home.

On the other hand, I am fully aware how blessed and lucky I am. I never take that for granted. The greatest benefit of a trip like this, is renewing my appreciation for my family back home.

So, as I drank my coffee, I became very content with the fact that I would likely go home without a moose. 

I was proud of what I had put into it over the 5 days of travel and 4 days of hunting. You’ll never take away what is in my head, and I am very grateful for that.

An hour and a half later, our cabin door is kicked in by my Russian guide, with his toothbrush in his mouth, spewing Russian and throwing his hands up like a giant moose rack. He saw a bull, turns out a half mile away, while brushing his teeth. So, out the door I went.

Luckily, I had already put my hunting pants on. I expected to shoot from camp, so I threw on my untied sneakers, grabbed my coat and on the way out grabbed my frozen gun sitting outside.

Standing by the shitter he tried to get me to see the moose. I finally picked it out and got the scope on it, it was a million miles away. 

So off we went, running through the frozen swamp. This is a bitch, because it is covered with little snow covered moguls’. I slipped and staggered and fell many times. I lost my damn untied sneaker once and had to dig it out of the snow. We ran over a quarter mile, stopping and trying to see if I should shoot. I had no idea the range, since my rangefinder binoculars are still in the cabin. Then I see Albert come to a small creek and wade right through it in his rubber boots. Well, no turning back now, in the water I go with my sneakers on. 

We finally get to the last spruce tree as cover. Like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, it was not hiding much. It is time to shoot. Now I am hot and sweaty, and trying hard not to fog up my glasses or the scope. I have nothing to rest my gun on. The moose is feeding, so at first, I cannot even tell what way it is facing. Finally, its head comes up. The first shot did nothing and I am not surprised. You put electrical tape on your barrel to keep the snow out, and it usually blows off. It was rock hard and I am sure deformed the first bullet. Shot 2 and 3 went off and still nothing. When I let shot 4 go, I had squatted down to use my knee, but still nothing. Did I ruin my scope? Do I suck? I wanted to go home! 

Then it hit me, that animal is a lot farther away than I think. I raised the scope up over its back, pulled the trigger and he dropped. It was over in seconds. One shot from my 7mm shut off a 1500-pound animal, like that! 

We finished the half mile run. Once I saw it on the ground I was psyched and relieved and thankful. A giant, 8 or 9-year-old animal with a 57” wide rack was going to America with me. 

The rest of the crew came by snow machine from camp. They kept making camera motions, but mine was back in camp. I kept showing them my wet, untied sneaker to get them to understand that I needed to go back and get dressed. No hat, no gloves, missing my bibs, and another three layers under my jacket, it was still -30 C, my hair was soaked from sweat and I was starting to freeze. They finally caught on and we all went back for tea.

That is hunting, hours and hours of nothing but patience and torture for a few minutes of adrenaline rushed excitement. I love it. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. I am a lucky man.

At dinner, we celebrated the Russian way with 9 shots of vodka. You see it is bad luck not to do shots in groups of three!!!