A Brisk Morning in the Number 2 Swamp
We were up before sunrise, coffee in hand and frost on the Jeep, ready for another day in the bush. Our plan was simple — drive to the end of the number 2 swamp, then walk in from the south end to see what the morning would bring. The air was crisp, our breath was slow and best of all, the wind was in our favor.
As we eased around the edge of the muskeg, the forest floor crackled beneath our boots. We tried to keep silent, but the thick trees had other plans. After a few too many snapped twigs, I decided to step out onto the open muskeg and follow the trail while Matthew crept along right behind me. We moved slowly toward the south island — every step deliberate, every sound measured.
The conditions couldn’t have been better. The cool air, steady north wind, and low light made for the kind of morning hunters dream about. Then it happened — I caught a glimpse of a moose through the trees. I raised my binoculars slowly… crap, a young bull moose. My pulse quickened. I motioned for Matthew to step forward to take a look, his eyes wide with focus.
After confirming it was a bull, I fumbled for my phone to snap a photo, but the camera focus refused to cooperate. Matthew tried his luck taking a picture through his binoculars — no dice. And just as he was doing that, movement flickered on the trail ahead.
A cow moose stepped out, somewhat alert of our presence, just 120 yards north of us. I tried to wave at Matthew without spooking her, but he was still glued to his binoculars. Finally, he looked up, saw me signaling, and followed my gaze. There she stood — ass towards us, sniffing the air, so majestic in the soft morning light.
Matthew never even raised his rifle. We both watched closely, trying to see if a calf was nearby. Before we could tell, she trotted off the trail and vanished into the muskeg. We tried to get another look at her through the trees, but she slipped away as quietly as she appeared.
Even without a shot, it was a perfect hunt — two moose up close, the wind in our favor, and a memory we won’t forget. On the walk back, we stopped where I’d first spotted the bull. Matthew ranged it at 150 yards — that’s pretty good, sneaking up on a bull moose in the open swamp.
Looking back, maybe we could’ve played it differently, but that’s hunting. Sometimes it’s not about the harvest; it’s about the chase, the stillness, and the moments you share in the wild.
We packed up camp later that morning and headed home. My trailer was frozen solid when I got back, but after thawing things out, no harm was done. Now we wait — a week or two — until the next trip west. The bush always calls you back.
