Idaho Shiras Moose Trip 1 : September Ghosts

Idaho Shiras Moose Hunt - August Scouting and September Hunt 2021

In 2021, I was fortunate enough to draw a once in a lifetime bull moose tag in Eastern Idaho. Even better, so did my dad! With almost 3 months open to hunting, we could plan multiple trips; all in an attempt to hit the moose rut. 

All of my research had indicated the Shiras Moose rut coincided with the elk rut; last couple weeks of September to early October. So that's when I planned the first 2 trips. My dad was supposed to be retired, but took an out of town job at the last minute that would keep him in Arizona for the next 2 years. He would only be able to make an early October trip.

I was fairly familiar with the area, but an August scouting trip was still in order. Joining me of course would be my wife, Katie; because... fishing!

Katie and I made the long trek over to the other side of the state and set camp in a central location in my unit. The next 3 days, I made some morning hikes, set some trail cameras and got a feel for the area. On one of my morning hikes I ran into 2 different sets of cow and calf moose in one creek drainage.

Katie and I also fished some local waters, catching some dandy Yellowstone Cutthroats.

Katie and I drove most of the roads to see where all the access was. On one drive we ran into a local named Charlie.

"Oh you won't see any moose this time of year. They hate the heat like no other. You'll want to be here October 15th and on. The 20th is about the peak of their activity." Charlie said, after I inquired if he'd seen any moose.

"Darn, my trips are early," I responded. 

"Most guys hunt early and settle for a small bull, the big ones are like ghosts until later in the season. They just magically appear."

Charlie offered to show us a few spots and we even went to his house to see all the big animals he's shot over the many years living there, including moose. 

Despite our new knowledge, my trips were set in stone and I'd just have to make the most of them. I would attempt to plan another trip in early November if I hadn't filled my tag by then, for I had already filled up the rest of my October with an elk hunt and Utah deer hunt.

My anticipation was high come September when it was time for my first hunt. Joining me would be my father-in-law, Rick. I had studied up on moose calling and thought I sounded fairly moose-like. Calling in a moose would be an unforgettable experience.   

Rick and I started the long journey over, stopping in Burley for some lunch. We were eating our lunch in a parking lot when I looked up to see a Little Caesar's pizza in front of us. "Gosh Rick, we could have gotten pizza for lunch."

"Yeah, that would have been a good idea!" Rick replied.

We finished lunch and continued the drive to camp.

We set up camp and began the hunt! Unfortunately, the weather was not on our side. Like most Idaho Septembers, it was still quite warm and all week it was suppose to be sunny. But we were there and we'd have to make the most of it.

We hiked trails and old roads, sat in likely spots in the mornings and evenings and tried calling in various places.

For the most part, the country was pretty thick with brush and timber, so glassing was tough.

Several days passed before our first moose sighting. After a long morning hike, Rick and I sat in folding chairs at camp to rest and recover. 

"Gosh, some leftover Little Caesar's pizza would sure be good right now." Rick said, regrettably, as he ate some canned sardines.

"Why didn't we just get one to-go?!" I replied, shaking my head. "I can't believe we had that opportunity staring at us and we still missed it!" 

"There's a moose right there!" Rick said suddenly, pointing to a strip of trees 50 yards away. "Grab your gun!"

I looked over to see a cow moose and her calf slowly walking and feeding on mushrooms. Both looked over at us without a care in the world. I grabbed my gun and walked closer to make sure no bulls were near. It was just the pair, so we began to take some photos and admire the carefree, yet somehow elusive animals.

The pair wandered off and Rick and I looked at each other.

"I guess they're around." I said, shrugging my shoulders. 

Rick and I hadn't seen many tracks or sign anywhere except in this creek drainage where camp was set up. We'd tried numerous other places without a sign. We now knew if we wanted to maximize our efforts, it would likely be staying close to this drainage. The problem was the weather. It was nearly 80 degrees most days and the nighttime lows were just above freezing. If the moose were in the rut, they were doing it at night. We'd had no responses to our calls and still hadn't seen a bull; not even on trail cameras. 

One day we ran into an archery elk hunter who had encountered a bull moose just up the creek from camp. He said he caught a glimpse of a bull moose but couldn't tell how big it was. He pointed to an old road where the encounter had occurred. The next morning we walked that road. It slowly took us to a saddle that marked the start of another creek drainage. On the way back I ditched the road and slowly worked my way down the creek. The creek was sheltered by old growth timber, making it dark and cold. If there were bull moose around, this seemed like the place they could be hiding. I suddenly cut a fresh moose track and began to follow it. I had only walked a few steps forward when I heard a loud crash up ahead. A huge animal went thundering through the woods. That has to be a moose. I ran forward to try to get a glimpse of what I had just spooked, but the forest was just too thick. Whatever it was got out of there in a hurry and the woods were empty and dark once again. I tried to follow the tracks but the ground was just too dry and covered with vegetation. That had to be a bull! 

I came back to camp and told Rick about my encounter. 

"That's cool. You know what sounds good for lunch?" Rick asked.

"Little Caesar's pizza." I replied.

We both got a good chuckle. This became the running joke the remainder of the trip.

Excited about my moose encounter, we began to work all the deep, dark fingers of this creek. "Timber pounding" became the name of the game. I hate this style of hunting, but it was my only option if I wanted to kill a moose on this trip with these conditions. 

The country was thick and visibility was limited in most places. If I bumped a bull moose, I'd likely only have a short shot through narrow lanes of timber and brush. 

I found moose sign in almost all of my walks but it was hard to tell how fresh it was. I did, however, find some cool elk rubs and wallows.

I even found a curious Pine Marten!

And a Great Gray Owl!

Towards the end of the trip, Trevor, my brother-in-law, came over to help. We hiked up the creek to where I'd encountered the moose in the timber. Maybe we'd be able to call him out into the open just before dark. Trevor and I got into strategic positions where he pretended to be a bull down in the creek bottom grunting and raking on the trees and I was a lonely cow. I was sitting behind a log with a clear view of the meadow.

Before we knew it, darkness was upon us. The moose were just not in the rut yet. 

The next morning I decided to walk down through that patch of dark timber one last time. The trip was nearly over and this spot was the only place I had confidence there was a bull. I slowly crept down a game trail, mindful of each step, eyes scanning everywhere they could. There! To my left I spotted something dark. Moose! But they were already onto me. Behind some trees I caught a glimpse of some antlers just as the moose turned to trot away. Then another moose appeared, also sporting some headgear. The trees were so thick I couldn't even tell how large the antlers were on either moose, let alone try to get a shot. The 2 bulls went crashing away up the hill. Darnit! They had surely winded me. Why were these moose so skittish? Most places with moose you're more concerned about them attacking you. The bulls clearly knew I was a threat. These September moose were definitely like ghosts.

I sulked back to camp realizing I would not get a moose on this trip. I would be returning in 4 days with my dad. Hopefully conditions would change and so would our luck.  

We packed up camp and headed towards home. But there was one stop we had to make: Little Caesar's. Was it as good as we built it up to be? Not quite.

 

North Idaho 2021

 Coeur d'Alene and Orofino area 2021

"Looks like the weather is going to take a turn for the worse." I said, as we packed our things for a week-long adventure chasing pike in the Coeur d'Alene area.

"Of course it is. I wish you wouldn't have said anything and left that a surprise." Katie responded back with a frown. 

It had been unseasonably warm and dry for the entire month of May, so a change in weather was due. Unfortunately, the last time we tried to time the pike bite the same thing happened. Oh well, that's spring for you.

By late afternoon we'd arrived at the campground, set up our tent and ate some dinner. It had rained off and on the entire way there with the temperature hovering in the low 50's. It had now cleared momentarily and the lake was calm. I was getting the itch. We launched the boat at the last hour of the day and headed to an area we'd caught pike before. We casted large streamers with a couple takes of what we assumed were bass. Darkness quickly approached and before we knew it, it was time to head back to camp. 

The next morning we awoke to rain and wind. Hardly the conditions that tempt you to wake up early and conquer the day. Still eager to pursue some fish, I snuck out of the tent by myself and headed toward the boat. I'd try fishing around the docks. Armed with a balanced minnow under an indicator, I quickly started catching bass; both smallmouth and largemouth. One largemouth was nearly 18 inches.

By 9 am I was thoroughly cold and soaked. With the boat inches away from the dock, I threw out a cast in "no mans land" and set the rod down. I was reaching for a rope to secure the boat to the dock when I saw my indicator take a dive. I quickly grabbed the rod and set the hook. Line peeled off the reel immediately. Still assuming it to be a large bass, I was ecstatic when the fish came closer, revealing a pike. I netted the fish as quickly as possible, knowing my tippet was not "pike proof". I took a quick photo and released the small pike to hunt another day. 

A quick look at the forecast told us today would not be a pleasant fishing day so we decided to run into town and accomplish a few things. We finished the day by fishing the same location as the night before. This time, without a single take or follow. Once back in the docks, bass fishing picked up and we landed a few nice fish. 

The following day gave us slightly milder weather. We decided to head up the river and hit the chain lakes. Pike are ambush predators and love to hang out in emerging weed beds in the spring. Katie and I had no trouble finding prime looking pike water. In fact, most of the lakes were full of "pike water". Lily pads of various sizes and colors, cabbages, and numerous other aquatic vegetation was emerging all over each lake. Knowing we had no shortage of pike water to cover, we hoped water temperature could narrow the search. We had to find the warmest water. We checked in the back of coves, areas that had cloudier water and creek mouths; all were reading 58 degrees. We would simply have to cast and cast. 

We tried a few areas we'd caught crappie in the past; nothing. I tried casting chatterbaits and spinner baits hoping the vibration would trigger a strike; nothing. While I continued to try various spinners, lures and flies, Katie continued to cast a large fire tiger flashabou fly with a medium speed strip retrieve. The fly looked dynamite in the water. All we needed were the fish.

We entered a cove that suddenly had a different feel. Several downed logs lay on the bottom and numerous dark, circular areas could be seen mixed about with emerging cabbage weeds. Perhaps the dark spots were fish beds or a different type of weed. It was hard to explain, but my optimism spiked. We slowly drifted through, casting all around. We were almost out of the cove when I heard a startled squeak out of Katie. I looked back to see a huge pike thrash on the end of Katie's line and then dive for the depths. Line peeled off her reel as the fish tried to take shelter in the weeds. 

"I was wondering what that log was doing following my fly." Katie said with wide eyes.

"Honey, that thing is huge!" I exclaimed as I tried to get us to deeper water with the trolling motor. 

The fight went on for quite a while. Each time the fish would surface, it would take another run for the depths, bringing up more cabbage with it. This fish was what we'd come for. All our previous trips we'd caught nothing close to this fish. I looked down at the net I'd chosen to bring; the big one, just in case we encountered a fish like this. I was estatic when I finally scooped the fish into the net.

The fish was as healthy as they come; 33 inches and very fat. If you're going to catch one fish all day, this was the fish. Katie held the beast up for a photo and we sent the gator on it's way. 

We fished a few other spots without success before calling it a day.

With a second turkey tag in my pocket and only a couple days of the season left to go, I was itching to chase some birds. The following morning I tried hunting an area while Katie caught up on some sleep. I didn't find any turkeys, so I returned to camp, ready to hit the water. This time we would try some of the rocky points on the main lake. 

We set off across the lake and hit the first spot. The water looked dynamite for smallies, but the temperature was 52 degrees and there was a healthy chop on the lake. After a couple hours and no fish, we returned to camp to go for a bike ride. 

That evening a thunderstorm rolled through camp. Apparently it was our tent's time to go, because the wind leveled it with the first couple of gusts. Luckily, I brought another.

The next day we hit the chain lakes again. This time we had overcast skies and calm winds; perfect fishing weather. We tried some old water as well as new. All of it looking dynamite. One bay had a creek coming in. The water temperature reached 59 and had a noticeable drop off with weeds right at the edge. I had numerous takes from both bass and pike and I was luckily enough to connect with a couple. 

We left that lake and headed to another. This lake was also covered in "pike water", but it wasn't until we ended up in a cove that had a dark bottom that we saw our first fish. 

Small, red lily pads with spiraling stems emerged from the depths; a weed we hadn't seen yet. The first pike nearly attacked the boat, charging for my fly out of nowhere just as I was lifting the fly to re-cast. The 20 something inch fish missed and disappeared, never to be seen again. Katie connected with the next pike; another low 20 inch fish. Hers came off right at the boat. The next pike hit my fly so hard it broke it off as I was setting the hook. Rats! Katie connected again; another 20 inch pike that launched out of the water throwing her hook. There was a pocket of fish in this small area. We had a couple more hookups before our small pocket exhausted itself and we were forced to go back on the hunt. Unfortunately, that was the last action we'd see on that day.   

The following day we headed to Hayden Lake, hoping to repeat the crappie smack down we'd experienced the first time we fished there. However, as we launched the boat we noticed the cove we'd fished last time was nearly choked out with weeds. Maybe they were tucked into the pockets? We tried fishing the small pockets of weeds with only a tiny pike to hand. 

We moved on to different water, first trying large lily pad patches. I found a nice largemouth eager for a meal. 

From there we moved onto a bank with several downed trees extending into the lake. The water suddenly darkened and took on a stained color. I was throwing a "horny toad", a topwater bass plastic that fishes weedless. The lure had skipped and kicked through the lily pads just like a frog. We neared the first downed tree and I threw a cast near the bank. I kicked the frog to and fro along side the tree. When I was convinced no-one was around, I quickly retrieved the frog along the surface to re-cast. That's when it appeared. The nearly 3 foot pike charged out of the darkness, traveling almost 15 feet in hot pursuit of the frog. The pike slowed as the frog neared the boat. I stopped my retrieve and let the frog fall. The fish showed interest but it knew something was up. The fish slowly sank into the stained water and disappeared. 

"Katie, get your fly over there where the tree enters the water! I think you stand a good chance." I said, knowing a different presentation would likely entice the fish. 

Katie threw a perfect cast. Strip, strip, strip, BOOM! Out of the darkness the fish charged, inhaling her 10 inch fly entirely. Katie calmly continued stripping until her line came tight and she lifted the rod, setting the hook. I was jazzed to see Katie into another great pike. After a nice battle, we had the pike in the boat. 

 

"I can't believe how calm you were. I probably would have pulled the hook right out the fishes mouth as it charged for my fly." I said shaking my head. 

"Well you have to wait until you feel them. DUH!" Katie replied with words I probably told her when I was teaching her how to streamer fish numerous years ago.

We set the predator loose and continued along the same bank. However, the terrain changed and so did our optimism. It was amazing how much good looking water the fish had to choose from. Even amongst great looking water, there were pockets of better water. 

Before we knew it, it was time to head back to camp. The next day we'd start our journey home. We'd be taking a slight detour, however, to pick a mushroom or two and chase a species of fish neither of us had yet to catch: Tiger Trout!

The following day, and a couple hours south, we set off on some forested hillsides in search of Morel mushrooms. After a brief hunt, we stumbled upon a patch. Another new activity for Katie and I. We gathered a few for a small meal before setting off for the lake we heard had some tigers. 

As we neared the lake, the rain began to sock back in, coming down in buckets by the time we were launching the boat. Good rain gear and relentless pursuit of a new fish overcame common sense as we found ourselves on the water, staring through the rain at our indicators. 

It didn't take long to find the first fish; a rainbow trout. Shortly after, I picked up another fish. Only this time, the color flashing under the water was copper. Could it be? I brought the fish near the surface and giggled in delight. A tiger!

Katie followed up with a rainbow. The rain slowed and before we knew it, the sun was shining. 

We explored around the lake, catching a fish here and there. I connected with another small tiger.

The day was fading, we were tired and hungry and Katie began to get nervous she might not get her tiger. We had worked our way back toward the boat ramp when Katie's bobber disappeared into the darkness. Katie was on it though, setting the hook on a copper flashing fish. A tiger! She had done it, just in time!

Satisfied in checking off a new species, we loaded the boat up, set up camp and ate dinner. 

As we drove home the following day, we reminisced on the highlights of the trip. In spite of less than ideal weather and water temps, we'd tangled with 2 very nice pike. We fished new water and familiar, and caught some nice bass and smaller pike. We also found a few mushrooms, and even caught some tiger trout. Hard to ask for much more!