Newfoundland Moose Hunting: A Plus-One’s Perspective

“Where are your binoculars?”

I heard my husband’s voice from a few feet away as we stood under the hunting stand. For the past half hour he had been busy scanning the neighboring hillside for movement. I was spending an unusual amount of time viewing the vast landscape through my camera, trying not to panic that I didn’t have the most important piece of equipment for spotting moose.

Our eyes met and Brett read the guilty look on my face. I forgot them.

It was the second morning of our Newfoundland moose hunt and, apart from this rookie oversight, our spirits were high. Day one had presented a cow and a calf, two young bulls, a bear, and – most excitedly – a hefty bull that responded to calls but couldn’t be lured far from his perch near the neighboring mountaintop, likely glued to a herd of cows.

Being too late in the afternoon to trek that far, our hunting guide, Mark, said we’d start today at the same spot and hope we’d have a second chance. So far there was no sign of our moose, and my lack of binoculars – “spyglass” as some Canadians say – wasn’t helping. 

Mark, hearing our murmurs from up in the stand, climbed down to see what the commotion was about. With a good-humored kindness that I’d come to learn as quintessentially “Mark,” he strode over to his pack, pulled out a spotting scope, and set it up so we could all contribute to the moose search. Back in business.

A stormy start

This trip – with Brett hunting and me along for the ride as a “non-hunting guest” – was over three years in the making. COVID, border closures, and scheduling conflicts had postponed the hunt multiple times.

Finally, in October 2022, I stood on spongy ground in tall rubber boots, taking in the vivid colors of Newfoundland’s Long Range Mountains, feeling it was worth the delays and fuss of getting to Canada’s easternmost province with a firearm and hunting gear.

Our first days were spent on the eastern side of the island in the capital city of St. John’s. The built-in buffer proved to be a saving grace after a lengthy customs experience in Toronto caused Brett’s rifle to not arrive until the following day. Stressful, but not all that uncommon. We spent a few days hiking and exploring St. John’s, known for its Canadian hospitality, local music scene, and jellybean-colored houses layered along the coastal cliffs.

An unexpected, growing concern was Hurricane Fiona making its way north toward eastern Canada. Gray skies, wind, and rain moved in as the storm got closer. All flights were canceled and the airport was eerily empty as we picked up our rental car and drove six and a half hours west to the small town of Deer Lake.

Apart from some power blips during our night at the Deer Lake Motel, we survived the storm unscathed. Unfortunately, over 100-mile winds devastated communities in southwest Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, and some hunters couldn’t make it to the island for their long-awaited, perhaps once in a lifetime hunts. We counted our blessings and prepared for seven days at moose camp. 

Welcome to a Newfoundland moose hunting lodge

Our hunting lodge was only accessible by helicopter. On Sunday morning, our outfitter picked us up and drove to a helicopter pad deep in the woods. A kind soul suggested I sit in the front seat next to the pilot for the 15 brief but thrilling minutes in the air. Through raindrops on the windows we got our first real sense of the vast, roadless terrain.

A wooden cabin nestled on the edge of a lake came into view and we touched down. Holding on to our hats under the whirr of the propellers, we got out of the way and watched men remove duffel bags, gun cases, and boxes of supplies from the chopper. The departing hunters loaded up and, after a few trips back and forth to complete the flip, a quiet took over. 

Walking into the lodge for the first time felt like being welcomed into a family cabin. Freshly baked cookies sat on the kitchen counter and a roaring wood stove took the wet chill out of the air. There were smiles, handshakes, and introductions as we met our campmates for the next week: four hunting guides (Mark, Kevin, Perry, and Riley), two fellow hunters (Gordon and Eddie), and a cook (Jackie).

We brought our bags into one of the two guest bedrooms, equipped with two twin beds and a row of hooks on an open wall. The shared living space outside our door was a big open room with a dining room table, couch and chairs, and the kitchen. A clothes line ran across the room to dry out wet clothes and gear. 

That first afternoon was spent settling in, sighting in guns by the lake, and getting to know each other while Jackie prepared a traditional Sunday feast. The spread included turkey, potatoes, corned beef, cabbage, stuffing, bread pudding, and lime pie. 

Sitting around the dinner table, we learned why it felt like such a genuine family atmosphere. Three of the four guides were related, and all of them, including Jackie, had worked together for many years. Polite small talk quickly evolved into laughter and teasing and conversation covering everything from Canadian culture to gun laws to Eddie’s girlfriend when he was married to his second ex-wife. 

A natural banter soon developed between Gordon and Eddie, and it seemed impossible these now roommates met just hours earlier. Each had a gift for storytelling, with the end of one story serving as a launch pad for the other’s tale. 

Gordon, an animated Nova Scotian with expressive eyes and a seemingly endless bank of world knowledge, was on his first moose hunt thanks to a surprise gift from his wife. 

Eddie, on the other hand, was a straight-shooting carpenter from Maine and a regular big game hunter thanks in part to alimony from his second ex-wife.

After dinner, Mark outlined our plans for the following day and pointed out where we’d hunt on a large map hung on the wall behind the couch. Everyone went to bed early, but be it from a stuffed belly, nerves, or excitement, sleep didn’t come easy. 

I must’ve drifted off eventually and woke to the sound of clinking dishes and tantalizing smells of coffee and bacon wafting under the door. Outside, an impossibly deep pink sky was forming to the east. Time to rise and shine.

The hunt (continued)

By the second day, I was starting to understand the rhythm of “spot and stalk” hunting. Mark would use the cow moose call every 15 minutes or so and we’d all scan the landscape searching for signs of movement. Our sights were on the neighboring hillside, so we could talk and move without too much concern of scaring the animals.

Brett spotted “the” bull in mid-morning. Mark’s calls weren’t much use with a strong wind blowing toward us, unable to carry the sound. We’d need to trek to the moose’s territory. 

After an early lunch – a thermos of homemade soup and a sandwich on freshly baked bread – we shed some layers, descended into the valley, and trudged up the other hillside. The walk took us over a rushing stream and through thick brush, and I couldn’t help but wonder how we’d get the moose out if this journey was a success. 

As we reached the rock Mark had identified as our landmark, there was no sign of the moose. We stood on top and gazed around where the bull should be. Mark called and our spirits fell with every minute that passed. Had it followed cows somewhere else? Had we scared it away in our travels?

Mark moved to the neighboring rock and continued calling every few minutes. Brett, perched on his pack with his rifle ready, suddenly caught sight of antlers disguised among brush about 400 yards away. The moose hadn’t moved – it was laying down! 

Brett got Mark’s attention and he came over to our rock to strategize. Returning to his perch, Mark began calling again. Brett watched the antlers slowly start to move in our direction. A body finally came into view. As the bull got closer, it must’ve sensed something was off and started veering away from us.

Among all the excitement, I made my second oversight of the day: forgetting ear plugs. I prayed the movement to cover my ears wouldn’t sabotage all our efforts up to this point.

BOOM. 

Brett fired, my heart raced, and the moose darted out of sight. Brett felt confident the first shot was a good hit, but we couldn’t be sure. We gathered our belongings and began the search. The tracks ended. No signs of blood. No body. We walked and walked, desperately looking for some sign of where it went. Eventually we split away from Mark, who left us with a warning that a wounded, 1,000-plus pound animal could easily trample us if startled.

After what felt like a fruitless search, Mark called us over, his voice grave. We approached and his solemn face transformed into a big, playful smile. 

“Congratulations,” he said as he put out his hand to shake Brett’s. “Your moose is up there.” We looked up the hill to where he pointed and sure enough, we could just make out a brown body in the grass.

Relief flooded through us. The bull was even more majestic close up, with 18 points, a 44-inch spread, and enough meat to fill our freezer for the coming year.

The next hours were spent quartering up the body (a helicopter would come pick up the meat bags) and mentally processing how perfectly the stars had aligned.

Antlers in tow, we arrived back at camp just as it got dark and the forecasted rain finally fell.

The rest of the week

What do you do when your hunt is over but you’re less than halfway through the week at moose camp? For one thing, relax! 

That night, Brett and Gordon – who had returned with his own moose affectionately named Hurricane Harry – clinked glasses and sipped Nova Scotian spirits. Jackie prepared a moose heart for us all to taste with dinner.

Eddie got a bull the following day, and our guides focused their efforts on processing our group’s meat, hides, and antlers. Brett and I went on long, meandering hikes, taking in the true beauty of our surroundings with a moose-sized weight off our shoulders. Movement was necessary to offset the hearty meals and desserts that were constantly being served! 

As days went on, I became accustomed to endearing greetings such as, “Good marning, me love, how ya gettin’ on?” Our hosts were always attentive, anticipating our needs – especially interpretations from their rapidly spoken, uniquely Newfoundland version of English – and what could make our experience more comfortable and enjoyable. Water, second helpings, cookies, beer, a headlamp reading light, a radio to take on hikes, a fun fact about our surroundings… they truly thought of everything. 

Having spent the most time with our own guide, and in many ways reminding me of my dad, Mark held a special place in my heart. On the first day of our hunt he took us to an unused backcountry camp to eat lunch, going above and beyond to fire up the wood stove, make coffee, and give me access to an outhouse. As he used electrical tape to seal a knife cut on his hand, we learned how he met his wife, a nurse, while he was injured in the hospital. 

When I asked if he enjoyed traveling when not guiding, Mark had no hesitation in saying he last left the island in 2007 to visit his sister in Ontario. He’s a proud and happy Newfoundlander through and through. 

Gordon and Eddie continued to entertain everyone with their stories and quick wit, leaving my stomach sore from laughing so hard.

Some conversations were more thoughtful and serious, including updates from Gordon’s wife about the hurricane damage back home. I’d often reach for my notebook to write down their recommendations for books, movies, travel destinations, and festivals. Not to mention bits of wisdom such as, “We’re all going to die, but not today,” followed by Eddie’s signature it-is-what-it-is shrug. 

Coming out the other side

Sunday arrived and we packed our bags, including Eddie’s David Baldacci novel he read throughout the week. “In the end, everyone gets what they deserve,” he promised as he gave it to me. That they did.

The helicopter arrived with a new batch of wide-eyed hunters, the four of us bid adieu to our friends – who by now felt like family – and loaded in the chopper. 

Whereas the ride into camp a week ago had been silent, my last memories overlooking moose territory includes commentary from Gordon and Eddie about Cuban cigars. An unusual yet somehow fitting way to go out. 

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Moose hunt takeaways

Living with a group of strangers from all different backgrounds and perspectives is an immersive experience. It may sound strange, but I felt like a different person arriving back at the helicopter pad. Here are some of the insights that remain from our week at moose camp:

Newfoundland is beautiful!

For some reason I’d pictured us hunting through thick, muddy forests making for a drab brown and green scenery. Instead, everything was vibrant: short, vivid evergreens, orange and gold grasses, red leaves and berries… even the mud had a red tint. Golden Hour was especially dazzling, with the combination of colors and unusual shapes looking to come from the imagination of Dr. Seuss.

Mild weather helped (but could have hurt)

Weather is a constant conversation among hunters. Our week in late September was warmer than average, causing concern among the guides that the bulls wouldn’t be on the move during the rut as much as usual. It ended up being an all-around-success for our group anyway, and I thoroughly enjoyed the surprising amount of sunshine and warmth. Raingear was put to use on and off, but it wasn’t that miserable wetness that chills you to the bone.

People create the experience

I knew we’d brush shoulders with interesting people as part of the adventure, but didn’t realize how big of an impact they’d have on the experience as a whole. There are many different moose hunting guide services offered in Newfoundland at different price points and service levels. Brett handled all the research and planning, and I’m so thankful we landed at this particular place with this group of people. We came for the moose and left with friends, stories, and memories to last a lifetime. 

Food is fuel, and nothing beats homemade

In a world obsessed with packaged, preservative-filled convenience foods, it was such a relief to be on a vacation where all of our meals were made from scratch. Jackie was one heck of a cook, constantly prepping food, washing dishes, baking bread, and sweeping the kitchen floor. I never saw her sit down! It wasn’t all healthy, but we could make special dietary requests if needed. I decided to take the opportunity to indulge in butter-soaked toast each morning. 

In the months since the trip I’ve tried to replace some of our previously store bought items with homemade alternatives including sourdough bread and crackers.

It was worth every penny

Some people spend their money on new cars, electronics, or regular shopping sprees. We try to place greater value on experiences over things. This trip was an example of investing in something that would broaden our horizons and, if we were lucky, fill the freezer in the process. It has been so rewarding to come home and share stories with friends and family over a moose roast. We know everyone is different, but to us it was worth every penny. 

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Newfoundland moose hunt highlights video

Another benefit of getting a moose early in the week was having downtime to go through pictures and video clips while we were still “in it.” I was able to create this video before we left.

Your turn

Are you considering moose hunting in Newfoundland or another off-the-beaten-path experience? Have questions about anything we shared? Start a conversation in the comments below.