You know what? I still smell spruce when I think about that week. Wet moss. Cold hands. A bull grunt rolling across a dark bog. I went to Newfoundland for a guided moose hunt, and I came home with meat, sore legs, and a story I can’t shake. Here’s how it really went for me—good, bad, and a little muddy. I kept a full day-by-day field journal—find the extended version of my moose hunting in Canada story if you want every soggy detail.
Where I Went and Why
I hunted out of a small lodge off a logging road near Gander, Newfoundland. Non-residents need a guide there, which I actually liked. Less guesswork. My guide, Mark, grew up calling bulls behind that camp. He knew every cut line and every alder patch that eats boots.
I picked late September for the rut. Cool weather. Bulls talk more. They come to a call if they feel bold. Or they stare at you from a thicket and make you doubt your life choices. Both happened to me. If you’re wondering how September stacks up against other months, I break down the best time to go to Canada based on weather, crowds, and costs.
The First Morning: Fog, Calls, and Nerves
We hiked before light. I listened to my feet squish. The fog sat low, like a blanket that didn’t want to move. Mark cupped his hands and let out a long cow call—low and sad. It gave me chills.
A bull grunted back. Deep. Slow. My chest thumped. We waited. I tried to breathe quiet. He circled. He always circled. The wind twitched, and he slipped off like a shadow. No shot. That’s moose.
I wasn’t even mad. I was hooked.
My Setup That Actually Worked
I brought gear I trust. Some of it earned its keep. Some of it felt like dead weight after two days.
- Rifle: Remington 700 in .300 Win Mag, 180-grain Nosler Partition. It hits hard and shoots straight. Recoil’s fine with a good pad.
- Glass: Vortex Diamondback HD 10×42 binoculars. Clear. Light. I used them all day.
- Sticks: Bog Pod shooting sticks. Rock solid when your legs shake from the cold.
- Boots: Muck Arctic Pro. Warm and waterproof, but they got heavy with peat. Still worth it.
- Rain gear: Helly Hansen Impertech jacket. Not fancy, but it kept me dry when the sky dumped sideways.
- Pack: Mystery Ranch Metcalf. Strong frame for quarters, but yeah, it’s a beast.
- Safety: Garmin inReach Mini. My mom slept better. So did I.
- Game bags: Caribou Gear. Kept meat clean. No stink. No mess.
For insights into preparing for a Newfoundland moose hunt, including gear recommendations and hunting strategies, consider this resource.
The Day It Came Together
Day three. Wind steady. A thin drizzle. That kind of wet that finds your cuffs and stays.
We glassed a cut. Nothing. Then Mark nudged me and pointed at a dark stump that wasn’t a stump. Brow tines. Big. The bull stood half hidden, staring holes through us.
Mark gave a soft cow call. The bull rocked forward and started that slow, heavy walk—hoomph, hoomph—stopping to rake a dead spruce. My heart pounded. I set the Bog Pod, settled in, and made myself small inside the scope.
Two-ten yards. Broadside. I squeezed. The shot felt clean. He hunched, staggered, and went down in the dwarf birch. I shook. My hands shook. I won’t lie—I cried a little. It felt huge and quiet at the same time.
The Work After the Shot (The Real Part)
Getting a moose out is no joke. We quartered him right there. Mark showed me how to find joints with the tip of the knife and not fight bone. It’s a skill, and I wasn’t fast. We hung quarters in the shade and flagged the trail with orange tape.
Then the hump began. Trips. Many trips. The pack dug into my hips. Sweaty hat. Cold neck. I loved it and hated it. We used an old canoe across a flooded ditch because the bog didn’t want to let go. My calves complained for two days. The meat tasted sweeter because of that.
Weather, Bugs, and Weird Little Things
It rained. A lot. Newfoundland is damp by default. My gloves never fully dried. I learned to sleep with socks at the foot of my bag so they’d warm up by morning.
Blackflies? Some days, yes. But the wind helped. A touch of vanilla chapstick kept my lips from cracking. That was a small win I didn’t expect.
Camp food was simple: fried bologna sandwiches, moose stew, and tea you could stand a spoon in. I never said no to a second bowl.
During those drizzly afternoons when the guide napped and the stove popped, our phones came out—yes, even in the bush there’s a cell bar or two if you hike to the ridge. A couple of hunters started critiquing each other’s dating-app selfies between sharpening knives. If you’ve ever wondered how to turn those trophy-shot photos into something that actually sparks a conversation, take a moment to explore this no-nonsense rundown on optimizing a dating profile — it breaks down lighting, captions, and messaging strategies so you can line up a coffee date before the plane home touches down.
That banter spun into travel talk—someone said if his tag got filled early, he’d swap peat bogs for Parisian boulevards and see what the sugar-dating scene was all about. Curious what that looks like? Check out the ultimate primer on becoming or meeting a sugar baby in Paris—it lays out etiquette, budgets, and the best neighborhoods so you can trade rubber boots for designer shoes without missing a beat.
What I Loved
- Calling in a bull. Hearing him answer felt primal and kind of holy.
- Locals were kind. Folks waved on the road like they knew me.
- Meat quality. Clean, rich, zero funk. My freezer’s full, and I smile each time I label a pack.
- The guide wasn’t pushy. He let me learn. He let me mess up calls and then fix them.
What Bugged Me (Still Worth It)
- Wet gear all week. Drying lines helped, but not much.
- The pack-outs were brutal. If you skip leg day, you’ll pay later.
- Flights in and out were a shuffle. One bag didn’t show for a day. Stressful.
- Cost adds up: license, tips, shipping meat, and the actual hunt. Plan for that.
And if you’re scratching your head over gratuities for guides, cooks, and drivers, here’s my note on tipping in Canada; it clears up when to reach for the wallet and how much feels fair.
A Quick Note on Rules and Timing
Non-residents need a licensed guide in Newfoundland. Same with some other provinces, or you’ll need a resident relative to host you. Keep your paperwork tight. The rut peaks late September into early October, just when the leaves throw color and bulls get bold. If you like quiet mornings and loud hearts, that’s your window. For a province-by-province cheat sheet on hunting regulations, swing by mnq-nmq.org; it lays everything out clearly without the legal jargon. For authoritative information on moose hunting in Newfoundland, including regulations and season dates, refer to the official Newfoundland and Labrador Hunting and Trapping Guide.
If You’re Thinking About It
Ask yourself a few things:
- Can you hike in wet boots for hours and still smile?
- Are you okay passing on shots that don’t feel right?
- Do you like rain? You’ll meet it. A lot.
Practice shooting from sticks at 200 yards. Pack extra dry socks. And please, practice a cow call. Even a rough “waaaah” can tip the day.
My Bottom Line
Would I go again? Yes. In a heartbeat. I give the whole trip a 4.5 out of 5. The rain took a half star, not the moose. The land felt honest. The hunt felt fair. I learned things I didn’t even know I needed—about patience, about wind, about how a big animal can vanish right in front of you.
If you’re on the fence, here’s the thing: the bog will test you, but it gives back. When that bull grunted in the fog, I wasn’t just hunting. I was part of the place. And that feeling stuck with me, long after the last pack-out and the last bowl of stew.