As Tuesday night’s moose lottery drawing progressed, a few lucky hunters who’d made the trip to Old Town … then listened as their names were read … reacted with cheers, screams, or a simple, guttural grunt: “Yeah.”

Carl Hess didn’t do any of those things. Not really.

Hess never had his name read out loud to the crowd that gathered at the Elks Lodge. He’s “from away,” as we Mainers like to put it. And at this yearly event, non-resident permits aren’t part of the program, even though they’re drawn along with the in-state permits.

Hess didn’t mind, and went right to the top. He talked with Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife commissioner Danny Martin. Martin promised to look at his list.

And a few minutes later, he summoned Hess outside for a word.

The reaction was immediate, powerful, and heartfelt.

“Twenty-one years I’ve applied, and I finally got a moose,” a clearly shaken Hess said, tears streaming down his cheeks, his chest hitching for breath. “Ever since they started it.”

Hess, who lives in Danielsville, Pa., traveled to the lottery from his camp in Kingman with friend Reed Thomson just to find out if he’d finally get the chance to hunt a moose.

After finding out he had, the emotions of the moment took the upper hand.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, a few minutes after receiving the good news. “But I feel bad that I’m crying.”

Hess spends a lot of time in Maine. Before last year’s moose hunt, he was here. He ended up wishing … again … that he’d received a permit.

“Last year I saw five bulls and three cows in three days, just driving around,” Hess said. “I took video pictures and went back and told some of my friends, but they were gone by the time they got there.”

Hess had plans to make another trip to Maine. He wanted to go bear hunting, and left his Pennsylvania home early one morning, heading north.

He never got here.

“August 15th at five o’clock in the morning, on I-380 in Scranton, a tractor trailer ran over the back of my truck and tore it all to pieces,” he said. “It ruined my whole trip.”

On Tuesday, he was back in Maine. The moose were waiting.

“I might not see none [during the hunt], but I saw two this morning. Two little bulls. Five inches high, the horns were.”

With that scene fresh in his mind, he and Thomson headed for Old Town.

“I said to Reed, I had a feeling coming down,” Hess said. “He said, ‘Well, you never know.'”

You don’t ever know. You don’t know when your name will be drawn. You don’t know how you’ll react when it is. You don’t even know what the long-awaited hunt will be like, come September.

“So, let me ask you: Are you going to come back and get your moose?” Martin asked Hess, shortly after the tears had dried, but long before the smile had disappeared.

Hess, who has learned not to take anything for granted, had the right answer.

“I’m gonna try,” he said, softly.

Martin laughed, Hess smiled some more, and the two men went about their business.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Martin said, a bit later, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.

“What a great story.”

To those who have never attended the annual moose lottery drawing – and until Tuesday, I was one of you – the idea of sitting in a crowded room listening to an endless parade of people read a list of names … 50 at a time … probably seems like a waste of time.

The 300 or so in attendance, however, would tell you something entirely different. And after spending several hours at the Old Town Elks Lodge, I will, too.

At first, I’ll admit, the proceedings are a bit hum-drum. But the first time the person manning the microphone reads a name that sounds even remotely like yours? Well, your breath catches in your throat, your chest tightens, and for just a moment, you believe … this might be it.

For me, every time an announcer glanced at the paper, took a breath, and said “John …” I perked up and paid attention. And when he recited my first name … and middle initial? Well, I thought I had it made. As it turns out, John R. Weymouth of North Berwick was the lucky moose-hunter that time. This John R. has to wait until next year.

Though I would have loved to have earned the right to hunt a moose this fall, I figure I saved myself from a lot of abuse by not getting drawn. After all, this was my first year as an entrant, and I know plenty of people who wouldn’t have been overly kind had I lucked out right off the bat. And (I tell myself now) a guy should probably be expected to “earn his ups” for a year or two before he gets lucky … right?

Hopefully, I won’t have to wait as long as the aforementioned Mr. Hess.

Another moose dropping from the recent lottery: At about 8:15 p.m. or so – after the lottery had been running for two hours or so – I heard an odd thing.

A person clapping … once … at odd, uncharacteristic times.

Now, applause isn’t out of the ordinary at the moose lottery. The people who read the names get a smattering, and the few folks who are both lucky enough to get a permit – and to be in the audience when their name is drawn – are greeted much more warmly.

But one clap? Hmm.

It turns out that shortly after 8, as the sun began to set, the mosquitoes headed inside, and began to eat their dinner: Us.

The man in question wasn’t celebrating at all. He was exterminating. Soon, many of us followed suit.

As reported last week, Sebago Lake – one of the state’s legendary landlocked salmon waters – has a problem: Northern pike have been illegally introduced into the lake or its tributaries.

The Northern pike is a predatory fish.

A quick update from Jim Pellerin, DIF&W’s assistant regional fisheries biologist down in that area: No news isn’t necessarily good news.

“Last Tuesday Francis [Brautigam, the regional biologist] and I spent the entire day electro-fishing the Song River area looking for more pike, but we found only chain pickerel,” Pellerin wrote in his weekly fishing report.

“We plan to go out again this week and check out several other areas on the lake, unfortunately, on a 28,000-acre lake it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” he wrote.

Pellerin also reported that the DIF&W’s Information and Education Division quickly printed up warning posters that have been posted at several Sebago boat ramps.

The message: Pike are here. This is how to identify them. If you catch them, kill them, then report your catch to DIF&W officials.

“Apparently, this message got out loud and clear,” Pellerin said. “Last week we received quite a few calls reporting catches of pike not only in Sebago, but also in a couple of other regional waters. Pike seem to be spreading like a plague … unfortunately, there is no cure!”

In last Saturday’s column, I assured you that at some point this week, I’d be sharing some ATV information from Lynn Wilson of Plum Creek and Dan Menard of the Maine Warden Service.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened. The reason: Moose fever, and a backlog of information on the moose permit lottery that had to be dealt with in a timely fashion.

ATV issues, while not any less important, had a bit better “shelf life,” and I decided to save the piece on ATVs, and to offer a full helping of moose meat this week.

Rest assured, ATVs are on next week’s menu. The column will appear next weekend. Honest. Also on tap next week: A pair of intriguing letters from readers, and a whimsical look at the progression of an avid (but admittedly amateur) fly fisherman.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.