Maine’s first official moose hunt using the lottery system to issue permits took place in 1982. Hunting zones were limited, and so were the permits, only 900 were issued to residents. Sportsmen’s interest was phenomenal, as evidenced by the flood of applications, and the odds of being selected were nearly astronomical. Yet somehow, when that meager list of lucky outdoorsmen appeared on these very pages 22 years ago, my name was among them.

I still have that yellowed clipping. And I have a bunch of photos of a young nimrod, a proud father, and a 740-pound, 4-point bull. I’m grinning, kneeling by my trophy holding my .270 Husqvarna rifle with which I downed the moose, with nary a step, at 220 yards on the first shot. I still have that rifle and a lot of wonderful memories of my premiere moose hunt. What I don’t have is any more good luck.

For the last 22 years without fail, my Dad and I had faithfully submitted our applications and checks for the fall drawing. We always purchased the maximum number of chances, and as each lottery passed us by, we accumulated each and every bonus point. All to no avail. Acquaintances got drawn, relatives were selected, friends picked, and even friends of friends and their spouses, children, and kissin’ cousins appeared on the annual moose hunt list. Some of them several times, and irritatingly, two or three of the same clan during the same drawing!

I persevered, fought the odds, and kept sending along my paperwork each winter. I hoped, I prayed, I coaxed and cajoled lady luck and St. Christopher; oh, and I lamented, complained, and groused bitterly to friends and even a fair number of passersby on the street about my undeserved poor fortune. Either out of pity or self-preservation, people stopped talking about anything to do with moose hunting around me, lest I become forlorn and tear off into one of my terrible tirades about the unfairness of life and lotteries.

My buddy Buddy

Many years ago I bought a chocolate lab puppy from William Horr Jr. of East Holden. Buddy, as everyone called him, became a friend and I got him into duck and goose hunting. He had no interest in upland birds, small game or big game, but Canada geese, puddle ducks, and sea ducks were his bane. We hunted waterfowl together in Quebec, New Brunswick, Arkansas, and Maine, trip after trip, season after season.

Apparently during our diverse autumn outings I carried on once or 20 times about my moose permit debacle, because four years ago Buddy couldn’t take it any longer. He informed me that he would apply, list me as a subpermittee, and get drawn just to prove how badly I was exaggerating. I laughed like a crazy man.

He got an application and called for my subpermittee information to go on the form. I reminded him he didn’t even own a rifle, let alone have any big-game hunting experience, and snickered some more. He selected my home territory as his moose zone of choice and sent in his check and paperwork, and I kept chuckling. When his name appeared in the BDN listing on the morning after the drawing, there was no laughing. As I squinted through a teardrop, moaning about life’s unfairness, my phone rang. I knew who it was and could hear the horselaugh before I even picked up the receiver.

By fall my jealousy had faded and I played guide for my buddy Buddy’s first big-game outing. In all I showed him 11 moose on the first day of the hunt, and with less than 15 minutes of shooting time left, Buddy made a nice 125-yard shot on a good bull. A majestic head mount of the 920-pound, 17-point moose now adorns a wall in Bud’s den.

Luck of the draw

Anyone selected for a moose permit must wait two years before entering the lottery again. I rubbed that in a bit with Buddy the last couple of seasons as I continued to invest my annual moose donation. Bud needled me a bit about being passed over again and again. This year I used the new Internet application process and felt the switch would be lucky. I just had a good feeling and was sure my luck was about to change. It did; it got worse.

On the evening of this June’s lottery, I went on line as soon as the names were listed on the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife’s Web site. Much to my chagrin, none of the three Graves drawn had the right first name nor my address. I was crestfallen. On a whim I went to the H’s and scrolled down through the names, and there, in all its glory was Horr, William L. Jr. My despair deepened. I called my computer some colorful names and even cussed the moose in general and cursed the lottery specifically.

On his first try after a two- year layoff, Buddy was drawn again. Two tries, two selections! My zone again, a bull permit no less, and the September season when the chance to call in a nice big bull is prime. My phone rang: D?j? vu all over again.

“What’re you doing this September?” a cheery voice asked. “I’m busy all month, booked solid, couldn’t possibly find time to look for moose,” I replied. “Too bad,” Buddy said, “This one’s yours.” “Say what?” I stuttered, not wanting to believe what I was hearing. “Yup, I had a great hunt three years ago and got a trophy bull thanks to you; you’re the shooter this time.” I was almost speechless. I did offer some colorful commentary about his luck and asked if I could get a signed affidavit designating me as the gunner. More laughter from his end, a bit discomforting I thought.

Buddy has several brothers, brothers-in-law, and other family and friends. All would have loved to be an alternate subpermittee and get to down a moose. He chose me. After more than two decades, I get to try for a big bull moose. I had a feeling my luck was going to change this season. It did. I’m lucky to have a friend like Bud.

Preseason prep

Early this coming Monday, Buddy and I will be out and about searching for moose. I’ve been scouting, as have some of my friends, and we have a couple of likely spots where bulls have been spotted frequently. I’ve been practicing my calling and hope to bring a rutting bull up close and personal.

I bought a new rifle for this hunt, although my wife says a change in wind direction is generally enough reason for me to go gun shopping. This is a unique double rifle, a Beretta over and under in 9.3 by 74R. It’s a heavy-duty European caliber in the .338 to .375 range, and I have hopes of using it on big African plains game in the future. I’ve always wanted to hunt the heavy horned game of Africa. Since the rifle has open sights, I’ll use it only if the moose is closer than 100 yards.

For shots more than 100 yards, I’ll be using a Ruger No. 1 single shot rifle in .270 Winchester, mounted with a Leupold Vari-X 4.5-14 scope and loaded with Federal Premium Vital Shok 140-grain Trophy Bonded Bear Claw cartridges. Buddy will be backing me up with a .270 semi-auto. We have been to the range, sighted in all the guns, and fired a few practice rounds to ensure accuracy. Punching holes in stationary paper offers none of the excitement and unexpected events of live game, however.

Buddy and I have stockpiled yards of rope, a comealong, a snatch block, and a block and tackle. We have a low, tilt-bed trailer for loading and hauling. Several knives, a bone saw, stones, files, and a sharpening steel are set for cleaning, skinning, and quartering. We have a chain saw, buck saw, an ax, and loppers for creating a trail if we have to drag the moose through brush, and a friend is even standing by with a 4-wheel-drive four-wheeler for hauling. I have lined up a top-rate meat cutter as well.

For practical purposes we are prepared, but every hunt is different and there always seem to be surprises. I don’t know if it will take an hour, a day, or a week to get a good shot, but I’m going to savor every second of the opportunity. I’m not looking for a huge bull, but won’t settle for a small 4- or 6-pointer either, unless we are down to the wire. I consider myself lucky to be hunting, and I’m hoping the luck will spill over and we’ll find a nice bull.

I’ll relate all the details – good, bad, or indifferent – in my next article on Oct. 9. I hope it will be a story of success, and I’m sure it will be an adventure. Join me for the details and photos in a couple of weeks. If you are one of the other lucky permit holders, I hope you’re feeling every bit as anxious and excited as I am, and I wish you luck and a safe hunt.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com