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I remember it like it was yesterday and probably will for the rest of my life. Getting your draw results is like Christmas Day is to a child, so the anticipation between my family and friends is always nail biting. Mule deer... unsuccessful, bull moose... unsuccessful, antelope... unsuccessful, bison... successful! I paused for a minute and then hung up the phone. I was a kid on Christmas, howling and laughing so hard I almost fell off my chair. Once I had made all my phone calls and sent out emails to fellow hunters, the work began.
I’d say the hardest part of getting ready was finding two friends crazy enough to accompany me on this hunt of a lifetime, which I did. After months of preparation, phone calls, emails, more phone calls, borrowing stuff, buying stuff, booking hotels and more phone calls, we were off to the North.
We decided to leave a couple days prior to the season opener, giving us ample time to scout and explore as much country as possible. The chances of drawing this tag are slim to none and I had a lot of pressure on me, not just from my family but from my biggest critic as well... me.
After a few pit stops, we finally arrived at our destination a long nine hours later and checked in. Let me tell you, the energy in that hotel room was like we were headed to a game 7.
The following day was spent scouting around Zama City and we were on two herds right away. We knew one herd had 5 to 6 bison but didn’t want to approach them and risk spooking them so we observed from afar. The other herd we stumbled upon was near the road and we got a good look at a few mature bulls so our spirits were up.
The next two days we scouted other areas but could only find sign. The night before the season opener, we traveled back to our initial sightings to see if we couldn’t put a herd to bed. We could see more hunters rolling in and the pressure was increasing by the minute. We did end up finding the big herd, took some pictures, video, and watched them bed for the night.
The feeling in my stomach that night was unimaginable. I’ve been in a few high-stress situations but nothing could compare to the gut wrenching feeling I had. Legal light was a little past 9:00 and it took a solid hour and half to get to where we had last spotted the bison. We had our alarms set for 6:30 am and our plan was to be out the door before 7:00.
After the worst sleep of my life, around 5:45 am we decided to head out early. We parked down a lease road, unhitched the trailer, which had two snowmobiles and a calf sled, and then proceeded to where the bison were. We got there around 8:00 am; the hour wait for legal time was painful and a few times, I thought I was going to vomit due to the anticipation. We played out every scenario over and over making sure we were ready for whatever was about to unfold.
As legal light painfully approached, we made our advance on the bison. I looked at my watch to confirm the time and knew that by the time we’d finished our stalk, it would be go time. My friend was the one who initially spotted them; he just turned to me and said, “Mario, don’t freak out but they’re right there.”
So, what do you think happened—I freaked out. It was -10 Celsius and I was sweating and breathing as if I’d just won a marathon in the Sahara desert. My knees were shaking and just when I felt like I was about to pass out, the bull made an appearance and my killer instinct kicked in. I dropped into a prone position and found the bull instantly, however, there was a cow behind him. So I wait, which we all know feels like hours but within a few minutes the entire herd started to move to the next clearing, so off we went.
We rounded a small island bush and found the herd again, but this time the bull was off to the right and looking away, so again we waited. After a few minutes, the herd decided to move again, towards bush that no man dare chase a buffalo in. The bull followed and turned broadside to me while still walking. For some odd reason he stopped, turned and looked directly at me. What was a cold, quiet January morning was quickly interrupted by the thundering sound of my gun... a hit, but hardly any reaction from the bull. I let go another and for some insurance, another after that.
By this time, the whole herd had turned and ran towards the bush where we lost sight of them. Adrenaline is a crazy thing; I ran through three feet of snow over 150 metres without hesitation and once rounding a bend, there lie my bison.
Once everything sunk in, I dropped to my knees exhausted and just started laughing. My buddies caught up to me and we all enjoyed this special moment laughing and high-fiving each other. After numerous pictures and more laughing, they went to retrieve the sleds while I stayed behind, standing guard over my new trophy and firing off as many texts as my cold hands could handle.
This is where the crazy friends come into play, as we had to load a 2000-pound animal into the pickup, and so the work began. After five hours, the bull was quartered, skinned and loaded. We had numerous other hunters stop and chat for a while, which was great. The hunt as a whole couldn’t have gone any smoother and I can’t stress enough how much fun and how many memories you’ll make if you’re lucky enough to draw this tag. From the day you’re drawn until the day you get home, it really is an adventure of a lifetime.
I’d like to thank God for this beautiful province and the wild game in it; my friends for braving the North with me, everyone who was willing to lend equipment along the way, and my ever-supporting family. ■
For previous Reader Stories click here.
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