In September 2025, all things finally aligned and I was able to accept a friend's invitation to join them for a week of moose hunting in the middle of Sweden, after having declined in previous years.
This group has held the hunting rights to roughly 6000 acres for 6 or 7 years now and have had good luck every time. I, having never shot a single moose, was feeling hopeful. It didn't make matters worse that we'd seen a few good bulls on a trail cam just days prior to going up there (10 points and up). We would be hunting bulls, cows, and calves, but like most Swedish hunters, the dream is always to take at least one big bull.
The area is split between two valleys, surrounded by soft, rolling, not particularly high mountains (“fjäll”). Our group of six was divided evenly between shooters and dog teams. Even with plenty of moose in the area, six people spread over 3,000 acres leaves ample opportunity for animals to slip away untouched.
Picture: Heading out the first morning
I was told that I should expect greater distances up here to the stand than what I'm used to at home (where it's typically a few minutes walk). On the first morning we set off into the woods after a 45 minute drive to the drop off point. I had purchased a holster backpack for this trip to be able to carry both rain gear, food, coffee and my gun which made the trek far easier. The first 20 minutes we used some public trails and the pace was good. After passing a specific waypoint, I was told to load my rifle and head off-trail toward my stand. The blueberry brush on the ground makes the walk almost like walking in snow and quickly quite taxing. Anyway, any moose in the area would have known about me well in advance given my heavy breathing. It took another 40 minutes before I reached my spot.
Picture: I followed the stream on my way to my first post
One of the dog handlers soon shot a calf driven by his own dog but the rest of the day remained uneventful. There were a few more moose picked up by the dogs but they ran off the area quickly, dog in tow. Little did we know this would become the least successful year this crew had ever had on this land, and that much of the remaining week would follow a similar pattern.
Picture: End of day 1, meeting up with one of the dog handlers
Picture: Morning on the second day, we traversed a mountain and my middle-aged ass couldn't keep up with the 25 year old ahead of me.
On the 4th day, in pouring rain and no more than 30-50 meters of visibility, a cow snuck up on me. I turned around and saw her standing a mere 15 meters away from me and I think we were equally surprised. I felt like my jerk reaction mimicked hers and she turned around on the spot and ran off, without offering much to shoot at.
Picture: The spot where a moose cow suddenly appeared (and disappeared just as quick)
For the last day, spirits very significantly lower than just a few days prior. Not the least the dog handlers had walked hours on end throughout the week and bodies were getting sore and tired. One last push.
One of the guys had to leave the day before so we were down to two shooters only. I was pushing up to my post through quite a long section of bog but my boots kept the wet out. My legs screamed by every step though, having to wade in soft mushy terrain. The heavy walk had me sweating heavily which quickly turned cold when I was sitting down. For the first time this week, I put on long johns. It was about 15 degrees but a light rain was falling and the weather was beginning to feel colder. Not long after having put on some extra gear, one of the dogs had picked up. The handler tried to stalk up to the cow and calf but wind was not in his favour and they took off in high pace. The call came over the radio for me to find a new post 1500 meters south, QUICK. In my ambition to take a shortcut, I found myself scaling rocks and small streams of water while the guys were yelling over the radio to hurry up. "I can't bloody well move forward fast when the only way is up" I thought to myself. I jogged through the bog, cursing my warm clothing, and continued on and finally found a spot that felt decent. By this point, the moose left our grounds and stood still just across, on the neighboring lands.
Picture: The bog I was lucky to run across trying to make it to my new post
The dog handler was asked to again stalk and see if it was indeed still moose or, worst case, some of the free ranging mountain cows that also graze these lands. Having confirmed it was indeed moose, he "bumped" them, and they took off again, heading our way. Maybe luck would still be with us.
Just as the dog was crossing into our area, she turned and ran back to her handler. Fatigued, she'd lost the track. Another handler was close by and started walking down there. When the moose don't have a dog in their tracks, they most likely will stay put or slowly walk the land and we had good reason to believe we could still pursue them.
I was told to remain absolutely still and quiet and not long after, I spotted movement between the trees. I was on a ridge, behind a fallen tree, and couldn't believe my eyes when the cow was coming straight for me. She scaled the ridge and presented a full broadside, some 7-10 meters away (I would later describe her as a monster, she was massive). In the corner of my eye I saw the calf coming up the ridge as well. He stopped behind the cow and I slowly raised my gun. The cow was beginning to see my movement but at this distance I didn't need to aim for long. Adrenaline however made this one of my harder shots with significant moose fever setting in. I let the shot go and the calf took off, clearly impaired. It collapsed on the ground after 10 meters but was not completely out. As it tried to get back on its feet, I fired one more shot but just when I did, he collapsed again and the shot hit high, in the fat of his neck. I sprinted forward and suddenly saw moose legs disappearing some 50 meters away. In the chaos, I couldn’t believe the calf had recovered and sprinted that far in mere seconds.
It hadn’t. It was the cow.
The calf was still where I’d last seen him, now finally expired. Adrenaline is a funny thing. All of this happened within about 30 seconds, but at the time it felt like hours.
As always, I felt a degree of sadness at having taken a life, but also gratitude—for the experience and for the food the forest provides. My first moose was a male calf, weighing 83 kg without skin or head.
Picture: Blaser R8 Luxus, .308w, Swarovski Z8i 1-8x24
This group has held the hunting rights to roughly 6000 acres for 6 or 7 years now and have had good luck every time. I, having never shot a single moose, was feeling hopeful. It didn't make matters worse that we'd seen a few good bulls on a trail cam just days prior to going up there (10 points and up). We would be hunting bulls, cows, and calves, but like most Swedish hunters, the dream is always to take at least one big bull.
The area is split between two valleys, surrounded by soft, rolling, not particularly high mountains (“fjäll”). Our group of six was divided evenly between shooters and dog teams. Even with plenty of moose in the area, six people spread over 3,000 acres leaves ample opportunity for animals to slip away untouched.
Picture: Heading out the first morning
I was told that I should expect greater distances up here to the stand than what I'm used to at home (where it's typically a few minutes walk). On the first morning we set off into the woods after a 45 minute drive to the drop off point. I had purchased a holster backpack for this trip to be able to carry both rain gear, food, coffee and my gun which made the trek far easier. The first 20 minutes we used some public trails and the pace was good. After passing a specific waypoint, I was told to load my rifle and head off-trail toward my stand. The blueberry brush on the ground makes the walk almost like walking in snow and quickly quite taxing. Anyway, any moose in the area would have known about me well in advance given my heavy breathing. It took another 40 minutes before I reached my spot.
Picture: I followed the stream on my way to my first post
One of the dog handlers soon shot a calf driven by his own dog but the rest of the day remained uneventful. There were a few more moose picked up by the dogs but they ran off the area quickly, dog in tow. Little did we know this would become the least successful year this crew had ever had on this land, and that much of the remaining week would follow a similar pattern.
Picture: End of day 1, meeting up with one of the dog handlers
Picture: Morning on the second day, we traversed a mountain and my middle-aged ass couldn't keep up with the 25 year old ahead of me.
On the 4th day, in pouring rain and no more than 30-50 meters of visibility, a cow snuck up on me. I turned around and saw her standing a mere 15 meters away from me and I think we were equally surprised. I felt like my jerk reaction mimicked hers and she turned around on the spot and ran off, without offering much to shoot at.
Picture: The spot where a moose cow suddenly appeared (and disappeared just as quick)
For the last day, spirits very significantly lower than just a few days prior. Not the least the dog handlers had walked hours on end throughout the week and bodies were getting sore and tired. One last push.
One of the guys had to leave the day before so we were down to two shooters only. I was pushing up to my post through quite a long section of bog but my boots kept the wet out. My legs screamed by every step though, having to wade in soft mushy terrain. The heavy walk had me sweating heavily which quickly turned cold when I was sitting down. For the first time this week, I put on long johns. It was about 15 degrees but a light rain was falling and the weather was beginning to feel colder. Not long after having put on some extra gear, one of the dogs had picked up. The handler tried to stalk up to the cow and calf but wind was not in his favour and they took off in high pace. The call came over the radio for me to find a new post 1500 meters south, QUICK. In my ambition to take a shortcut, I found myself scaling rocks and small streams of water while the guys were yelling over the radio to hurry up. "I can't bloody well move forward fast when the only way is up" I thought to myself. I jogged through the bog, cursing my warm clothing, and continued on and finally found a spot that felt decent. By this point, the moose left our grounds and stood still just across, on the neighboring lands.
Picture: The bog I was lucky to run across trying to make it to my new post
The dog handler was asked to again stalk and see if it was indeed still moose or, worst case, some of the free ranging mountain cows that also graze these lands. Having confirmed it was indeed moose, he "bumped" them, and they took off again, heading our way. Maybe luck would still be with us.
Just as the dog was crossing into our area, she turned and ran back to her handler. Fatigued, she'd lost the track. Another handler was close by and started walking down there. When the moose don't have a dog in their tracks, they most likely will stay put or slowly walk the land and we had good reason to believe we could still pursue them.
I was told to remain absolutely still and quiet and not long after, I spotted movement between the trees. I was on a ridge, behind a fallen tree, and couldn't believe my eyes when the cow was coming straight for me. She scaled the ridge and presented a full broadside, some 7-10 meters away (I would later describe her as a monster, she was massive). In the corner of my eye I saw the calf coming up the ridge as well. He stopped behind the cow and I slowly raised my gun. The cow was beginning to see my movement but at this distance I didn't need to aim for long. Adrenaline however made this one of my harder shots with significant moose fever setting in. I let the shot go and the calf took off, clearly impaired. It collapsed on the ground after 10 meters but was not completely out. As it tried to get back on its feet, I fired one more shot but just when I did, he collapsed again and the shot hit high, in the fat of his neck. I sprinted forward and suddenly saw moose legs disappearing some 50 meters away. In the chaos, I couldn’t believe the calf had recovered and sprinted that far in mere seconds.
It hadn’t. It was the cow.
The calf was still where I’d last seen him, now finally expired. Adrenaline is a funny thing. All of this happened within about 30 seconds, but at the time it felt like hours.
As always, I felt a degree of sadness at having taken a life, but also gratitude—for the experience and for the food the forest provides. My first moose was a male calf, weighing 83 kg without skin or head.
Picture: Blaser R8 Luxus, .308w, Swarovski Z8i 1-8x24
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