Brad Erickson's moose hunt: Almost heaven sent

The bull moose that emerged from the thick underbrush 260 yards distant along a clear stream in the Alaska interior took Brad Erickson by surprise.

But then everything had been a surprise. The moose, yes. Also the earlier re-connection with an uncle Erickson hadn't seen in 12 years. And, when that uncle died, enough money set aside in his will for Erickson to do what his uncle had always wanted to do, but never had.

"I saw the bull. It had a huge rack. But I didn't have time to count brow tines, to see for sure if he was legal. I fell to one knee, found the moose in my scope, and shot," said Erickson, 47, of Minnetonka.

Just as quickly, the animal disappeared in the brush.

Immediately, an outpouring of thoughts descended upon Erickson. Everything had happened in a rush. Did the bull's antlers possess the necessary four brow tines on one side to make it legal? If not, was the inside spread of its antlers at least 50 inches, another legal benchmark?

And what of his guide, the 21-year-old named Jake? This was their sixth day in the bush together, and the first chance they had had to wash up. They were splashing water on their faces when Jake looked upstream and saw a cow moose.

Until then, they had seen only one moose, a legal bull. But nothing great. Erickson had passed.

"After the cow came out, the bull followed it into the stream. I went to a knee and shot. Then Jake said to me, 'I didn't tell you to shoot. I just wanted you to see the cow,' " Erickson said.

Rewind to 2006.

John Svegal, Erickson's uncle and a retired Honeywell engineer, dies of cancer. A few months later, Svegal's wife, Betty, also dies. Both were in their 80s.

The relationship between Svegal, a decorated World War II veteran, and Erickson was special. Though for one 12-year stretch the two hadn't seen one another, it was Svegal who had taken Erickson hunting as a boy, teaching him that you don't shoot what you don't eat. It was also Svegal, a dog lover, who, after the pair had reconnected in 1987, occasionally sneaked Erickson's law enforcement narcotics dog treats he wasn't supposed to have.

It was also Svegal who, in his last days, while recounting his few life regrets to Erickson, revealed he had always wanted to hunt in Alaska. But never had.

So when he died, Svegal left enough money in his will for his nephew to hunt in Alaska. The will could have been changed by Erickson's aunt after her husband died. But it wasn't.

Erickson flew to Alaska for the first time a year ago last month. He wanted a moose. "I didn't get one," he said. "But I did carry my uncle's photograph with me, and one day I climbed the highest hill in the area, and I put his photo under a rock. You're probably not supposed to do that, but I did it anyway."

Returning to the Twin Cities, Erickson met two hunters who told him about Joe Schuster, a former Minnesotan who is a reputable Alaska guide. With enough of his uncle's money to hunt in Alaska again, Erickson booked a return trip.

"I worked security for 12 to 16 hours a day at the Republican National Convention, and after that, I was ready for a break," he said. "When the convention ended, I flew to Alaska to hunt."

But after six days in the bush, Erickson had yet to pull the trigger. He didn't have to kill something to honor his uncle's memory. Were that the case, he would have already drawn down on a grizzly he and Jake had stalked.

Then, suddenly, the cow moose appeared.

Followed by the bull.

And the shot.

What -- or who -- had pushed the animals into the open?

"When we walked upstream, we found the bull 40 yards from where he was when I shot, lying in the water," Erickson said. "He had tried to get back across the river, following the cow. I hit him right behind the shoulder, where I had aimed."

Said Erickson: "I believe my uncle had something to do with that bull coming out of the brush."