The adult's Easter egg hunt: Obsessively searching for shed moose antlers

We had looked for shed moose antlers several times without luck. The first time, my partner and I walked along a section where several bulls convened after the rut. We had seen that one day in January the bulls had their antlers, and the next week a few were missing. I was eager to find them, but no matter how often I looked, they eluded me.

After my fourth search, instead of finding the antlers, my mind focused on composing variations of Murphy's Law — the law that "anything that can go wrong will go wrong" — to account for my failed missions.

My first time out was like the search for a lost set of car keys. I rummaged and ransacked in a disorganized manner hoping to come upon a shed by chance. But instead of finding an antler, I found the Law of Lost Objects — if you're looking for something lost, it will remain lost.

When I got home, I read articles on how and where to look. Deer hunters authored most of the articles, with the view that shed hunting was an extension of deer hunting or resembled it in some way. No wonder shed hunting was not called the more suitable "shed gathering."

‘Bring me a toy’

The systematic approach did not go any better for me. Although I had the right idea of where to look, my search resembled a novice moose hunter looking for the exact silhouette of the animal as it appears on a road sign and not the subtle clues of hair and horn.

I walked along obvious game trails with confidence and focused on the areas where a shed was likely to have fallen — where bulls traveled, ate, or bedded down. After a few hours, I only found the Law of Forgone Conclusions — if you think something is inevitable, it's probably inconceivable.

The third time, I brought a dog. A friend had been finding sheds with his new Labrador puppy. He hadn't put much time into training her, and she had helped him find a beautiful set of antlers. One of our English setters, Colt, was the best of our nine dogs at bringing random objects when either of us said "bring me a toy" around the house. He seemed the best candidate for shed hunting. He bounded into the woods like a champ.

"Bring me a toy!" I yelled after him.

But his skills did not translate from the house to the woods. I imagined he thought I was as crazy as anyone else who may have heard me yelling about toys in the backcountry. Instead of an antler or a stuffed animal, he found a pile of foul-smelling bones to roll in. Our failure that day proved the Law of Last Resorts — if you think you've exhausted all efforts, you just haven't put in enough effort.

On the stinky car ride home, I wondered what was so great about finding a shed antler anyway?

Why had I become crazed by the adult version of an Easter egg hunt? What would I do with the shed once I had it? At this point, it didn't matter. The sheds were there, and what had started as a passing thought — "Maybe I'll find one; wouldn't that be neat" — had turned into, "I will find one if it kills me."

There had to be an end to the Murphy Laws of Defeat.

Then it occurred to me — give up. Just take a dog for a walk, and if a shed shows itself, call it a bonus. Cogswell, Colt's littermate, was the least likely of our dogs to find a shed. He was an easygoing dog who didn't care about results. He ran ahead of me as an example of Zen acceptance. And he ran right past an antler.

I couldn't believe what I saw. An antler! It lay on the grass like a golden prize. I was so happy — a childish happiness that recalled finding the Hidden Pictures in Highlights Magazine as a child in the three-dimensional world of adulthood. I congratulated Cogsy on his find and he seemed delighted to have helped.

Coat rack? Door handle?

"What are you going to do with it now?" my partner dead-panned.

I couldn't believe his lack of enthusiasm. There were so many things I could do with it. But I stood there for a moment trying to imagine what they were. "It would make a perfect lamp," I said, "just for starters."

The potential uses for this shed antler were numerous — a coat rack, wine rack, door handle, drawer pull, sculpture, centerpiece, candleholder or cribbage board.

Frankly, I didn't have time to think of all of the things. Cogsy was on a roll and walked by another shed — this one a few seasons older and chewed by a porcupine. He showed no interest as I grabbed it and shouted for joy again. When it came to outdoor fun and excitement, spotting an abandoned antler was as close to the feeling of "Fish on!" as I'd ever been. Shed hunting needed a similar catch phrase — shed down?

We were jubilant on the ride home as my partner confessed his lack of interest in our pursuit. Just as he had no interest in searching for morels even though he enjoyed eating them more than I did, he did not grasp the hunting aspect of gathering quite as well as Lower 48 deer hunters.

I was hooked on a new hobby and found plenty to justify the virtues of shed hunting. Just like a hunter must get physically fit for the season, I said, it helps to practice looking. Just being out in the woods as much as possible is beneficial.

My mind raced to how I might match the shed to photos we had taken of bull moose in winter and how I might collect sheds from the same moose year after year. I pictured my future collection of sheds and how I would pile them proudly behind the shed.

In all my zest, I had forgotten my favorite law — if something can go right, it will go right, just as long as you follow the dog.

Christine Cunningham of Soldotna is a lifelong Alaskan and avid hunter. On alternate weeks, she writes about Alaska hunting. Contact Christine at cunningham@yogaforduckhunters.com.