After taking a shot at a moose or deer, the natural instinct is often to head straight to where you last saw it — hoping to find the animal down, watch it go down, or at least see blood. Anything to answer that ever-present question: Did I make a good shot?
As tempting as that is, it’s one of the worst things you can do. Waiting after the shot is one of the most important decisions you’ll make — for both the animal and your chances of recovering it.
A mortally wounded animal’s first instinct is often to run a short distance before bedding down. Left undisturbed, it will frequently die there. Push it too soon, however, and a surge of adrenaline can get it back on its feet before it expires. Even with a fatal wound, a deer or moose can cover a surprising amount of ground once pressured. If the shot passed through the heart or both lungs, the animal isn’t going far anyway, so there’s little to gain by rushing in. If the shot was farther back — through the liver, one lung, or the guts — waiting becomes even more critical. Pushing a wounded animal too soon can turn a straightforward recovery into a long tracking job — or worse, a lost animal.
Most experienced big-game hunters have learned this lesson at some point, either first-hand or while helping recover an animal that was pushed too quickly. I’ve been involved in several recoveries where that single mistake turned what should have been a short track into hours —or even days — of frustration.
After I take a shot, I force myself to slow everything down. I make careful mental notes of exactly where the animal was standing, the route it took, and the last place I saw it. On longer shots or in open country, I’ll often take a compass bearing and mark my shooting position. Then I wait. If I can leave the area without disturbing the animal, I’ll quietly back out — maybe to the truck or to meet up with my hunting partners. If there’s any chance of bumping it, I stay put. Either way, I don’t begin tracking.
I’ll even set a timer to hold myself accountable, then pour a coffee from my Thermos and force myself to relax. It gives me something to do besides convincing myself to start tracking too soon. Because if the animal is dead, it’ll still be dead when I get there. If it isn’t, those extra minutes — or even hours — are often the difference between a quick recovery and a long, uncertain search.
When you suspect a poor hit, particularly one farther back, it’s often best to wait several hours — or even overnight — before taking up the trail. That’s not always practical. Rain, snow, warm temperatures, predators, and other factors all have to be considered. But whenever conditions allow, make your decision based on the evidence from the shot — not on the anxious urge to start tracking.
It’s never easy to sit still when everything in you wants to move — to check for blood, slip over the next rise, or ease into the timber just to see if the animal is lying there. More often than not, however, that restraint is what leads to a clean recovery. Recovering wounded game is part of our responsibility as hunters, and sometimes the hardest part isn’t making the shot — it’s having the discipline to wait afterward.
Heart or double lung: 30 minutes minimum.
One lung or liver: Four to six hours.
Gut shot: Eight to 12 hours, or overnight.
I’ll never forget the day I learned to wait the hard way. I was a young moose hunter when I shot a young bull. After multiple shots, it ran into a stand of mature spruce. Without hesitation, I charged down the hill and into the timber. I can still picture it clearly: an open understory, soft moss underfoot, and widely spaced spruce trees instead of the usual tangle of alder, blowdowns, and thick brush.
About 50 yards ahead, between the trees, there he was — bedded and looking straight at me. Had I waited, I’m convinced he would have expired within minutes. Instead, I watched him stand, turn, and disappear before I could get another shot off.
We tracked that moose for a day and a half. We found blood where he had been bedded and followed the trail until it entered a river lined with thick alders. After that, nothing. No blood. No sign. We searched along that river for hours. Friends joined in. We never recovered him. It’s not a story I’m proud of, and it’s not one I enjoy telling. Don't make my mistake.
Originally published in Ontario Out of Doors' 2026-2027 Hunting Annual
