The Yukon is a massive territory split up by only about 20 outfitters. It can take hours of flying time in a Super Cub to traverse just a single outfitter’s area.

Although the guide and client's version of what transpired vary to some degree, it was clearly a close call, inside 20 yards close. The client managed to get two quick shots off at the attacking bear, neither of which touched hair. However, it wasn't until after the bear turned and trundled off that the two frightened hunters realized the client hadn't even taken the opaque covers off his scope.

We found the bear three days later, and I ended its reign of terror with a muzzleloader bullet…or three.

Without doubt though, the most fun I've had as a hunter or guide has been looking for the giant moose of the Yukon. They virtually never see humans and for the most part could care less about us.

There are only 30,000 or so humans living in the entire Yukon Territory and the vast majority of those live in the city of Whitehorse, close to the British Columbia border. By comparison, there are more than 60,000 moose.

In a word, hunting pressure is nonexistent. For years, the combined resident and nonresident reported moose harvest has been less than 800 animals, or about one moose for every 500 square miles.

According to biologists, moose are the most frequently hunted big game species in the Yukon, and residents look upon moose hunting as more of a tradition than a recreational pastime.

The biologists understand the importance of the moose to the Yukon way of life and economy. They have used radio telemetry, harvest records, traditional and local knowledge and aerial surveys to manage the moose population, and it has worked well.

While moose populations are reportedly declining in other Alaskan-Yukon moose areas of North America, the Yukon moose population is doing very well indeed. For the most part, biologists feel the moose population of the Yukon is "stable or increasing slowly."

I've hunted the Yukon for moose early and late. Early, meaning in August, they are still in velvet and inclined to be hanging out in high basins, awaiting the rut. In one way it is easier to hunt them at that time of year. They tend to be fairly docile and sedentary; if they are in a spot one day, they'll likely be close by the next day.

That's no the case come mid-September. When the first frosts hit and the aspens turn yellow, the moose begin a remarkable transformation. Their necks swell and antlers harden. They enter the rut like runaway trains, and begin to travel, searching for comely cow moose.

The aforementioned Jim Bissenden didn't know much of this when he signed on for the trip into my Rogue River territory in the Yukon, but he quickly learned. We called in a dozen bulls--many to within slobber distance, let alone archery distance. Jim is one of Canada's top 3D archery shooters, and he could have easily taken any of them, but we were holding out for a 60-incher.

I wasn't worried in the least; after all, we were hunting in paradise. We made stalks on grizzlies, caribou and considered going after the Dall's we could see feeding on the mountaintops.

We even had one magnificent 60-inch bull literally walk right into our camp early one morning while we sipped coffee.

"Not big enough," I decided. Then, when the bull got closer, within 15 yards, I reconsidered. The bull had nice antlers, but I wanted to capture the hunt on film and the lighting wasn't good enough.

Anyone would have done the same if they had been in my shoes. Why would you want a Yukon hunt to end?