Permit for moose is the first long shot

Dan Bergeron needed a ladder yesterday in Berlin, N.H., to read the scale loaded with Rae Desrosiers' moose. (Fred Field for The Boston Globe)

Some people sit on the edges of their armchairs, eyes glued to the television, hoping for the day their lottery number flashes on the screen.

Others reserve such excitement for the yearly opportunity to enter New Hampshire's moose lottery and perhaps win a chance to head into the state's wooded hills armed with rifles, camouflage, and skinning knives to hunt the mighty beasts.

Winning the moose lottery is a lot easier than hitting the jackpot in MassMillions, but the odds are still pretty slim. This year, the state's Fish and Game Department received 15,000 applications from would-be moose hunters, and handed out only 515 permits. It's easier to get into Harvard.

But winning this lottery is only the start. You still have to bag a moose. The lucky hunters, once they pay the license fee ($500 for nonresidents, $150 for residents), have only nine days to stalk their majestic quarry, and whether or not they come home successful, they can't play this lottery again for four years. The clock is already ticking on this season, which started Saturday.

Those with permits are the fortunate ones.

As one can guess from his name, Robert "Moose" Phillipson would love the chance to hit the woods in search of moose.

But Phillipson, 49, who started hunting before he was in first grade, has applied for the moose license 18 times. And for 18 years, Phillipson, of Keene, N.H., has failed to win a shot at the moose hunt, even though 85 percent of the permits go to New Hampshire residents.

He recalled accompanying his brother-in-law, Andy Ledwith, on a moose hunt in Maine in 1995. Helping carry home the 850-pound bull that Ledwith bagged was a thrill, said Phillipson. But, he said, there is nothing like being the one to take the shot.

"It's basically a once in a lifetime deal," Phillipson said.

Marcus John, of Boscawen, N.H., is as lucky as Moose Phillipson is unlucky.

John won a permit this year and went out with a friend, William Hubbard. Improbably, Hubbard had won a permit last year. The rules say a permit holder can bring along one other hunter, and Hubbard took John hunting.

They failed to bring down a moose in 2007, but they went out again Saturday, armed with rifles, determination, and familiarity with the Connecticut Lakes area in northern New Hampshire, where just under 90 percent of the hunters bagged a moose last year. Weeks of scouting the area had led them to the perfect spot, a place near Pittsburg. It was over a hill, John said. He declined to p rovide any more detail, in order to keep the location a secret.

Once there, they crept through the woods in search of moose tracks, scat, and the tell-tale kidney-shaped patch of a moose's leaf bed. John heard a branch snap, turned the corner of a row of fir trees, and saw the 540-pound bull. One shot from his .270 rifle and it was all over. John showed up Saturday afternoon at the Berlin Fish Hatchery, one of seven check stations where hunters are required to register their kill, with a moose the size of his truck bed. One is the limit, so John was done.

His moose season had ended the day it began.

"We were very excited - high-fiving, maybe a hug or two. No tears though. We were manly about it," said John. He called home to tell his wife and four children the news as soon as his cellphone was in range of service.

Moose were once plentiful in New Hampshire, but their numbers had declined to mere dozens by the late 1800s. Moose hunting was banned in 1901, shortly after the Fish and Game Department was established, and didn't revoke the prohibition until 1988. Thanks to the ban, and conservation efforts, Granite State moose now number about 6,000, and the Fish and Game Department authorizes the nine-day hunt to control the population and to satisfy hunters' demands for gaming rights.

John was one of 23 hunters to register a kill at the Berlin Fish Hatchery, according to Kris Rines, a moose biologist who inspects the health and size of the animals checked at the hatchery. The hatchery is one of the state's busiest stations, but Day 1 was slower than usual, she said.

The moose, she said, "were busy eating all night," by the light of the recently full moon, so they slept all day.

But as long as the weather cooperates - cool temperatures with little wind are ideal conditions - the season should pick up pace, she said. The Fish and Game Department logged 482 moose killed last fall.

Tim Moore, 36, of Portsmouth, N.H., is another hunter who has played the moose lottery in vain - every year since 1995. To get in on the hunt, he became a licensed hunting guide.

In the past, he has charged hunters (mostly those from out of state who are unfamiliar with the terrain) $2,200 to share his knowledge of popular moose hangouts, safety measures for hunters, and how to dress and quarter the kill.

Moore couldn't book a client this year.

"The economy is killing us," he said.

In his three years as a guide, he has been on two moose hunting trips, both fruitless. But they were worth it, he said.

"You have the thrill of the hunt the entire time," Moore said. "It's an experience that a lot of people have never had before and may never have."