First Catch!

There's pictures of me on a mountain top, and in my varsity basketball uniform, and in my Fiero, doing "hang loose". He already reminds me of me. Oh dear Lord. I have to say, when I was watching the screen during the ultrasound, I knew before he said a word that it was a boy. There was no mistaking it. “That’s the penis. And there's the scrotum.” Woah doc, you just blew my mind. What a twist. I'm still not sure why we had bought into the whole it's a girl thing. What? Sandra's psychic friend said it's a girl? Well, that settles it! I can feel him kick now. I read to him. I read about Magic and Larry. He has much to learn. Much, much to learn. Someday we'll watch games together, and play in the park, and hike. And we'll see a moose, and I'll tell him this long-winded, rambling tale about Alaska. I just didn't want to leave anything out...

Once upon a time, I caught a moose. Caught a moose? Yes, caught a moose. I keep him in a little pen out back and feed him. I say caught now without thinking twice about it. I didn't think too much about going for a moose during my first two years. But then my Idaho friend Mike got a moose. On Rathdrum Mountain. He invited us over this past summer for barbequed moose burgers. We talked about Idaho's lifetime tag law and the drawing. Someone he knows has been trying for a tag for years with no luck. And I realized, now that I'm an Alaska resident, I need to take advantage of this golden opportunity.

  

So I picked up a moose tag. You're allowed to take one moose per year. There are two seasons. During the fall season, you can take bulls. During the winter, bulls, cows, and calves are all fair game. Despite the cold, many people seem to prefer the winter season for its convenience. When everything is frozen over, you can drive your snowmachine right up and haul your moose out. In the fall, it's not quite that easy.

Moose hunting in the fall is done by boat. It's the only way to access the sloughs (channels that twist and branch off the main course of the Yukon River). The terrain is flat, muddy, and covered with birch trees, lakes, and meadows. The meadows are not obvious from the water, so a knowledgeable guide is important. Some of the sloughs are wide and some are barely wide enough for a boat. Some of them were less than a foot deep, and we'd have to sit at the front of the boat to keep the prop out of the mud. Around every turn you think you're bound to see a moose. So you cruise along, watching and waiting.

 

 

My hunting partner all fall has been my neighbor Mike (different Mike than Idaho Mike). He's the second grade teacher at our school.  He actually sold his boat weeks ago to a lady on the coast, but she never came to get it. So after school, we'd check to see if the boat was still there. We'd load up our gear and take a ride. In early September, Mike and I went out for the first of our many hunts. Mike got his first moose last winter, and he knew some good spots to check. He'd beach the boat on the muddy bank and I'd stick the anchor in the mud that can suck you down to your hips. We'd scramble 50 yards through the birch trees to the hidden meadow, call, and wait. Nothing eventful happened on this trip until our return trip through Refrigerator Slough. As the slough joins the Yukon, the water gets very shallow and a hidden sandbar sits just beneath the surface. I saw the sandbar, but it was too late to warn Mike. The boat came to a dead stop and the motor quit. We were high and dry. Next thing we knew, we were standing in the middle of a large section of the Yukon River pushing the boat off the sandbar. A couple of foxes watched us from the shore as we pushed the boat into deeper water. We were relieved when the boat was afloat once again. There's just something unnerving about standing in the middle of the Yukon River. We avoided this spot completely after that. And don't worry, I always wear my life jacket.

The next day I went out with a friend of mine named Lloyd. He brought his two boys, one who is a student of mine. Sandra gave me a ride down to his boat, and his boys were already there. When Lloyd showed up with the last of his gear, his boys and I were sitting in the boat like three peas in a pod. I said, "Hi dad! I'm ready to go!" This turned out to be a memorable trip. The leaves were changing and the water was like glass. I got to drive the boat. Briefly. And I really got to see some of the wild country that surrounds us. I learned the hard way that you should never underestimate the Alaskan outdoors, especially when you’re out on the water. I froze my ass off, and my cheap Walmart rubber boots both sprung leaks. We had a moment of excitement when we came across two moose, but when they raised their heads there were no antlers. We wound through a weedy section of the Anuk River (roughly translated this means “poop river”) where huge pike were breaking the surface all around us. Lloyd drove us home in the dark by moonlight. My feet were cold and wet and I was chilled to the bone. Man, was I glad to get back to Mountain.

Mike and I did a few more evening hunts with no luck. The next weekend, the two of us went on a weekend hunting trip with Matthew, a local guy who is known for his good luck. All three of us chipped in 100 bucks for gas. We burned 45 gallons over the weekend. We followed narrow sloughs for miles until the water became too shallow to go any further. We went to places where we could smell moose, see hundreds of tracks, and broken branches and bark rubbed off tree trunks 8 feet high. When we were lying in our tent, we heard moose stepping into the water at night. One place looked like a moose highway, and I thought we were going to walk right into one. But again, no luck. By Sunday, Matthew was still stopping at meadow after meadow, and Mike and I were exhausted. We were like, dude, let's go home. We still have to do our lesson plans! At this point, I began to suspect it wasn’t going to happen this fall. We could try again over the winter.

Then came Thursday, the second to last day of the season. After school, Mike asked me if I wanted to give it one last shot. "Let's go check that one meadow, just around the bend." I said, "Why not." We'd had a good feeling here. And before I go on, I need to mention a story told to me by our Yupik teacher, Elmer. He said there's an old Yupik story that if a hunter's wife is pregnant, then the baby's eyes are closed. And until the baby is born, the hunter can’t see moose. He said he had known many fathers-to-be who were unable to catch a moose. Well, Janna had left for Anchorage Thursday morning. So I thought maybe her being hundreds of miles away might help me to see a moose.

So, we quickly zipped out to the nearby meadow. It was about 7:30 PM when we got there. Mike brought his seven year old son, Russell, who is also one of Janna's students. When we entered the meadow, he was already talking loudly like kids do. I started beating limbs with a stick to attract a curious moose. Mike did his best moose call, which had never actually worked before. Two planes went by in the distance. A boat cruised by in the slough. And then there he was. Mike turned to me and whispered, "There he is!" I continued to kneel in the grass. "Where?" "There, right there!" I reacted pretty slowly. Thankfully, Mike was patient and let me have my shot. I quietly stepped out, and then I saw him, 50 yards off. He'd stepped out of the trees and was looking right at us. I tried to sight him in, but my adrenaline was making him bounce around in my scope. After two shots, he was still moving across the meadow. He went through a little marsh and stopped. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. This shot knocked him down.

You don't know how impressive a moose truly is until you’re packing it out. Mike and I each dragged a quarter at a time as Russell held the flashlight for us. Mike took the short boat ride home extra slow by starlight, and we made it home around midnight. We were both exhausted but way too excited to sleep. I couldn't believe, after all the places we'd gone to, 30 or 40 meadows across hundreds of miles of remote Yukon River backwaters, my moose was waiting just around the corner. When we were carrying the meat out, I even heard Mountain Village's curfew siren go off. I'd say we were about 3 miles from Mountain as the crow flies.

We spent Saturday butchering the meat. We did it on our front porch on a plywood table. I stuffed ziplock bags with meat and put them in my freezer. By Saturday night, the freezer was filled to the brim. On Sunday, I borrowed Sandra's 4-wheeler and made the rounds with my list of elders and friends. I carried a tote on the front filled with bags of moose meat. Traditionally, you give away your first moose. My friend Hazel helped draw a map and I was off. The elders were so kind. They would invite me in, give me coffee or water, and send me away with a pair of socks or salmon. I visited more homes in one day than I have in all the time I've lived here. I went to one 90 year old woman's house. She was on the kitchen floor butchering an entire moose leg with an ulu knife. I stayed for about half an hour while she told me stories. At another house, I arrived just as they were cutting into a birthday cake for one of my former students. I scored a corner piece. My favorite.

The deliveries took me most of the day. By Sunday night, I had a few bags of moose meat left. I'll try my hand at some moose jerky, and cook up a nice moose roast with coca-cola. I owe a big thanks to my buddy Mike for taking me out on his boat and showing me the ropes. My friend Sean lent me his rifle. Sandra lent me her 4-wheeler, and my friend Jim helped me finish my deliveries. I can't thank these people enough. Oh, and thanks of course to my lovely wife for leaving town just in the nick of time.

I'm paying Sandra back by exterminating voles while we're staying here dog-sitting Merlin. They're fat little varmints, and they're starting to sneak in as the weather gets colder. Around midnight I see a dark thing scurry across the carpet. Gonna have to lay down some more sticky paper, or maybe catch it in one of her colanders. That would be fun.