AK Moose

The clouds clung to the green hills while rain hammered out a rhythm on the cabin's tin roof. I didn't feel guilty on such a day to be lying on the cabin floor, gazing at the ceiling and reflecting on the past week. Pine knots resembled the eyes of many people spying down at me. Some looked like small children's eyes while others were the wide open eyes of shocked adults. The wood grain surrounding the knots added to the imagined shapes. The circles and ovals where branches had once sprung, now became shapes in nature. One honey colored knot with long dark streaks radiating outward, became a shooting star. Two small dark knots, close together with vertical lines extending down, was a small owl with wings at its side. Much like Rubin's vase, which one person sees as a vase and another sees as two faces staring at one another, I manipulated the same pine knots from one shape to another by glancing away or blinking my eyes.

Our hunting trip began on a less than perfect day for flying. The plan was for our daughter, Carlisle, to fly her Dad, Bucky, into the hills first. Once there, he would set up camp while she would return to town to retrieve gear. I would wait in town catching a ride out later with our friend in another airplane. As is often the case with Alaskan aviation, inclement weather changed all that. Fortunately, a few breaks in the afternoon clouds allowed three of us to get into camp. Now, we stood on the grass strip listening, our eyes searching the sky, hoping to hear the sound of the Citabria approaching. We knew that despite Lisle's desire to fly herself to camp, she would smartly turn back if the weather window began to close. I uttered a sigh of relief when I caught sight of black wings against the grey sky, followed by the reassuring purr of an airplane engine.

watching and waiting

and she's down 

the plane, affectionately known as Woody, has wings that look particularly sharp from behind 

Alaska is a wild land and it's always a comfort to have those you love safely together. A week of hunting lay ahead, an exciting time made more so by the sighting of several nice bulls on the flights in.
Our hunt started quickly the following morning when two bulls were spotted before breakfast. The cabin provided an excellent spot from which to watch animals as they traversed the hills. Being able to have a cabin as our base camp was pure luxury. Bucky, Carlisle and I usually hunt with tents for shelter.  Rain was predicted for our entire stay, so having a dry place in which to hang our wet clothes and cots to sleep on, was heavenly.

the cabin was dwarfed by the surrounding hills

glassing near camp

                                                                      Woody tied down 

On the first day of our hunt, patience was the skill most needed. We were excited that the two bulls seen before breakfast, appeared to be headed in our direction. Then, for no apparent reason, they suddenly veered from their original path. With uncanny speed, they headed up and over the hills and out of sight. Later we determined it was a response to other moose being in the same area! Two bulls and a cow were subsequently seen approaching from the opposite direction. Despite the enormous size of these animals, the thick brush cleverly concealed them from our view. Once they were located, the hunt was on. We re-positioned and waited.

the runway made it easy to move about

                                                          watching as the first two bulls disappear from sight

on stand

                                                                   now it's a waiting game.

We decided to move from the cabin walking about a half mile down the runway and set up near another mining cabin beside the creek. An old bulldozer became our hunting blind providing elevation and concealment. Here we sat uncomfortably for the next few hours wondering if the three animals we had seen were still around or had they buggered off like the earlier two bulls?  Then, movement in the willows simultaneously caught our eyes announcing a moose's presence. It was a bull! His antlers thrashed against the willow branches while he browsed. We sat frozen, our binoculars glued to our eyes. The discomfort of our hard metal seats was forgotten.
What followed, was a lengthy assessment of the animal's antlers. The rules on moose hunting are very strict and specific. We had to be sure that this bull's antlers met the criteria for harvest. The bull remained partially hidden in the willows making it impossible to see his antlers clearly. We watched and waited. Then suddenly, the break we had hoped for occurred. The bull began moving toward us. He exited the brush, and proceeded to walk mere yards from where we collectively sat holding our breath. As he ambled by, he turned his head providing a definitive view of his antlers, clearly identifying him as a legal bull.

We froze in place as he passed by.

patience paid off

The Alaskan moose is the largest North American subspecies of moose. An Alaskan moose can stand over 6' at the shoulder and weigh over 1000 lbs. Caring for the meat of this bull became our top priority. It's a time consuming task to field dress, butcher and transport an animal of this size. We were lucky to have plenty of daylight, sharp knives, and a short pack. A few nicks by the knife were bandaged and there were plenty of laughable moments. The meat was placed in game bags and hauled to the bulldozer where it could hang and cool for the next several days.

Wet vegetation and stream crossings made hunting in waders the best option.

rack of ribs

hunting blind turned meat pole

Occasionally, the clouds and fog lifted, exposing the Takosha Mountains.

The cabin we were inhabiting did not have an outhouse while the one where the meat hung had a comfortable one. It was ideally placed near the creek which provided background music as well as a handy place to wash up. This coffin sized building had no door allowing a fabulous view when seated.

outhouse with a view

This gold mining relic sat in the creek beyond the outhouse.

The following morning, I took the half mile walk from our cabin to the outhouse. I carried the 22 rifle in hope of flushing a Ptarmigan. I was asked if I would check the meat and the gut pile before returning and I said I would. As I walked, warblers hopped in the willows, singing freely and unafraid while ground squirrels loudly voiced their disapproval from holes hidden from view. I stuffed  my hands in my pockets in an attempt to warm them. The creek ran cold with early signs of Fall. I scanned the stones beneath the water and along the banks, not really knowing what gold would look like, but hoping there would be no doubt should I happen to see some! My hands began to warm as I approached the bulldozer. The meat hung as it had been placed and the cool night temperatures left it smelling sweet. I walked with caution toward the gut pile, mindful that this was prime bear country. Despite having this thought in mind, I was startled to see a sizable black spot appear in the brush. I stopped walking as the bear raised onto its hind legs in an effort to locate me. I was relieved to see it was a small bear and as I slowly backed away, it returned to all fours loping off. We encountered each other again in the open at a much greater distance and once again the bear rose to its hind legs to get a better look at me. This gave me time to look through my scope. I had no intent of shooting a bear with a 22, but wanted a magnified look. The white blaze on its chest stood out from the glossy black fur and then in a flash it was gone.

taking a walk

pyrola

crow berry

Wilson warbler

layers of green and meat haul

Knowing that bear were in the area, we decided to move the meat closer to home so we could monitor it. The same small bear was seen several times near the gut pile during the week. A wolverine also visited the pile.

strong young backs make light work

meat near the fuel tank

The meat was gone through again and some was re-cut and re-bagged. 

Antlers in velvet are a work of art.

During the week, we were "unreachable", shrouded in clouds, low fog and peaceful grey skies undisturbed by airplane noise. This is bad when you want "out", but for us, it meant no visitors and no hunters flying in on us. Bucky and I wandered in the hills, treating ourselves to sour blueberries while fantasizing we were AK homesteaders. The emerald hills on which we walked met the cold clear water of the creek at the valley floor. We used this water for drinking, cooking and washing. Walking to the creek after dinner to do dishes never seemed like a chore when surrounded by such beauty.

As our week ended, the clouds lifted as if knowing it was time for us to head back to town. We raced to pack up camp, taking advantage of the weather window to make a hasty retreat. When using airplanes as part of a hunt, time can sometimes move at warp speed or in slow motion. I guess that's what keeps it interesting.

heading home

goodbye sweet cabin

glacial rivers

more meat processing at home

Hours turn into days, days into years and precious memories are suspended in time. The shared meals, card games played, cabin sleep sounds, solitary walks and nature's boundless gifts become etched into the hearts and souls of those lucky enough to share in the experience.