Erik asked me to take some coaches in town for soccer camp on a whale watch tour. There was a coach from Colorado, one from Anchorage, and two were from Central or South America somewhere. As we headed out of Auke Bay, I overheard them saying they’d already been on a whale watch trip. That was kind of a bummer, as I didn’t know if we’d see much or if what we’d see would now be old hat. I’d contacted a co-worker captain to see where the whales were today. The weather was picking up a little, so although I was headed for the west side of Shelter Island, I decided to go up the east side to keep out of the wind.

We ran about half an hour without seeing anything when I saw a puff in the distance. When we got up to the whale, it was a humpback whale lunge feeding right on the shore line. It would curve its body to herd fry (I think) in a school, and then came up under them with mouth wide open to swallow them. The whale seemed within 10 yards of shore, and was right at the surface. As it would curve it’s body to herd the fish, half of its tail would come out of the water, then there would be a swirl, and then up he’d come with his mouth wide open, and gulp. Well, they hadn’t seen this kind of action on the big whale watch boat they’d gone on earlier in the week.

We left this whale after half an hour and went around the north end of the island and headed south again. We saw another whale blow. This whale took several breaths and dove. Her big white tail told me this was Flame, a local favorite because she shows her big beautiful tail on every dive. After 20 minutes with her, we went to a buoy with several sea lions on it, and circled this a few times, before continuing south.

As we came to the south end of the island, we saw black fins coming out of the water- orcas. We came alongside the orcas at about 100 yards, and paced them for awhile. Then they went under and were gone for several minutes. As I looked to my left where they had been, the coaches in the rear yelled in surprise – the orca pod had gone under us and was now right next to the boat on the right side.  Hadn’t seen THAT on their whale watch trip, either!  We admired the orcas for another 20 minutes and then went to check our crab pots. I set them in this spot because it’s convenient, but hadn’t caught squat there in about 5 years. On our way there, we passed a couple Dall’s porpoise. Then an eagle come down to the water and grabbed a fish in its talons. We pulled up to the first crab pot, and got 3 keepers!   Next pot was 2 keepers!  The boys weren’t going home empty handed.  We took off for the dock, where their conversation was all about the whales they’d seen like they’d never imagined and the crab in the bucket. I dropped them off and headed back to the cabin for the night.

This morning I got up early to be down at the beach at 7 am. There was a -4.4 tide at 8:15 am so I wanted to reset my haul out. I screwed 4 auger anchors in a square into the ocean mud, ran a piece of garden hose through their eyes, then ran some gillnet leadline through the garden hose, and tied off the ends of the lead line. To the lead line I tied a piece of abs pipe that had 90 degree fittings on each end. Then I ran my haul out line through the pipe and back up to pulleys on the beach to form a clothes line to which I could tie the boat painter to and haul the line and boat out to deep water, which would save me from anchoring every time and rowing a punt to the beach. Since my boat was dry from the minus tide, I headed back to the cabin and read old Alaska Sportsman magazines and drank a pot of coffee over the next 2 hours while the tide came back in and floated my boat. Then it was back to town and back to work for the afternoon.

When I got up this morning, the rain had quit, there was fog in the channel, and blue sky above the fog. Emailed the office to say I would be in in the afternoon, grabbed my cork boots and rain pants, stuffed my back pack with my plastic Costco nut jars, unplugged the car, and headed to my fiddlehead honey hole. Saw a couple deer on the way up the mountain. There was fog in the valley, but it looked like it would burn off as I headed across the muskeg. I passed either coyote or wolf scat that was solid deer deer hair as I headed down to the big creek. And a single skunk cabbage flower up in a little bowl of muskeg.

The rain had the creek running a bit high, so could not just cross in my rubber boots and walked down stream till I found a tree that had fallen across the river. Nice to have the corks (spikes) on the boots as I walked across an otherwise slippery log. The fiddleheads I saw down along the creek were already past picking. The devils club buds were pickable along the creek, but as I worked my way up the other side to the mountain side, the buds were too far out to pick. I started to worry I’d waited too long as I broke onto the open mountainside. I saw lots of fiddleheads already up and unfurled. As I looked closer, I saw the young fiddleheads I was looking for coming up alongside the ones already unfurled, and just had to train my eyes to look for the younger shoots. I filled up jar after jar. The fog burned off, and as the sun got higher, the hooters hooted from high up the hill.  It took about an hour to fill up my jars with fiddleheads. There were nettles and twisted stalk among the fiddleheads, but I left those for another day.

After work, I used the magic trick to clean the fiddleheads. Fill a pillow case a third full, tie an overhand knot in the case, and put in the clothes dryer on air fluff for 15 minutes. I put half of what I picked in the pillow case and into the dryer. As I got the second batch ready, I heard the clothes dryer thumping change rhythm.  I opened the door to check and. Uh oh. The knot came untied. The fiddleheads were in the dryer. Everywhere. And remarkably clean. I pulled out the fiddleheads into a bowl, and collected all the chaff I could out of the dryer. There was quite a bit left that was damp and stuck to the dryer drum. So, what’s a guy to do. I turned the clothes dryer back on, with the heat on, and presto.  Five minutes later the chaff had dried and I got the rest out with the vacuum hose. The second batch I tied multiple knots with a shoe string, and that one stayed tied without incident.

For dinner, I sauteed some fiddleheads, and use them and some moose sausage to top a pizza. Not bad.

Seems to me there’s not greater joy for the parent of a 5th grader than cub scouts. And by no greater joy, I mean no greater joy than dropping their 5th grader off and knowing they won’t have to see them again for at least 24 hours.

Moms and dads had ear to ear grins dropping off the five boys for their last camp out of their cub scout careers.  None of this hugging like they couldn’t let their little boys go as was the scene when they were 7 year old tiger cub scouts. These boys are almost 12 now and know just about everything. Although this was just an overnight camp out, hopeful moms and dads packed them with extra food and snacks, just in case they wanted to stay an extra week.

Last year, I bought my big hunting pack. Which can pack alot of gear. If you bring a pack that takes a lot of gear, then everyone sees you as the person to pack the food. And the cook stove. And the cookware. And a spare tent. This year, I bought the little pack.

One of the boys (Pyro) was about 20 minutes late for the drop off, which was no big deal. We weren’t in a hurry. We were driving out near the end of the road in Juneau to a trail head for a 2 mile walk into a cabin near the beach. Pyro  noted several times on the way out to the trail that we were going to get into the cabin an hour later than the schedule that was sent out, oblivious to the fact that we were late because we were waiting for him. His mom was extra cheery upon drop off.

After rain and more rain lately, the dark turned to gray when we got out the road, and the rain slacked off and – what do you know – here comes the sun. We hiked into the cabin, which was down hill for about a mile and a half through the rain forest, then a half mile more along boggy terrain alongside a creek and beaver slough.

When we arrived at the cabin, the boys got busy arguing over who was going to get which bunk in the cabin. There’s not much seniority or hierarchy in this bunch. All are in 5th grade, and have been together a good chunk of their lives. They soon agreed that 4 of them would have the ground level bunk, and the snorer (Chainsaw), was banished to the 2nd story loft. Myself and the den leader would sleep on the floor because this is 2018, where the children’s comfort comes first. I miss the old days. It could have been worse.  At first the den leader suggested we sleep outside in tents to give the boys lots of room. Luckily, a worried mother contacted us about a grizzly bear that was seen about a half mile from the cabin at the stream mouth, guarding a cow moose that either died there naturally or that the bear had killed. I contacted a friend at Fish and Game, who said the bear report was 2 weeks old and it would probably be fine, but that got us out of the tents and onto the floor, which was a solid victory for the grownups.

As usual, the first order of business for the boys was to get down to some serious eating. Chainsaw produced a bag of Doritos, and the five scouts made quick work of that. When the boys were rested up from the hike, Chainsaw and Joker went with the den leader to the creek mouth to try some fishing. They were hopeful there might be a few Dolly Varden nosing into the river. The other boys (Pyro, Honest and Pointer) were soon whittling sticks to roast marshmallows.

Pyro started a fire with some fire starter jell, green wet wood, and paper. As the jell burned off and the fire died, the other two lamented that there was no fire to cook their marshmallows. Not one of them headed to the nearby woods in search of dry wood.  It was a lot easier to grouse about the poor fire than work on actually building one. At this point, their moms and dads are channeling to the assistant den leader not to do the fire building that the boys are expecting some adult servant should do, like they expect at home.

It wasn’t that I was on a different channel and couldn’t hear the parents screaming at me telepathically not to do it. It’s just an innate part of my being that if a fire is dying, you gotta revive it. So I gather the dead spruce branches and take off first the little dead outer branches that held the needles, then start breaking the larger main stem branches into pieces, and place them by the fire pit. Then I start blowing at the few coals left in the fire, adding the little branches first, with more blowing to get them to light, and gradually adding larger and larger branches. The fire takes off, and the boys rush in to roast their white confections.

Of course, the fire doesn’t last long, and soon the lamentations of the fire dying start in again. But with my fire starting addiction satisfied, I retreat to my stove on the porch to heat some water for coffee. Sure, I could boil water over the campfire, which I’d have to get going again, but JetBoil is my new bff.

I then thought I better get down to the beach and see what was going on. As I was leaving, Pyro was teaching his Honest and Pointer how to make a rocket by putting heads of matches in tin foil, attaching the tin foil to a toothpick, and then heating up the tin foil. Real-life stuff you don’t learn in a video game.

The beach was about a 1/4 mile from the cabin, and is hidden from view by a bluff. As I crested the small hill and caught sight of Berners Bay, it was a wildlife symphony. Hundreds of sea gulls squawking. Some 50 bald eagles in the air and clustered on the beach. Animated sea lion heads bobbing near the shore. Then I saw not far from the sealions a puff of smoke. Whales. Two of them.  Humpbacks were working along the shore. The herring run was here.  I sat down and enjoyed the scene in the sun and light breeze. Nobody was in sight at the beach. The boys and den leader must be fishing out of sight at the stream mouth. I could have gone down to see how the fishing was going, but that was probably a 1/4 mile or more hike and, well, that WAS where the bear on the moose was last seen. I headed back to the cabin after about 30 minutes of watching the carnival.

When I got back, the three boys had bored of watching the fire fizzle out and were busy building secondary bridges across the small creek alongside the cabin. They found some 2 x 8 planks that – I assumed,  under the don’t ask don’t tell doctrine of non-parental supervision –  weren’t planks from the trail, and were laying them across the little creek next to the cabin, and then bouncing on the plank like a trampoline. Before long, everyone had gone in over their boots and now had wet feet. Pointer, who earns his name by blaming others for his tribulations, tried to blame his wet feet on Honest, who doesn’t have it in his being to break a rule or transgress his brother.  Honest has known Pointer for most of his life so was having none of it.

Before the trip, the den leader made a list of meals we’d need – lunch, dinner, breakfast – for the boys to bring and cook. No surprise that hot dogs were a fan favorite. An 11 year old might not know what is and isn’t healthy for him, but he does know what’s easy to cook. And what meals you can bring that someone else actually cooks. As any good cub scout knows, hot dogs are best cooked on a stick you whittle, over a fire. If only we had  fire. This time hunger compelled action by the 11 year olds, and they got a fire going to cook their hot dogs.  I brought a 1 lb sleeve of breakfast sausage I made a couple days before the trip from Bob’s Yukon River black bear hind quarter, and I cooked some silver dollars of that up 3 at a time in my mess kit frying pan and put them on a plate on the table. They disappeared about as soon as I could dish them out. Good to see a group of hot dog loving boys not afraid to try real food, too. I snuck a few on a bun for my meal before it was all gone so I didn’t have to eat a hot dog.

As darkness set it, you could feel and smell the rain coming. I got the kerosene stove going in the cabin, blew up my sleeping pad, threw a cover over me, made a pillow out of my jacket, and settled in for the night on the floor. The boys settled in for a night at the table next to their bunks. playing a game called something like mad libs. Joker, the class clown of the group, asked the group for a noun or adjective or verb, and  wrote the word called out into blanks that would complete a story. After the sheet was completed, Joker  would read the story.  You couldn’t understand him for much of the story because he was laughing so hard. The boys reused the same nouns over and over again. Balls and fart were popular. As was rectum and pee.  11 years old boys are 11 years old boys. Anywhere in America.

The den leader was on his pad on the floor, too. About an hour into the mad libs, we hear the boys blowing at the table, and see a flicker of light in their faces. The more they blew, the more their faces lit up. Pretty soon, Pyro’s face is really shining. They’d burned tea candles into all liquid, and blew the burning wax all over the table, and now the table was alight. Den leader took his water bottle and doused the fire. Den leader wasn’t thanked for his heroics.  Pointer chastised him for the next 30 minutes for getting water all over everything.

Not long after Pyro’s handiwork, Chainsaw joined us on the floor. He was having no part of sleeping alone up in the loft by himself, even though the other 4 boys told him all the little black specks on the floor up there was chocolate. Too hot up there and too lonely. Chainsaw put his sleeping bag between Den leader and me. Right next to my ear. He wasn’t happy to find out the next day that the chocolates he almost slept in were actually mouse turds.

I got up to pee about every 2 hours like clockwork. Just like at home. I was plenty warm sleeping on the floor with the fire going, even though the windows were open from Pyro’s earlier handiwork. The website for the cabin reservation indicates that a gallon of kerosene per day is sufficient unless it’s really cold out, which it wasn’t. And, we were only heating the cabin overnight. The website lied. The gallon of kerosene I brought in only lasted about 2/3 of the night. Anticipating we’d have heat, I’d just packed a fleece blanket instead of a full sleeping bag. Rookie move. After toughing it out for an hour or two, I started layering up with clothes, and as Den leader and Chainsaw were getting up and dressed for the morning, I caught my second wind and napped on.

The next day was more of the same, but with lots of intermittent rain. Chainsaw and Joker went to the beach with den leader to fish and I stayed with Pointer, Joker and Honest, who continued the marathon of  trampoline bridge. Pointer lost his $65 multi-tool and couldn’t find it anywhere. When den leader returned, Pointer asked him to help look for it. When it still wasn’t found, Pointer blamed den leader for not looking hard enough. As den leader had known Pointer since birth and shared half of Pointer’s DNA, he’d heard this broken record before and soon pulled the needle.

We planned to leave about noon as that’s checkout time. Den leader asked the boys at least five times to sweep up the cabin and pick up any garbage around the cabin to leave the place cleaner than when we arrived. All five boys would sweep or pick up for about 2 minutes, then back to creek bridge trampoline. Den leader laid into them and they came back up from the creek to do another 3 minutes on task. I said “are all 5th graders deaf, or just you five”. Joker said “what?”, and I started to repeat ” Are all 5th graders deaf” when Joker looked up at me with a grin. He got me.

The boys finally got the place cleaned up and all their belongings packed. Pointer never found his knife. We headed back to up the trail to the road. It was a pretty rainy cold day, and I was surprised at all the people hiking out the trail to the beach or wherever they were going. This hiking for fun must be a thing.

We stopped in Auke Bay to get the boys some hot chocolate. Den leader was reminiscent as this was the last meeting of the boys for their den. Next year they’ll be in Boy Scouts. Den leader was kind of misty eyed. The boys were more interested in finding out if they could have a big cookie to go with their hot chocolate.

I left Auke Bay with Chainsaw and Honest. I asked Chainsaw if he felt an ice cream cone coming on at McDonalds, and he didn’t understand. I asked Honest if he felt an ice cream cone coming on, and he surely did. When we pulled into McDonalds, Chainsaw asked what we were doing there.  Honest clued him in about the whole ice cream situation.

I dropped Honest off at his house, and his dad was there with a forced smile, consigned to have him home. Then I dropped Chainsaw off, and he left without saying thank you. His usual goodbye. I headed home contented that all 5 of these boys will remember this when they’re in their 50’s and remember when they had such good friends and life was fun and simple and happy and uncomplicated. Maybe they’ll even miss their parents and their hometown.

I wrapped the rounds of shank meat on the bone I’d cut with reciprocating saw and put the last of the moose meat to bed in the freezer last night. I figured it was about 40 to 50 man hours of work to get the meat off the bone, trimmed, butchered, hamburger meat ground, shanks cut crosswise, the meat vac packed or wrapped, and into the freezer.  We had to get another small freezer and borrow a second to accommodate everything. An education in moose harvesting. I rounded out the end of the auger on the ancient Kleen Kut meat grinder I own, and finished the grinding of deer meat I wanted to do while I was at the moose meat on the Kitchen Aid grinder. Bob B thinks we can fix the auger by welding a bead around the spot for the square end that holds the knife, then grind it out into a square to hold the knife.

I bought a stacking set of cookie cooling racks and making jerky on the woodstove and think they’ll work out great.

Getting a good amount of snow still and the skiing is good on Mendenhall Lake. But days are getting longer and the daytime temperature is above freezing so the snow can’t hold on for long. Shouldn’t be too much longer and the hooters will start to hoot.

I got the heads-up call the second week of February from Doug in Bethel. The next week was forecast for colder weather and snow. The plan was to go hunting for moose or muskox on snogos. I immediately sought approval for the trip from my boss at work and my boss at home.

Doug called the following Wednesday and said they planned to go out for muskox on Friday. He had a tag and I could have lots of meat since his freezer was full. I threw everything together, bought a one way mileage ticket from Juneau to Bethel, and was in Bethel about noon the next day. Mileage tickets are my best friend for short notice travel in Alaska.

When I got to Bethel, I realized I forgot my fur hat and snowmobile pants, but otherwise looked good for proper clothing. Doug lent me a beaver hat and I planned to use rain pants in lieu of snowmobile pants if it rained.

We had a dinner of crock pot moose roasts, potatoes, canned green beans and salad. That Dougie can cook. Val made brownies for us to take on the trip. And to have with ice cream for desert.

Later in the evening, word came of a change of plans. Instead of going to the Bering Sea coast for muskox, we were heading to the Yukon River for moose because the weather was poor on the coast. Many years ago I’d sewn up a bunch of XXL game bags from used sheets, and now they might get some use.

Doug and I were both up the next morning by 430 am, excited to go, packing and checking gear and drinking coffee. When we met the rest of the hunting party – Pat, who I met the year before and took hooter hunting in Juneau, – Chris, Sam and Robert- I could tell they were excited too. It’s not everyday you take a trip 75 miles to the Yukon River by snogo to hunt moose, even if you live here. We left town in the dark at 815 am. Everyone had a 10’ heavy duty plastic sled in tow behind their snogo except me. In the sleds were tents, sleeping bags, camping gear, extra fuel and food. We were prepared.

We traveled all morning in the fog north to the Yukon River. Across tundra and lakes. Although we couldn’t see the surroundings, the fresh snow the night before made for good riding, and all the tracks we came across – wolf, fox, lynx, wolverine, rabbit and moose – were, of course, fresh.

We’d stop every 5 or 10 miles to check that loads were still tight and everyone was not getting frostbite. Even though the temperature was about 20 degrees, you make your own wind chill on the snogo and everyone had fur hats and facemasks.

I was last in line when I saw a red fox taking it’s morning constitutional out on the tundra. I’d heard the fox were big in these parts, and the sighting confirmed that.

We got to the Johnson River about 1100 am, and found fresh moose tracks leading to an isolated stand of willows. Chris and Robert turned back and followed the tracks around the stand. Chris saw two moose and got both of thm. We all drove up to the downed moose, and it was like a nascar pit crew. Pat and Sam led by making the first cuts in the moose. Pat instructed the newbies on what needed to be done after that, and soon we all found a part to butcher and our roles for future sessions the rest of the day. By 1145 am, we had both moose butchered.

The moose hides went fur side down in Chris’s sled. Then the moose parts – neck, sternum, ribs, pelvis, hind quarters, and front quarters – went on top of the hides. The forelegs and head also went in for trapping bait. The moose parts were then covered with a tarp and secured to the sled with ropes and rachet straps.

The only thing left at the site were the entrails. In a day or two, all that would be left on the ground would be the willow materials inside the moose stomach after the ravens, crows and other scavengers ate their fill. What a day already. No worry about getting the meat dirty. Just hang onto a piece while it’s cut away and toss it in the snow until it’s time to drag it over to put in the sled. No blowflies or bears to worry about in February either.

The Johnson River is still in the Kuskokwim River drainage. We traveled about an hour longer, traversed the divide into the Yukon River drainage, and made camp in a copse of small spruce trees where the group had camped before. We passed 2 others on their way back to town with a sledfulls of moose- the only people we’d see today.

As we set up camp, Chris offloaded his moose parts onto the snow. Even in the cold, the meat holds a lot of heat and can start to spoil if piled together too long under a tarp. We had the tents and camping gear in place at a leisurely pace. Then we were off to the Yukon River- another 10 miles or so.

We arrived at the Yukon River and crossed the river to an island covered with willows. Normally, willows sort of look half moon shaped from the side, with the middle stems of the tree reaching up 30 feet or more. This stand looked like a fine trimmed lawn about 7 feet high. I remember seeing the same thing in Gustavus years ago when my niece Mellissa got a moose there. Seeing willows trimmed to this level is a sign of lots (and sometimes maybe too many) moose browsing.

Soon after arriving on the island, some in the front were motioning to me that moose were ahead. I soon saw moose heads moving above the willows. There were 6 or 8 moose moving. Pat motioned me to come forward for a shot. When I caught up to him, all I could see were legs in the willows. Lots of legs. It was like looking at a herd of wild horses in the brush. I kept walking forward and there lay a moose on the ground. Robert had shot it, yet I never heard him shoot. For some reason the 30 caliber rifles we were shooting seemed to make little sound out on the wide open tundra, unlike the boom they make when hunting in the mountains of Southeast Alaska.

I moved past Robert’s moose. Others were anxious for me to get a moose, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I wanted to have a clear broadside shot with a good rest and not too far a shot. Then I saw it – a moose offering me a clear shot broadside at under a hundred yards. I got a rest, put the crosshairs a third of the way up from the bottom of his sternum and behind the front shoulder like the ADF&G site recommends, and fired. The moose just stood there. I fired a second time, and still nothing. Pat said to fire again. Then I saw the moose waver a bit and it just tipped over. It never flinched or gave any sign of being hit.

Pat moved on to stalk another moose that was initally alongside this one. A few more shots fired not far away, and we now had 3 moose on the ground.

Doug and Pat and I started butchering my moose, while Robert, Chris and Sam worked on Robert’s moose. After we were a good way along in the process, Pat and Doug told me to go look for my second moose. I did. I made a loop around a section of the island and back to them. They said to keep looking.

Sam and Robert had finished up Robert’s moose and came by, so I went with them for a ways, when we decided to split up. Sam and Robert crossed the river to another island, while I “kept turning left” as Sam instructed until I would return to Doug and Pat. I ventured left into a patch of willows and got the sled stuck. I was spinning out in deeper snow. I tried to lift the back of the sled up and out of the hole I’d made like I used to back in Bolivar as a kid. Turns out sleds are bigger now. And I’m not a kid. I strained my back trying to get it out. I tried whistling and yelling to Pat and Doug, but got no reply. I finally shot 3 times to alert them I needed help, then started walking back to find them.

Doug soon came on his sled and we returned to my sled. He showed me how to get it out by leaning the sled on it’s side and shoveling snow under it with your boot. I thought to myself I’m not going off on my own again like that since I’m not familiar with getting myself out of these situations and could easily get lost or separated from the group.

We got Pat’s moose and my moose butchered and down on the river as the sun was setting. Sometimes you have to pinch yourself when you’re standing on the Yukon River in the middle of winter watching the sunset with your first moose in a sled.

Pat and Chris went to look for Sam and Robert, who we figured got another moose when they crossed to the other island, although we never heard any shots. Doug and I stayed with the sleds of moose meat. Chris soon returned and said Pat sent him back to get me because there were 6 moose just down the way. Pat wanted me to get a second moose. When I got there, I saw three moose standing in a line broadside to us, and 3 others that had moved off into the brush out of sight. A huge moose was on the right, with what looked like a yearling in the middle and a calf on the left. I asked Pat which one I should shoot. He said the little one, which I did. Pat now decided he’d take a second moose, too, and so shot the yearling. The big one walked off. When we got up to our moose, it turns out they were not a yearling and calf, but adult moose. The huge one just made them look small.

The four of us rolled my moose onto the sled whole and Chris ran it up to the other sleds we’d left with butchered moose on them. He returned and we did the same for Pat’s moose. It seems like it takes a bare minimum of 3 people to roll a whole moose at all, and even then it’s iffy.

As we were offloading Pat’s moose to start butchering, here comes Sam and Robert. Sam HAD got moose, which he and Robert had butchered and had on their sled. They joined in and the six of us soon had the last two moose butchered by headlamp and onto the sleds. It was now about 930 pm and we’d shot and butchered 8 moose in the 14 hours since we left Bethel. Pat said he’d never done this many before. The first moose of the day was a cow, and the rest were bulls. Of course, all bulls had dropped their antlers so we didn’t know what sex we’d shot until after the fact, but that’s the way it worked out. It looked like the bulls were in bachelor groups and I’m not sure why there seemed to be no cows here. Maybe just chance.

We were bushed but very satisfied on the journey back to camp, which took about an hour. Everybody got the moose they came for. Doug didn’t get one, which was what he wanted. Doug lit his coleman lantern and hung it on a tree, and the rest of us had our headlamps on as we took the tarps off all the sleds, and pulled the moose parts out of the sled and into the snow to cool overnight, just like Chris had done with his moose. We were too tired to cook anything for dinner and ate snacks and sandwiches.

Doug had borrowed a tent from a friend but we didn’t check it before we left and the little woodstove that went with the tent did not come with it. Doug, Pat and I had no stove and so slept in our sleeping bags in our hunting clothes. Doug brought in the lantern to heat up the tent before we went to sleep, then turned it out. Doug was the subject of extensive ridicule and verbal abuse the rest of the night by Pat and I, but we all seemed to sleep just fine in about 15 degree weather. I got up once to take a leak, and when I got back in my bag, I could hear a critter bothering Chris’s moose meat, which was laying in the snow next to our tent. Pat went out to look and saw it was a red fox. He tried to shoot it but his gun jammed and the fox ran away. As soon as Pat got back in his bag, the fox came back, and Pat again went out but could not get a shot. When Pat got back in his bag, the fox returned and we conceded that a fox could not eat all that much in one sitting. We let him have his fill and went back to sleep as a couple of snowgos came through in the dark on their way to the Yukon River.

We got up about sunrise I guess – 9 ish. My back was killing me. I could hardly stand up. It was either from the strain trying to get the sled unstuck, sitting on the sleds driving for 5 or 6 hours, bending over to butcher 8 moose, or being 54 years old. Or all 4. In any case, I was a hurting puppy. As the others slung meat back onto the sleds, I started to take down the tent to at least do something. And I could hardly do that. I tried doing the cow-cat yoga exercise but it didn’t help. I then laid down flat on my back on a tarp. At first I couldn’t even lie flat, but eventually the muscles relaxed until I could lie flat, and then I lie there in the snow for about 10 minutes. That was all it took. My back muscles let go, I got up, and was a new man.

As we broke camp, a trio of camp robbers – gray jay birds- showed up. Some of the boys started cutting off pieces of moose meat scraps and tossing it in the snow in the woods. The gray jays seemed to know this game, and soon were carrying chunks weighing almost more than they could carry up into the branches to stash, and then returned for more.

The trip home was under a high overcast and the temperature in the 20’s. It was like a new trip. After fog all the way in yesterday, now we could see for miles. It hardly seemed possible we only came in the day before.

About half way home, we found a guy wandering around on the tundra. Turned out his sled conked out and he was trying to get to a trail where he could flag down a snow go, or perhaps walk to a village. We fed and watered him and took him to town with us. He was lucky we came along. He had on jeans and had no food with him.

We passed a total of 21 people going out while we were coming back We didn’t see anyone hunting when we were there and I was glad not to be there with a lot of other people in the fairly small area where the moose were. The whole trip was lucky like that. The new snow, the moderate winter temperatures, moose everywhere, and a group of guys who could take care of a downed moose quickly.

We came back to town on a different trail – ending up on the Gweek River. When we got to the confluence with the Kuskokwim it was rush hour. Snow mobiles and SUV’s and trucks and 4 wheelers using the frozen river as a highway to go to other places or to go fishing. Doug pointed out willow trees seemingly growing out of the ice in pairs about 30 yards apart and said the willows held gillnets under the ice for pike. When we got to town, a dog sled passed in front of us.

We said our goodbyes one at a time as each person peeled off to their homes. When we arrived home, I helped Doug build hanging stands in his shed out of two by six lumber and stud hangers. We hung the meat on the stands to cool and age the meat. The temperatures were just right- in the 20’s at night and 30’s during the day.

The quarters took two of us to hang, as they weighed close to 100 lbs each. After all the meat was put away, we ate a dinner of muskox steaks, potatoes and salad. That Dougie can cook.

The next day, Doug sent me out with Pat, Sam and Chris to check Chris and Pat’s trapline. We met at the gas station. As we left for the river, Pat was in the lead with me bringing up the rear. When I got to the river, I saw Pat’s sled at a slant into the water at the river’s edge. The sled was in the water about half way up the skiis and just covering the hood. Pat said he was done for the day because the engine had taken in water and would need to be drained before it’s run again. Sam tied off a line to the back of Pat’s sled and pulled it out of the water and back up onto the parking lot. Pat called Doug, who came and got him with a trailer to take the sled to the mechanic. Sam, Chris and I continued on to another spot to get on the Kuskokwim river and were soon on our way across the river.

We rode about an hour and came to a village seemingly out of nowhere – Kwethluk. A 10’ sled was in front of town on the Kwethluk River with about half a dozen spruce logs about 8 inches in diameter destined for sale in Bethel, where there are few trees bigger in diameter than an inch or two. We continued on til we turned off into another tributary. We rounded a bend and stopped. The spot was Chris’s favorite place to fish in the summer for coho salmon, trout and pike. I see a hole in the river ice with blood around it and wonder what made the mess. Later, out of nowhere, two girls on a fourwheeler pass us. Where did THEY come from I think? I soon realize there are villages not far off but we can’t see much running the river bed. We stop every 5 miles or so like we did moose hunting, and have a bite to eat or sip coffee as we like. We’re in no hurry.

We continue on and we’re soon checking sets for wolverine, wolf, fox, otter and lynx. Most of the sets are snares. I’ve primarily trapped with conibears in or near the water, so this upland trapping is great to learn. We get nothing in the first few sets, and then I see a fox in a snare set for wolverine. The fox is not happy to see us. Sam shortens up the leash of the snare lead, conks the fox on the head to stun him, then kneels on it’s chest till it expires. A quick death.

We get one more fox on the checks. We get to all the traps but the one furthest away and can’t get to that one because there’s too much overflow on the river ice. We’d gone 67 miles when we turned back to town.

When we get back to Chris’s favorite fishing spot, there are a bunch of four wheelers and people fishing. Some are are fishing in the hole that I saw blood in, and there’s a live pike in a little puddle of overflow. That answers that question. Another group is across the river checking a whitefish net set under the ice. Everybody is happy. Winter time is fun time here. It seems like the season people look forward to here, as long as it’s cold enough for the rivers to freeze. Winter is when the most country is accessible, and when snow conditions and fish and game populations are good, it seems like a happy time to hunt and fish.

We return to town. Sam leaves me with the two fox at Doug and Val’s, and Doug takes the two fox to the skinning shed for Pat to take care of. I start butchering the moose after a dinner of specklebelly geese stuffed with apple and raisins. That Dougie can cook. I butcher till late in the night listening to old country songs on KYUK.

The next day was blowing and raining. A perfect day to butcher. Doug and I cut meat all day. We carved the meat from all the bones except the ribs and put it into game bags. Pat’s wife wants the femurs. The rest of the bones we rehang to keep clean in case someone wants them for soup. We break for lunch and eat chili with muskox burger. That Dougie can cook. We continue cutting into the night, listening to the Yupik language call in show on KYUK. We both enjoy the show, especially the laughter, even though we don’t know the language. We finish the meat cutting after 10 pm. Then we get a scale to weigh each bag so we can load the boxes near to their maximum allowed weight of 100 lbs each. I’m lucky to find waxed fish boxes at the AC store, and buy 7 of the last 8 in town the next day. We decide I’m leaving day after tomorrow, and I order a one way mileage ticket to Juneau.

The next day, we checked Doug’s trapline near town. As Doug and I check empty trap after empty trap, I yelled words of encouragement like “Is this your first year trapping”, “Do you know what you’re doing”, and “Are we ever gonna catch one”. It was a beautiful sunny day. Part way through the trap checks, we cross the Kuskokwim and travel through Napaskiak, with it’s beautiful Russian Orthodox Church and graveyard of brightly painted crosses and lettering nextdoor. We cross a small river and travel through Oscarville, with it’s above ground outdoor basketball court made of wood. We check several more traps on the way to town, and Doug takes me up on a hill where we can take in the vastness of the lower Kusko and surrounding wilderness. It’s a whole lot of the middle of nowhere here.

We travel through willow patches looking for ptarmigan on the way back to town, but the birds apparently haven’t migrated through yet as we see no birds or tracks. When we reach the house, I walk down to Pat’s trapping shed. I watch as Pat deftly skins four fox, fleshes them, and puts them on stretchers to dry. He does it methodically, with no wasted motion. He could do it in his sleep. We talk as he processes the hides without thinking. It was interesting to see how few cuts/slices are actually made when skinning a fox. There are a few cuts getting at the hind end, pulling out the tail, then working the hide down the body like a sock with only hands, pulling the ear cartilage through with a screwdriver, then cutting through the eyes and nose. Pat’s caught about 140 fox for the winter, and gets most of them right near town. He said some years there are 700 fox taken within a few miles of town. He described how they come through in waves. He’ll get double digits after opening day, then nothing for several days, then 8 more, nothing for a few days, then 6 more, and so on. Sounds a lot like salmon trolling.

When he finishes pinning the last fox on a stretcher, we head for Doug and Val’s for dinner. We sit around and yak for an hour until Pat’s significant other, Louise, can join us. We have salmon patties, cold canned green beans with Italian dressing, and salad for dinner. That Dougie can cook. Val breaks out her favorite desert – ice cream – and Doug brings on some chocolate syrup and pecans

On the last day, I got up a little after 630 am and got to packing all the meat. I got 6 boxes filled to between about 85 and 95 lbs, and the 7th box was about 30 lbs of ribs. I return to the house about an hour later and get some coffee on. Doug stirs and comes downstairs and we drink coffee in the dark. A little after 8, we load the back of the truck and go to Alaska Air cargo to ship the meat.
Like everything here, it’s all casual. The two agents are cousins and Yupik, and one says the other acts a little blonde sometimes so you have to excuse her. She sees I have about 550 lbs of meat to ship and says – “That’s a big moose”. I tell her it’s two moose. Doug asks her if her mother needs any meat and the daughter replies they’ll always take meat. Doug says he still might go muskox hunting and he’ll drop some off if he does. Then I think of all the bones we kept clean at Doug’s and ask her if they’d like the bones for soup and she said they’d love them. I pay for the air cargo – about $350 – and we returns to the house happy we have a home for the moose bones.

After I pack my gear to leave, I help Doug dismantle the hanging racks and we put the bones on the sled for the granny and her daughter. There’s a pile of meat scraps trimmings and bone cartilage to store for trapping bait. We pull up the tarp that was under the hanging meat that apparently wasn’t all waterproof, and Doug puts water on the shed stove, then pours it onto the blood stain, then puts sawdust ontop of that to soak it up. I ask if I should scrub it with a brush. He says it’s a shed. For butchering. Don’t worry about it.

A week in Bethel and I feel like I’ve been to a paradise. Climate warming is bringing changes to the area. Willows are growing in more abundance, making more feed for moose. The houses built using permafrost construction techniques are sagging because the permafrost is melting, creating headaches for homeowners. Less snow and warmer winters mean less snow, sorter winters, and probably more dangerous river ice conditions than in the past. Who knows what it’ll look like in another couple decades. My guess is people there will adapt as they must always have.

Doug and Val and I head to the airport after Doug makes us salad omeletes for breakfast. That Dougie can cook. We say our goodbyes and I pass through security. I look at my air cargo bill and note that under contents it reads “moose meet” and think – it sure was.