Moose Hunting in Alaska, 1972 Day 3, Part3

Dan scrambled down the slope. He was into the ravine and half way to the moose in minutes, but I was having trouble. I tore my knee ligaments in a skiing accident the previous March, spent eight weeks in a cast, and couldn’t bend the knee more than ninety degrees. Going down was a lot harder that up. A quarter of a hour passed and I had made little progress. Dan was sitting on a large rock scanning the mountain slope across the valley. He lowered his binoculars and shouted, “Hurry and get down here. I just spotted another moose.”

I sat and began scooting down the mountain on the seat of my pants, controlling my descent by digging a heel in now and then. “This one is really big”, he said. “You can see his rack without binocs. He’s straight across and just below us - in the clearing to the left of that line of alders.”

“Yeah, I see him. He’s lying down. Isn’t that the luck - another moose, and we haven’t got the first gutted yet. What do you think we ought to do?”

“He’s not very high. We could get there in half and hour or so. Why don’t we gut this one and then go for him. We can come back later and finish here.”

“Okay. I hate climbing this mountain again though. I wish Doug and Ed were here.”

“We should have stuck together. I wonder how they’re doing in that other valley? If we get that one, and they harvest one or two we’re going to be in big trouble.”

“We must be four or five miles from the cabin.”

“At least. And its another six to the trucks. Even with two trail bikes we’d kill ourselves - lose a lot of meat too.”

We made our way to the fallen bull, dropped our packs, took out knives, and prepared for the messy job of field dressing. Its size surprised me. “He’s bigger than I thought. He looked dog-size rolling down the slope. And it looks like he needs some dental work: most of his teeth are busted out, and his antlers are gone. That seems to be the extent of the damage - at least that’s all that shows.”
Dan straightened and looked across the valley. “The big one is still there. He’s up browsing, but he’s staying put. Its late enough, he may bed down for the rest of the afternoon. Let’s do as much as we can, and keep an eye on him; if he starts moving, we’ll go after him.”

Dan and I gutted, skinned, and quartered the animal. We placed each quarter in a game bag, carried it over to some nearby alders and laid it across the branches. The limbs sagged as the meat floated above ground. Two hours went quickly by.

“What time is it?”

“About one. Where is the bull? I don’t see it.”

“Its moved down and into the brush. You can barely make it out. You wouldn’t see him if you didn’t know he was there.”

“Maybe our luck is changing. I was certain we’d get nothing but bone splintered and bloodshot meat from this one, but the broken rib was all the damage.”

“They got thick hides, and he was putting his winter coat on. I guess that cushioned the fall. Maybe all that bouncing tenderized the meat.”

GO TO: Day 3, Part 4