Nome Alaska Hunting

Thu Aug 29 2024 17:00:00 GMT-0700 (Pacific Daylight Time)

The stock of a rifle jabs into my leg as the truck bounces over another pothole in the dirt road leading out to Council. I ride in the back surrounded by stacked supplies. Charlie flips on Digital Underground’s debut album and starts with “The Humpty Dance”.

I'll eat up all your crackers and your licorice Hey yo fat girl, come here -are ya ticklish

“This came out when I was in high school. Everyone thought this was the craziest new thing.” He spoke with a clear voice that seemed better suited broadcasting the weather than casually chatting about rap music. I looked out the window to see an infinite expanse of tundra. Cranes flew over glassy smooth ponds which dotted the horizon with reflections of the endless Alaskan sunset. The stock of the rifle jabbed me again, reminding me of why I was there. Ben’s family intended to have a full freezer of meat for the winter, and they had invited me for the fall moose hunting season.

We arrived at the cabin and I was introduced to Ben’s uncle Larry and his son Levi, Carlie’s friend Broc and his son Tieg, and Charlie's friend Sam. The next morning our large posse mobbed out over the tundra in a four wheeler, a six wheeler, and a side by side. The machines tore over the tundra as the cold autumn wind blew through our rubber raincoats. Kudos to Sam for wearing only a sweater and not complaining once. We’d stop at high points to scope for a moose through our binoculars. Ben gave me an old pair of army surplus binos to use. Since I had no hunting experience, glassing was about the only thing I could be helpful with. Soon enough Ben spotted some antlers in the willows across a valley. This was perfect. It was the day before the season opened and we had spotted a bull moose.

The next day we mobbed over to the same valley and began glassing. I unzipped my jacket to pull out the binoculars. . . that I left at the cabin. Fuck me that was the one way I could help out on this and I blew it! The wind gusted by. I stood and shivered, watching the others gaze through their binos. Minutes ticked by. Nothing. No sight of the bull. As the minutes began to look like they might tick into hours, Ben became impatient and spoke up to Charlie.

“We know there’s a bull down in there. I think we should go down there and try to flush him out. Otherwise we might spend all day sitting here and never see him through all those alders.” Charlie agreed. It could take almost the whole day to dress the moose in the field. Ben and Charlie took the six wheeler and began cruising across to the next valley. Meanwhile, I chanted my new mantra:

God dammit! I’m going to be useful. I’m not going to sit here with my thumb up my ass like an idiot. Find that moose. Screw on those eyeballs and find that moose. We didn’t have binoculars in the stone age so find that moose with your eyeballs. I’m going to be useful. God dammit!

Ben and Charlie dismounted and began stalking on foot. Without knowing where the moose was they could easily spook it and lose the opportunity to take it down. The rest of us gazed up and down the valley. Our job was to find the moose and signal to Ben and Charlie where it was. I screwed my eyes over the textures of the tundra looking for any irregularities. The reds of blueberry patches shifted to the pastel greens and yellows of willows – hold up. Are those antlers? A bright light speck flashed from the scrunches of mottled dark green the alders made on the mountainside.

“Hey guys I think I see the moose.” I directed them to the spot, and sure enough, looking through their binos they could see the antlers of a bull moose sticking out of the alders. We began pointing and directing Ben and Charlie towards the moose. They approached. Hunched over, they slowly stalked closer until . . . the moose ran away.

Shit.

Wait.

It’s coming towards us.

The rest of us huddled together and made a new plan to send Larry and Levi down to the moose as it ran down the valley and towards the creek between the two ridgelines. Thirty minutes later two loud gunshots rang out and the moose went down. Everyone rejoiced.

Larry and Levi began searching for the moose. It had gone down in a very large and very unideal swampy patch of incredibly thick willows that stood about ten feet tall. It was all but impossible to discern direction while walking through them. They closed in on all sides leaving nothing but leaves and a small patch of overhead sky to navigate with. Larry and Levi crossed the beaver dam and ventured into the willow labyrinth. We tried pointing them towards the moose. Just a little higher. Oooh and they went past it. They looked back at us for directions. Okay more to the right. Oh past it again. Okay down and left now. Damn we’re going to be here all day.

Looking farther up the ridge I realized that Ben and Charlie were also looking at us for directions. I watched them walk in circles as we pointed in ever changing directions. Eventually they gave up and went back to their six wheeler. After some time Larry and Levi finally found the moose and the rest of us hiked down to help them begin skinning and quartering it.

To see the beautiful machinery of the flesh. The perfectly smooth and naturally lubricated joint spaces. Muscles flexing and retracting underneath the fascia, tensioning tendons and moving bones. This was the intricate craftsmanship of the universe. Of god. Of mother nature. This was the intelligence of life itself.

And I was about to cut it apart and eat it.

This flesh would be broken down and rebuilt into the fibers of my body. The life of the moose for my life. Now that is a crazy thought. There wasn't time to think about that for too long though. We still had to get the 700 pounds of meat across a half a mile of dense brush, beaver dams, and swamp. Each quarter weighed somewhere between 150 and 180 pounds. Tieg and I took the first load and began trudging in the direction of the vehicles. The willows were so thick that it felt as though we were swimming through them, and by the time we reached the creek and they gave way, we tumbled out without their resistance holding us hostage.

We began crossing the long beaver dam in the river. One step at a time, we wobbled across the decaying sticks. Tieg had his rifle with him as bear protection, and each time a stick broke under the weight of the unwieldy hindquarter strapped to his back, the gun swung and threw off his balance even more. In just a mere five meters he had fallen into the creek twice and was livid with rage.

“Oh my god this is so stupid. Devon, take the gun. If a bear comes, pull this lever back and then pull the trigger.”

I was happy to help. I had a smaller load of various cuts of meat stuffed into Sam’s hiking pack, and could manage more. Eventually we dumped the load off at the machines and went back for another load. We passed the others hauling their loads as we went back down. Ben and Charlie came first, plodding with focused grit in their eyes. Farther along the geriatrics were struggling. Larry and Sam were both gulping down breaths as they wobbled up through the alders with game bags filled with meat slung over their shoulders. Levi tip toed alongside them holding the antlers above his head and trying to keep them from catching on every stray branch in sight.

Upon reaching the carcass, we were greeted with the rotten smell of stomach fluids. Apparently someone had gotten too hasty while gutting and had sliced open the esophagus near the stomach, spilling its contents all over the remaining meat. This time I took the big load of a quarter and Tieg took the remaining items and meat. An hour or so of stumbling, wading, plodding, tripping, and cursing and we were finally finished. We briefly rejoiced and then headed back to the cabin to hang the meat, eat, and sleep.