Preparing for the school's annual moose hunt was a surreal experience. It is hard to believe that it has already been a year; so much has happened since then, and so much has changed. Some things are still the same, though - the fierce joy of boating upriver in the biting cold of a fall morning, the sound of the wind in the endless groves of birch, the smell of fresh meat drying over an open fire...
On Monday our little flotilla set out, heading for the hunting camp we set up last year about 20km upriver. The river was like glass, and there was not a cloud in the sky.
We had a larger group than last year, and it took us a few hours to shuttle everyone and the gear upriver. We set up our tents and settled into the routine of camp chores: splitting firewood, gathering spruce boughs for bedding, organizing the week's supplies. Many hands made light work, and it wasn't long before we were very comfortable.
I took advantage of the downtime to hang out with the kids and play some games. It was so great to see them again! While I don't plan on teaching as a long-term career, working with these children has proven one of the best experiences of my life. They are a very special bunch, and I know I will miss them terribly when I do eventually have to leave.
In the evening Brad, Darryl and Peter set out to scout for moose. They were successful, so the next morning we headed out to haul the meat back to camp.
The moose had been shot not far from Twisted Mountain, on a small island thick with willow. At least two had been hit, a mother and her calf, and the tracks suggested another had been wounded but tumbled down the riverbank and either swam across or was swept downstream.
They had yet to be butchered, so we got to work. Darryl got started on the calf, but when he left to help the others with the cow I finished the skinning and much of the gutting. Getting elbows-deep inside a moose is not for the faint-hearted, but I found it fascinating. There is a sort of messy elegance to butchering game, and it was amazing to see how a few knife strokes could reduce the moose to its component parts. The body had retained a remarkable amount of heat, even 12 hours after it had been shot, and despite the cold wind I had to strip down to a tshirt as I worked.
When Darryl came back to assist with some of the more complicated parts, he pointed out all the little details - holes near the hoof of one of the rear legs indicated the calf had been attacked by wolves, while bruising in the stomach area suggested a bull moose hadn't taken too kindly to the calf's presence when he tried to get friendly with its mother.
After a few hours we were able to load up the boat with meat and take it back to camp. The weather was closing in, so we spent the rest of the day working on the cuts and getting them ready to be smoked.
We had made decent headway by the time we went to bed, but as it turned out our work was only just beginning. We woke the next morning to find another moose had wandered down onto the sandbar right across from our camp! There was a scramble for the guns, and it short order the moose was dropped.
With that done, the agenda for the day was obvious. After breakfast we loaded up on the boats and headed over to the sandbar. We found that the moose was a young bull, perhaps two years old, with a stubby rack of antlers. Even though he was young, he was still sizeable and it took a long time to get him ready to be brought back to camp.
There was no rush, though, the rain had cleared up and the river sparkled beneath brilliant blue skies. The bite of winter was in the air, but it was lovely to work in the strong sunshine.
The rest of the week was spent smoking the meat and following the regular rountine of camp chores. On Thursday afternoon we returned to town briefly for a feast and drum dance, but couldn't stay long. The days are growing shorter, and we had to get back to camp before dark.
That night the skies were crystal clear, and as midnight approached the sky lit up with long filaments of aurora.
I went for a walk along the river bank and reflected on the events of the week, especially the three moose we killed. It has been a bit of an adjustment to incorporate hunting into my life, but I think I am all the better for it. Butchering game alters your relationship to your food in a very real way. It is difficult to look at meat the same way having felt its texture as you pull it from the bone, or the sudden hot gush of blood when you knick an artery. Some might consider hunting barbaric, but I think there can be a very real benefit to it. It is not just about killing an animal, there is a vast range of traditional skills and knowledge associated with the process - you have to know where to find the moose, its habits and behaviour, how to track it. Even once it is dead the work has only just begun, and now you must work to ensure nothing goes to waste.
Done properly, I think hunting can be summarized in a single word: respect. Respect for the animal, respect for all the food and tools it gives you, and respect for the land it lives in. The necessity of bringing down such a magnificent creature might be distasteful, but I have come to believe that it can play a vital role in fostering a healthy relationship with the natural world. Certainly it has been beneficial for me, and I'd like to think the same could be said for the kids in our school.
