the Moose. Once we got there, we saw no signs of him.
But, as I’ve learned on previous stalks, you don’t give
up too soon. Slowly we moved through the bush while
glassing for a glimpse, and then, I see the white paddles,
stark white, still fresh with blood. Without the bright
white of those paddles as he removed his velvet, I never
would’ve seen him.
I get to 20 yards, drew my bow and took my shot. The
Moose ran, I’m still not sure of the hit, but he expired
in the lake. We decide to float him to a bank shore
closer to a point where we could get a boat for the meat
transport, so we didn’t have to pack out as far.
We processed the Moose, which was no easy task.
Again, this is Alaska and every piece of meat has to
come out. We were rewarded with amazing Moose
Steaks that evening. It was such a gratifying feeling to
sign the transfer (of meat) tag over to Ray knowing that
every piece of that meat would go to feed his family
during the coming year.
12