Back on the river, Gerard’s writing from Oct 2nd:
Tonight I’m camped in a most unlikely location. From that you might surmise that I’m hunting again. On the river again. It’s my third night, this stretch, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be out.
This is the first year that Suzanne was really interested (invested) in my success with getting a moose, so she essentially sent me packing. Said, “there’s not much point in you coming back till you get a moose.”
So, out on this beautiful river I sit, drift and explore, suffering through a man’s duty or living the dream, depending on perspective. And Suzanne was kind enough to throw a few things in the cooler. Good thing, since grouse is off the menu after I realized I forgot the .22 bullets. I’ve got a couple of packs of moose sausage, three dozen eggs, two packs of moose burger, something called Tomme, and a whole bunch of carrots and potatoes. I’ve just finished my third consecutive supper of burger/ potato soup, and perhaps because of the paucity of options, each supper tasted better than the last.
I was thinking luck would be on my side, and I’d be eating fresh tenderloin and roasted rack of ribs all month, till I felt like ending the holiday, proclaiming that, “I just got him last night.” But, the way things are going, I might just be here for the winter and suffer a lingering slow death as I run out of food.
Sure, I’ve seen moose. But no shots fired. They’re skittish, grouping up, uninterested in my calls, running on sight so quickly that I haven’t even seen an antler. No inquisitiveness in me at all, despite having a red boat. I guess “seeing red” doesn’t mean the same to Yukon bulls as it does their Spanish relatives.
And what’s worse, is that moose seem to be fully versed in the general regulations about hours of operation. This morning, a cow and (possible?) bull presented themselves in the early dawn, too soon for certain identification. Tonight, two cows and another possible bull, provided me with a tantalizing glimpse just at dusk.
Which is why I am camped here. Right across the slough from that last sighting, on a steep bank, back-dropped by a grassy viewing slope, and just enough “flat” ground for my small tent’s footprint. I’m so close to the boat, I might as well have slept in it. An unknowing observer might think that I’ve deliberately parked the boat this way as a safety, such that if I was to roll off this precipice in the night, I would land in the boat and be saved from a chilly, wet drowning. They would not know that this sight was not so much chosen as provided. Tomorrow there will be action.