![]() It’s the entire river valley, the coast that runs north and south, the Nulato Hills that spread as far as you can see. For most of us who live in Unalakleet, home isn’t just the area where town is located. Upriver, the valley is bookended by the Whaleback Mountains, a sight that softens my belly. UNALAKLEET IS LOCATED on a sandspit at the mouth of the Unalakleet River. “Thank you for not running away.” “Thank you, moose. “Thank you, moose,” Henning said as we neared the large brown animal. We filled a red plastic sled with our grub box, a few tarps, and the butchering gear and walked toward the spruce trees, Henning following. I moved Henning from my lap and, now making as much noise as I wanted, moved the anchor, and secured the line so I could tie it to a willow on the bank. On the grassy tundra above us, Timm strode into view. We sat still, listening.Ī short moment later we heard another shot. We hadn’t felled a moose before, just the two of us. I knew Timm should get a good shot, but I wasn’t yet confident in his aim. The moose was just a short distance from the river, but the bank was too high for us to see over it. “No, we have to wait until we hear gunshots,” I said. We need to be quiet,” I said, sitting down to hold him. Please,” Henning, our then 3-year-old son, said as I crept across the deck to sit next to him. When the boat kissed the hard mud at the base of the bank, Timm jumped out with his rifle. It felt lucky, but I knew anything could happen. A stand of willows at the edge of the grassy tundra hid our approach. I slowly drove the boat toward the high bank where the moose stood. Timm and I had made a plan for a situation like this a few days before, and now we enacted it: We swapped places, me taking the steering wheel while he grabbed the gun. Finding this moose was like gaining possession of the basketball with 15 seconds left in the game when your team is one point down: excitement, matched by the hope that you don’t screw things up. We still had some meat from the moose Timm had harvested the year before, but it wasn’t enough to last another winter. No fresh tongue and heart for the next day’s soup. But minutes into the trip, we spotted the antlered moose.įor weeks that fall, we had been boating upriver or taking four-wheeler rides looking for moose, but each day we came home with less food than we left the house with. Wearing down jackets, insulated Carhartts, fall-time muck boots and fur hats, we had expected a long and chilly boat ride. We had set off just moments before, having packed the boat with enough food and clothes to spend all day hunting up North River, a tributary that branches north from the Unalakleet. I elbowed my husband, Timm, who stood next to me, driving our river boat, and pointed. It took a few seconds for my brain to register that a moose really was standing there, in a clearing in front of some spruce trees - still and completely broadside, like a painting.
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