Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Secret Moose Camp

I heard a phrase this week that sums up my life this month: Hunting Widow.
That sums it up, those two words.

The good news is, The Mighty Hunter (J) has already returned with a caribou. More specifically, a caribou head. The edible parts are at Delta Meats, being processed into the ingredients for upcoming meals. Why the head is in the back of The Suburban (AKA, "The Junk Truck"), um, I'm not sure. Seeing as I am definitely the "gatherer" of our little "hunter/gatherer" team, I don't quite understand the concept of dead animal heads being kept for decor.
For the record, I am using my long history of being allergic to absolutely everything on the planet as the primary reason why this poor animal's head (or any other head, for that matter) will never get past our doorstep.
I made eye contact with the dead animal and, "I hope you taste better than you smell." Beans made a trip to the suburban with daddy and did a much better job at stroking the hunter's ego by oohing and aahing over the thing. I drew that line at showing the caribou head to Little Nugget.

Secretly though, I somewhat envy the ability to go out and shoot something. Being a hunting widow kind of makes you feel like shooting something is not such a bad idea.
And, for those in the lower, Alaskan Women DO hunt.
Maybe one day.
Meanwhile, I had my husband's company for about 12 hours before he turned around and trekked back to the woods on the search for moose.

For those that don't hunt, I'd like to share some new-at-a-husband-hunting wisdom.
The hunt begins with a month (or longer) of preparation. You have to sight in rifles. You have to ooh and aah over other guys' rifles. You have to come home three hours later than you promised to be home to give your wife a break because you are discussing rifles and hunting tactics. (Silly me. I thought the tactic was: Buy a gun. Find a moose. Shoot it. I was wrong.)
After your wife is thoroughly annoyed, you must then spend a week pushing her past the point of caring about a moose in the freezer by going to the woods and "glassing" for moose. This means you sit in the woods and drink beer with the fellas, and look for moose poop and stuff. This is very important. Somehow.
After that, you spend another week making sure your wife is completely losing her mind trying to hold down the fort by setting up you Secret Moose Camp.
A word about Secret Moose Camps. They are only a "secret" from your wife. From what I've heard, all the men have secret moose camps which are in plain sight of all the other guys' Secret Moose Camps. I am 90% sure this has something to do with making sure the beer is evenly distributed, but I am told this is not the case. I remain skeptical.
Only after your wife has threatened to run away and join the circus (which also coincides with Sept 1, the season opener for moose hunting), can you actually begin your hunt.
Or if you really want to go the distance and get your wife packing her clown suit in a suitcase, you tell her that you need to leave Aug 31, so you can already be in your Secret Moose Camp when the moose walks by at 12:01 am the following morning.

So now, we wait. By "we", I obviously mean me and the girls. Specifically, we are waiting for Barnum and Bailey to pick us up, because we have officially packed for the circus. At this point, I think the circus would be a relaxing change of pace. For starters, in the circus, you only have to worry about your husband falling off the tightrope. Not being eaten by bears, accidentally shooting himself, or rolling a 4-wheeler on himself.
I keep telling myself, "This moose is gonna taste great. It's totally going to be worth it."
But I'm not feeling it right now. Right now, I am a tired Hunting Widow who is totally going to begin planning my Secret Spa Camp.

Until Next Time,
Happy Moose Trails


Susan Stevenson said...

My honey doesn't hunt, but he fishes. Every. chance. he. gets. We go on vacation, and he abandons me for the fish. I'm finally used to it. I go in search of bears and other interesting things with my camera. And I've learned to pack chick flicks in the camper in case he leaves me all day. Then, I watch girlie movies, in my jammies, and eat potato chips for hours. That's much more fun than standing on a shore, holding a fishing rod for 5 hours. :P

Stay sane! I'll look for your rainbow colored hair and red nose!

Karla said...

LOL. I get a pass this year- phew! Thank goodness for that cheap bone in his body that won't pay the non-resident fees! However, he's already warned me that next year it's on like Donkey Kong.

I do not hunt either. I can't shoot it. I don't mind if others do, but I can't. So, I get a little annoyed by his report of so-and-so's wife does this, so-and-so's wife does that. Pffft. :)

If you need a reprieve- let me know! I have wheels, and I can travel.

Have a happy day!

Kathy said...

Are you by any chance a daughter of outdoor writer Patrick McManus? He used to write for Field & Stream in the 70's plus some other hunting/fishing books!

You have his knack of humor when it comes to describing Huntin' Season!

I am with you, no animal heads needed to upgrade the decor!

Though, I hope he does bag a moose! I had a rare treat from a sweet Athabascan man working on a road construction site last Sept. We were stopped for a long time and he just happened to have a piece for us to sample from his lunch box. The ladies had cooked it in rice for the potlatch! So delicious!

Thank goodness for Delta meat doing the processing!!
Good luck, Kathy

日月神教-任我行 said...