hunting by boat down the Teslin River. I had camped on the riverbank for the night and found fresh moose tracks leading up a mountain on the east side of the river.
I followed those tracks, up and up and up till I got past the tree-line and saw a huge moose out in the open. Bang, bang, down it went and then I realized my mistake: how was I going to get the meat down to my boat? It turned dark up there on the mountain and I could feel big snowflakes hitting my face like cold kisses. Then a thick fog rolled up the sidehill from the river below.
So there I was in the dark, fogged in and vibrating from the cold. Rather than freeze to death waiting for daylight, here's what I did: I sliced the belly open and rolled the guts out of that old moose; then I crawled inside for the night. Nice and warm. Moist, too.
I was dreaming about my mother when I felt something tugging at the moose. I opened the belly flap just a bit and peeked outside. A pack of a dozen or more wolves surrounded me, looking like they were about to eat the moose and me with it. But then I realized: we were moving! Those wolves had that moose on the drag!
From inside the moose's belly, I caught hold of the tailbone with one hand and the Adam's apple with the other and found out I could steer that thing. You know, like using the rudder on your boat.
With the wolves dragging it at full gallop, I steered that moose right down to my boat. Then I jumped out and shot one of the wolves and the rest scattered in all directions.
I floated downriver till I got to Carmacks where I had left my truck. In the Carmacks Hotel I sold the wolf-hide to a German tourist. Then I tossed the meat into old Dodgy and drove home.
Windy Farr of Dawson had a similar experience some years ago so I guess it can happen to anybody. If you find yourself steering a moose, don't forget how to grab the tailbone and neckbone from the inside, and you'll be home with the meat in no time at all.
Sam Holoway.