Moose Club report 2014

Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day.  Teach him to fish and he will eat for a lifetime. -Chinese Proverb   

 “Oooh gross!” she said.  

    “No, no, no, you can’t use the ‘G word in here.”  I said.   It was a SuValley Moose Club session.  This was our second moose of the year and thirteenth overall since we started three years ago.   

    There were five kids working today.  The six of us had made arrangements to stay after school to volunteer our time butchering a roadkill moose.  Some of the meat would be donated to charity, some would go to the kids that were helping, and some would go to the school for special events like a chili feed for open-house, taco night for visiting basketball teams,  and meat for the culinary arts program.

   The little girl was thirteen years old and was standing in front of a huge chunk of moose flesh that weighed over half her bodyweight.  There was a small pool of blood on the table with a few blood clots from where the moose had been hit.

   “Is this okay?”  She said.  She was stuck on a questionable piece.

   “Not quite, remove all that hair and if you turn your knife-blade flat you can cut that blood right off.”  I reached over and demonstrated how to trim it.

    “Do you know what is really gross?” I asked the group.  I didn’t pause too long for a response.  Who knows what they would have come up with with such a baited question.  I had already endured conversations of alien-bow hunting, cannibalism, and the culinary delicacies of ostrich and alligator meat.  Who knew how cultured and diverse junior high students’ conversations could be?  I figured that just maybe, it was time for me to steer the conversation a bit as we hacked away.   My crew was as green as grass and I realized that it was up to me to shed light upon their understanding of the bigger picture.

    “If you knew how beef is produced you might re-think your definition of gross.  Most commercial beef is produced in large factories called AFOs where cows are fed food they weren’t meant to eat; namely corn.  Since their guts were never meant to digest corn they become prone to infections.  As a fix, they are fed antibiotics to ward-off infection and to fatten them up for the slaughter.  In the meantime they are often ankle deep in their own manure and penned in enclosures barely large enough to hold them.   Our moose here, on the other hand, has been grazing on willow bushes its whole life and is a lean healthy and cheap alternative to beef.”  

    “My mom just got off the anti-bionics.”  

     “My dog ate his own manure once.”

    “I never eat beef ramen, I like the chicken.”

    I quickly realized that I had a long way to go with this group.  That’s okay, I was whittling them down.  Eventually they would see the light through the foggy existence of adolescence.    

   The AFO or animal feed operation and its big brother the CAFO, concentrated animal feed operations are an interesting manifestation of America's insatiable need for cheap meat.  It is estimated that over fifty percent of all U.S. produced beef comes from these mega factories. An exact number is hard to pin down because those who own and operate these CAFO's aren't exactly advertising their existance and would be quite happy for their CAFO meat to keep its low profile. It's all quite secretive. The most recent example of the beef industries lack of transparency is called the Farmer's Privacy Act of 2012 which, if passed by congress, would disallow the U.S Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) from flying over to check on CAFO's. The term mystery meat comes to mind.
According to the EPA, on its website, AFOs are agricultural operations where animals are kept and raised in confined situations. AFOs congregate animals, feed, manure, urine, dead animals, and production operations on a small land area. Feed is brought to the animals rather than the animals grazing or otherwise seeking feed in pastures, fields, or on rangeland.

    To meet the definition of an AFO animals must be confined for at least 45 days in a 12-month period, where's there is no grass or other vegetation in the confinement area during the normal growing season.

  Let’s see, no grass or vegetation, just urine, manure, and dead animals. Sounds delicious.  What about the issue of antibiotics?  I found this on the Union of Concerned Scientists webpage:

“...While some uses of antibiotics in livestock operations are a matter of animal health, other uses have an economic motive. Especially troubling is their use not to cure sick animals but to promote "feed efficiency," that is, to increase the animal's weight gain per unit of feed.  These drugs are also regularly added to the feed and water of animals that are not sick in order to prevent diseases caused by overcrowded and unsanitary CAFO conditions. These nontherapeutic uses translate into relatively cheap meat prices at the grocery store.”

    Additionally in a thesis called Understanding CAFOs and Their Impact on Communities, author Carrie Hribar MA writes this:

  “There is strong evidence that the use of antibiotics in animal feed is contributing to an increase in antibiotic-resistant microbes and causing antibiotics to be less effective for humans.  Resistant strains of pathogenic bacteria in animals, which can be transferred to humans through the handling or eating of meat, have increased recently. This is a serious threat to human health because fewer options exist to help people overcome disease when infected with antibiotic-resistant pathogens. The antibiotics often are not fully metabolized by animals, and can be present in their manure. If manure pollutes a water supply, antibiotics can also leach into groundwater or surface water.”

CAFO cows grazing

    Unlike the secretive process of making beef, the production of moose meat is quite plain. I don’t need to do any research to find out what’s in my moose meat. I am part of the entire process post-mortem and I know the moose’s diet. There are no questions left unanswered.  No mad moose disease, no antibiotics, no pink slime, no salmonella, no campylobacter, no E-coli. Just moose.

Moose grazing

     The more I learn about mass production of meat in the U.S. the more I value what we have right here in our own backyard.  We are so fortunate to have access to such healthy untainted food sources.  From the wild salmon rich in omega 3 fatty acids to the antioxidant rich berries and all the abundant lean wild game, we are truly surrounded by some of the healthiest food sources in the world.  It’s tasty too.  

    For those willing to learn the skills involved in the harvest and who aren’t afraid of the hard work involved the abundance of the land is a true windfall.  The students that have been working in the Moose Club are in the process of gaining some of these valuable skills and will hopefully have the confidence to someday do this on their own, for the benefit of their own.  

       Work was slowing.  The kids were spinning tangents again;  Zombie warfare, drunken uncles, tidal waves.  There was a sense of one-ups-manship going on. “Ok guys” I had to step in again.  “ Let’s not forget the Moose Club motto;  If you can’t talk and work, then just work.”  several of them refocused and got back to the work at hand.  We had to finish this last hind-quarter before we could quit.  There was a lot of work left to be done and it was up to me to keep them on-task.  I wanted them to learn as much as possible about the process but one thing I knew for sure: When the dust settled and kids had all been swept away with their rides home, I didn’t want to be the lone soldier left standing there to finish up and clean.

      

     SuValley's Moose Club would not have been possible without the generous startup support from the community councils of both Talkeetna and Sunshine along with many other private donations including an annual one from the Talkeetna Bachelors Society. Moose Club is alive and well.  My partner Bryan Kirby and I wait by the phone with baited anticipation for the next midnight call.  Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but we’ll go get it anyway and do it all over again.

Gross? You decide. Check out our sweet trailer set-up.  We winch the moose onto the black sled then right up onto the tilt trailer.  Thanks to the Talkeetna Bachelors Society we now have awesome new LED rechargable road flares for safety.

River Salvage

   River Salvage

                            An Unexpected Journey

      “Still warm.” I lifted my hand off of the gut pile.  “ It was shot today.” We had tracked this moose-kill to a familiar field near our cabin up the Yentna River.  The tier 2 winter moose hunt was in season.  Someone had gotten lucky and although we were just passers-by this time, we wanted to check it out.  

     The gut pile and two small chunks of moose hide were all that remained.  Nice job. The hunters had taken the whole thing with a sled and were gone.   A good plastic tow-behind sled is easily loaded by rolling the moose directly into it.  From there it can be driven right onto a snowmachine trailer and then into a heated garage for processing all with minimal effort.  Winter hunting on snowmachines is by far the easiest way to hunt moose.

    I inspected the chunks of hide and threw one of them onto the back of my snowmachine.  “Let’s go.”  We made our way back to the cabin but my snowmachine wasn't well.  The voltage regulator was going out and among other things would make the engine quit running all together.  First the lights would dim then disappear entirely, then kaput...dead.  It would start back up and would run for another few minutes then...kaput.  We limped back to the cabin in the light of day.

     For the rest of the day we were on a short leash.  We were tethered to my dying steed.  I can’t say that I was too surprised though, we were riding the most fickle of mechanical contraptions- the snowmachine.  Upon joining the ranks of snowmachine ownership one is always faced with the question.  This question is not  if the snowmachine will breakdown but rather when it will breakdown and maybe more importantly where will it break down. I supposed it’s no different than anything else mechanical but it seems that the snowmobile wears the crown jewel in the Royal Kingdom of Mechanical Conundrums often leaving its rider stranded far from the comforts and warmth of the civilized world.  You haven’t lived until you've towed a dead snowmachine out of the woods at 20 below, or through miles of overflow.   I've seen it all:  Slipped tracks, fouled plugs, worn or broken belts, bent spindles, broken chains, bad CDI boxes, broken pull-cords and a partridge-in-a-pear-tree.

     Such is life in the Last Frontier and one quickly learns to fix ones own,  or even better yet have someone else fix it for you.  My talent as a mechanic is easily summed up with a quote: “ I can take apart anything.”  Apparently this isn’t adequate requisite for fixing stuff.  That’s where Kirby comes into play.  Luckily he’s good at putting stuff back together.  We make a pretty good team.

   He held the chunk of moose hide down against the porch rail as I worked my knife on the flesh side.  There was some meat there.  Flank meat.  Thin, tough-as-nails, grizzled, flank meat.  I made a small pile on the railing and by the time I was done had a pound or more of the stuff.   I picked off all the hairs and took it inside leaving the moose hide to the curious beaks of the Gray-Jays.  

    Once inside I cut the meat into strips and seared them in a saucepan with olive oil.  For fun I added some Madrid Curry powder.   I filled the saucepan halfway with water and put it on top of the wood stove and forgot about it on purpose.  

    The next morning we had our coffee and pondered our situation.  In its current state, my snowmachine was a loser.   I needed it to be a winner to get me home.  After making several cell phone calls and scratching our heads we settled on a plan of action.  Before long we took-off downriver initiating part-one of our master plan. We would meet up with Gornick and his girlfriend Naomi at their cabin.  Although only ten miles down river, my snowmachine died 15 times en route.  Fun.

    We had arranged to meet them there but we beat them to their own cabin because apparently they were dealing with mechanical problems of their own.  See paragraph four.

   “ I think we are going to make a run to Deshka.”  I told Gornick after he generously offered up what ever he could to help.  My dad had volunteered to drive into Wasilla to buy a new voltage regulator and drop it off at Deshka Landing for us to pick up.  It was a forty mile ride one way to fetch it but we were game and we had enough gas.

  I abandoned my defunct snowmachine and traded up to Gornick’s sweet new 600 RMK. It did not die every half mile and was quite zippy and full of wonder. I knew right away that it would be a while before this particular snowmachine would enter the realm of the Royal Kingdom.

   “Are you going to join us for dinner?” He asked as we saddled up. “I’m making pizza.”

   “ Wow that sounds great thanks.   Yeah we’ll see you in a few hours.”

   We knew it would be a long ride but off we went darting down the Yentna River.   Eventually, after thirty or so minutes,  we rounded the corner and sped onto the mighty Susitna River.  Big sweeping channels braiding themselves together mingled and twisted along and revealed a familiarity to me that comes easily with a hundred or so trips under my belt.  It got me thinking.  

     There has been a lot of talk these days about the Susitna Watana Hydroelectric project. The proposed 700 foot tall dam built at the headwaters of the Susitna River is riddled with controversy.  Most of the debate has centered around the inevitable destruction of the wild salmon runs but there has also been talk about the effects this dam would have on winter travel on the Susitna itself.

    It is well known that with the dam in place,  river flow rates would be turned upside down.  The low water in summer and high water in winter scenario is the polar opposite of its natural patterns.  When energy demand along the rail belt is at its highest in the wintertime the flood gates of the dam would open. ( I envision the black gates of Mordor*)  

How could the Susitna possibly freeze and be stable enough for winter travel with such diverse fluctuation and high volume of water?  The logical answer is that it wouldn’t.  It’s actually hard to imagine how it would or wouldn’t freeze but one thing is clear; Winter activity on the river would never be the same.  

     What about the Yentna where my cabin is?  One would think that the winter trail conditions on the Yentna River would remain intact post-dam but how would the thousands that recreate there annually get to it?  No one accesses the Yentna from its Western shores.  Access to the Yentna river comes solely from the East, from the population centers of Anchorage and the Matsu and every single one of them must traverse the Susitna River one way or the other to get there.  I’m thinking jet skis.

    Hands down, the height of winter activity on the Yentna is Iditarod weekend.  There are literally thousands of snowmachines that whiz up and down the river all jockeying for position to watch the race.  With the Dam in place that could all change and if snowmachines can’t cross the Su what about the dog teams themselves?

     I’ve got it!  Maybe at long last we could put into commission the 80 million dollar Mat-Su Ferry to shuttle everyone safely across.  It’s named the Susitna after all.  If we are going to force-feed one bad idea into fruition, let’s at least marry it to another. Yee Haw!....  or not.

The fact is the money train has slowed a bit for the dam project and monies needed to complete the studies required by the permitting process have greatly diminished but the state claims that it's as committed as ever.*

    Like I said, it was a long ride.

     For now I was safely riding on top of the river as opposed to water-skipping or swimming in it and I was grateful. We turned off the river and headed up the ramp at the landing completing the second leg of our unexpected journey. We pulled up to the gas pump to refuel and stretch our right thumbs.  I grabbed the new voltage regulator out of the cab of Gornicks truck (thanks dad!) and we headed back to the river with thoughts of Brian’s pizza dancing in our heads.  We zipped up river without incident and pulled up to the cabin just as the sun was setting.

    “ Is this where I sign up for the Iron Dog?” I announced as I came into Gornick's warm cozy cabin.

   “ Sure.” said Naomi.

  “ Good, but you’ll have to sign for me because I can’t feel my right thumb.” We had 110 miles on the day so far and my soft teacher-hands had taking a lickin and gotten numb.  

    We settled in to the hospitality of Gornick's cabin playing dice games and catching up.  After an appetizer of chorizo stuffed jalapeno peppers we were treated to a fantastic Chicago-style deep dish pan pizza.  It was well worth the ride and the wait.  

    After Kirby replaced the voltage regulator on my machine, we bid them farewell and once again hit the trail to face the last leg of our journey which was the ten miles back to the cabin.

      My snowmachine didn't quit the whole way back and of all our riding throughout the day it was the most enjoyable stretch of all.  The light snow couldn't make up its mind and finally opted out as we lifted our goggles and rode through the last swamp without them.  

    The cabin was toasty warm when we walked in.  We were immediately hit with the aromatic waft of curry. “ Oh yeah the meat is probably done.”  The medium saucepan was steaming all around its lid.  I realized that it had been on the stove for a full day and a half.  We took off our wet snowy gear, put on our camp shoes and ate tender juicy strips of salvaged curried flank meat.

Thawing out and paying homage to Gornick and his beloved Packets.  The look of seriousness here can only be replicated in the Kingdom of Mechanical Conundrums.

* Evil in the SouthEast still stirs. A lid-less eye wreathed in flame and residing at the governors mansion still watches and waits hoping to begin construction as soon as possible on the flood-gates of Mordor. What are we to do? We are all but hobbits with hairy shoeless feet. We must join the fellowship. The fellowship of the Susitna River Coalition is a committed one and it is you JoeBlow Baggins who shall bear the ring. susitnarivercoalition.org