Dad was always a hunter. When we lived in Wyoming he hunted for deer and cottontail rabbits to supplement our diet. He shot a bear, too, but the meat turned out to be too strong to eat.
When we moved to Alaska he would go out each fall and bring home a moose. He was a very patient man and would locate a trail that had evidence of moose usage, and then he would sit and wait for one to come along.
He always came home with one, which he would skin, and then he and mother would cut it up down in the basement. Ron and I would wrap the meat, and in the freezer it would go. Mother always called the roasts rum roasts, no matter what part of the moose they came off of.
Moose is wonderful meat. It's very similar to beef, which was very, very expensive when we lived in Alaska.
Dad went hunting for carabou one year, but we didn't care for that meat as well, and mom asked him not to go again.
These pictures were taken somewhere in the early 1950's. I don't know who the fellow is who is helping Dad skin the moose.
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One thing I remember about Dad all though our growing up, no matter where were were. The doorbell would ring and someone would be there wanting to talk to Dad. They'd stay outside if the weather was okay, and they'd hunker down on the porch or in the yard, sometimes drawing diagrams or whatnot in the sand or on the concrete. To "hunker" is to assume a very uncomfortable position halfway between a kneel and a squat. Whoever it was had a problem. Dad was the one to help that person solve the problem. Sometimes it'd be just talk, sometimes he'd go away with the person. These weren't people with personal problems,but with technical or mechanical ones. They would be mechanics, electricians, engineers,catskinners, you name it. Dad was the go-to guy when ther were unusual problems to solve. For instance, one night he had to figure out how to get a dead body out of the bottom of Glen Canyon. Once he had to invent a way to contain an oil spill on the San Juan river.
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