I think I'll call him Herbert...

This little feller wasn't a roadkill. This was my first moose that I successfully hunted. He was not very keen on the idea of being supper. Dad and I were "on patrol" early one morning. We were headed south when heard someone open up with a mini-14. A dozen shots later all was quiet. We figured there was no point in going that way so we turned around and headed North.

After a dozen steps, or so, I heard a branch snap behind us. I stopped Dad and told him, but he thought I was hearing things. As we were standing there arguing about whether I had or had not heard anything...Herbert walked out in front of us. He was staggering and wheezing. At 15 yards broadside we opened up on him. I fired 4 rounds and started to reload when I noticed that Dad had a jamb (on his Winchester Mod 70 Featherweight). Herbert had turn 90 degrees away from us and bolted.


So, I took off running after him... and ran right past him. Dad called me back to where he was laying (head up looking at me). I walked around behind at delivered the coup de grace.

That tough young ungulate soaked at least 5 .223 and 4 180 grain .30s before he finally went down. 2 of the .30s went through and through the lungs broad side, and 2 more entered through the hams and lodged forward of the lungs in the low neck area. The .223 entered and broke ribs breaking apart , but did did not penetrate all the way through rib cage.

Look a New Theme Song

I stumbled across a song that I really thought was appropriate for this blog. I was trying to figure out how to get it onto my blog when Hot Mama found a very nicely done video of it on You Tube. Please enjoy the clip, and if you get a chance stop on by for some Bulwinkle sloppy joes.


This little guy is tempting fate.

Got One Today!

Unfortunately I did not get go help recover this one as I was working. What did I say about "Happiness is..."?

Some friends of mine got his one while I was at work. I don't normally leave the hide for 2 reasons: one, it helps insulate the meat cools slower keeping it in the temperature danger zone longer; second, you end up with more hair on the meat. They are not doing wrong, just different (and at these temps the meat cools pretty quick anyway).



These ribs look really nice and clean, I like that because I don't like to use water to clean the meat, but on ribs its the only way. I'll use my saw to cut those into 6" pieces and they should be ready to package.




A couple quarters hanging. I have a bar in my shop to hang meat on. The other pieces on the floor are on clean cardboard and getting next. The ribs on the cutting block are OK right where they are.






The closest piece is the pelvis and the picture looks ugly, but in person the cuts are clean and neat and no sign of bloodshot or damage.

A pickup bed makes a handy table

Same critter from the last post. She was a calf. Small enough three men lifted her into the bed of the truck.














After we got her in the truck we thought "why haul the guts home?" So we started to open her up.

We typically split them up the middle. I've tried splitting the hide up the spine and taking the quarters off with out ever opening up the abdominal wall (like ADF&G recomends) but you miss out on the liver, kidneys, heart, and the teeny tiny tenderloins. I also think about saving the stomach and lungs for Haggis, but I haven't done it yet.














I've never used a gut hook. Here Dad is opening her up using a hunting knife with a finger next to the point so he doesn't puncture the gut.


Notice that we skin the hide back quite a ways before splitting the gut open, this helps keep hair off the meat. Moose hair seems to shed very easy, I can pull it out by the hand-full. In my opinion moose hide is only good for leather or raw hide, not fur.

Happiness Is....

My Dad would say "a large gut pile". I guess I prefer the part we take home. One of the benefits of recovering roadkill is that you get to keep whatever no one else will eat... I love heart... and liver... and tongue...

This is a fairly rare situation. A roadkill in the middle of summer, in the middle of the day, on a sunny day, and the bugs weren't even too bad.

The critter was a moose calf. We removed the tailgate of the "Bird Dog" (big green Ford who earned the name) and slid the whole thing up into the bed. Then we decided to gut it there so we didn't have to take the guts home.

While we were working some tourons, or are they tourorists? (you know the people that take pictures of everything and pay to wild life) came by and wanted to watch. I'm all for educating the public so they leaned over this near side of the pickup bed to watch. We had the guts out and I wanted to get the heart out. So I was working up inside the rib cage (note the blood up to my armpits). When I pulled it out it did not look like what our tourist friends thought it should (it sits inside a sack). So I slit slit the sack and flipped it over exposing the heart... and splattering blood... on the tourists. Oops!

After they ran off, some one snapped this photo, as much as we like moose heart I think the grins are because of the tourists.

We have a history

This is my grandfather (maternal). He is in the basement of our farm house in what we called "the cold room." This was a room specifically designed for cutting meat. It was below ground and stayed about 40 degrees year round.

Some things to note in the picture: Meat cuber on the table behind, Hobart meat grinder, and solid maple cutting block. Not visible in the picture but in the cold room anyway: built in smoke room, meat cutting bandsaw, second maple cutting block, second long prep table, overhead trolley system, and there was always a huge tin can of white pepper.

Grandpa was a Dentist, but his father was a meat cutter. Growing up in rural Arkansas my grandfather learned the trade from his father. He also worked his way through college and dental school cutting meat.

Now grandpa was not keen on hunting, he thought that you should work, so raising beef cow or some hogs he respected but thought that hunters were leaving too much to chance. However, he also thought that wasting meat was about the worst sin a person could commit, he grew up during the Depression. So one day on the way to work in his Cadillac limousine, surplus from a funeral home in KC, he hit a moose. It tore off the hood ornament and broke both windshields but the center column kept it from coming in the front seat with him.

Grandpa had his knives with him, this was not first roadkill he had encountered, and he got to work bleeding and gutting and dressing the critter. Now up here in Alaska if you hit it , you don't get to keep it. So someone else was going to get the meat so as he was telling the story I asked why did he do all that work? He said that quality of t he meat would have been affected if he had let it lay there. He wanted the stranger was getting that meat to have the highest quality meat he could get.

That, in a nutshell, is why we recover roadkill. Not everybody knows how to do it, not everybody has the equipment to do it, and not everybody is willing to go out at 2am when its -40 but we do because we hate to see the meat go to waste when there are people who need it.

He got me started...

About two weeks ago my Dad died from pancreatic cancer. He taught me how to dress, butcher, and cut meat. We started small with spruce hen, hares, and ducks that we got hunting on our farm. I also remember raising chickens and slaughtering them.

We raised several pigs over the years, usually two at a time. We would name things like: Porky and Petunia, Laverne and Shirley, or Heckler and Koch. I was handy to put their names on the packages of meat so we could know who we were eating.

This is a picture of my Dad splitting down a pig. We did it by hand, I've seen the fancy power saws and heard of people using chain saws but this got the job done and didn't waste meat. We did get one road kill pig, although this is probably not it.

My sister was walking home from a neighbors house, a mile away. and found a pig that had gotten loose, gotten hit and broke a leg, and then got stuck in our fence. It then wallowed a shallow still entangled in the fence. Dad called all the other farms around close and nobody claimed it, so he called the Troopers just to be safe. Then he put it out of it's misery and brought it home.

Back in the 80s Dad got us on the Roadkill list and the Troopers would call us to come get Moose that had been hit. Back then they let anybody sign up, but after a while they discovered that they had a huge list to deal with, a lot of inexperienced people wasting a lot of meat, and a whole moose would go to one family. So they have since changed the rules. Now a nonprofit charitable organization can be put on the list and they are expected to distribute the meat to the needy.

Once they required nonprofit status we signed up through our church.

Besides the moose we got hunting, we usually did one or two roadkill a year. From 2001 through 2006 I was averaging 6 a year. Over the years my Dad and I have probably recovered close to 100 moose, I have records on about 40.

Dad was real serious about not wasting meat and the idea of big animal like going to waste really galled him.

What's a sporran anyway?

A sporran is a man purse worn by Scots (notice the furry sack in front of this piper's kilt). A sporran is typically fur or leather and since there are no real rules about them they tend to reflect the personality of their owner. This particular sporran is more a reflection of the family this poor piper married into... You see, he's my brother in law, and that sporran is... you guessed it... roadkill!

Shortly after I had knee surgery I had to drive a motor home on a long road trip. I was driving left footed, as I still was not allowed to bend my right knee, when I noticed a dead muskrat in the road. Being the conscience redneck that I am, I pulled over and hobbled out into busy traffic to recover the somewhat tenderized rodent. The critter appeared to be in good shape, so I skinned it (I always have a knife).

As I was working, this silly little bird (Arctic Tern) was squawking and dive bombing me. I ignored it for a while, but when it started hitting me I looked around to see why. I had backed the monstrosity of a motor home over her nest... The chicks were OK, so I moved the motor home. then she left me alone.

After I had the muskrat skinned I needed to preserve it. The motor home had a pretty sparse pantry, no salt. We happened to have an ice cream maker kit, so I used rock salt. I then called my sister to brag about my score. Her husband suggested a sporran, so I tanned it and my wife sewed it into a sporran, which we gave to him as a Christmas gift.

I Suppose I Should Start At The Beginning

Roadkill are not the critters fault. Almost all vehicle vs. animal accidents are truly driver error; driving too fast for conditions, ignoring warning signs or danger areas, and outright intentional interactions. There are a very few situations where the driver was in control of his vehicle and a collision occurred (like the guy who was stopped at a stop sign and the moose ran into his passenger door). My point is this: slow down (the speed limit is the upper end of what is allowed, not the minimum speed allowed). So idiot drivers are the cause of roadkill.

Now for my next tirade... When I visited the lower 48, as a member of Uncle Sam's US Army, I saw bloated deer along the road in several states. I know of one case in Georgia where a large pig was hit and left to rot. That's wasteful!!! All that perfectly good meat. I don't know of any other State that does it quite like Alaska, but they all should... Up here when a critter is hit the Trooper Dispatch calls a 501 (c) 3 non-profit to come pick it up. Thats where I come in. I go out and recover the carcass, usually by cutting into manageable pieces of meat and a package of offal to take straight to the dump. We then cut the meat, usually I do a few roasts and make a lot of burger. Next we distribute the meat to families that can use it. Some like to say "needy" but few us are on the brink of starvation and many of us can use some help filling the freezer. The point here is we don't waste perfectly good food!

Whew, that was cold

-40, Blowing wind, got the call at o-dark thirty and I still have to go to work this morning... This is a photo of me and little bro that appeared on the front cover of the Sunday edition of the Anchorage Daily News. The reporter was doing an article on roadkill had heard our call on his police scanner. I'm the bonehead freezing his ears off. I'm sure you all know this already but that is a rack of ribs off a good size cow moose. I believe that it is from the right side.