johnbgourley’s favorites
My first hunting trip.
All through my smaller years, from a boy through to a man, I have known true Alaskans. People who hunted for a living. By "a living" I should be sure to mean "for survival" or "as a necessity… Something along those lines… It was just a part of life growing up here in Alaska. People hunt, people work, people live, and fish and sleep and work and work and work and so on.
One of my earliest memories is also one of the most influential lessons of life in my later years. My first hunting trip.
I must have been around 6 or 7 at the time and the setting is Alaskan winter at my childhood home in the small town of Knik. My parents were both dogsled mushers* and we lived in a house powered by generator alone. (*purely out of the adventure and experience. Not necessarily our main form of travel… though there were some points in my life where it became our most available source of transportation.) Our nearest neighbors were a couple of miles away, give or take. This, again, is not needed in this story but only here for you to understand the place in which the story is set… We happened to be sitting in our living room when, outside our massive picture windows, we spot a moose. I will say, to a young boy, this animal was a giant. I can’t honestly tell you in any way how large it actually was, but to my eyes there was and will be nothing bigger. My family and I were sitting around watching it mill about minding its nature and peeling bark from the young birch trees. After a few moments my father turns to me "Hey Johnny, you want to go hunting? You want to go get a moose?” My mind went running. I had never been hunting before. EVERYONE I knew had been hunting and hunted. They had gone out with their fathers and now it was my turn. I nodded my little head and ran to throw on my snowsuit while my dad went to get his gun.
We walked outside in the cold and the snow, him in his bunny boots and winter coat and myself waddling out like a small scale Michelin man to meet our Moose and our dinner for the next few months. I remember the snow being very deep. Realistically, a foot of snow was deep to a small child. For effect and in the spirit of adventure and Alaskan winters I will say it must’ve been the wildest winter I can remember. Meter upon meter of snow. The naked birch trees blending with the white now, leaving little blotches of black and grey at the knots and branches. There was our moose. We had run right into its path. Right where we wanted to be. My father crouches down to my already shrunken size "Are you ready Johnny? Should we get it?" I again nod my head. My father raises the barrel and looks through the scope. We were less than 20 yards away, if that. He pulls his head away from the scope and looks to me again. "Are you sure? Do you want me to shoot it?" This time I am confused. In my mind I am thinking, "Of course I want you to shoot it! We are hunting! This is what we do, isn’t it? My friends have done it and I know you have as well! What are we waiting for?" But again, I nod. The nod was more out of fear of the moose hearing me. Normally I would have spoken my thoughts out loud. At the very least I would have questioned the hesitance. My dad looks through the barrel one last time. He turns off the safety and readies the rifle. He sights the moose and sits there for a moment. All the while I am looking from him to the moose then back to him then back to the moose. I hear the safety come back on and a turn back to see my father lowering the gun and resting it by his side. At this point I am about as confused as a small boy can be. Dad is looking at me and he says, "We’re not going to get it." I ask him why. What he said has stuck with me throughout my entire life. "Because we don’t need it." We simply stood up and walked back to the house, leaving the moose to its dinner of baby birch.
"Because we don’t need it." Possibly the best lesson a man like this could have taught me. He moved up to Alaska in 1970, 2 years after he graduated. He lived in the deep woods in the mountains of Chase. He has run one of the most intense races in the world, The Iditarod, he worked as a potato farmer, lived off of 300$ for an entire year out in these woods… This man is as Alaskan as anyone I know. The lesson he handed to me was a respect of the world we live in. A respect for the animals we live with and the people we deal with. He has traveled around the state working in construction. Building homes for the people and buildings for companies and upon entering these small towns for work always insisted we hire within the community and support their way of life and living, despite what these companies felt to be the most economical. He has handed me so much, all of my family, really.
"Because we don’t need it." My mother, Jennifer Gourley, is much the same. While my father was away working she would take care of our dogs and run the house. She would fix the generator when it would break down. She took us to baseball and hockey and gymnastics. She took on foster kids that needed help. Gave them good meals and a family setting. She volunteered as a firefighter when there were forest fires threatening the areas. When Big Lake and Knik were being evacuated. She has since, in the most recent years become a fire fighter, an ambulance driver, a rescue technician, part of the dive rescue team, and Willows firefighter of the year. She is a part of her community.
I feel lucky to have been raised in this and hope to one day pass such lessons.
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