Moose Hunting, Harvesting, and Family Knowledge

Editorial Note

“Moose Hunting, Harvesting, and Family Knowledge” is a personal narrative that follows a single hunting trip, beginning with the boat ride to Patterson Island and concluding at the family’s smokehouse. It captures the entire process of land-based food practices: the hunt, the harvest, the processing, and the learning that occurs at each stage. As part of this special issue on Land-Based Teaching and Learning, the piece highlights how knowledge is passed through relationships-like a father interpreting the land and calling in the moose, or a mother working alongside her child at the cutting table, demonstrating skills that words cannot fully convey. The author’s honesty in recounting mistakes, such as a missed shot, uneven cuts, and a slipping knife, adds strength to the narrative. This piece illustrates that land-based learning is not merely about showcasing competence; it is a patient, embodied journey of growth and development.

During September 2021, I went moose hunting with my mother and father. We enjoyed the cold boat ride out to Patterson Island, where we set up camp to hunt that night and the next morning. The first night brought no moose sightings, so we went to sleep. Early the next morning, my father woke us – he had heard a moose nearby and began calling it in. When the moose came close enough, he handed me the firearm to take my first shot. I missed. The panic and nerves got the better of me, and the moose disappeared into the bush.

As the day went on, I had a second chance. This time, I remembered my father’s instructions and kept calm. The shot was successful. After the hunt, we gathered together to help process the moose – my father cut it up while we packed the meat onto the boat for the ride home.

My father’s role was to take me out onto the land and teach me how to live from it – to guide me through the lakes and islands, to pass on what he knew about reading the land. My mother’s role came after showing me how to cut, pack, and make dry meat when we returned home.

We stayed up late that first night, cutting and storing the meat. My mother sat right beside me, cutting slowly and showing me which parts to work with. There were painful moments – a few cuts from moving too fast or not watching my hands closely enough. My mother told me that patience is everything when you are cutting meat. Rushing leads to mistakes, and the knife does not forgive inattention.

When we had finished, we set aside my mother’s favourite part of the moose – the backstraps – and put them in the refrigerator overnight. The next afternoon, we headed to the smokehouse together to start the fire, then sat side by side to begin making dry meat. My mother sharpened her knives first, then showed me how to prepare the strips. I found it harder than I expected –  my cuts came out either too thick or too thin, never quite right. She told me it takes practice; when her own mother taught her, it took a while for her to learn what to do. She was about my age then.

When we finished, I held my dry meat next to hers. Hers were evenly sliced, smooth, and clean. Mine looked rough and uneven. But I had made it.

The hunting trip and everything that followed – the patience required to wait, the steadiness needed to shoot, the care demanded by the knife – taught me to be patient, careful, and aware of my surroundings. To respect the land we live on, and to understand what it gives us.