I met my husband in Williams Lake when I was returning from a trip to visit my sister in BeaverValley. He was stationed there at the time. Without going into details, I never heard from him for four years. When he finally got in touch with me on the telephone, he was leaving the next day on a hunting trip with his father and two brothers.
Needless to say, he did contact me when he got back!
It was important not to shoot a moose too early in their trip, or they would have to head home to have it butchered and put into cold storage. Whoever shot the moose willingly split the meat three ways. Ray was still living at home, or out on his own, and didn’t want the meat.
There were many stories told about those trips. One was the night they were on a mountain and saw the aurora borealis and thought the world was coming to an end.
Another, when my husband got lost. He lit a fire and kept it going all night to keep predatory animals away. In the morning, there was a circle of tracks in the snow around him, as “they” circled, with hopes of a meal! The rest of the group were out at daybreak looking for him, and eventually found him walking along the road that had been only a few feet from him, but in the dark, he had to stay put.
Yes, this turns into another story. When we went to get some steaks from the cold storage plant, they were all gone. No, we didn’t use them. The storage plant had stolen them for some outdoorsmen’s dinner party. We were very lucky that we had kept a record of what was in there, and what we had taken out. Ended up they had to replace them with beef steaks.