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More of my Alaska story

February 1, 2013

Here I am again, as I promised to post additions to my Alaska story weekly. Oops, I’m a day late because I live in Mexico and life here is always mañana, and I have come to live with that attitude. I’m sorry, and I will try to post each Thursday but better late than never.

I chose Thursday for my blog update because in the state of Guerrero, where I now live, Thursday is pozole day. Pozole is the national soup in Mexico, but in Zihuatanejo it is a Thursday tradition. To honor this delicious meal I decided it would also become my day for pozole and posting. Buen provecho, and happy reading.

 

I had more lessons to learn, and the first one that day was how to properly field dress a deer. My father handed me his pocket knife, and carefully explained how to hold the knife, and where to enter the deer’s hide. Because it was a buck, he explained it was a little different from dressing a doe. He guided my hand, and said, “Now Sis; this is the tricky part so go slow, relax, and let my hand guide yours.” After what seemed like two hours, my deer was gutted, and ready to be hung up in the meat-house. After it had hung for a week ageing, and becoming more tender and better tasting, he taught me how to skin the hide away, leaving only the delicious looking meat. After it was skinned, we cut it into chops and roasts, wrapping and marking each package with, Donna’s deer, and having fun I also added Dear Donna to a few packages written boldly in red marker.  A few special chops were cooled for a day in the refrigerator. My father being the great cook that he was, then taught me how to properly cook a deer chop using lots of butter, the way he preferred it. I don’t understand why, but my deer that day was the best I had ever tasted.

Throughout my early years of hunting, I shot several deer with this gun, but I learned early on I had to be darned close to the animal before taking a shot with the .25-20, or I would end up with a wounded animal, and I didn’t like that idea at all. After a hunting talk with my uncle Tige, he decided it was a much better idea for me to use his 250-3000 Savage if I wanted to keep hunting. This rifle became my favorite until the first purchase of my very own gun. Saving my money, I bought a beautiful Montana Centennial 6mm bolt action in 1964 because it was a caliber I wanted, but it was also so beautiful that I had to own one. It was the most elegant gun I had ever seen, with a lovely walnut stock and a one-hundred year Montana Territory Centennial coin inlaid in the stock. I paid $125.00 at that time and used it throughout Montana for deer, antelope, and black bear. That same gun today trades for a thousand dollars, and mine is still in remarkable condition. Even though, I used it for years it was my pride and joy, and I was always protective of it. Sorry to say, but that little .25-20 was the last gun I owned with open sights, and I no longer could hit the broad side of a barn without a scope on any gun. I still cherish that little pellet gun and fondly remember  the day I stole it from my brother Joe, but I had to move on to bigger and better rifles.

Keep checking back on Thursdays for farther additions of my life in Alaska in the 60’s and 70’s.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Candace George Thompson permalink
    February 1, 2013 8:59 pm

    Always fascinating, Donna. Have you come up with a title yet? I haven’t come up with a single good idea.

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