Here is a little more about it.
Perhaps the most remarkable Alaska moose story of the year belongs to Israel Payton, 39, who hunted mid-month with a friend somewhere in Southcentral Alaska. He said he wants to tell the story in his words in due time for the right audience, so he isn't giving many details. His neighbor, Tom Anderson, raved on the Facebook page for his radio talk show about Payton's moose as a possible world record.
The
post has been shared more than 3,700 times and drew hundreds of comments, some applauding the success and others mourning the giant moose.
The moose was massive, with a rack that spanned 80 inches, Payton confirmed.
Whether it is a record will take time to sort out, if Payton even decides to do so.
Payton, born in the Susitna Valley in a trapper's cabin near the Hayes River and raised in Skwentna on salmon and wild game, said he wasn't looking for a trophy and isn't into records.
He hunts to provide his family with "good, sustainable meat that I know where it came from." But he also hunts for something more.
"It's kind of my heritage, the way I grew up. It's a part of me. I can't separate that from myself, really," he said.
If he didn't go on a couple of hunts a year, he wouldn't be himself and his wife would tell him to get out there, Payton said.
Payton, who now lives in Wasilla and is a member of the Alaska Board of Fisheries, realizes the sensitivity of some to hunting and doesn't want to inflame those feelings.
He told a little of the story: He and his hunting partner each flew themselves to an area in Southcentral. The first morning, on Sept. 15 or so, his partner shot a moose with bow and arrow, a nice one with a 63-inch spread. While they were hunting, a bear shredded the tent. So they ended up with a black bear too.
Two days after the first moose, Payton got his opportunity. He would have taken aim at any moose with a rack of at least 50 inches, he said. The one he got provided his first clear shot.
"It just happened to be big," he said.
He used to guide clients who only wanted a trophy and left the meat behind for locals. There's nothing wrong with that, as long as the meat gets used, he said. But he understands why some find that distasteful.
He hunts his own, moose and caribou, sheep and deer. He rarely buys beef. His family, with a fish wheel at the homestead in Skwentna, never buys salmon.
His moose was divided with his parents, who are sharing with others. A Palmer friend with a meat processing facility made sausages, meat sticks and the like. Payton and his wife freezer-wrapped steaks and roasts.
They also can moose in quart jars, 90 minutes at 10 pounds of pressure in the canner. That produces pulled meat for sloppy Joes. He likes moose grilled medium-rare on the barbecue too. The secret is good fieldwork, he said, keeping the meat cool and clean.
"The biggest mistake people make is cooking it too long," he said.
As to whether that will be a record moose, he's still evaluating whether to get it officially measured for
Boone and Crockett Club, a wildlife conservation group that keeps big-game records for North America. Antlers must dry for 60 days to allow for shrinkage. Measurements of various parts of the antlers, including the spread, are taken by a certified individual. The formula factors in antler symmetry as well as size.
The current record Alaska-Yukon moose was killed in 2010 on the Lower Yukon River by Rex J. Nick, according to Boone and Crockett (its website is outdated). It had a spread of 76 inches. Nick didn't pursue the record, but someone who bought the rack did so years later, according to Kyle Lehr, Boone and Crockett assistant director of big-game records.
For Simon, Payton and others, the power of the hunt weaves through them.
"I think it's something biologically in me," Payton said.
After they butchered their moose, Simon's group held hands atop the rise. They prayed for a safe return home. They thanked God for providing.
When moose is for dinner this winter, they'll know its story.