Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Of Moose and Mosquitoes, Part 1: Moose


Alaska is famous for animals big and small, and perhaps the most noteworthy large and tiny are moose and mosquitoes. June is the time we see a lot of both here at the cabin. We kill swarms of the latter but enjoy watching the former. Here follow some anecdotes about them this year. This article is about moose; the following one is about mosquitoes.


Of ungulates, Southeast Alaska has deer (3 feet at shoulder), northern Alaska has caribou and reindeer (which are domesticated caribou) (4 feet at the shoulder) and our area has moose (6 feet at the shoulder). Elk have been introduced, too. Moose are HUGE. They are not only much taller, but also much bulkier than these other animals. Adults weigh between 1200 and 2000 pounds (compared to a light boned Wisconsin deer of 300 pounds). In fact, I understand that they are the largest species on the American continents, unless you count bison, which are shorter but even heavier.



June calf near blue kayak for size comparison 
Moose calves are born in May/early June, and they walk nearly immediately, to be less vulnerable to predators (bear and wolf), which kill one out of three during their first year. We see them once our “yard” greens up. The mother must be ravenous at that point after a long winter, particularly when she is pregnant. Can you imagine being a 1200 pound pregnant herbivore rummaging around through 8 foot snow looking for willow branches to keep up your weight and strength!!!!? 



Right outside the window, munching on fireweed
Our current “Mom” looks enormous – her legs are probably five feet long. Her coloring exactly matches the spruce bark, and it amazes me how something so large can virtually disappear mere yards from my position. The other day, I watched her scarf up fireweed, elderberry, and cranberry bushes as she ambled past our cabin on her way toward young birch trees along the lake. Even though I saw where she had gone and could see the movement of the birch branches being stripped of leaves, I could no longer see the moose herself. This experience reminded me of that movie, "Predator," in which you can't see the alien bad guy himself, just his movement. All ungulates can be quiet, but these huge beasts are far more stealthy than one would expect of such an unwieldy looking animal traversing ground covered with dead leaves and broken branches. One dawn, my husband was startled when he opens curtains to see a moose two feet beyond the glass. “Good morning, neighbor!” Another time we startled a buck that was lying down in the blueberry thicket. It is probably the calves that we hear first, as they trot along behind their mother, trying to keep up with her long strides. In June, I don't see the little ones eating much greenery. Rather, they reach up to nurse whenever Mom stops to eat a shrub or branch or to investigate a sound or smell with her large ears and nose.

Friday, July 12, 2013

How to Make Birch Sap Beer



My husband has made his own beer for several years, and this spring, we decided to make our first batch of birch sap beer, inspired by a couple whose B&B we visited near Talkeetna.  It was very tasty. Below is our experience of collecting, making, and tasting the result. 

(At the bottom of this blog entry, I list several useful resources for readers who may be interested in exploring their own beer making). 

Bryan bought four taps at Alaska Mill and Feed (www.alaskamillandfeed.com), which look like slim, metal spouts, each one about ½ inch in diameter and 3 inches long. Our mentors indicated that the sap starts running around April 20, but the winter of 2012-13 lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r, including three snow storms in May, so it wasn't until about May 15 that Bryan tapped four birch trees. To do so, he used a ½ inch drill bit to cut an upward angled hole through the bark to the sap layer and inserted the tightly fitting tap. Under this spout, we hung a cleaned vinegar bottle, because the mouth is narrow enough to limit entry of debris and also because we could string a bungy cord through the handle and around the tree to hold it in place.

Each afternoon, we tramped through the increasingly soft and slushy snow surrounding the trees to collect that day's accumulation.  We strained the results through paper coffee filters before pouring the sap into wide mouthed jars that we froze. This was a fun endeavor, especially at that “hold-your-breath” time of year waiting for the winter to finally end and spring to burst forth, as it does here. The running of the sap represented the first discernible sign of spring!  Since we enjoyed this process (and the result) and live in a spruce and birch forest, we plan to involve more trees next year (so we are saving additional vinegar bottles and malt jars!) 

I was surprised how variable the output was. One tree was the champion producer, two others dribbled out negligible results, and a fourth was in between. When the big producer slowed just before the trees started to green up, about ten days later, we removed the taps and caulked the holes. Altogether, we collected about 2.5 gallons.  Over the course of the summer, we will check those holes to make sure that the trees are not "weeping" there.