We lost my godfather last night. Him and my dad introduced both my brother and I to the outdoors and we've shared countless campfires with him. I remember when I was 5 or 6 years old and Glenn and my dad came home with their first moose from their first ever moose hunt. We hung the meat in Glenn's basement and I remember how much I loved the smell and couldn't wait for them to return from future hunts to see if they were successful. After several years hunting with them, I finally took my first moose and I could see how proud both dad and Glenn were.
His health was poor due to heart and artery problems. He had survived much longer than many could have expected, and the last several years he came along on hunts and didn't do much, but you could see in his eyes it was truely where he wanted to be. We were lucky and found a young bull caribou on the river on his last Ivishak hunt which he shot. Earlier in the year he got a new ticker for his heart and had lost 25 pounds. He was talking about how much he looked forward to being able to get back up into the treestands at moose camp. Hard to believe he is gone after seeing how much better he was getting.
He was never married and had no kids... we were his family. He will be missed and moose camp, caribou camp, Chitina, Sunday dinners and family events won't be the same without him. I got the news last night about 10:30pm and it hit me pretty hard since I've never lost somebody real close to me. I had a fire in the fireplace and threw a large birch round on in his memory. I sat watching the fire burn out the log remembering the past with him.