John Doonanco: My teacher, my friend I was thrilled to read the article on John Doonanco in your interesting fall issue of the Alberta Game Warden. 

It tickled and awakened my nostalgic bones and resounded in the deepest echoes of my heart, to view and read this particular article. John was a very close friend of mine over a period of many years. I first met him in Cold Lake, on his "Conservation Yacht". Then when he moved to St. Paul in ‘66, a place where I lived for 50 years, I got to know him much better and we became close friends. John was a conscientious, intelligent and witty man, whose heart and soul dwelled in the forest. The flora and fauna of the forest ran through his energetic veins. He was an extremely competent officer, but could occasionally write poetry. In moose camp, I frequently became the target of some of his poems, hilarious, most of them. Together we camped in the forest in my 16 foot trailer, then in forestry cabins, in tents and even under the stars, as we penetrated further into the forest. We used to carry our moose out on pack boards in those days. John taught me how to live in the forest, how to call moose, the intricacies of hunting them and how to look after the animal once it was on the ground. He even taught me how to make shoe-laces or strings out of the hide, and lest we forget, how to make moose-nose stew. Nothing went to waste. John and I hunted moose, deer, fished together over water, through the ice, and on the rivers for arctic grayling. It was always such a pleasure to be under his tutelage. I learned an awful lot. Due to his influence over the years, at 81 years of age this year, I am still going on our annual moose hunt, where I will once again speak to the mighty beasts. In August ‘91, my son Maurice, wife and family were cruelly murdered. The following year my close friend John was murdered at the end of October. I felt that my world was collapsing and coming apart. Somehow, life went on. In my house, two of my most prized possessions are a timber wolf skull (teeth and all) and a processed wolf pelt from the same animal, products of John's trap line, both given to me by him in '89. They hold a place of honour in my home. I will treasure them forever. I will never forget this very special, talented man, who I was honoured to have known. I still miss him a lot. As written by Shakespeare: "Good night, sweet Prince, and flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest."

The ALBERTA GAME WARDEN magazine encourages the submission of letters, articles, and photographs from anyone interested in conservation. Letters to the editor and other material submitted for publication should be mailed to:

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