Pics from an Alaskan Hunt

[knife river]

Nearly all of us have dreams of hunting in Alaska.  A couple weeks ago, I was able to live one of my dreams by hunting caribou on the Squirrel River.  My great partners on the trip were the two Bills -- Bill Wright and Bill Guderly.  Years ago, another Bill Wright hunted Alaska with Fred Bear and Glenn St Charles.  I appreciated that coincidence.

Twelve hours of flying put us in Kotzebue, about 30 miles north of the arctic circle in northwestern Alaska.  There were sights like this around town to whet our appetite.
 

After a false start with our outfitter (the first of several problems), we folded ourselves into a Super Cub for flights to the bush.  This fellow was 6' 5" and went through more gyrations than a sheet of origami paper to get in the plane.  Our outfitter is on the left.

 

The flight to base camp took us over the mouth of the Noatak River, a breeding area for huge numbers of waterbirds.  It didn't look too bad for moose, either.  Caribou also winter in this area.

 

Our drop camp would be situated on top of a high, rocky ridge similar to this one.  It would make for a long walk for water, but it offered great views and good access to a variety of habitats.

 

A small rock cairn had once stood on the highest point on our ridge but had tumbled over.  I rebuilt it in the style of an inukshuk, a stylized human figure often built by Inuit and Inupiat people.  Several times when dense fog, low clouds, and driving rain made me a bit unsure of our camp's location, I was glad to see the little stone man.  

 

Here was our drop camp, set up just off the crest of the ridge where the spruce forest began.  The Cabela's Arctic Guide 6-man tent was excellent.  It shed lots of high wind and hard rain during our stay.  I can't imagine six men in it, though -- the three of us filled it up.

 

The last folks to use this site had dug a fire pit.  A bear helped dig it a little deeper...  This track, one of several old ones in the pit, was conservatively 7 1/2" wide by 10 1/2" long.  We never saw fresh bear sign on the ridge, luckily.  The grizzlies were still down low feasting on salmon.

 

[knife river]

After getting camp in order, the first priority was scouting.  A knob at the end of our ridge was an excellent vantage point.  Somewhere near this spot, Bill Guderly was stalking over a little rise.  Through the fog he saw a large hump-shouldered animal walking toward him.  His first thought, naturally, was grizzly, but it turned out to be a lone male muskox.

 

By the way, that's a picture of me, not the muskox (ggg).  Two forks of the Squirrel River joined off the end of our ridge.  I glassed three moose across the river.  One giant, well over 60", did the palm-swinging display for a young bull and a lady friend.  I guarantee I was as impressed as they were.
 
 


Caribou were scarce at first -- some folks thought the migration was at least a week late due to warm weather.  Some were here, though, and this skinned-up spruce was evidence.

 

I'd never had the chance to handle velvet before.  These tatters of velvet hadn't begun to dry or stiffen yet.


 

We met some of our other neighbors on the ridge.  There isn't a P&Y category for porcupines, but this fellow would go near the top if there was one.  When he heard me coming, he went as high as possible in a stunted spruce, but 4' off the ground didn't make him safe from my bow.  I counted coup on him -- poked him with my limb tip and he lunged back with his tail.  We called it a draw.

 

The panoramic views from our ridge were jaw-dropping, but the things at our feet were amazing as well.  I don't have a name for this plant, but it produced delicious translucent red berries that grew under the leaves.  It's never smart to eat unfamiliar berries, but something that tasted that good couldn't possibly be bad, could it?  That was my pretzel logic, anyway, and I grazed on them all week.  Delicious, like raspberries, but even sweeter.  Carpets of this plant made me feel as though I was walking on a bed of coals.

       

This one I know -- it's western anemone.  I didn't eat it, though (ggg).

 

And this plant looked like it belonged on a coral reef filtering plankton from the water.

 

[High Desert Hunter]

Looks like a good time, I sure do miss Alaska.

[vermonster13]

Great start!

[TexMex]

   

[JC]

Beautiful pics Woody, looks like it was a wonderful adventure.

[Wapitidung]

Sweet.

[RayMO]

It would be impossible to post too many pics like this, so if you have more please share them with us. I am one of those guys who dreams of a hunt like that.  :D

[AkDan]

Knife river,

Was the red plant berries, dark purple?  or did they look like a large rasberry?  The first would be a lingon berry, or low bush cranberry.  Second would be a cloud berry.

[McGeeM]

I love the pics! As rayMo said impossible to have to many pics of that. What outfitter or fly-in services did you use.

[knife river]

I hope you folks like this pic.  It's an expensive one -- it cost me a shot at a dandy caribou.  I was on my hands and knees with the camera, heard movement and looked over my shoulder to see a solid P&Y bull in velvet about 18 yards away.  He was heading down the trail I was kneeling in.  If he continued, he'd put tracks up my back.  My bow was about eight or ten yards away.  

It's interesting how fast a guy can crawl when properly motivated.  I didn't get to the bow in time, though, and the bull turned around and disappeared back into the thick stuff.  Never saw him again.  Enjoy the @$%*&% picture.  GGG


 

My favorite stalk of the trip didn't produce a trophy bull, either.  I was sitting on a steep hillside, a talus slope on my right, spruces to my left, and a wet, grassy meadow below.  Over my right shoulder, maybe forty yards back, comes a loud clattering down the talus slope.  I am dying to swivel and look, but I can't do that -- I'm completely exposed.  The next best option is to pop my right eye out of its socket and point it backwards.  The owner's manual strongly discourages that practice, however, so I have to wait.  It's only a few seconds, though, until five bulls parade by at 14 yards, all headed down the steep slope toward the meadow.

I've got a lot to do real fast:  drop the binoculars, pick up the bow, nock an arrow, find a target, get up on one knee, and aim.  The best bull is fourth in line, steep downhill, quartering away, a shade over 20 yards.  

The shot felt as pure as any arrow that has ever left my bow.  There's nothing I would change.  Nothing.  Except maybe I'd aim a little lower next time.  The arrow skipped down the talus slope spraying sparks from the Magnus Stinger.  Complete pass-through, both lungs and top of heart.  Right?  I did center-punch that bull, didn't I???  The five bulls cleared the bottom of the talus slope and right-turned into some spruces.

I found my arrow -- no blood, hair, or any other trace of caribou to be seen on it.  I replayed the arrow flight in my mind and decided I had shot an fraction of an inch over the bull's shoulders.  Perhaps it was the steepness of the slope that threw me.  Oh, well, I had a good shot at a nice bull...  The same nice bull that's now feeding in the grassy meadow!  

I put a new arrow on the string and headed for the spruce tress which bordered the meadow.  When they lowered their heads, I could pick up a few yards on them.  And when spruces lined up right, I could close the gap by a four or five yards.  The bulls were maybe 250 yards out, but if they kept feeding in the same direction, I could cut them off where the meadow narrowed!  Whenever a bull raised his head, I'd freeze.  And whenever one had a clear view in my direction, I'd hold stock-still until it fed far enough to put a new tree between us.  The wind was good, but it was wonderful agony trying to beat the eyes and ears of those five bulls.  I caught myself several times -- relax, relax, breathe, don't squeeze the bow so hard.  The riser didn't have finger grooves on it before:  it does now.

It surprised me when one of the smallest bulls peeled away from the group and fed into the spruces.  If I kept going, I'd bump it and it would alert the others.  I had to wait several painful minutes until it fed far enough into the spruces.  Then I had to hustle to close the gap again.  Then another small bull fed into the timber.   Well, this could be bad if it busts me, but now there are only three sets of eyes and ears in the meadow.  The odds are getting better!  A third bull feeds in, and then the last two follow, one of them the bull I want.

I have to hurry -- I'm still forty yards out, but if I can make it to the big deadfall, I'll be screened for at least twenty yards.  Thank God for the drizzle -- the ground is as quiet as moss under my boots.  I'm at the deadfall, two bulls to my right at fifteen yards, and the big guy is twenty dead ahead behind alders.  I feel the wind swirl and the two little bulls jerk up their heads and stare holes in me.  The big one knows something is wrong...  The little guys start moving fast up the slope and the big one starts to follow but stops again behind a spruce.  One of us has to move.  He does, slowly, with tentative steps.  I draw and release.

I like big feathers on my arrows.  Lots of helical, too.  Makes for a very stable arrow flight, even if they make a bit of a hiss as they fly toward a target.  At over 190 fps, though, I don't worry about the hiss.  I think it's the last sound that some animals will ever hear.

Such was the case with this nice bull.  The huge whack of the broadhead slamming into a dead spruce tree probably deafened him permanently.  I didn't miss him by much.  I missed him by VERY much.  Probably a foot and a half to his right.  He hustled up the slope and stopped in some alders about 150 yards away.  No more.  Let him go.  I'm done.  How many hours have I been after him -- four, five?  My watch says about 75 minutes.  I lay down, sip some water, learn to breathe again.  Need some time for the bones to grow back in my legs.  They liquified a long time ago.  

After a while, I see more caribou in the meadow.  All cows and calves, maybe a yearling bull or two.  I need more water anyway, and slide into the meadow.  While I'm filling my water bottle, they feed into a semi-circle around me, some as close as eight yards.  The zipper on my camera case spooked them and this is the only photo I got.

 

Further upstream is where we got water for our camp.  The two Bills are filling one of the buckets.  Years ago I read a description of water like this:  "As clear as God's blood and cold enough to crack your teeth."  It also gave me a wicked, but short-lived headache when I washed my hair.  Sure felt good to be clean again, though.

 

There was plenty of company along that little stretch of stream.  This fellow lived in a rock pile but swam the creek to hunt voles.  He come close when I squeaked, but never stayed still for more than a millisecond.  A beautiful constant-motion killing machine.

 

It might be had to judge scale in this photo, but those are moose tracks.  Lots of 'em.  This whole side of the creek was churned by moose.

 

I never saw a moose at this little spot, but I heard their lovesick bawling and resulting feuds almost every night.  Here's Bill Wright next to a tree that a bull rearranged.

 

[knife river]

Let me try the moose track photo again:

 

That looks right.  Keep in mind that each of those depressions is bigger than a pie plate.

Caribou winter in this place.  That surprised me a bit, as I thought the elevation would be too high.  Perhaps the hills and timber provide shelter from the winter storms.


 

Some never left.  No way of knowing if they're wolf-killed or winter-killed.  It's safe to assume that they're dead, though.

 

 

I was fascinated by the club moss that was growing around the caribou shed.  Here's another photo of just the moss.

 

And from the "who woulda thunk it" department, here's a grasshopper gnoshing away on an old caribou hoof.  

 

[the Ferret]

GREAT pics and story! Keep it coming.

[Mike]

Enjoyed the pictures and the story.Keep it coming!!      

[pete p]

absolutely awesome pictures!

[knife river]

I wish there were some "hero" pics to post, but it didn't happen.  I had two shots at one nice bull and passed on several others.  I was toting a bucket of water up the hill to camp when I ran into a lone bull.  His long, heavy beams had a beautiful sweep and arc, but only a couple nubby points on top.  The bez tines were very long, but again, only a couple points apiece.  Maybe he was an old bull on the downhill slide.  It was a hot day, maybe 65 or so, I had a bucket of water to haul, and it just didn't feel right.  I let him walk but immediately began second-guessing myself.  About ten minutes later, he was there again in easy bow range.  I nocked an arrow, but didn't draw the bow.  Just watched him feed away.  A third look at the bull a few minutes later didn't even bring an arrow out of the quiver.  No regrets.  On another day in other circumstances, I might have felt he was a grand trophy to take, but for whatever reason, not this time.  I enjoyed watching him and that was plenty.

Bad weather arrived for the last couple days and the caribou started moving.  We never saw them in huge numbers -- no herds of thousands streaming by -- but we all saw several magnificent bulls.  It looked like some carried more bone over their head than they had in their skeletons.  We would see really nice bulls which would bring up the fire in our hunters' hearts, but then the BIG bull would join them...  The big guys' antlers dwarfed the small bulls like sequoiahs over loblollies.  I've never hunted caribou before, but the experience set a hook in me.  Set it deep.  I don't know when or how, but I have to go back.  And back.  

Here are the last two decent photos I have.  Like Bill Wright and I talked about, we both have several other images indelibly fixed in our mind.  For whatever reason, they didn't make it to cameras, but maybe that's just as well.  The mind's eye usually captures the emotional weight of things better than a camera.

Anyway, a couple more pics of small things to wrap it up.

 

 

[**oneshot**]

Excellent photography, Excellent story to go with them.  Makes me wish I was there.

[the Ferret]

Gosh what a neat hunt. Similar to one I had in 92 in Alaska. Those pics sure bring the memories flooding back. You can see "forever" up there can't you? Thanks so much for posting!      

[knife river]

akDan, the berries under the bright red leaves were a bright translucent red.  Just a single round berry, not lots of little globes like a raspberry or salmonberry.  Minimal seeds inside.

The outfitter was Ron Aldridge of Caribou Unlimited.  I'm going to be very careful here.  I don't want to flame him, but I do want to provide my honest assessment of the services he provided.  The equipment he provided for our drop camp was very good.  The food he provided was adequate.  The water was not adequate, but we hauled some.  The big deal, though, was that he got us to the camp a day later than he was supposed to.  That cost us an expensive day of hunting.  Then he forgot what day to pick us up.  He arrived at about the same time our plane was leaving Kotzebue.  The cost to rebook flights, hotels, etc., was substantial -- about 1/3 of what the actual hunt cost.  

We've spoken with hunters from other groups who were present the same as us.  They have similar, if not worse, stories.  I cannot recommend this outfitter for a drop camp hunt.  If you're looking for an expensive hunt (like his $9,000 grizzly hunt), you may receive excellent service.  I got to know one of his bear guides and am very impressed with him.

My apologies to the mods if I'm out of line in this frank assessment.  If so, please edit as necessary.  If anyone wants more info, I'd be glad to provide it in private emails.

[the Ferret]

knife river,I can only speak for this mod, but I appreciate your report on the guide. There are excellent ones and there are mediocre ones and there are terrible ones. Sounds like yours was in the mediocre range. When we went the guide left us one "4 man" tent for 4 of us. Luckily I packed a 4 man tent of my own in my duffle, cause you know tents are good for 1/2 the amount of hunters that they say they are. We'd have killed each other if all 4 of us were forced to spend 9 days in that one tent. We also lost a day of hunting that the pilot said was due to bad weather, but found out later he flew others that day, while we sat in a hotel that cost us a bundle. Our water situation was identical to yours. Our outfitter also said he would check on us every other day, left on Sunday and didn't come back until Thursday. Sunny skies every single day..no excuses. I'd rate him similar to yours (maybe worse) and have never recommended him to anyone that has asked me for a reference.

I would fully expect him to have you back at no charge since it was his mistake that cause you to miss your flights and have to reshedule and pay more. If it had been been weather related, well bush planes can't fly in crap weather and that is uunavoidable, but to not pick you up on time if the weather was good for flying is IMO unexcusable. The same deal with the day of missed hunting. In Alaska you have to expect that you might lose days of hunting due to weather. God controls that, but keeping track of clients schedules on a drop camp hunt is  squarely on the back of the outfitter.