Standing in the place where the bear was, we looked around trying to decide what had happened. Then there was a huffing and puffing, and as we turned and looked there he was, tearing off into the brush. We quickly got ready and I whistled. The bear stopped and turned, and that was all the time Jim needed. His rifle blazed and the bear, acting like it was hit, turned around and headed back for the brush, just as my gun roared. He made it to the alders and we could see the trail he was making for himself. He popped out again, and both our rifles came to life, but the bear kept going. This went on for what seemed like forever. The bear would continue moving and we would shoot, but he kept on. Then he headed for the other valley, and before I could run to cut him off, he was gone.

I was out of breathe when I made it to where he last was, and caught a glimpse of moving brush, so I dropped my pack and kept after him, staying high, to try and get another shot at him. Completely exhausted I finally sat down trying to listen for movement, but there was none. Jim had arrived at my pack, a quarter mile back, so I regrettably walked back to him. Once there we sat and discussed what had happened, and thinking about what to do next. It was hard to tell exactly where the bear was hit, but it was a good hit, and we could hear him breathing hard when he was running back and forth. We only had to walk a few yards and found the blood trail. It was sparse but the bubbles confirmed to us that it was a good shot.

We began to work our way along the blood trail, which took both of us together to keep on track. The red tundra of fall made it difficult to find at times, but once we hit the alders, it was more obvious. It seemed as though we would be finding the bear any minute, with such a good blood trail. But minutes turned into an hour, as we began to cover an extensive amount of ground. Jim began to wonder if we would find this bear after all, but I tried to keep things positive, and just kept on moving ahead through the alders. I checked on my GPS, and we had traveled half a mile, and kept going. But then it happened, we just looked up and there was the ball of fur. I did not know what to think when it got up, except to put it back down. But when my gun went click, panic decided to take its place.

I yelled at Jim, “shoot the bear” while I struggled to figure out what was wrong with my gun. But as I was backing up, Jim was behind the branch that I was up against. So he was getting pushed back as well. The bear had turned towards us by now, and I was just about to yell again, but Jim’s gun did first. Consequently my ear just happened to be within muzzle blast, and got the brunt end of it. Thankfully the bear was back on the ground, but moaning and moving. So, covering my ear this time, I ordered him to fire again. He did, and the bear was silent. Even though the bear was obviously wounded, I am sure he could have covered that 3 yards in very short order. Once again we began to get excited, but only after we knew the bear was dead. It ended up being an old sow, which did not dampen our excitement at all. We had to go back and retrieve our gear, and it took most of the day to complete all the necessary work, but we were so happy to be successful, and we had an amazing story to go along with it.

Our long-stalk and even longer blood trail had paid off. Although it took a while for my ear to recover, I guess it’s the price I had to pay to be alive. It’s hard to say what would have happened, but I am glad that Jim did not wait to find out. So now we have a bear in the hand and none in the bush.

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Several days earlier…

It was a beautiful day as the plane took off from Port Alsworth en-route to the base camp of West Wind Guide Service. Seth Kroenke was my pilot, but it was not the first time we had covered ground, high above the ground. The flight was fairly uneventful, but we did gaze upon a few groups of Caribou, which are not as prolific as in the past, but seem to be making a come back. The hour long flight gave us a first hand view of just a small chunk of the vast wilderness known as Alaska, with miles and miles of open tundra, alder strewn valleys, unnamed creeks and wild rivers. It was perfect hunting country and we were headed to the heart of it. I was coming out to guide an 8 day grizzly hunt, towards the end of September. I was working for Tony Lee for the first time, and was looking forward to learning from one of the best.

Upon arrival into camp, I was greeted by Tony, camp packers and guides who were preparing for the next group of hunters coming out the following day. I was immediately impressed with the organization, and was shown around. The actual base camp was located off the hill, about a half mile, which took a good little walk to reach. They said that one of the reasons for that was to make sure the clients were in good enough shape to go on the hunt if they could make it up and down the hill a few times. Tony flew out a couple other camps and guides that evening but I remained in camp for the night, which I was grateful for when I saw what was on the menu. Needless to say the food was first class and I slept very well.

The morning began with an amazing breakfast and it filled us all up beyond the necessary limit. It wasn’t long after a short trek up the hill, and we were air born. Tony had a great spot for us, on a hill with a flat saddle that proved to be a great landing strip. By the time Tony got back with my client, Jim, I had the camp all set up, and it did not take long to get organized and head out to have a look around. It was another gorgeous day, but unfortunately that does not add up to gorgeous hunting weather. It wasn’t until near sun down that we started seeing activity. 30 caribou were scattered in several groups throughout the surrounding hills. A beautiful sow grizzly with two full-size cubs was making slow progress, while being distracted by a large patch of berries. The area seemed to have good potential so we went to sleep with high hopes for a good start of the hunt.

Up in the morning, with eggs and bacon sitting well in our stomachs, we traversed the short distance to our lookout from where we could glass a large amount of area. The wind had picked up over night, so we continued to layer up to fend off the icy chill that seemed to pierce ever deeper. The morning rays were just beginning to arc across the sky when Jim eagerly tapped me on the shoulder. “There’s a bear!” he whispered. I almost didn’t believe him, but turning and looking through the binos, I saw the reason for the eagerness. It was a nice colored bear, about a mile away, but in a good spot feeding nonchalantly on a berry patch. It didn’t take too long to make our decision, and even though it was only the first day, it looked like a good opportunity and a good bear. The stalk took us right past our camp, so we were able to drop some of our unnecessary gear. We covered the distance as quickly as possible, and it wasn’t long before we were staring right across the gully from the big bruin.

To Be Continued, come back on Friday for the 2nd half of this story.

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I was really hoping to run into some sheep, but being that I had not harvested any big game animals in Alaska for myself, I was happy to go home with anything. So with my pack laden with a full camp, complete with tent and several days worth of food, I departed that afternoon determined for success. I had traveled first by boat and then took off hiking. It was a two mile hike before I even reached the base of the mountain, but even before that I had spotted some game. A big lone black bear was tearing across the mountain top to the North of my position. I was tempted at first, but the going looked much more difficult in that direction, and the bear was moving around too much. So I decided to continue on my route, with a goal in mind to get to and camp for the night.

Following the ravine, I saved a-lot of bushwhacking, but climbing and scrambling over rocks and stream trail made up for that. The top was accomplished as well as an increased heart rate. The going got easier, but unfortunately I had developed hot spots on my feet due to wet socks from stream crossings and boggy territory. So upon reaching a good vantage point of some promising country, I sat down and relaxed for a bit, glassing the surrounding area. Almost immediately my heart jumped as black became visible in my binoculars, but then disappointment ensued as I spotted one, then two, little black spots nearby. It was a sow black bear with two cubs. Although they were not pursue-able, it was still encouraging to see many animals. The last time I had been up hunting this area, I had only seen a sow and cub, so already in the first few hours I was setting new records.

I was munching on a granola bar, AKA dinner, when I heard rocks falling. With the shape of the ravines and the echo, it seemed as though it was coming from right around the corner, but further inspection revealed several white spots dotting a far slope. Dall sheep, nine of them, but all ewes and lambs, no rams in the bunch. So apparently this area I was exploring was a nursery. Not what I was hoping for, but still just loving the sight of those beautiful white masters of the peaks. The weather was quite warm, and I was able to remove layers, but I was extremely grateful for my full upper body bug net. It was not very stylish or as good to see through, but it did the trick to keep back the horrible biting flies called White Socks. You just have to get used to them constantly buzzing all around your head, which can drive one crazy.

The evening was beginning, so I descended from my perch into the small valley, in search of another vantage point that had some sort of level dirt in which to catch some Z’s for the night. I accomplished the feat, but as soon as I sat down to have a look around, something blond came into focus in the binoculars. It was a grizzly bear. I was not expecting to see a grizzly up that high, since the salmon were dieing aplenty in the rivers below, and offered ample food for the bruins that time of year, but that one preferred to scrounge for berries instead. I had a brief debate in my head on whether or not to pursue the bear. It would be a subsistence hunt, and would require me to harvest all the meat, and the reputation for grizzly bear meat was not good. The hot spots on my feet were also on the borderline of becoming blisters. The excuses went on and on and nearly won out, but finally, a decision was agreed upon.

I hoisted my pack, tightened the straps, and began to close the 1/2 mile distance that separated me from the bear. He seemed to be just feeding in a small berry patch and I figured he would stay there long enough for me to make the stalk. The wind seemed to be in my favor, but it changed around a bit during the stalk. Thankfully I had no alders or bushes to wade through, but it was wrought with shale and a steep incline. At the top, there was a small gully that I hiked through, and then up the other side, angling towards where the bear was last seen, with the ridge of the slope keeping me out of sight. The wind had changed for the better, and as I moved closer, it was right in my face. Getting to within 400 yards, I dropped my heavy pack and continued slowly with not but my rifle, walking stick and range finder. I edged my way around the slope step by step, trying to keep my footfalls soft, not knowing how far he could have moved. I eased my way around and looked into the ravine that he was feeding in, but there was nothing.

I began to wonder where he could have gone, either down the hill, or up, so I walked a few more steps closer, craning my neck to see further. But then I happened to gaze right above me, and there he was, and close too, just feeding away from me up the slope. I quickly dropped down just out of sight, and got my rangefinder out. easing back up, the finder read forty yards. I could not believe it, I was so close to such a powerful and beautiful predator. I knew that it was not a big bear, but at that point I was not worried about that, I was intent on a successful harvest, which was what I had set out to do. So I set up my walking stick as an uphill rest for my rifle. I had already loaded a bullet into the chamber, so I took aim, with the bear filling the scope, and waited for him to turn broadside and offer a good clean shot. I did not have to wait long though, and he fed into position. The shot rang true, and the bear did nothing but drop and begin to roll down the slope. I put another shell into the ball of fur, just to be sure. I was so stunned and excited I could not even speak.

The bear stopped a few yards down, and I rushed to the scene to evaluate the result. I was so happy, but I was still speechless. So all I did was smile and take it all in. It didn’t take long to retrieve my pack, take pictures and set up my camp on a small semi flat spot. Since it was nearly dark when I shot, I decided to wait till the next day to proceed with hard work portion of the hunt. I did not sleep well on my little side mountain spot, but I was successful, on the first day, and that got me through. The next day I arose before the sun, to beat the heat and the bugs, and got it all done and in my pack in only a few hours, just as the first bugs showed up. The hike down did not take long either, and I had a beautiful sunny day to keep my spirits up through the incredibly tough job of packing out a bear hide and meat and all the gear, but every step was worth it.

Sitting in the boat, with my sore feet soaking in the cold lake water,  I thought back to the whole experience, as short as it was, and how I had finally broken the lack of big game harvest for myself. It was a good feeling, and thankfully the meat was equally as good, making it a double whammy. I think it was because of the small size of the bear and him not eating rotten salmon that kept the meat pretty solid and hearty. So if you are questioning keeping mountain grizzly meat, I say take it and enjoy the other part of the harvest that does not end up on the wall. Also this bear was taken with a 300 WSM, which to some may be too small of a caliber for grizzly, but I say, its not the size of the bullet hole, but the accuracy of the shot. All in all it was great experience, which did not need a successful harvest to make it so, but it definitely was a nice bonus.

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Classic Boise River Experience from Micah Ness on Vimeo.

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My first client was Terry, who had never been to Alaska hunting before, and it was my privilege to be the one insuring that he went home successful. The first few days of the hunt proved to be slow, and we only saw a couple bears. Not the best way to start a hunt, but that’s the way it goes. We did have some pretty nice weather though, and that made up for the lack of bears a little. You never know when the wind or even snow will fly with both the Bering sea and the Pacific fighting with each other, with us in the middle. So we would take every nice day we can get. The third day we decided to check out the side valley, which had provided a great resource of bears last year, and it looked promising. We did not see any bears all day though, which made it tough. So we were just starting to head back to camp, when I decided to look up on the hill one more time, and sure enough, there was a bear, feeding on some grass on the south facing slope.

It was difficult at first to see just how big he really was, but by looking at the alders being dwarfed by him, I reasoned that he was worth a stalk, so Stalk we did. The hiking seems to go by faster when you are in pursuit of a big bear, but that does not mean that it is not hard. It was a long mile to cover to just get close enough. By the time we got there, the bear had been feeding, and we had thought that he had left the area, but once I got my spotting scope out and tracked him down, he was sleeping, in a slight depression, which gave us the much needed time required to finish the stalk. As we worked our way up the steep hill, it reminded me of sheep hunting, except there was a slight lack of stable boots that are usually present on a sheep hunt. And we were crawling though brush, which also never happens on a sheep hunt. We had no way of knowing where the bear was, but rather just went off of instinct. I had just cleared the brush, and I glanced over and saw the looming shape of a bear to the right of us, just walking through the brush back up hill. Terry was just making his way over to me, and the bear must have heard us because he was being very cautious and glancing our way. As soon as the shooting sticks were in place, we had just enough time to grab ear plugs and get a good rest. Seconds later the bear stepped out from the brush, 90 yards away. I said “shoot” and bear dropped, but then started down the hill. My gun roared and Terrys again. The black ball of fur quit stirring, and our cheers rose into the air.

As we walked towards the enormous animal that lay in the brush, I could not contain my excitement. It all happened so quickly, and made our hearts race, but then it was over. I did not realize the bear was so big, but when we lifted the paws, or at least tried to, we immediately realized the trophy quality, and the sheer mass of bear. It was incredible, a giant for sure. We were a quarter mile from our packs, and it was right at sundown, so darkness was rapidly approaching. So we got the bear all set up, which was not much, because with a bear that big, you don’t do much moving around. He must have weighed around a thousand pounds. So we headed down the hill, gathered our packs, and departed three miles back to camp. We would take care of the hard work and pictures the next day. It was so nice to finally make it to our tent and cot, after stumbling through the dark. We were worn out from the long day and the tough stalk, and we got some much needed rest.

We woke up quite late, and had a good breakfast, and then headed back to the bear. The evenings were cold, and bears don’t put off too much scent to attract other predators, especially up on a hill, so it was no problem to take care of the bear the next day.  It took quite some time to get all the pictures and videos done, but the bear was so big, we needed many pictures from all sides to capture his massive size. It decided to snow and sleet off and on through out the whole process, so we had to alternate between rain jacket and fleece. thankfully we had both of us to work on skinning of the bear, but it still took two whole hours, which was nearly twice as long as it usually takes for an average bear. But this bear was above average, and although I was not excited to be having to pack it out, it was a labor of love. I know Terry was very pleased with the big bear, and we just continued to re-live the stalk and the shots of the previous day, and it was a great feeling to have success only a few days into the hunt.

Once we arrived back at the camp, I set to fleshing and turning the hide on the face and head. It is a process of splitting critical areas of the face, such as the eyes, lips, ears and nose so they do not get rotten. It’s a preparation process for the taxidermist, that starts with the fleshing, then leads to salting the hide, to remove all moisture, and then sent to a tanner to be preserved for mounting into a full mount or a rug. This process takes some time and a detailed eye, but it went well, and once it was done, we set to measuring the hide. As soon as I set the ten foot tape measure from paw to paw, I could not believe when it did not even reach the end of the wrist. it was over eleven feet from claw tip to claw tip, and it was 9 ft 6″ from nose to tail, so squared, it ended up being 10’3″, which when I found that out my jaw nearly slammed the tundra! I could not believe that we had a bear that was over 10 feet! And the skull measured over 28 inches, which is the width and the length added together. The skull size is what they go off of for a Record book bear, and 28 is the minimum, so that makes it a Boone and Crockett Record book  bear. But you know what, even if it wasn’t, the experience and just how big the bear was, was enough for me, and the score is just a plus. I am one to much rather have a great experience than just a big animal, and we had both.

This was only the first hunt, with two more to go. A Father and son from Mexico, which kept the excitement going. Head to Part 2 for the rest of the story.

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Too much Fog, must turn around! Although those words were not spoken, you could see it on the pilot, Dave Wilder’s face, as he throttled forward and pulled left on the steering wheel of the Cessna 206, throwing us all to the mercy of pulling G’s. The bushes were so close, if the windows were open, I am sure we could have grabbed a handful of leaves. Barely making it out of that valley we entered another one, that looked a little bit more promising, at least that’s what the passengers were hopping, not knowing if they could grab onto the seat backs any harder for fear of bursting veins in their hands. We were on our way through the mountains separating the Bering Sea from the Pacific Ocean, called the Alaska peninsula. This was not my first bronco ride in a small plane in Alaska, so I was not too worried, but that does not mean that I was enjoying myself. The ride was not over, but after 3 hours in a seat, we were  wishing it would be soon. We ended up cruising along a river, nearly water skiing, ending up at the Pacific finally, but with several miles of beach still to go to arrive at the base camp for the Peninsula Bear hunts. Before it was all done, we had a few more hair raising, or rather, stomach raising, moments that would keep our heads swimming for most of the day. The plane passengers consisted of three guides, Joe Billings, Eric Lantzer, and myself, and then Jason House who we named our assistant client.

After being safely on solid ground once again, we were met by Jessi Markiss, who had been left at the base camp for two weeks, to repair and rebuild the main cabin, which had become a home for bears over the previous winter. He had done a mighty fine job, and it didn’t take much time till we were all moved in and feeling comfy in the newly redone “Stepovak Bay Hilton”. It was a few days before any clients arrived, so the following day we built some blinds to be used by the bow-hunters. While setting up one of these blinds, I accidentally called in a huge bull moose, to 80 yards. This was accomplished by walking through the brush, with two empty water jugs, which sounded like a bull raking his antlers, a common sound during the rut. It was quite a rush, but I did not have a camera to capture the unique moment.  Back at base camp, food was sorted, camp gear set out, and water jugs filled up at a stream located at my spike camp. A few of the guides were dropped off at their respective spike camps, while I worked around the base camp. The first round of clients arrived on the 30th of September, the day before the season opened. Three bow-hunters, and one rifle hunter. Jason, also a rifle hunter, had arrived with us, and was already in the field, watching from a hill, where they spotted 50 bears in one hour, on one river! It was shaping up to be a great season. The weather was typical for the peninsula, raining and windy, but slightly warm, and visible enough to make the short Super Cub flight to my spike camp. The location was picturesque, with water falls cascading down the valley walls, and magnificent glaciers wrapped in jagged rock. My first client was Mike Blair, who had a lifelong dream of hunting bears in Alaska, so early the next morning we headed out to make that dream a reality.

Our mornings start well before sunrise, with a breakfast and coffee, before donning our gear, and trekking out to our local spotting knob. It was only a 15 minute walk from our camp, so it wasn’t long before we spotted our first bear. But it was only a small one, traveling the nearby creek. In only a few hours we spotted about 15 bears, including sows and cubs, and also two cow moose and one big bull. We put a stalk on one of the big bears we spotted, but the distance prevented us from arriving at the spot before he was gone. At about midday we headed back to camp for lunch and a nap. In the afternoon we headed back out, to our hill, to see what was on the move. We spotted about ten bears, but none gave us a good pursuit option. Although, in a side valley, we saw a bear feeding on grass, but by then it was too dark to go after him, so we decided against it. The next day we followed the same routine, but with a few less bears, but the same bear in the side valley, only up higher. We decided to go and sit in that valley anyway, to see if the bear was prone to return to the valley floor. Sure enough, it wasn’t but an hour or so before Mike spotted the bear, right across the creek from us, about 300 yards. We were excited, but calm, setting up our shooting rests. The bear was fat, and dark, and in the size range that Mike was looking for, so we agreed that it was a shooter, but we needed to wait for the bear to feed a bit closer. It didn’t take long, before he was 240 yards away. All I had to do was say the word, and Mikes 375 roared to life. The first shot was a good one, but it took two more from his gun, and two from mine, to finish the job. Bears are tough animals, and when it was tearing through the grass, I was glad for the 240 yards that separated us. The shouts and back slaps ensued, and we quickly got to the bear, shaking hands, and actually touching an animal that could tear your face off. It is an amazing feeling. Mike was one happy camper. Due to the approaching darkness, and many other bears around, we left the bear to come back in the morning.

The following day was raining, but even that could not dampen our spirits. Many pictures were taken, and we relived the moment over and over. I was very happy to have aided mike in fulfilling his lifelong dream of hunting the big bruins. We worked together to complete the job, and pack the bear back to camp. It was a bit later when Preston arrived, to bring us back to base camp. We were greeted there by two of the bow hunters, that had also been successful, and had taken bears on opening day. They had quite the stories to tell, shooting a bear standing up at 2 yards with a bow, that will make your legs shake a little. It was a few days until the next plane arrived, so we filled time by fleshing (Removing flesh from the hide) and salting hides, (to remove moisture and dry out for shipping), playing cards, and eating. Tough life for sure. When the next round of clients came in, I went back to my camp with Nick Busche, and Berg Hansen. Berg was along to film Nick’s hunt. We were a good team, and ended up getting a bear near camp on the first day. All of it was gotten on film as well, which was great. But just as quickly as they came in, they flew out and Preston flew Jason, the assistant client, into my camp. I was happy for the opportunity to hunt with Jason, owner of Antler Shack, who is quite a character, mainly in the comedy arena, but also a multi-faceted artist, who builds antler art, and has a beetle farm for cleaning skulls. So it was a pleasure to have him in camp, and to have another chance to hunt the hunters.

Since it is against the law to fly and hunt the same day, we could not shoot anything, but we decided to head to the hill, to see what we could see. We spotted a few bears along the river, but nothing big.  We did see a big old bull moose, walking past our camp, which we tried to call in, but he was too wise for us. For a change of scenery we went over to the side valley that Mike had had his bear harvest. The carcass had not been eaten much,  from what we could see through our binoculars, so we hiked up the valley a ways. It was Jason that was looking back to the carcass when he spotted a bear! It looked big and dark, but it was hard to be sure in the fading light. Sneaking closer we watched the bear walk through the brush towards the carcass, take a few bites and then begin to paw at the ground and start to bury the carcass. This was something I had seen pictures of but never witnessed. We could hardly contain ourselves as we hiked back to camp. We got up early the next morning, however the weather was nasty, with heavy rain, so we decided to wait it out in our sleeping bags. It wasn’t till after lunch that we ventured out to the side valley. Just as we got within sight of the carcass, we saw fur. It was the bear. Sleeping on top of the carcass that he had buried. It was incredible, for a bear to be out in mid day, in the sun, sleeping on a carcass. It proved to be the perfect scenario for us to get close. Circling back, we were able to crawl up to within 70 yards of the bear. Then it became a waiting game.

For over an hour we waited, with more than one anxiety attack every few minutes when he would lift his massive head and look around lazily, and us getting ready, and then as he put his head back down, we would wait again. All the while I had Jason’s video camera rolling. Not only was this an incredible experience, we were going to get it all on film. It seemed like forever, but finally, he slowly got up, stretching his front legs, but he never got up any higher than that. With a whisper of “I’m Gonna Dump Him”, his muzzle blast nearly blew me away, but it did its job, and the bear dropped like a rock. His roars were loud, but i don’t think they were as loud as us. One more shot in the back quieted him, but he was paralyzed from the first shot so he was not going anywhere. The camera was rolling and victory was sweet. Whenever walking up to a bear, they always looks smaller than you think, but once we saw those feet, and the head, we knew we had ourselves a Monster, or in the words of Jason, “A Tank”. We could not believe it, and it was quite some time before we actually calmed down enough to take any pictures or more video. We did not know exactly how big it was, but it was huge, definitely the biggest bear I had ever been involved with.  The pile that he had made was about 3 ft tall, and he had cleared an area at least 50 ft. in diameter. Cameras clicked away, I think more than on a red carpet at the Oscars. We even hailed Preston on the radio, and had a fly-by of approval. And to wrap it all up, it was a beautiful sunny day, which is pretty rare for the Peninsula. We got back to camp by dark, tired and still excited. We could hardly sleep, but we did, and in the morning we headed back to base camp.

Once there I only had a short while working on the big bear hide, before I was called out to Eric’s Camp. The river there had flooded, and the bear that they had shot was unreachable due to the high waters. So in pouring rain, and hard winds, Preston literally “dropped” into a little gravel bar,  and sent me from there to retrieve the bear. He was able to fly Eric to there as well, and together we skinned the bear. The Super Cub only holds one passenger with gear, so we had to wait our turn to fly back to base camp. Once there we had to finish the process of taking care of the hide, which involves a lot of knife work. We helped each other though, and got done before the night was out. The next day brought yet another round of clients, and the departure of those that were done. only one hunter left empty handed, but he will be back to pursue those brownies again in the near future. One of the hunters that arrived was from Canada, and he was my fourth client. We returned to my camp again, hopping to continue the quick successes we were having there. Sure enough we saw a bear on one of the carcasses while retrieving water. The next morning we went up the side valley again, and after waiting for a while, spotted a bear on the carcass. He ended up bedding down in the brush just above the torn up area. A wide sweep through the brush, and a stalk up the hill brought us to 100 yards. A similar situation to Jason’s Bear, but we only had to wait a little while before the bear got up, and Tim put him down with one shot. Once again, excitement was exuded, and pictures and memories were created. It was not as big of a bear as Jason’s but still a good bear. We made it back to base camp the following day, and we were met by yet another successful hunter, who had harvested an awesome big bear. The weather cleared up and was nice all the way until we left a couple days later.

We left the area 5 days early, which was greatly appreciated due to the fact that it was a very long hunting/guiding season for us, and I was happy to be at the end of it. Those small comforts of a warm shower, and a soft bed, are luxuries to guys like us that spend more than 60 days out in the field, in a tent, on cots or on the ground, and it was a great thing to come back to. The season wrapped up nicely with 10 bears taken on the Peninsula. The work continued back here at the Lodge, drying hides and such, but many great memories were created, and it was yet again another season come and gone, but it will always be something that is thrilling and heart pounding, to hunt the hunters.

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The Sun beat down upon our already sweaty backs, causing our minds to wander to thoughts of cold drinks and rest under the shade. However those thoughts would have to remain only that, for we were on the trail of the canny and keen eyed Dall Ram. It was opening morning of the 2005 sheep season, and already the action was hot, almost as hot as the unusually hot sun that was making the creeks roar with extra enthusiasm. Preston Cavner was the Guide, Garry Hurless was the client, and I was in training, and what better way then by experiencing it first hand. The day Prior had been spent hiking in and out of rain showers, Scouting for an opening morning shot at a dandy ram. Due to the non-existence of night this far north, it was possible to shoot a ram at 12:01 in the morning. We found a few nice rams, but they lived up to their name and eluded us.

In the morning we headed up this new canyon, and already passed up a long shot at a good 8-year-old ram. Being as it was the first day we kept our options open. After a tough climb, we reached a nice hill in the middle of a huge basin and decided to set up camp, with a tremendous amount of area to observe. Throughout the day we continued to see several rams, but none caught our attention. Due to bad weather back in the town of Kaktovik, Preston decided to get his airplane in a more secure location, and headed back, leaving me in charge of the hunt. Being as it was that Garry and I were good friends and neighbors, we were up for the change. We went to sleep with thoughts of white sheep and curly horns.

Awaking to another sunny day, I prepared breakfast of oatmeal and bagels, and ventured out of the tent to glass, while Garry sipped his coffee. Immediately I spotted a nice ram, along with another juvenile. It was only four hundred yards away, but on the opposite side of the canyon. Quickly and quietly I hurried back to the tent to alert Garry, who was by this time ready for action. We both looked at the Ram through the spotting scope and it was easy to see by his long points that this was a good one. Evaluating the situation, we agreed that stalking was the better option rather than risking a long shot. So we descended from our lofty perch, as the rams began to move from their beds and proceeded to feed. By the time we reached the bottom and began up the other side, the rams were out of sight. The climb was not nearly as easy as the decent, but slowly and surely we kept on. Even Garry’s age of 63 didn’t hold him back from completing the task at hand.

Due to the sheep’s 8-power vision, it is nearly impossible to approach in plain sight, so we went from gully to gully in the direction of the rams last seen location. However when we reached the peak, they were nowhere to be seen. It was by then mid day, and pushing 70 degrees, which is quite warm for the Brooks Range. We decided to descend a bit to check in the cliffs, which would be the only shaded spot for the rams. Gently we edged our way along the top of the cliffs searching every nook and cranny. Nearly giving up, I ventured out to the last end of the cliff, and peaked out over the edge. Sure enough there was the ram for which we sought, staring right through me from his bed. It only took a split second for the ram to jump up and high tail it out. Quickly I yelled to Garry to shoot. Quick with his hands and an excellent marksman, Garry made quick work with his rifle, and stopped the ram in his tracks. And just like that it was done. All of the hard laborious climbing and heavy packs faded from our mind, as we approached this fallen king of the mountain tops. Our judgments of his size proved correct, and his full curl, and complete tips made for an excellent trophy. Although it was a long 4 miles back to the main camp, it was all down hill and even the hike could not put a frown on Garry’s face.

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The night Preston came to me with an offer of an adventure in the back country, it was snowing quite heavily, and it was the first real good snow that we had, bringing tidings of the upcoming winter that was close at hand. With the topography map spread out upon the table, he directed my attention to the Stony River, which was the destination of the trip. The plan was to drop me off on the river, and to float down over the period of five days, while he hunted grizzly bear. I agreed immediately, and packed my gear, raft and paddle, with adventure on my mind.

The fresh snow which covered the land in the early morning hours did nothing but fuel my excitement for the trip which lay ahead. The 45 minute flight went great, and we touched down on a measly gravel strip that was just long enough. It wasn’t long before I was rounding that first bend of many, on my way into the unknown. We had figured out a point on the map to search for a suitable landing spot, which was about approximately 45 miles away. That first day was one of the longest. With the slow water and endless turns in the river, little progress was made. I pitched my camp in the snow, boiling it for water to make dinner. Usually the water in the river is good to drink, but this portion of the river was very murky . The next day proved beautiful, and It wasn’t long before I was moving swiftly along, as I joined into the main part of the Stony. Marking my locations on GPS, and referencing to the map, kept me well informed on the territory through which I was passing. The fresh snow glistened in the sunlight, and the warm rays warmed me against the cold October air. I was utterly alone, floating along at a slow but steady pace, with nothing but the wild Alaskan wilderness surrounding me. Rounding a sweeping bend, I came upon a Cow moose and a yearling calf, coming up from the river, but they quickly disappeared into the thick brush which lined the banks. No fast water or rapids were encountered, so I made a camp at a nice little creek, prepared a simple dinner, and slept hard.

The morning brought decent weather, but some clouds were rolling in as I packed my camp and slipped my raft into the flow. I began to encounter a few small rapids, which rather than avoiding, I went out of my way to go through them, yearning for more action than the slow wide river had given up to this point. part way through the day I spotted a clearing on the map, and decided to make camp and hunt the evening and morning for Black Bear. It was a calm evening as I sat on the ridge, scanning the area through Binoculars, unfortunately that was all that it was, and no animals showed up. The next morning the clouds were low, and it was raining in a steady drizzle. But not wanting to be stuck in camp, I donned my rain gear, and boarded the raft once more. At this point the land around me became much more rugged and steep, and the river was no longer a wide meandering snake, but a swift flow through a gorge cut into the rock. This also provided for more rapids, which made my heart race, and increased the level of excitement. Bouncing up and down in the raft, in and out of white foam, boulders and eddies I made my way along. Towards the end of the float there was a few good holes and drops, that I would deem class two, or maybe a easy three, but having some rafting experience, I exited in one piece, but deffinitly soaked from the water beneath and falling from above. leaving the gorge behind the land once again became a wide river, and slow. I passed a few old cabins, but no one was home. Shortly after, I came upon a nice little island, with a few different landing locations, so I unloaded my gear, deflated my raft, and marked out the beaches for landing. Although I was a day early, I figured it was a good spot to end.

The next day was a gorgeous one, with not a single cloud in the sky. I walked around my Island home all day, wrote in my journal, and waited. But no plane showed up. Being that this wasn’t my first time not getting out on schedule, I wasn’t worried, but a mind begins to wonder. That night it snowed and wasn’t the best of flying days, but decent enough for a supercub. Again, all day was spent doing nothing but waiting, in silence, with not a soul for miles. Time passes slowly when you are waiting. Just before dark, while I was resigning myself to another night in my tent, I hear a plane, not just any plane, but a super cub plane. Running outside, I can clearly see prestons plane as he flies low right over me. Over joyed I wave as he passes. However he keeps right on going. Not sure of what to think, he continues to fly down the river. a few minutes later he flies back over, as I wave franticly, but still he flies on. Dissapointed and confused I finally went to sleep. Next morning at first light, another plane is heard, this time flying really low following the bends of the river. He sees my and lands on the beach. Immediately I ask what happened, dying to know. The reason he was late is his bear hunter ended up staying a few extra days, and then when he had flown over in the low light, he couldn’t see me or my tent, or the shiny space blanket marking the landing. It was a big relief to finally know, and I was never in danger, but it was a really good feeling, flying out of there, looking down upon the river that was only a week prior, completely foreign to me, and to know that I had came and saw and conquered.

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The distance of six hundred yards kept us from a shot, but then our chance came in the form of fog. It completely covered the sheep, and us, so we quickly and quietly closed the distance. We could hear the sheep moving around but weren’t sure of their location, so we set up and waited. Sure enough, the fog began lifting, and the band of rams appeared, ghost like, 300 yards away. Luis had a good rest and the range finder accurate, I singled out the biggest, making sure he new which one, and the shot rang true, only one, and our success was displayed fervently. The rain came and went, but it didn’t dampen our spirits. However, just as we were finishing dressing the Ram, the sun set, and went from some rain, to a down pour. The hike that followed was by far the worst pack that I have had to endure. It was four miles back to camp, and we had to treck it in the dark, with head lights, and wet gear, crossing rivers and streams numerous times. Needless to say I was very happy to see the glow of the small cabin, as we wearily finished our trek and I was able to drop the 130 lbs pack on the ground. although late at night, the joy was felt and congratulations were exchanged over dinner reheated by Tabitha, who had been cooking extraordinary meals. With the hunt successful I headed out to moose hunting. However on the way out, a rise in the river because of the down pour, got one of the trucks stuck, which required a lot of work to recover, but with Brain and Braun we succeeded in overcoming the situation. The clients continued hunting with the other guide, Lauren and the Packer Andy, and managed to get a nice black bear for Luis, and his father shot a beautiful 40 inch Ram on the second to last day. A great hunt and great clients to spend it with.

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My client was a bow hunter from Kansas, which required not just a good location for stalking the bears, but a much closer range from which to shoot, and much more patience. Our first night was not a pleasant one, spent in a spike tent on the beach. We had been dropped there by super cub, however the high tide prevented us from crossing the river to our campsite. Then the wind proceeded to blow upwards of 40 miles an hour, requiring us to use every spare piece of drift wood available on the otherwise bare beach, to hold our tent down against the gusts. Needless to say we did not get much sleep, but survived. The next day was spent crossing the river, setting up camp, retrieving fresh spring water from a creek that poured from the mountainside, and checking the area for bear activity. All of which proved successful, so by evening we made our way to a nearby hilltop vantage point. The view from up top was stunning, and we spotted 10 bears that day, and several of which were 9 plus.

As we made our way back down the hill at dusk, we encountered an 8 ft. bear coming up the trail that we were descending. We stopped and waited, as a cold chill made its way up my spine, my mind quickly came up with outlandish ideas of why the bear was coming to us. It got within 80 yards before it got a good whiff of us and he was gone in a flash of brush. Very warily we ventured back to our tent in the dark. Things were looking good for our morning hunt, although we were prepared to spend the entire ten days if need be for the perfect chance. It was the next morning that found us hunkered down in the grass. The client spotted the bear first, as it advanced in our direction, on a heavily used trail. It didn’t take long before it passed the bushes in front of us, and began its broadside pass. My client’s bow was ready though, and as I whispered the yardage to him, he waited for his moment. 50… 45… 35… 25… 25 yards as the bear began to pass us. He waited. Then “FLING” went the arrow. The bear, highly irritated at the newly sliced hole in his side, proceeded to run 30 yards away, cross over and run back at us, dropping not 20 yards away, all the while my rifle was at the ready, in case the shot didn’t prove fatal.

We began our hoots, hollers, and back slaps, until the bow hunter turned and grabbed me by the shoulder, “another bear!” he shouted. Hurriedly I turned to find another bear not ten feet from us, coming at us on all fours! Bang! A warning shot over its head, as we slowly backed away into the brush. Thankfully that was all it took to send this second bear away, but it was a little too close for comfort.Finally our attention went back to the dead bear, after our hands quite shaking, and we were able to relish the excitement and the joy of success. Pictures and words cannot adequately describe the rush of the hunt, but the memories of the experience, and the excitement we had will last a long time, and not to mention the nine foot bear mount that will serve as a reminder of the rugged Alaskan Experience, even if it was only a one day hunt.The grip of victory!

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