There was very little room left in the planes once we had the gear loaded. Bonny sat in the co-pilot seat and I sat in the rear seat with one arm over the bags to my left and my knees pinched together like a three year old that needs to pee. That was my position for the next hour and a half. Couldn't even move my feet.
We had a chance to see a lot of caribou on the flight in, which gave us a chance to get an idea of the size, number and location of the caribou. Transporters are not allowed to tell you how or where to hunt but flying around gave us all the info we needed. We finally landed after circling and coming in low, like ten feet off the ground, on several possible landing sites. The pilots were talking back and forth about each of the sites and were concerned about how rough they were or being able to take off once they dropped us. We had to move snags off the gravel bar to make enough room for them to take off.
We found a slightly elevated spot for our camp about ten feet above the creek level in case of heavy rain. We cleared out enough brush to set our two tents and made room for a cooking area. I brought a camp size Katadyn filter and we set up a tripod for it and made a couple gallons of water from the creek. We set up my spotting scope and glassed caribou throughout the rest of the evening while dinner was cooking and after dinner.
We drew lots for shooting order over dinner while we were in Anchorage. Rob drew number one, Bonny two, I drew 3 and Bobby was last. We found a bull Rob liked first thing in the morning and the stalk was on. It took us about 4 hours to get in position and when we were about 600 yards out, we found his bull bedded and chewing his cud with another shooter bull. We whispered back and forth to lay out our plan to close the distance a little more. I told Bonny she needed to shoot the other bull. She declined. I told her if she passed, I was going to take him. She gave me the green light. Rob and I stalked in to about 200 yards and waited for the bulls to stand. Rob's bull stood first and he shot immediately. Then my bull stood and I took him. We took a bunch of pictures, then caped and cut the bulls. They didn't look too big and we divided the meat into four loads. None of us could get off the ground on our own. We helped Bobby up first and I was next. As soon as I was standing on my own, my legs were already shaking from the load. We devised Plan B. Bobby and I would take our loads to the bench overlooking the creek about a quarter mile distant, while Bonny and Rob would split their loads, then we would come back and take those 4 loads to camp. It was all I could do to get my load to the edge of the bench. Back at camp, Bonny and Rob wanted to wait until morning to to get the second load and capes. Bobby and I told them to wait in camp if they wanted and we would get the rest. Fortunately, they returned to the kill site with us and we had everything back to camp at 11 PM. Bonny told me that was why she didn't want to take the second bull. She reminded me of the original plan of take one bull and pack him out in one trip. I hate it when she is right!
The day we arrived and the first day hunting, we could see brown bears on the hillsides all day long feeding on blue berries. We could see at least one at any point in time and most times see two or three and as many as five at once. After breakfast on day two, we pointed our stiff and tired bodies downstream toward an area where the caribou seemed to like to cross the river. We came to one of the numerous alder thickets and this one reached from overhanging the river all the way to the bench. We had to go through this thicket to get further downstream. Unfortunately, we could hear a bear somewhere in that alder patch. We elected to go back to camp, take a nap, have lunch and then try to find a way across the river upstream from camp.
Bobby went immediately to bed. The rest of us were glassing the caribou on the other side of the river. Rob finally gave up and went to bed as well. I finally turned in when I kept falling asleep behind my binoculars. Just as I fell asleep, Bonny called out "Here they come". I was greeted by the sight of caribou coming off the bench on the far side of the river like lemmings going over a cliff. It took about 45 minutes for the first caribou to show up at our camp. We were camped on a creek about a half mile off the main river. The caribou wanted to walk right through our camp. The first few cows figured out something wasn't right and stopped about 200 yards from our tents. There were so many caribou coming they started piling up behind the bottle neck the first few cows made and finally, some just started going around. They crossed the creek and filed by as you see in the pictures above. We looked over several bulls and Bonny picked one she really liked. I told her he was too narrow and thin. Because he was still in full velvet, he looked better than he really was. She looked over several more bulls and that same bull circled around and came back. He was standing broadside and all the cows cleared from around him. She asked me how far he was and I ranged him at 121 yards. Next thing I know, her rifle goes off and the bull is on the ground. I thought she should have held off for better, but it was her tag and she was happy. That's all that matters.
The shot woke the others and we waded the creek and went to work. The caribou started back up the creek after we were finished and just kept coming. We are on our second hunting day and we already have three bulls down. I'm thinking we are going home early. Now Bobby was very picky about what he wanted on his bull. He wanted a bull with good tops and bez, some palmation on the tops, a big shovel and back scratchers. That is a tall order for one bull. We looked over scores of bulls that afternoon and all the way until dark. He never found "the" bull and we went to bed figuring we would pick up right where we left off at dark.
Dawn broke and there were no caribou on our creek. In fact, there were very few caribou on the far side of the river either. That day and the next two days we spent hiking up the bench to various high spots and glassing. We saw very few caribou and no bulls as good the the 50 he passed previously.
With just a day and a half of hunting left, we decided we would find a way to cross the river. We were seeing the most caribou on the far side of the river and there was a lot of territory we could not see from our side. We hiked a couple miles up stream and found a spot where the river was braided enough to be shallow and slow moving enough to safely cross. Bonny and I had Wiggy waders, so we would cross a braid first while Rob and Bobby would hold on to the end of some parachute cord, then we would tie the Wiggy waders on, they would pull them back and then cross. This worked well and we all crossed the river without getting wet.
Once across the river, we worked our way up the bench and headed back downstream glassing for caribou from each high point. We finally glassed up a group of four bulls and put on a stalk. All four of these bulls were smaller than ones Bobby had passed on day two. We stalked in pretty close, and we were on one side of a string of alders and they were on the other, feeding down toward the river. The wind was good and we just shadowed them looking for an opening for a shot. It didn't take long to find a spot and we got there just ahead of the bulls. I was slightly above Bobby with the range finder when the best bull stepped into the opening and stopped broadside. I ranged him and Bobby told me he had no shot. The wind swirled and those bulls were outta there, like miles outta there. I was just high enough above Bobby to have a clear shot but he could only see head and antlers. We were all pretty deflated by the turn of events. Nobody would say it, but we were all starting to think Bobby was coming home empty.
We continued further downstream and glassing. We stopped for lunch and a really small bull walk right up to us at 75 yards. Bobby said he would take his tag home rather than shoot a bull that small. We pressed on further downstream. It was time for another break and a snack. I decided to climb up a little hill to be able to glass out several miles while everyone else took a break. Sure enough, I spotted about 500 caribou a couple miles further downstream. We took off as fast as we could to head them off before they crossed the river to the side our camp was on. We got to the canyon they were going to use to get down to the river just as the first group of cows showed up. It was not a stealthy moment and the cows had us pegged but again when the bottle neck got too big, some of the caribou just started going around and over the edge into the canyon. We watched 200 head pass by at 80-100 yards and there wasn't a single mature bull in the bunch. We were all dumbfounded. We had not seen that number of caribou without seeing at least a few decent bulls all week.
We waited for more caribou to show up and after about 10 minutes, I couldn't handle it any more. I climbed a little higher and glassed up another bunch headed our way but a little further down the canyon. We re-positioned and the first cows started coming over the side. Again I moved up a little higher to get a better view and I spotted three shooter bulls headed our way. They were going to enter the canyon a little further down behind a lava knob and that would keep them hidden until they came out at 300 yards. I could just see their antlers bobbing up and down just enough to see they were continuing to progress to a point where Bobby would have a shot. There were a lot of caribou moving at this point and most of them were between us and the big bulls. Finally, the shooter bulls were coming to the point where they would clear the lava knob. Bobby was set up using his back pack as a rest. The first bull cleared and he was ready to shoot. I told him to wait because the next bull was even better. Rob was off to Bobby's right and he could also see the other bull. He confirmed Bobby needed to wait. Sure enough, the bigger bull stepped out and stopped picture perfect, clear and broadside. I ranged him at 301 and Bobby squeezed off a round. At the shot, all of the caribou that were milling around and dropping into the canyon froze in their tracks. Bobby shot about two feet too high! I called out the correction and he fired again, this time about 2 inches over the bull's back. At the second shot, pandemonium broke loose. Caribou were running full out in every direction. Except for the 3 big bulls. They were looking around like they were trying to figure out which group to follow. Then they turned straight away from us and started meandering through the tundra. All we could see were white butts headed away. The big bull finally stopped and turned broadside yet again. That moment is frozen time time in my memory. The sun was getting lower on the horizon and I could see dust swirling around that bull in the golden light. Bobby had just one round left in his rifle. A miss would mean he would need to dig more ammo out of his pack. It was a do or die moment. I ranged the bull at 400. Bobby says "Are you sure?". I ranged him again at 400 on the dot. He shot and I could see the vapor trail of the bullet as it arced into the sweet spot, them the ripple of the hide on the bull and finally, the loud womp! of the impact. The bull just stood there as if it were another miss. Bobby asked "Did I hit him?". Oh yeah, you hit him alright and Rob confirmed it. Then the bull just dropped in his tracks. There were lots of shouts of joy and high fives as the tension left. Bobby had the bull with everything he wanted and it was the best scoring bull of the trip.
Again, the usual grip and grins shots and then the work. Once we were ready to shoulder full packs, I called a little meeting to determine our plan of action to get back to camp. We could re-trace our steps for the 8 miles back to camp or we could follow the GPS back to camp which was only 3.25 miles, straight line. We knew of the alder thickets and moose bogs we crossed to get there and the braided river crossing from the way we came. We had no idea what lie ahead in the 3.25 miles on the "short" route. Everyone wanted to take the straight line back. I re-iterated, we could get trapped by a giant alder thicket, or come the the river only to find a 200 ft cliff and still have to return the way we came. Everyone voted for the straight route.
It was a very tough return trip. We did travel through one particularly bad alder thicket with alders surrounding us on all sides 7 to 10 feet tall on little game trails or sometimes just brush busting. I would look back at Bobby to see him powering through the alders with antlers hooked on both sides to 2 inch alders and him pushing for all he was worth until the alders would snap. At one point, we found a small opening big enough for all of us to stand together. Bobby told me I needed to find a better way through because this was killing him. I offered him the GPS and the lead and he said just do the best you can. We were all on the ragged edge. After we made through the alder thickets and each of us fell into moose bogs when we stepped into an unseen hole, we made to the river bank exhausted. Of course, the river bank was a 200 foot cliff just as I feared. I had everyone take off their packs while I scouted up and down for a place to get off the bench and down to the river. The best I could find was a near vertical caribou path just wide enough for our backpacks. We loaded up and I had everyone go over the side one at a time in case anyone fell, there would be only one fatality. When you would step off the edge into the caribou trail, the soft dirt and shale would side beneath your feet. It was more like skiing than hiking. Surprisingly, we all made it without incident.
Then we had to find a place to cross the river. We found one spot that looked shallow enough to stay dry with the Wiggy waders and just slow enough to keep from washing us away. Yet another risky proposition when loaded down with a pack full of meat, crossing a swift glacial runoff river with a bottom covered with irregular slime covered boulders. Rob was really nervous about the river crossing. We elected to let Bobby and Rob cross first. Unfortunately, we used enough of the parachute cord lashing down the meat to our packs that we were short of enough to reach across and I had to let my end go. Then Rob tore one set of the Wiggy waders on some sharp brush when climbing out of the river. Bobby felt he could wrap the Wiggy waders around a stone and shape them into a football and throw them back to us. It worked perfectly and as I reached out to catch his pass, a huge gust of wind blew the last pair of waders out into the middle of the river and gone. Bonny and I waded the bone chilling river without waders. The rest of the trip back to camp was uneventful just putting one foot in front of the other over and over until we made it back.
We did suffer some injuries on that last hike. Rob managed to tear a rotator cuff in one of the alder thickets. Bonny damaged the tendons at one of her knees that still swells up to this day when she does too much sidehilling. I broke two bones in my left foot and a week after we got home, I was fishing in a bass tournament and a muscle in my left calf detached from my ankle. My foot filled up with blood and looked like hell. The doctor said there was a greater risk of injury to go in and try to re-attach it than to just let the detached muscle atrophy. He said the surrounding muscles would compensate for the missing one and the only risk would be infection. He was right and that leg works as well as ever.
We also did have one serious encounter with a brown bear. Every time we left camp for a call of nature or to check the meat in the creek, we would always take our rifles. On the fourth morning, Bonny got a little complacent. Rob and Bobby were doing the breakfast dishes and I was filling our packs with lunch, snacks and water for the day's hunt. Bonny went down to the creek to check the meat and see if any critters were molesting it. She came scampering back up the creek bank yelling, bear! bear! I grabbed our rifles and we went back down the bank to get between the bear and camp. Rob grabbed his rifle and joined us. The bear was closing the distance between him and camp pretty quickly while we were yelling to get him to turn. Bonny likes to shoot sitting with her elbows propped on her knees, so she plops down. Rob and I see this and know this is the Alamo, there will be no moving from here. The bear stops and gets on his hind legs and is sniffing, trying to get our wind. Then he starts popping his jaws and slobbering. I swear that thing was 20 feet tall, but I know he was more like 8 feet. So he is sniffing and popping and swinging his weight from one foot to the other and we're yelling and waving our arms. Bobby thinks this whole scene is kinda funny. Then the bear drops and comes at us full bore. We're yelling with rifles at the shoulder and he stops about 75 yards and gets back on his hind legs and starts the jaw popping again. Now Rob does something I would have never thought of him doing. This is a pretty intense scene. He knows the bear can only charge one of us, so he starts walking toward the bear, gun up. He figured if the bear was going to charge again, it was going to charge him and Bonny and I would have to take our best shots, but at least we would not have to bare the brunt of his charge. Thankfully, the bear dropped and spun in one move and left the creek. That was one brave move on the part of Rob.
We did have a little trouble getting back into the air when leaving camp. We had to leave some of the camp gear behind to lighten the planes enough to clear the alders at the end of the gravel bar. Matt had one more client to fly out that evening and he picked up the rest of the gear on that trip.
We spent the evening boning out our meat and packaging it up for shipment home. Julie took us to the store in Kotzebue where we bought plastic bags and waxed boxes. Then she took us over to the restaurant for dinner and the motel for the night. Basically our taxi service. In the morning we split our antlers and made a crate to ship them in. Then we took the meat to one freight company and the antlers to another. One would take meat but not antlers, the other would take antlers, but not meat. Crazy.
We were also fortunate with the weather. The low temperatures were in high 20's to low 30's, so we had no bugs. Zero. We had rain every night while we were in our tents, but other than a light rain for an hour on the morning of hunting day one, no rain or fog while hunting. All in all, it was a great trip. Bobby hunts with us every year now. In fact he and I will be on an archery mule deer hunt in CO this September. The four of us will be close friends forever because of this shared experience.
I tried to upload more pictures, but for some reason the upload system is not storing them as jpeg's on the Monster Muley site so it just puts a link to the picture. I'll try again some time.
