Welcome to My Back Yard. These short stories are my attempt to document some of my many fine Alaskan adventures. My developing love for writing is a perfect match for my uncanny ability to forget all but the most fundamental of details. J.R.R. Tolkien's timeless quote is my mantra- "Some things that should not have been forgotten were lost."- so I write.
My lips were still tingling from the too-hot sip of coffee I'd just taken. It was early. Corey's hot chocolate sat unattended on the action packer as he struggled to get up and out of the tent. Thirteen year old boys, as it turns out, are pretty fond-of-the-pillow and if left alone have been known to sleep all day.
"There's one." Right behind camp not 500 yards away stood a nice bull caribou. I grabbed my binoculars to confirm. "Corey!" I whispered loudly, "Let's go." We gathered the essentials and quickly decided upon a line of approach.
Soon enough we were within range and as the sequence-of-events played out I found myself becoming more nervous than I am when it's just me behind the gun.
Before too long the deed was done and there was much to celebrate. We watched my brother and his whole family as they made their way through the tussocks and tundra and up to the kill-site. They were all there to congratulate Corey on his Harrison family rite-of-passage.
We returned to camp after a couple of hours of field dressing and the pack-out was easy. As we settled back into camp Corey made his way over to the action packer to claim his cocoa which had cooled down considerably. Nevertheless he gulped it down enthusiastically. "How was that cocoa?" I asked.
"It was nasty." he said with a smile.
Field dressing
The whole crew minus photographer Amanda Harrison
Brenton Harrison bagging a few ptarmigan.
Uncle Steve teaching the finer points of field dressing a ptarmigan
Amanda bagged her first caribou too!
Pete stirring the camp jambalaya with a willow stick.
The mighty hunter
European mount tip: remove as much of the soft tissue in the field as you can. It makes a lighter load and you don't have to deal with the mess at home. Keep the skull moist or submerged until you are ready to blast with a pressure washer
After a couple of weeks of drying this baby will be ready to mount on the wall in Corey's room.
"This might be a little bumpy." He said. The gravel landing strip was situated alongside a swift glacial stream and was anything but smooth. After one big bounce he quickly wrangled us under control. Jordan, like his father was becoming a damn good pilot. The under-inflated tundra tires of the super-cub cushioned our landing and slowed our run-out. We puttered our way to the end of the short strip where my brother Pete was waiting.
Jordan had flown him in earlier. He had already cased-out the valley with his binoculars and was excited to share his findings. "There's a group of moose lower in the valley and there are two rams way up there." As he pointed I looked around trying to take in my new surroundings.
"Wow,this place is beautiful." I said. We were surrounded by jagged peaks, glaciers and waterfalls; it was rugged terrain no doubt.
Pete had drawn a sheep tag and had asked me to come along. It was easy for me to say yes. I have always been drawn to the mountains and this was just the excuse I needed. I am reminded of a sign in my brother-in-law's house: "If you are lucky enough to be in the mountains you are lucky enough."
In the end we wouldn't be able to access the hunting area of Pete's sheep tag. We thought that we could access a low point of the ridge that would grant us passage into an adjacent valley but after we got a good look at it on day two, it was obvious that it was too technical and too steep. I'm sure we could have scrambled up there but coming back down with heavy packs of meat wouldn't have been a good idea at all.
So, what started out as a quest for sheep ended up being just a great weekend in the mountains. We were lucky enough.
Day one hiking through paradise.
The Mountain Cranberry (Vaccinium Vitis-Idaea) were the prevalent berry on our trip.
Camp 1 (4,200 ft.elevation)
High camp (5,200 ft. elevation)
Pete hiking through the seemingly endless moraine.
Stream carving through the glacier
Pete, getting a drink at the disappearing waterfall. The stream
disappears into the moraine at the bottom of the picture.
Pete traversing the glacier.
I found these scattered on the glacier. There were many more. Anyone know what they are?
