Monday, October 23, 2017

Caribou Hunting with a Hot Tent

 Caribou Hunting with a Hot Tent
20171022_102207.jpg     -Mystery bird perching on spruce.


     I bought a camping wood stove last Spring called the Titanium Goat.   The main selling point for me was weight; 1 pound 6 ounces for the  wood stove and the stovepipe,...not bad.   I wanted to add some much needed dry heat to our moose hunting shelter.   There have been many years on our hunt when it has rained, snowed or rained and snowed every single day of the trip.  I was hoping to be able to dry clothing and warm our bones.
    Since we hunt in a non-motorized area weight is always a judicious consideration.  In my mind the less-than two pound burden of the stove was so insignificant that it was worth fussing-with and even modifying gear as needed to make room for such a potentially game-changing piece.  
Our moose hunting shelter.  The Titanium goat was
underpowered to heat this behemoth.
   Although it was a little underpowered for our large moose hunting shelter, I knew that my tiny little Titanium Goat wood stove had its place and I really wanted to bask in the glow of it’s warm embers.  It would be especially grand if it were particularly inhospitable outside.  


Maybe I could modify my tent.  


    “I think I want to go hunting this weekend”.  I said.  Tamra wasn’t sure what I was talking about.  “The Nelchina caribou hunt closed on Sept 30th for the rut but it opens back up on October 21st.”
    “Okay.”, she said.   
      I began the process of designing a rain fly stovepipe adapter so I could use my wood stove inside my dome tent.  With only two days before I wanted to leave, I began the design process after work. I set up the tent on my frozen lawn.  
1/8 inch aluminum and random hardware found
in my garage would help to separate flammable tent material
from the hot stove pipe.
At this point there were puzzled looks from the wife.  Upon completion,  I snugged it into place on the rain fly zipper.  I crawled into the tent from the other side and fired up the stove.  I knew that if the tent smoldered, melted or erupt into dancing flames, it would be a failure and I wanted to find that out in the comforts of my back yard, not in the wilderness several miles from the truck.  Luckily none of these things happened.  What did happen was the inside of the tent warmed up quickly and life was good.  I dubbed it Prototype “A”.  It was almost as heavy as the whole stove but it worked, at least on my lawn.  
    The weather forecast for Cantwell Alaska was clear and cold.  How cold I wasn’t sure.  At this same time last year it was below zero.   My gear was packed; I was ready.
    I wanted to take my fat tire bike and cart but the snow was just a little too deep.  I opted instead to hike in and pull a plastic sled.  I had both loaded in the truck so I would have some flexibility.  The orange Paris sled has been with me on many mountain trips and it’s a blessing to be able to get weight off of your back.
hiking in.
     I split the weight of my camp and hunting kit between my pack and the sled and set off up the trail.  It was five degrees Fahrenheit when I left the truck but I had a good pace and was able to stay warm without sweating too much.  Before long I set up my camp about five miles-in at a place that, over the years, we have named “Caribou camp”.  I wanted to get the most use of the dwindling daylight hours so I didn’t set up camp right away like I usually do.  I dumped all unnecessary gear and headed further up the trail.  After about an hour I spotted a couple of small caribou grazing in the valley below.  
   The biologists at The Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADFG) have been encouraging folks to harvest cows because the herd is exceptionally strong right now and they are worried that they will overgraze their habitat which, in- turn could cause a dramatic crash in the herd.  In fact, last year they granted a second permit for any tier 1 Nelchina caribou permit holder to help achieve this goal.  I wanted to bag a cow but I’m an opportunistic hunter; I’m not likely to pass up legal game. Know thyself.
     I continued down the trail, making myself small trying to avoid giving away my position.  I hunkered low as I made my way down the hill toward the cows.  Something caught my eye.  “Oh shit, there’s a big bull!” I noticed.  The bull had been laying low below a small bench.  When he saw me sneaking down the hill, he stood up, looked at me and then ran off.  Quickly I took off my pack, chambered a round in my 30.06 and waited for my opportunity.  

    Sure enough he appeared in a small clearing between stands of Willow bushes about 300 yards away.  He took pause to turn and look at me and as it turned out this was his last mistake.  

Bull down
After one antler broke off, I used it to anchor
my rope ratchet to hoist the rear leg.
All of the meat fit into my
kiddy sled.
Titanium goat kicking ass.
Hauling meat six miles to truck is a lot easier
with a sled and a few down hills runs.



Sunday, October 15, 2017

Peddle Paddle

Peddle Paddle


    I have been experimenting with bike-rafting.  The idea is not hard to understand; bike with a packraft to a destination with water.  From there  float home or elsewhere with the bike cleverly strapped onto the raft.  Voila!  
    In the end it’s a lot of set-up/ breakdown but the great thing about bikerafting is that you get to ride your bike, paddle your raft, and see some fantastic country that wouldn’t be accessible otherwise.  
    The plan was to peddle my bike and gear from the town of Talkeetna, up the tracks and overland to Clear Creek.  From there I would break-down the bike and strap it to my pack raft.  With a little fly fishing along the way and a sparkle in my eye, I would float back to Talkeetna.  I’ve pack rafted the route two other times (hiking-in) with friends and thought that adding a bike to the equation would be faster and more challenging.
  It was 23 degrees F. when I left at 7:30 A.M.  I made good time and before long I found myself at the gravel pit 5 miles in.   I started up the hill, but  suddenly my pace slowed to that of a small tortoise.
   “Shit” I thought.  In front of me I saw that the trail was completely submerged.  It had rained hard last week.  The last two days were clear and cold.  The result of these two weather events was lots of standing water on the trail.  I tried to ride through it. The thin layer of ice held my weight for a few feet but then I would crash through, into the mud puddle.
One of many long runs of
standing water on the trail
to Clear Creek. Oct 15th 2017
I decided to push my bike through it while I skirted to the side.  This made for a trying effort because there wasn’t much room to skirt.  I bushwhacked and sidestepped my way to the other side.  A brief “dry” section brought me to the next pond.  With one hand on the seat, the other on the handlebar I leaned into the bike and danced along the bank.  The ice broke off in plates in front of the bike.  I could see another long stretch of water around the corner.   After 45 minutes of this with no end in sight, I had an epiphany;  This sucks!  
    I decided that I wasn’t willing to spend my entire day thrashing through muddy troughs with my bike when I would be much better served with a gondola or canoe.  Having already biked six miles, I realized that I had another ten miles to go to reach Clear Creek and after scouting further down the trail (without my bike) I discovered more of the same.

    I retreated back through the slop and down to the railroad tracks.  I headed North up the tracks with a new plan.  I would drop into the Susitna River and float back that way.  After a few miles of riding on the tracks the River came into view and I knew that this would be a good day.
Let the breakdown begin.  I removed both tires
and lashed everything down
Denali was my companion all day.
Almost home near the confluence of the three rivers;
The Susitna, the Chulitna, and the Talkeetna.