Establishing Camp

      

    Establishing Camp

“There is no success without hardship”-Sophocles

    The creek before us split into three.  The majority of the water disappeared to the right as it filtered itself through the bushes. Weird. The middle fork was clear from obstruction but wasn’t enough water for our rafts. “We go left here.” I said.  

   “Okay.” said my partner and we pushed and pulled and dragged the raft over a formidable blockade of beaver chewed branches.  The narrow and very shallow channel led to a beaver pond. I pulled on the bow as he pushed and pulled on the the stern. Although much smaller than myself, my partner was strong enough to pull his weight and wasn’t much for complaining. Perfect. Soon enough we made it to the pond.  

    The work today was easier than the two days prior.  Dragging a raft over miles of shallow and skinny water is tough but not nearly as tough as ferrying 400 pounds of gear on your back several miles and certainly not as tough as pushing a loaded cart 500 vertical feet up a steep trail.

    “I’ll paddle over to the dam.  You go back up and help your dad.”  My partner agreed and disappeared back upstream.  My nephew Keaton was not only my raft partner. He was also my cart pushing partner and tent mate.  Keaton is thirteen.

    As he disappeared back upstream, I paddled across the beaver pond until I reached the dam.  Since this was not my first rodeo, I have learned how to negotiate the dam. There is a solid eight foot drop to the creek below the dam and I knew just what to do.  After removing a few sticks the water started to flow. After several more sticks I was ready to pull the raft over the dam. There was enough water flushing over the “chute” that I’d created  allowing the raft to slide over and down to the skinny creek below. With one last pull the raft came sliding down the dam, into the creek. Pete and his two boys were halfway across the pond by now and would perform the same slide into the creek below.

    Over the years, we have established various campsites along our route that we look forward to.  Each camp is considered for it’s strategic benefits and drawbacks and although we like to have an open mind about trying new spots we usually settle on the same ol’ campsites; they are like old friends.  

   Our first camp spot is usually only a couple of bends further downstream and we were looking forward to using it again but this year would be different.  As I rounded the last corner leading to camp motion caught my eye. There, not fifty feet from me was a bear standing on his hind legs looking at me over the top of some bushes.  The snapshot image I still have in my brain from that moment resembles a lifesize honey bear; It was honey color, had rounded ears and beady eyes, and was motionless.

    I scrambled to the raft and was able to gather my .45 magnum pistol posthaste.  I turned and honey bear was gone. I would soon find out that there was a dead moose there that the bear was feeding on.  It was a scene that we have observed before. The moose carcass, barely visible now, was almost completely buried. Nearby bushes were ripped out of the ground and freshly exposed soil was piled on top of the moose.  Only the bony lower jaw was visible as we quickly escorted our rafts past the scene. I could imagine the bear aggressively scooping through its hind legs, dirt flying.

    After that I was on high-alert and felt a bit like Tom Cruise in Mission impossible, gun drawn, head on a swivel;  I joked with whole crew later at camp that I thought about doing a dive-roll into some nearby bushes for cover. Brenton, Pete’s younger son, who is eleven believed me if only for a moment; that was good enough for me.

    We continued downriver for about another mile until we felt good about our distance from the moose carcass.  This would turn-out to be a good basecamp for us and we began the process of setting up. The camp worked well and I wonder if next year we will be inclined to use it again.

Keaton took this beautiful interior grizzly.
It could be Honey Bear!?!?

      

Brenton and Keaton: Just two Alaskan boys doing Alaskan things.

    

Methodology of a Moose Hunter

Methodology of a Moose Hunter

Idiom:“Strike while the iron is hot”- To act on an opportunity while favorable conditions exist; to avoid waiting.

    7:32 A.M.  I was trying to be quiet but slogging through a swamp riddled with tussocks and muddy troughs can make for a noisy affair.  The maze of bushy tussocks pretended to offer good footing but once committed to the step, the tangle of snaggletooth bushes would give-way or trip me up. Fun.  Stepping in the troughs wasn’t any better; they were water logged and muddy sometimes testing the upper limits of my Muck boots.

    My “shortcut” through the swamp was anything but and I was beginning to doubt my decision. I stopped for a breather.  To my right, not 75 yards away was what I was looking for...or so I thought. After shouldering my 30.06 and looking through the scope I could see that it was not a bull moose staring straight at me like I was hoping.  In fact it was a dark stump with a curved antler shaped branch completing the outline....darn.  

     Almost all of my success as a moose and caribou hunter has been realized by using an entirely different method fittingly called the “spot and stalk”.  Unfortunately this particular hunting area is not above treeline where binoculars and spotting scopes can be effectively used to spot and identify legal game.  On this hunt I was hoping to fine-tune my calling technique and bring a bull out from hiding. Thus far in the last few days it was not working. It was too early in September.

     Calling moose is a fine art.  By imitating the nasally whine of a cow moose or the aggressive short grunt of a bull, it’s possible to lure bulls to close enough range for a shot.  Late in September bull moose go into rut and compete for mating rights. I have had the privilege over the years of observing many herds of over 40 moose who all show up for “the dance”.  Young bulls posture and practice fight, cows mingle and even attack each other with their front hooves, and the big bulls save their energy until a worthy opponent challenges them. Bull fights are violent affairs that are incredible to witness.  The tougher stronger bull with the right growth of antlers used as a weapon wins the fight and spends the rest of the fall rut mating with each of the cows in his “harem”. This process ensures that herd stays strong by passing along only the genes of the bull who has grown big and strong, adapted the best and prospered well through several tough winters; Survival of the fittest.

     There was a light frost on all of the grass and willow bushes this morning.  I was excited because I know that moose start to move around when it’s cold. In the two days  prior we had only seen one other moose. I saw it fleetingly and I could not determine the sex through the thick foliage.  I was lucky to have drawn an any bull tag for our game unit. Unfortunately our area is super bushy and up to this point, warm.  Moose bed down when it’s warm and don’t move around much. I needed a different strategy.

    I knew this was my last chance.  We would head down river the next morning, back to civilization.  It was nice and chilly with the morning frost, but I knew that it wouldn’t last. The sun was slowly rising and I knew that it wouldn’t  be long before it would become T-shirt weather. I looked one last time to see if my stump imposter would magically come to life. It didn’t.  I slung my rifle over my shoulder and continued across the swamp.

   7:40 A.M.  Finally I successfully traversed the swamp and popped out onto a rather nice four wheeler trail.  One of our neighbors has a 3 mile long trail to his cabin that is flanked by long stretches of moose’s favorite food; willow.  The bushes were over my head and I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to spot anything. I decided to proceed down the trail in the hopes that I would run into one or scare one up that might be bedded down near the trail.

    My plan involved walking about 50 feet down the trail quietly, then pause to look and listen.  There was no wind and it was joyful to take-in the forest through my senses. I heard a woodpecker knocking a nearby cottonwood on one stop.  The next break I heard an eagle screech high above. Another stop I watched and heard a single yellow birch leaf fall and land nearby. The Alaskan outdoors is my church and on this glorious morning I was glad to be alive.

  8:03:15 A.M.  The trail was beginning to parallel a nearby glacial slough. A tall and proud army of fireweed framed the trail as the slough grew nearer.  I made my way carefully around the bend and I decided to stop before it straightened out. As I was looking around I heard a branch snap ahead of me.  I didn’t know what it was but I knew that if it happened to be a bull moose I would have to be ready. I have learned to be an opportunist in my hunting.  Any hesitation on my part could be the demise of the hunt. I have been on too many hunts when I wasn’t ready in the crux moment and the opportunity is lost.  Strike while the iron is hot.

    I quietly slipped the shoulder straps off of my pack and lowered it quietly to the ground.  Another stick snap. I jacked a shell into the chamber and carefully slid the safely to the off position.  If I spook a moose into the thickets, it will be gone from me. They are too fast and nimble to chase and the vegetation is way too thick.  I’ve got to be ready to shoot.

    8:04 A.M.   I proceded further down the trail slowly taking care to avoid any snapping sticks of my own that might give me away.  Finally, I peered around the corner. Sure enough standing just off the trail and directly in front of me was a young 2 year old bull.  Not fifty yards away I could See his small 30 inch antlers and it was all the proof I needed as I shouldered my trusty rifle. He looked up and saw me just in time to meet his demise.  Game over.

  

Hazelee with her first grouse.

Corey and Sam celebrating the harvest their own way.
Corey also shot 4 nice mallards on the last day.

Although I'm not sure if these mushrooms are edible, my brother
and his boy Brenton each found Chicken of the Woods.  We ate some as appetizers
(sauteed in butter), the rest we added to an already incredible spaghetti sauce
prepared by my dad.

The blue rope on the right is a rope ratchet.  It comes in handy
gutting a moose by yourself.

Keaton and I spent our first morning canoeing to this spot on top of a beaver lodge. We called but saw nothing.