Lucky

 Lucky

     “This could be bad ” I thought. All six tires of Dad’s wheeler were completely submerged in mud.  I had broken the winch rope twice and now I couldn’t find the metal hook.  This was the seventh time I’d completely buried the Polaris Big Boss on my way to hunt caribou.  I realized that I was not very close to the area I wanted to hunt. “Maybe I should retreat”.

     Then I saw it; At the base of the small birch tree that was my anchor point I spotted something yellow.  Barely visible, I reached down and grabbed a small section of a broken ratchet strap.  I wondered if someone else got stuck here.  The webbing was weathered and torn but still attached to the black metal hook that would be my savior.  I cut off the webbing and tied the hook to my winch rope.  

     This was perhaps the crux-move of the trip as I was able to extract the wheeler and continue past the rain-soaked swamps and into the high country. 

     It was a relief to crawl out of the swamps onto a dry trail.  Before too long I was above the treeline and the valley presented itself to me in all its glory.  I followed the trail up the valley past a small lake that my friends have a cabin on.   The trail meandered up a steep hill with some tricky boulders to negotiate.  I planned to glass for animals at the top but I didn’t realize that I wouldn’t be alone.

       I quickly shut-off the wheeler and stared straight ahead in absolute awe.  I tried not to move or breathe because right in front of me, no further than 50 yards was a large bull caribou. It was the day before opening day for my hunt; I named him Lucky.

Lucky

     Lucky seemed to be just as interested in me and I was of him.  He decided to hang out with me for 30 minutes or so.  He would graze on the short grasses and then look up and watch me.  I decided to set up my camp; This seemed like a good spot to me.

     Lucky watched me set up my teepee tent and unload my gear.  He wasn’t sure what to make of me so he came closer.  From inside the tent I peered through the zippered rain fly to see that Lucky was just 40 feet away!  

     Eventually after making a complete circle around me and my camp, Lucky disappeared over the hill.  I realized that it was highly unlikely that he would be around in the morning but I was encouraged to know that there were caribou around.  I enjoyed the evening camped out on a high point with glorious vistas.

Thanks for the wheeler Dad!

I'm a hot tent guy these days.  Love the wood heat.

    I had drawn a DC 590 caribou tag for the Talkeetna mountains.  I was one of 200 tag-winners out of the 5,839 total that applied; That’s a 3.4% chance. In the information section of the ADFG draw supplement for DC 590 it states:  “The caribou in this hunt tend to be in the areas only accessible by aircraft”.  I knew I was taking a chance with my choice of access but what can I say....I’m cheap.

     The next morning I stepped out of the tent into some of the thickest fog ever.  I felt like I was trapped inside a ping-pong ball.  I wandered no further than 50 feet from the tent before losing sight of my camp.  I returned and decided to wait-it-out.  

     Finally, the fog began breaking up the valley so I grabbed my gear and set out on foot quickly losing sight of my camp.  I hiked a couple of miles up the valley stopping to glass as the lifting fog revealed new areas;  No caribou.  I decided to return to camp, pack-up, and ride further down the trail to find some new areas.

     As I got closer to camp I realized that it would be a good idea to get a good look over all sides of the hill I was camped on.  The fog was gone now and I should leave no-stones-unturned.  

    Imagine my surprise when I looked over the first hill to find my new friend facing me behind a rock outcropping not 50 yards away.  He hadn’t seen me yet because his head was hidden by the rocks.  His big rack was giving him away.  Slowly I stood up poised to shoot.  He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity, then he turned his head just enough.  It was then that I realized that I had given the nickname Lucky to the wrong one of us.

      

Euro mount

All of the jars of caribou gets a small chunk of back fat 
Half of the jars get a tablespoon of yellow curry.