Hunting In Alaska--A Reality Check

Why it had taken me so long to do a proper hunt in Alaska, I`m sure I don`t know. Being an avid hunter, I constantly found myself lured to exotic and far- reaching destinations like Tanzania, Tajikistan and the Central African Republic to hunt for species most folks couldn`t identify, even if they`re addicted to the Discovery Channel. But an email from an outfitter in Florida caught my eye one day. It offered a two-week hunt in Alaska for moose, grizzly, black bear, wolf, caribou and wolverine at a price that seemed like a bargain. Intrigued, I called the guy for a chat, and a couple days later booked my hunt for mid-September with Tony Lee and Westwind Outfitters out of Eagle Lake, near Anchorage.

A bit of anxiety and trepidation followed in the wake of this decision, because I knew I was in for a couple weeks of potentially serious hiking in fairly user- unfriendly terrain, rainy, windy spike camps (showers and toilets were obviously not in the offing), freeze-dried food, and generally not the sort of living conditions I`d come to expect from my many overseas jaunts. This worry was somewhat tempered by the sunny, warm weather that greeted me as my commuter plane touched down in Iliamna, Alaska, the departure point for the trip. Tony`s hunting area was along the borders of Units 17 and 19, about 80 miles northwest of Iliamna. I met a handful of fellow hunters, also ready to brave the unknown, and the next morning we wedged ourselves into a Piper 185 bush plane and took off on a 45-minute flight to Tony`s main camp.

I spotted a few caribou below, but mostly enjoyed the early fall colors, just starting to encroach on the tundra. We landed on a high flat hilltop above camp, and after sighting in, we were all flown to our individual spike camps in Tony`s Supercub.

My guide met us and ushered me down to my new home, a spacious dome tent amongst a patch of spruce and alder. With no hunting allowed on the fly-in day, we spent the afternoon glassing the terrain and discussing strategies, sitting warm and snug high on a tundra bench in the sun.

I tried to imagine the two weeks of rain and cold I was expecting, but it was tough. As nice as this day was, a chill-down was hoped for to aid with hunting. Naturally, I was most interested in getting a moose and a grizzly, but was planning on trying for everything offered. I`d brought my Winchester .375 mag for the bigger critters, and my Tikka .280 for the caribou and wolf, if I got that lucky.

For the next eight days, our routine was pretty set. We`d be up at first light for some coffee and oatmeal, and then we`d set off along the top of the hill above camp, usually to sit and overlook one of the drainages below, or if we spotted something in the distance, we`d try to plan a stalk. My guide preferred to sit in one spot with a good view and glass, sometimes for over 10 hours, waiting for something to appear in the distance. After a few days, this style of hunting definitely took a toll on my nerves and patience, especially since we weren`t seeing much of anything during these long sitting sessions. The vastness and scope of this country defied belief, and the animals were no doubt very wide spread, leaving huge inviting-looking plateaus, drainages and hillsides seemingly devoid of life. All except for insect life, that is...the white sox were brutal, and made life miserable, constantly flying in the eyes and mouth, and certainly biting when given the chance.

Some days we wouldn`t see a thing, but most mornings we could pick out a few far-off caribou cows, once three wolves several miles away, and even the occasional bear. We attempted two different stalks on a lone grizzly feeding on the sparse berry crop, but couldn`t close the distance before he strolled off. The terrain was fairly rugged at times, and I was glad I`d brought my new comfy rubber knee boots for crossing wet spots. We watched a sow black bear with two cubs, and a sow grizzly with three, all attempting to make a meal out of the meager offering of blueberries. Moose were nowhere to be seen. We sat above alder-choked ravines, deep black pine hillsides, huge grassy meadows ringed with conifers and myriad creeks and marshy spots, but no moose. My guide called frequently, hoping for a love-sick bull to emerge. After a week, I was really beginning to ponder the wisdom of this method of hunting and the strange absence of moose and scarcity of other game. Watching over all these lush drainages and miles of empty tundra led me to expostulate about carrying capacity and ungulate densities, and it became obvious that all my research and studies in college didn`t translate into teeming herds of game. It was tough to explain the apparent absence of wildlife...it could have been the very dry summer, a bad berry crop, an extremely hot August, a late rut, or simply the vagaries and whims of the animals themselves, who obviously didn`t read the same text books and magazines I did.

When all the sitting and glassing got to be too much, I`d goad my guide into some hiking, and we covered a lot of ground, exploring in every direction from our camp. Other than a herd of caribou cows that wandered within 500 yards, all game we saw was usually between one-half and four miles away. Although I knew it was the preferred method to locate animals, I just hadn`t anticipated how much sitting and waiting it took to find the critters! Hunters had taken two bull moose from Polly Creek last year, a wide meadow right below our camp, so we spent part of every day and sometimes all day glassing that drainage. I was afraid I`d turn into a dribbling idiot if I had to stare at this area for much longer, so after eight days Tony took pity on me, and suggested a move to a different camp where the bears might be more abundant. The moose remained an enigma, and other hunters weren`t having much luck either. The weather had taken a little turn, with the nights getting downright nippy, ice forming on the tents some nights. The weather was really remarkable, going from still and sweltering to blustery and spitting snow or rain within minutes. I got to know how temperamental the Alaskan weather could be, sitting in it every day.

Tony arrived and flew us a few miles to where a hunter had finally shot a bull moose, as well as a caribou and a black bear. The plan was to sit and watch these gut piles, hoping to observe a bear coming in to feed, and try to tempt another moose into the vast meadow while we were waiting. On the short flight to our new camp, I looked down and finally saw a moose, a cow bedded in open spruce forest, and beside her an absolutely enormous bull, with antlers that looked like a tabletop on his head. Even Tony was excited, saying it looked like the biggest bull he`d seen this season. This gave me something to hope for. We set out bright and early the next morning, trudging across hillsides and through brushy ravines in the direction of the bull and his lady. Since he was already escorting a cow, he probably wouldn`t respond to a call, but we tried, and did hear him give some brush a good thrashing from a long ways off. We spent all day trying to find him, but they had slipped down out of the drainage, and we plodded home, walking at least 10 miles that day.

While we were gone, the packers had removed the rest of the moose meat from the meadow below our camp, and we prepared to spend a few days keeping watch. Nothing came in, but one day we did spot a lone black bear on a distant hillside about two and a half miles away, feeding on crow berries. Although we hadn`t had much luck on bear stalks, we decided to give it another try. I fully expected the bear to have disappeared, but it hadn`t moved much, and we managed to get within 150 yards. With one shot from my .375, it fell like a stone, a nice little sow all on her own, my first bear. By the time we finished skinning, the rain was starting, and it pounded down for the next 48 hours, the first good soaking in the area for two months. We dashed out from time to time to check the gut piles, but even the ravens weren`t interested. As for me, I tried the bear backstrap for dinner, and was most impressed.

On the last hunting day, we sat watching the meadow below, calling for moose and hoping for a bear. I kept waiting for that storybook ending, where the big bull or grizzly would appear in the last hours, to bring my hunt to a dramatic conclusion. Alas, all I got at last light was the appearance of a little lost caribou calf, up on the airstrip by our camp. And that was it. Game over.

Certainly, I can`t deny that I felt a tad disappointed. It did make me realize how fortunate I`d been on my many previous hunts. And also, that I watch too many hunting videos, which always seem to promise glowing results on hunts like this one. Alaska is obviously not the place to come for guaranteed results, and the weather and rainfall can make a big difference from one year to the next. Of the group of four hunters I came in with, three of us left without moose or grizzly. I don`t know what I could have done differently, or how I could have hunted more effectively; we hiked to every valley, sat on many hilltops, glassed every drainage in our area. No doubt the odds will be different for the hunters next year...and there should be a few bulls left out there, including one great big one I can think and dream about!