The pilot fired up his De Havilland Beaver, 7-seat float plane, a giant in comparison to the Super Cub. As we made the short flight east to the Illiamna airport, he asked about what exactly had happened to me out there. Relaying my brown bear encounter, he said I was very lucky to still be alive. My guide was radioed about what had happened, and was told I could be picked up at the airport in a short while.
After we landed, I went inside to wait. The lounge area was nice and warm, but I suddenly started to shake violently and uncontrollably from the ordeal. I do believe it was a mild case of shock as my mind, having been so occupied with survival, was just now able to let go, realizing what I’d been through.
The lounge area was nice and warm, but I suddenly started to shake violently and uncontrollably from the ordeal.
When my guide walked into the lounge, the first and only thing he asked was, “Did you bring back the tent and all the other gear?” He actually seemed upset when I told him I didn’t pack out all the gear. Things got pretty quiet after that. We got into his plane to fly out and retrieve the gear left on “Brown Bear Lake”, as it was now so named in my mind.
Landing and tying off the plane, he walked up and clearly saw the commotion the bear had caused. The grass around the opened ice chest had been trampled flat with many chewed up zip-lock plastic bags here and there. Obvious tooth and claw marks were on the lid and sides of the metal ice chest, and you could tell the bear had worked pretty hard to get it open. Something was said about leaving the tent behind. It could have been torn up if the bear came back. I was not too impressed with the guide’s overall attitude.
The flight back to the lodge was virtually silent. No questioning about what had really happened,or why I’d chosen to walk out. Nothing. It was only day two of a week-long hunt, so I hesitantly asked about when I might go out again. I was told that I’d been taken out once, had my camp set up, and all the food; considerable time and effort had already been spent.
If I came back again next year with another full-paying hunter, then I could go along with him for free. But I’d not be taken out again this trip. If I wanted to fish around the lodge some, that would be fine, until my departure next week. I was rather taken...
back by this attitude, but especially at the lack of concern about what could have happened. He could have flown out in two days to check on me, only to find me dead or eaten by a bear. And the tent could have been torn up…
Chapter 1: A New Hunter In Camp
Arriving back at the lodge, we grabbed all the gear and took it inside. Virtually nothing was said until late afternoon when I was told two hunter friends would be arriving before dinner. An older pilot was bringing a younger friend of his out for a caribou hunt in a much larger plane. They arrived around 5, just in time to sit down and have dinner with us. Of course, they soon asked me what I was doing here, whereupon I told them of my adventures during the prior two days.
They were amazed to hear of the ordeal, and agreed I was very lucky to have come out unhurt. I simply told them there were many different actions I could have taken in the circumstances, but the one I chose was one that resulted in no harm to me, and I was very glad of that.
They were amazed to hear of the ordeal, and agreed I was very lucky to have come out unhurt.
“Well, you’ll be going out again, won’t you? You still have five days left.” “No, I was told I can come back next year with a paying hunter and could then hunt for free.”
“Nonsense! We have plenty of room in our plane, so you’ll be coming out with us… no ifs, ands, or buts about it!”
I was so impressed with their attitude as this whole trip was a dream for me, and on a young family’s budget, represented a considerable expense. Finally, my guide said he’d come along in his plane, too, and the four of us would make it a two or three day event. Now at least I had a chance to collect the trophy I had come so far to get. While inside I was still very scared, at least now there would be three other people in camp with me, and I could just tough it through the short hunt. I seriously doubted if I could ever do this again if only going out by myself.
Chapter 2: Second Chance
We flew out Friday morning, taking both planes, but landing on another lake a short distance from Brown Bear Lake. We could not hunt the same day we flew, so that afternoon just set up camp. I would be sleeping in a tent with my...
guide while the other two shared a second tent.
That night, everyone slept with loaded guns at their sides, I was none too happy with the company in my tent, but at least I was going to have a chance to take a caribou. I had a very hard time falling asleep, understandably, but was thrilled to awake in the morning with no bear having visited during the night.
I was none too happy with the company in my tent, but at least I was going to have a chance to take a caribou.
After a quick breakfast, we made our plans for the day. Both hunters were told to just head out and make a big loop, then return to camp when done. Both my guide and the older pilot would be staying in camp all day. While I chose to head north with my .338, the other young hunter headed out to the west. The tundra was fairly flat in this area, but there were some moderately undulating hills here and there which actually would make it easier to sneak up on feeding caribou.
Leaving camp at right around eight, I headed north into the tundra with hopes of not having to go too far in my quest. An hour and a half later, about 3 miles from camp, I dropped down to my hands and knees, and as I began to creep up a slight rise, I was hopeful of finding some caribou on the other side. Having just my rifle and backpack, empty besides a knife, some game bags and water, it was not too hard at all to make my way to near the top. While I’m hunting caribou, I’m truly amazed to actually see a small herd of around a dozen or so slowly feeding two or three hundred yards away.
I wait until he’s less than 200 yards from me and quartering slightly to the right.
With only one or two days at most to hunt, I’m fortunate that a fairly nice bull is feeding almost straight towards me, walking slowly down a slight hill, his front feet actually lower than his rear. Lying prone, with my elbows dug in and shooting off my backpack, I wait until he’s less than 200 yards from me and quartering slightly to the right. I aim to just left of center on his chest, and as soon as he raises his head, send a 175 grain Barnes X-Bullet on its way.
The bull staggers at the shot, walks slowly about a half-dozen steps, then falls and lays still. While at the shot, the rest of the herd turns and runs, quickly disappearing over the...
hill. I stand up, and jump for joy, as my dream of taking an Alaskan caribou had come to be. A quick dash to my trophy, and I’m amazed at the blood trail he left on the ground from the entry hole exactly where I’d been aiming. Taking a few moments to thank him for giving his life so my family can eat, a few self-photos are taken using a timer and setting the camera on a mini tripod.
I leave the hide on to protect the remaining meat, load myself up, and begin the walk back to camp.
Suddenly, the task before me sinks in. I’m three miles out, three miles back. It’ll take two trips to pack the rack, hide, and meat out, for a total of twelve miles, and half the time fully loaded. Then I remember the stern warning. Alaska requires all edible meat to be packed out, not just taking the front and rear hindquarters. I’ll have to fully bone him out, getting all of the neck, spine, and rib meat fully off. When I leave, it had better look like vultures had worked him over.
I start to field dress my bull, removing the head with antlers and the meat from both hindquarters. The fully expanded 175 Barnes was actually found between the inner thighs, having delivered nearly full-length penetration with no weight loss- very impressive! I leave the hide on to protect the remaining meat, load myself up, and begin the walk back to camp. My first load will be the heaviest, making my last trip back to camp less of a burden.
Chapter 3: Packing Out
I have at least 70 pounds on my back, my rifle on my shoulder, and I take off heading due south with no specific features to follow at all. The land out there was, for the most part, rather featureless. I had almost forgotten about bears, which was nice, when I suddenly realize that here I am with half a warm, bloody caribou being carried on my back. What a tasty meal that would make for a hungry bear! Instantly, I revert to the survival mode, the same as when walking out after the bear attack a few days before.
So again I avoid any brush patches, keeping downwind of them. As before, I always go straight up the center of any hills to maximize my ability to see far into the distance. I also walk 50 yards, at most, before I stop and do a complete 360 turn-around to ensure no bears are sneaking up on me. Traveling like this takes a bit of time, but in just over two hours, I walk into...
camp as a successful caribou hunter.
Unloading myself of half a caribou, I munch on some trail mix, chug some cold water, and refill my canteen. Then I immediately head back to reclaim the hide and all the rest of the fine meat. My second trip out takes me right around two hours, as I was challenged just a bit by the featureless terrain.
As I come over a slight hill, I’m happy to see my caribou without a bear feeding on the last half. Super paranoid of being caught and heavily fined by the game department, I begin the process of carefully de-boning the carcass of all remaining meat. The first trip, I grabbed the head with rack and the prime back straps and both hindquarters. This time, I had to ensure every last bit of meat was removed. I cut out all of the rib meat from both sides, and then carefully and tediously deboned the full neck and along the entire backbone clear to the tail. When I was finished, a wolverine would’ve had a hard time getting even a snack out of what was left.
My second trip out takes me right around two hours, as I was challenged just a bit by the featureless terrain.
Proud to have done this, I rolled up the beautiful hide, said farewell and thanked the land, then turned to make my last hike back to camp. I was just as scared on this return trip as I had been on the first, but finally made it back to camp right at 4:30. Having first left at 8:00 a.m., it had taken me just over eight hours to hike a total of twelve miles, half of the time with a good-sized load on my back and several hours spent field dressing, and later boning out, my trophy.
As I walked into camp exhausted from having completed my task, I learned that the young hunter had also been successful. He was finished long before me though. His bull was taken only about a mile and a half from camp; mine had been at least twice that distance away. We ate back straps cooked over a camp stove that evening, and I slept like a bear in hibernation during my last night in the Alaskan wilderness.
Chapter 4: Closing Thoughts
A week later, my family was enjoying some of the finest wild game meat we’ve ever sampled, second only to oryx meat. Caribou is very fine grained and tender, and very low in fat. The portions made into hamburger, were called “boo-burger”...
by my young daughter, and she loved it when I also breaded and pan fried the back straps.
Never in my life had I experience such a range of emotions, as on my caribou hunt in Alaska. The nine-and-a half hours I sat in my tent, expecting a brown bear to come tearing in at any moment, to then be eaten alive, was the best life experience I’ve ever had. It was a far cry from living in suburbia, and being able to pick out your meat, in the butcher’s section of the grocery store.
Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing about my special birthday, spent alone on the tundra…