Tag: fishing

bear hunt in alaska

Adventures in Bear Country

Leigh, Travel

Alaska.

It was time to return to the wild… another rolling suitcase packed with essentials…another multi-leg trip with little sleep… another adventure waiting to begin.

“Who is the one with the firearm?” an airline attendant asks.

That would be me.

I had practiced for weeks, set up in my backyard with a target, several layers of backstop and a pellet gun. I walked off 25 yards and shot an entire container. My neighbors wondered what I was doing. Sometimes I wasn’t so sure myself. The pellet gun was necessary, as the ammo shortage didn’t allow me to practice with an actual rifle. The goal was to get more comfortable with the scope, the aim, the trigger. Shoulder pocket. Cheek weld. Find the crosshairs. Squeeze.

I’ve been on a lot of hunting trips. Some of them have been cataloged on this site. I’ve hunted wild hogs in Texas, elk in Idaho, antelope in Wyoming and caribou in the arctic circle. But I’ve never pulled the trigger. I’ve never made that decision. But for some reason I wanted to hunt a bear. The thought would come to me, and I’d toss it out, but it always made its way back around. I couldn’t explain why, but I wanted a bear.

Hence, the target practice. I read articles and watched videos. I knew I would be nervous, adreneline pumping and maybe too far away to be comfortable. I studied shot placement and bear anatomy… and I kept firing off rounds in the backyard.

Travel day came and I rolled a large bag and an even larger gun case into the airport. The airline attendant was patient and checked that I had packed everything appropriately and had the keys to the gun case locks…. and then I was on my way. Three flights later, Edgar was loading everything into the back of his truck in Anchorage and we were on our way to Seward.

It was late, but it was also summer in Alaska, so the light was with us until about 11:30p. We found our lodge, which was clean, comfortable, and right down the road from where we planned to target shoot in the morning. It was a strong start, but a short sleep, and we were back at the truck bright and early, ready to see if my backyard efforts had paid off.

Lodging in Seward

I’d be shooting a 7mm-08. I’d shot this rifle a couple times before, but it had been a while, and I didn’t know how it would feel compared to the pellet gun I’d lifted and fired 250 times. Turns out, it wasn’t a whole bunch different. Edgar shot it once to make sure it was on. It was. He handed it to me, and I shot two rounds that landed just outside the target circle. We looked at each other and nodded. I was feeling good, and confidence would be a big part of the process. We packed it up and headed for the docks.

Alaska target practice

We were going out with a transporter, which is different than a guide. Our captain knew the area and would take us to some good spots, but it would be up to us to find the bears and track them. He also knew where to find the fish. Once we got on board and made our introductions, the captain and his mate suggested we plan ahead. “Let’s stop on the way out and catch dinner.”

Our accomodations came in the way of a 44-foot boat called the Viking. It was custom made for hunting, fishing and surfing adventures, so we found ourselves right at home. The views on the way out of Seward were amazing, and even though it was overcast, the temperature was just fine for hanging out, sipping coffee and watching sea lions laze around on giant rocks.

Sea lions in Alaska

Partway out we stopped in an area Captain Scott said should have some rockfish. We dropped lines and sure enough, brought a few right up. We wouldn’t be starving after all. We pulled up lines and got back on our way.

The Viking brought us close enough to a few coves to glass from the boat, but at first we weren’t seeing any bears. We’d slow down… check both sides…. make sure there was nothing there and then move on. Enough snow had melted that there were patches of green, and a few spots were looking good for grazing.

Eventually we spotted an area that was too good not to take a closer look. We didn’t see a bear, but it was worth going to shore. We loaded into the skiff with Captain Scott, and he buzzed us over to land. Just as we were about to hit the beach, Edgar said, “There’s a bear right there.” Sure enough, a large black bear with reddish brown markings on his sides was meandering along, about 1000 yards from where we were.

We unloaded as quietly as possible, and tried to stay out of the wind. Bears don’t have great eyesight, but their sense of smell is incredible, and we knew if he got a whiff of us he’d be gone in a hurry.

We made our way into some cover. The bear was still there. But the shot was still too far for me.

We covered a little more ground and found another area to stop and check. The bear was still there, but this time he was moving a little closer to the tree line, and it was still about 380 yards… too far for me to shoot. Edgar could have taken it, but he had agreed to let the rookie have the first go.

We took the long way to reach the tree line down the way from him, still hoping to be down wind. When we peeked out, the bear wasn’t where we’d last seen him. We hoped he hadn’t gone far. Maybe he’d been bumped into the woods for a quick nap, and he’d come back out to graze. We slid off our packs, got comfy and waited.

About an hour later, no sign of the bear. Edgar offered to sneak into the tree line, and scout the wide path the bear probably used for cover. I stayed put in case the bear was spooked back out into the clearing, but no such luck. After a bit more stillness with no bear, we radioed to the captain that we were ready for a pick up.

Next up: We catch a glimpse of another black bear across the water, and form what sounds like a foolproof plan.

Prince of Whales – Part 4

Informational, Travel

This is part four of our visit to Prince of Whales. If you missed part three you can catch up quickly here.

Edgar and Leigh left early to go hunting; I stayed home and baked cookies, literally. I found the ingredients for made-from-scratch oatmeal raisin cookies in the kitchen cupboards at the lodge. So I baked up a batch. They are my favorite cookie and I very seldom get the time to bake them at home so I enjoyed the opportunity. I shared some with the father and son hunters in the cabin next door and carried some over to the lodge owner and his son.

Edgar and Leigh came back to the lodge for lunch and we had salmon salad out of left over poached salmon from the night before. Fresh and delicious.

Then we all climbed back in the truck to scout and do a little fishing. We saw several does but no bucks. We stopped at the same river bridge on the way back and caught eight pink salmon. Really, Edgar caught the fish. I was acting like a novice. I couldn’t cast the strange rod and I kept getting snagged every other cast and loosing lures. Oh, he let me reel one in, which felt good, but I’m not nearly the salmon fisherman that I am a bass fisherman back home. Guess I will just have to live with that humiliation.

Back at the lodge we cleaned and vacuum-packed our salmon, and put them in the freezer to await transport home.


Dinner was, you guessed it, salmon tacos. I turned some of the salmon into fried “catfish” nuggets just like I do back home. They were very good on the warm soft shells with raw cabbage and salsa.

Once the table was cleared and the dishes loaded in the dishwasher, all six feet, six legs, and six knees were ready for a hot shower and prone position. The walking and climbing around on unstable, steep, rocky terrain tires the lower extremities. We fell into our beds where sleep came easy and sound.

On day five, we enjoy pancakes fit for the bears and get close enough to a buck to give it a scratch behind the ears.

Kate Riley

Prince of Whales – Part 3

Travel

This is part three of our adventure to Prince of Whales, Alaska. If you missed part two you can catch up quickly here.

By 8am, a new installment of cruise ships arrived for a nippy, rainy, foggy morning in Ketchikan. The hotel provided another Sourdough cab ride to our float plane, which was to take us to our destination: Thorne Bay, a tiny town on Prince of Whales Island. A few other customers came into the office to ship packages, and we moved our luggage down to the four-wheeler with a wagon on the back, so it could be rolled down to the plane. One of the pilots came in muttering under his breath, and asking for a magnet. It seems the keys to his favorite plane had dropped into the water.

The flight was a thirty-minute panorama of fantastic postcard views. Breath-taking water ways, mountains, and small islands dotted the landscape.

The Thorne Bay Lodge owner picked us up in a 350 Ford, gas-powered crew cab with a camper cover on the full-size bed. The Ford could have easily been our abode for the week. But instead of camping in a pick-up truck he drove to our newly-constructed, modern, “rustic” home for the week. The cabin was located less than a mile from the one grocery store, gas station and bait shop that make up Thorne Bay.

We stowed our gear, had a hard salami and crackers snack and piled in the truck for a deer scouting afternoon. We drove to higher elevations, around three thousand feet, to get above the muskegs and alpine forrest terrain. We spied nearly a dozen large does and two-year-old fawns, but only one buck with a fork. He was more of a “last day” shooter. Coming back down the mountain we stopped at a river running into the sea, which was plentiful with salmon making their final run. Focused on fun and dinner, we brought five eight-pound fighters home. We cleaned our fish and headed out in a different direction to scout a little more.

Our second expedition didn’t turn up much, just a few more does, so we stopped at the grocery store for supplies for the week. After we organized and stowed our stuff, we enjoyed fresh poached Alaska salmon for dinner, and then turned in, ready to start the hunting and fishing in earnest in the morning.

In part four, I put my baking skills to use, and we find out why the bait shops in Ketchikan sold so many lures.

-Kate Riley

Prince of Whales – Part Two

Travel

This is part two of our hunting trip to Prince of Whales, Alaska. If you missed part one you can get caught up quickly here.

The 6:15am flight to Seattle was uneventful except for a delayed start. I napped, entirely missing out on wheels up.
Our late departure made for a late landing in Seattle, and we watched in trepidation as our plane coasted right by our gate and kept on going. We had to sprint it through the airport, peppering our fellow travelers with “excuse mes” to create a path. We made it to the gate with four minutes to spare, partly in thanks to a pilot who saw us running and pointed us in the right direction. En route to Ketchikan, I visited with a couple local ladies and learned a little more about the town.

Ketchikan’s airport is on an island. The mainland is accessible by a seven-minute ferry ride. We carted our suitcases down a ramp and fell in line with the rest of the passengers. It was easy to spot the fisherman headed in the other direction, loaded up with boxes of frozen fish. We dumped our luggage cart and handed it off to a large group, struggling under the weight of their success.

We watched the locals from the ferry and took in the scene. Flannel shirts and rubber muck boots were the common attire on everyone. There were no suits or fancy Dans and the vibe of the city was rustic.

Our reservations were at the Gilmore Hotel, and they had a deal with Sourdough Cab to give us a ride from the ferry dock. Our driver was playing both cabbie and dispatcher, and was quite the character. When we stepped back for a picture of the hotel, he was happy to be featured.


Because we’d left Houston early and changed time zones, we had arrived before noon. We spent the rest of the day exploring Ketchikan, the quaint little sea shore town with a giant influx of tourists. Locals told us some days there were five or six cruise boats at the dock. The giant ships dwarfed the rest of the town, and the tourists flooded the streets, buying fish dinners, Alaska t-shirts, and the occasional totem pole.

Kids were toting fishing poles down to the bridge and we followed them to enjoy their efforts. The water was teeming with salmon, and it was cool to look down from the bridge and encourage the fisherman. “They’re right there!” “Oh, they’re over there now! Big ones!”

All the shops and activities are poised to take advantage of the bee hive of cruise business, with customers only available until the sound of the horn. Shops line the streets selling everything under the Alaskan sun. Orca corn, anyone?

I don’t know what it is, but I’m not putting it on my lips.

By seven pm the ships closed their doors, and the shops did too. Ketchikan returned to a quiet fishing village. We chose a spot for dinner and enjoyed chatting with the waitress about her plans after high school. (Frankly, not specific enough to our liking, and we encouraged more exploration and fine tuning.)

Next up: We take a float plane to Thorne Bay, check out our cabin, dump our gear and discover that the deer are everywhere…. but there’s just one problem…

-Kate Riley

Into the Tundra: Part Six

Uncategorized

The following is an account of day six of our trip to the Arctic Circle.  If you missed day five, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.

We woke up to another thin layer of ice on the tent. Our bodies were a little sore from the pack out, but not as bad as we’d feared. We had our mochas, did a little stretching, and decided to try our luck at fishing. Prior to the trip we’d investigated what kind of fish might be swimming around in the lakes and streams of the arctic, and learned grayling and arctic char were a likely bet. They allegedly loved the Blue Fox lure… so we made sure to pick up a few of those before we left.

We headed out of camp and toward the spot where the Oregon boys told us they were catching fish one after the other. Trout, they claimed. We brought our collapsible poles and a rifle… we did have one more tag to fill, and didn’t want to see a huge bull with no way to bring it down.

The morning fog and drizzle refused to go away, but our Gortex gear kept us nice and dry. Back in the lower 48, I was skeptical about buying a rain jacket and rain pants… but I was glad I did. They fit over my layers and would not allow any of that Alaska moisture in.

On our way to the fishing hole, the decision to tote the rifle proved a good one. We spotted a herd of caribou. They were plodding along on the far side of the hill, headed toward Whale Rock, near where Edgar had taken his bull the day before. We also saw a lone bull, who decided to lie down in the field about two miles away. We decided to put off fishing for a moment to track the single bull. We crept toward him, quietly as possible and without exposing ourselves to the horizon. We were just about on him when he heard the other group of cows and calves calling, and got up to join them. We could see then that he was on the smaller side, and limping.

I’ll pause here to get a little personal with how I feel about hunting. I love animals. I have always loved all sorts of furry creatures, and even thought about being a vet at one point. I also eat meat. I’ve been one of those people who understands where my food comes from, but sort of ignores the delicate details of how that all happens. Until now. Now that I’ve been on some hunts, I understand the process a bit more. I understand that there are different kinds of hunters, and that there are many who really like animals as well, and have a great deal of respect for them. I understand that there are “canned” hunts where the outcome is all but decided, and true hunts where your skill and persistence as a outdoorsman is required. I appreciate the skill and enjoy the adventure, but I have never taken an animal myself. It means something to me, and I can’t just pull the trigger without a lot of thought.

This is a photo of me, giving it a lot of thought.

So for weeks leading up to the trip Edgar would causally ask me, “Are you planning to shoot a caribou?” and for weeks my answer would be, “I don’t know.”  One day I was sure it was an experience I wanted to have, to prove to myself that I could be a hunter, and I could fend for myself in the wilderness. The next day I thought about looking at that beautiful animal and taking its life and thought there was no way I could do it. “I might cry,” I told Edgar. “You will cry,” was his reply.

Now the moment had arrived. I could track this wounded bull and probably get within shooting distance. I had practiced at the range with the 7mm-08 and did better than I thought at 100 yards.   If I could get into position I had a chance at making the shot, but did I want to?  I admit ego was also getting in the way of my decision. I could shoot the wounded animal and it might be a way of showing mercy; he likely wouldn’t make the winter with an injured leg. But if I did shoot him, did it show some kind of weakness on my part, for taking a specimen who could not run away like the others?

While I pondered, the group moved off, and I decided I didn’t want to track them. I would hold off for a better opportunity, and perhaps a better bull.

As we headed back toward the fishing hole, we saw two more groups of caribou, but they were cows and calves, so we stuck with fishing. A few casts in, we had dinner. Two nice-sized grayling jumped on our line. We cast a few more times just to see if the char would bite, but they weren’t interested, so we headed back to camp.

Our camp supplies included some onions and potatoes, so I got to chopping those while Edgar prepared the fish. I don’t know if it was because of the cold drizzle or the calories we’d burned the day before, but I was starving and that fish really hit the spot. Even now I remember that meal as one of the best of the trip.

After our dinner, we warmed up in the tent for a while, and then Edgar wanted to go for a walk. My knee was bugging me from the pack out, so I decided to rest it and wait to see if he saw anything good. He came back from a wander over toward Elephant Mountain and said he saw a bunch of caribou by the spire. We took advantage of the last hour of daylight to see if a bull might be among them. As we walked along the lake the rain got more and more serious, and dark was coming quickly.  We realized it wasn’t going to be the right time to pull the trigger even if we did see something, so we headed back to camp.  We made the most of the trip back, picking up driftwood to burn for a little warmth, and taking a moment to enjoy the brisk night air and arctic sky. 

On day seven, we nearly lost our boots in the muck of the tundra, and spotted some young caribou who definitely lost their herd. 

Into the Tundra: Part Two

Leigh, Travel

The following is an account of day two of our trip to the arctic circle.  If you missed day one, you can catch up in quick fashion with a recap found here.

On Friday we got packed up not-so-bright and early for the 6a flight into Kotzebue.  The journey took about 90 minutes, and most of the passengers had one common denominator: camouflage.  Nearly everyone on the flight looked like they were prepared to rough it in the elements for a few days, and hoped to fill their freezer in the process.

It makes sense.  Kotzebue is a small town, and is considered the gateway to the artic.  It’s also an island, so getting goods in or out is tricky.  (That might explain why a bag Cheetos at the local market sold for a cool $7.) Once we landed at the small airport, it wasn’t too hard to find the two young men with the name of our outfitter embroidered on their jackets.  Kaleb and TJ helped us load up into a van to take us over to the staging area.  A few other hunters shared the ride, and a couple more were already at the base camp.  There was a team of two from California, one bearded quiet guy, and one clean-shaved and chatty fellow.  Another pair of guys were traveling from Wisconsin and said they had hunted together for 30 years.  A third duo were also longtime hunting buddies from somewhere in the lower 48.

We all got busy breaking our big bags down into smaller bags, per the instructions of the outfitter.  The bush planes are small, so the pilots prefer many small bags that they can tuck into limited cargo spaces, versus just a couple larger and more cumbersome bags.  We had quite a few items when we broke everything out, and were a little nervous about how the weight would add up once they put everything on the scale.  As it turned out, my bathroom scale had set us up for success.  We were both at about 71 pounds, one pound over the limit, but the outfitter let us slide.

The plan was for us to get into the field that morning, but the wind was up and we decided to grab breakfast while we waited it out.  It was fun to chat with the other hunters and hear their stories about “that one time” when their buddy shot a big moose, or how one guy had the perfect spot for his trophy bull, until he put it on the wall and couldn’t open his back door without hitting the tines.  We all had a delicious breakfast (Edgar raved about the chicken fried steak) and a few good belly laughs before heading back to the staging area to see if it was safe to fly.

The weather was beautiful in town, but reports were that the wind was still howling en route to our camp, so it was decided we’d wait a day and get into the field on Saturday.  We resigned ourselves to the delay, and wandered around the town.  Hunting, fishing, four-wheeling and sled dog mushing are clearly the big pastimes in Kotzebue.  We also saw quite a few broken down vehicles and equipment in yards. Living in a place that remote, and for some of the year, that cold and snowy, must make it hard to get those items removed, and people probably make use of whatever parts they can.

We had a nice dinner with a view, and pondered about the journey ahead.  Would we see caribou?  Would we see bears? Was it really that tough to walk on the tundra?  What kind of camping area would they select for us, and would our gear stand the test when the Alaskan wind and rain blew into the valley?

We couldn’t wait to get out into the wilderness and see what the arctic circle had in store.

 

Rides Around: The Quintessential Coffee House Bus

Edgar, Travel

The next ride we are featuring in our Rides Around series is a VW bus that was spotted at a Couer d’Alene, Idaho coffee house.

It is amazing to me what these vehicles continue to represent.  They have been the quintessential mode of transportation, and sometimes lodging, for the folks living on the fringe, or at least dabbling in the lifestyle since their creation.  Their engine coughs in time to the beatniks’ groove, and the lines of their form takes the admirer to a different place in history.
My father owned one of these monsters, and I vividly remember being impressed by the functional space it had when set up as a camper.  We had spent years tent camping before he invested in this piece of luxury equipment.  He would perpetually endeavor to catch as many fish as he could, on any given weekend, at any freshwater spot within driving distance.  The van allowed maximum fishing time, due to its easy set up, and was much more comfortable than tent living.
When we were van camping, I always felt a sense of the fringe.  We weren’t living on it, but it could be seen from our camp.  Like the bug trip down the Baja, the VW drew attention and sparked many encounters w/ fellow travelers.
These rigs are fabulous and continue to  fill our minds w/ inspiration, start interesting conversations, and remind us of fishing trips w/ Dad.
The Rig: VW Bus
The Location: Lake City, Coeur’D Alene, Idaho
The Driver: a speculatively caffeinated modern day beatnik
The Special Circumstance: tripping down memory lane
Edgar~