“I’m just looking to fill the freezer. Cow, bull, it doesn’t matter to me.” Stated the man I had come to meet at the rifle range. AJ had posted online looking for a hunting buddy, and since I was in the market as well, we decided to team up and try to fill our tags. Plans were made for a-get-the-families-together-for-dinner-before-going-out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-with-a-potential-gun-wielding-psychopath, and we parted ways. Dinner went well, and we decided to roll the dice, but maybe sleep with one eye open.

Eleven years had passed since I last set out with the hopes of killing a caribou. Eleven years of reflection, planning, plotting, and dreaming. In 2006, my dad and I flew out of Nikiski and suffered 80mph winds and near constant drenching rain in western Alaska, with only 25 cow and calf caribou to be seen in 16 days. To this day we joke about our expensive blueberry picking trip, and how we tried to eat our monies worth! Hopefully, this time would be different.

I loaded up my truck Friday night, grabbed our 17-week old pudelpointer pup Ava, and drove to pick up AJ at his house at 6 a.m. Saturday. His tag had opened up back on August 10th, and mine didn’t start until August 20th the next day. Neither of us had ever hunted this area, and after hours and hours of internet scouting we had some ideas of how to approach this. We set off from Anchorage driving north to Cantwell, then east on the Denali Highway with the goal of hunting a non-motorized area of the unit between the Susitna and Maclaren rivers. As AJ and I talked and got to know each other better, having only met a couple weeks before the trip, we began to casually search for caribou on the hillsides as we drove.

“AJ, like I said before, I am only looking to shoot a nice, mature bull this trip. If I go home empty handed, no big deal. I’d rather come back up with my family and shoot a cow somewhere my kids can be there to watch, than to just shoot a small bull this time around. But it doesn’t matter what I’m hunting, if I see a bear I am bear hunting and going after it!” I would repeat this time and time again, but I don’t know that AJ quite believed me.

“Not me man, I’m just looking to put some burger in the freezer.”

“Sounds good to me dude, I’m just your chauffer and packer today anyway. Let’s just shoot a nice cow right on the road and relax tonight, then work hard for my bull tomorrow."

I would come to learn to distrust AJ’s intentions over the next few hours, but I get ahead of myself.

We hadn’t gone more than 20 miles past Cantwell when we decided to stop and glass a ridge. Two minutes later, AJ spots a cow walking all by herself a couple miles away.

“I think we can make that, do you want to try and get that one?” I asked, quiet stupidly as it would turn out.

“Naw, let’s keep going and try and get one closer to the road.”

Sure thing, no biggie. It wasn’t even noon on the first day. So we kept driving. One hour and 40 miles down the road, a yearling cow jumps out of the brush and stops in front of the truck. I was utterly confused as to why AJ wasn’t scrambling for his rifle and bailing out of the rig.

“Uhh….aren’t you going to get out? She’s giving you plenty of time and she’ll be right off the side of the road…”

“No, I want something a little bigger. It would be nice if it had some horns to put on the wall. Besides it’s the first day.”

“But I thought you just wanted to fill the freezer?”

“That thing is tiny, I want more meat than that!”

“There’s, like, maybe 20lbs difference in the yield on her versus an adult cow…AND SHE’S RIGHT ON THE ROAD?!”

“20lbs is 20lbs!”

“Well, would you shoot that one on Tuesday before we leave?”

“Yeah.”

“So….why not right now?!!”

“We’ve got time.”

Oh. Okay…gotcha. Maybe this isn’t going to be a simple “fill the freezer” thing after all.

We keep driving down the road and stop to talk with some other hunters ½ mile later. I tell them about the yearling and where she last was. A few minutes later a gunshot rings out, and hopefully Karma has decided to reward us. We make it another few miles and I spot a herd way up on a mountain. I slam on the brakes and tell AJ, “I know what we’re doing this afternoon.” Confused, he clearly hadn’t seen the herd yet. As I point it out to him he starts seeing a few animals on the mountain.

“Okay, yeah, I see that group by the bright yellow patch right? Maybe 6-7?”

“Uh….keep looking dude, there’s easily 100 caribou up in that valley! Looks like all cows and calves, but I think we can get up there in an hour and a half maybe 2.”

We did make it up there in 2 hours…but let’s just say the alder brush for the first 2 miles was NOT a pleasant experience! I seriously envied my little puppy being able to wriggle under and around most of the brush. The entire trip, whenever we would be stumbling through shoulder high alders, with every spare breath I would harass AJ for not shooting the tasty yearling on the road.



Before we reached the base of the mountain though, I spotted a young cow 600 yards away in a clearing. I started talking about where we needed to get to and AJ interrupted me with, “Naw, I want to see what’s up in that herd and get something bigger maybe.”

Oookay…..sure thing. And so off we go. Turns out, there were some other hunters already chasing that cow and we watched as they shot her and went on their merry way as we faced the 1500’ climb in front of us. We made our way up the ridgeline and towards the saddle where the herd was first spotted. AJ had the gun up and calm caribou only 300 yards away.



Still no shot. We had watched as the group split up, with some going to the left, others to the right, and still others seemingly melting into the ground disappearing to who knows where. Working to the left we could see into a large valley and bingo! There they were. Ava and I stayed up in the saddle as AJ attempted to close the distance between himself and the herd. After the longest twenty minutes of my life, my patience gave out. Creeping over the ridgeline I looked into the valley. AJ was still making his way towards the caribou as they fed away from him, having gained zero ground.





This scene would replay over and over for the next hour as I watched him go further and further up this valley. To make matters even better, during this time numerous other caribou appeared within 60 yards of me and would drift through the saddle every few minutes. Finally, a shot rang out. I had lost sight of AJ at this point, and since there were no follow up shots, I figured he must have killed one.

As I started to descend into the valley, three smaller groups of caribou converged and trotted at one point only 20 yards in front of me, including a young bull with a decent shovel. There was AJ, 700 yards away, walking towards me with nothing either of us could do. He had missed his shot.



We crept back into the saddle to see if the caribou were in there. Sure enough, although the young bull was nowhere to be seen, there were a dozen nice cows feeding calmly in the clearing less than 100 yards away. One older cow was standing well clear of the group nervous but not sure why. Again, I waited for the crack of a rifle. And waited. And waited. Finally, the herd had enough and filed away to the right into another valley.



Confused, I asked AJ why he didn’t shoot. Apparently, that old cow (with a very respectable set of antlers for a cow…) looked “kinda boney, real thin you know?” and wasn’t up to muster with AJ’s tastes. He had been waiting for another cow to get clear in the main herd, but no luck.

We set off after the herd, confident that we’d run into more caribou in that next drainage. And we did, as well as a few dozen others. Between the exertion and maybe a touch of ‘bou fever, AJ just couldn’t get a shot off on one of the dozens of opportunities. We set off for the truck, beaten down a bit but not defeated. With less than a ¼ mile of alder busting left before we reached the road, another young cow appeared from nowhere 200 yards in front of us. Once again, AJ wanted something a little bigger. I get that, I just hadn’t realized that maybe AJ wanted a bit more of a set of antlers than he’d stated beforehand. No problem by me, circumstances evolve and sure, end of the day there is more meat on a bull than a cow.



Just because this pup is AWESOME! Here she is pointing a piece of jerky after climbing a the mountain with us:






With a stronger idea of what AJ was really looking for in mind, we made the choice to drive 30 miles east towards Maclaren Summit and see if there were more bulls to be found that way. A few times during the drive we’d spot a lone cow, or cow and calf not far from the road, and each time AJ would quickly dismiss them and so forward we drove. Stopping in at the lodge, hoping to send a message to the family back home we discovered that their internet was not working. After talking with several other groups of hunters, it quickly became clear that without a way to get +10 miles south of the highway, there were very few people on foot getting into caribou near there. We pitched camp at the summit, and stewed on what to do in the morning.

Morning came and the decision was made to head back towards where we’d hiked in the day before and see if we could find some bulls in other drainages. As we returned to the point on the road where we’d hiked in the day before, sure enough there were hundreds of cows and calves still up on the ridges scattered over a few miles. We took the time to point them out to a number of other hunters who weren’t having success even seeing many caribou, but whether any of them lacked the mental faculties necessary to resist such stupid efforts remains unknown. We drove up further, dropped the trailer by a beautiful lake near the base of the mountains, and quickly spied thirty or so cows in the drainage above camp. We made the call to check in with our families at a nearby lodge, and then maybe come back to the cows near camp. After a quick stop at the lodge, and more conversations with dejected, unsuccessful hunters we decided to cruise the road west a bit and see if anything was around mile 90.

As the rain continued to pound on the windshield, we spied an atv trail leading to the ridge south of the highway near mile 89. Dutifully, although I’ll admit, begrudgingly, we geared up and started our uphill slog. After a little more than a mile, we reached the summit. As the wind ripped at our eyelids, driving the misting rain like so many needles into our faces, we surveyed our new territory. Nothing.

“Man, it sure would have been nice to go back to camp, build a fire, and roast some caribou tenderloins from some fat and tasty yearling that wanted to commit suicide…oh, wait…that’s right…”

“I am going to have hear about this the whole rest of the trip, aren’t I?”

“Pretty much. But I’ll make you a deal AJ. You want additional poundage than what you’d get from a yearling, right? I’ll make you this offer then: If you shoot a yearling or calf within a ¼ mile of the road and if I shoot a bigger bull, I’ll trade you ½ of my bull for ½ of your yearling. Even if I don’t shoot a bull this trip, but later in the season I shoot a bull or cow I’ll deliver you half of it. If I don’t shoot anything on this tag, I’ll give you 50lbs of elk burger from my bull last year in exchange for ½ of a convenient, young caribou.”

“Hmmm. We’ll see.”

“I’ll even teach you and help you butcher your yearling.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

Not ten minutes into the walk back to the truck, the wind died, and the rain stopped, tempting us to return to look once more over the ridge. But…not tempting us enough! As we made our way back towards camp, we decided to do a little recon at the edge of the non-motorized area. You can drive into it, as long as you don’t hunt or transport hunters, gear, or meat to or from the closed area. So, we put away the guns, and turned down the road to see what we could see. This was clearly a mistake.

There. At the top of a mountain in the distance I could just make out a BULL. He was only a mere ~4 miles up the road, followed by another 2 miles of brush busting and a 3,000’ elevation gain. Even from that distance, every time he moved his head it was clear he had enormous beams and a thick, cluster of tines at the top like so many middle fingers waving side to side in my binoculars. I might be crazy—okay, I’m definitely nutty—but even I could admit that that bull was just not to be. If only I had had another 5 days, and if only he would stay put for the +12 hrs it would take to reach him! It caused me physical pain to turn the truck away from the bull and towards our camp, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

As we returned to camp, what to our eyes did appear? A juicy, tender, and young wild reindeer! Despite my protests extolling the virtues of wild veal, the orphaned calf 10 yards off the road provided little appeal to AJ.

“You have a tag, why don’t you shoot it!”

“I told you from the beginning, I am holding out for a nice bull this time around. I’d shoot that one though if my family were with me.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course! Getting to fill my tag with Gabby and David right there is worth way more than shooting a big rack to me! But if I shoot a small caribou now, and they aren’t there…then what’s the point?”

“I get it. That makes sense. It sure would be great to get my son out here with me.”

“I’ll give you 50lbs of elk burger for half of that calf, if you shoot it.”

“Naw. I want to have some horns to put on the wall. Maybe in my son’s room, get him all excited about this stuff.”

“…but I thought your wife wasn’t ok with that? What happened to just filling the freezer?! Alright…alright…I gotcha…”

And so, the wistful hunters returned to camp. And yet, their day was not quite done. The cows they had left earlier above camp had worked their way nearly to the base of the mountain.

Quickly, we threw on our raingear once more. Strapped our packs to our backs, and entered the hateful embrace of the alder jungle. After 30 minutes, drenched in rain, hunger gnawing at our bellies, we had only managed to cut the distance in half. Meanwhile, the lowest group of cows was working their way west away from us, and the others were ambling higher and higher up the slope. We made the decision to back out and see if they would return to friendlier terrain in the morning.

The saddle is just below the highest hump here:


“What happened, AJ, why didn’t you shoot?”

“I just didn’t feel like I had a great shot, and he was kinda moving.”

“Yeah, it was definitely not a great shot with only a high shoulder really being an option. Good call, I think we can still catch them in one of these other drainages. We are NOT coming down off this mountain without a dead caribou.”

As we approached the summit, I was overwhelmed at the razor’s edge on which the caribou had been hanging around. Instead of a relatively broad area on top as I had imagined, there was only a foot or so width before the mountain plunged into cliffs on the north side, overlooking a valley. We took our time to soak in the majesty of the view, being on the highest point for quite some distance.








Camp again at that lake in the top right


We could see several miles to the east, and a thousand or more feet below us, the saddle we hiked into the previous Saturday. Sure enough, there were lots of caribou in there.

Saturday's saddle is the yellow patch in the top left but before the river.




Looking to see if the herd had dropped off the north side of the ridge, our silence was broken by a volley of gunshots to the east. Suddenly, a small band of 6 cows made a mad dash across a valley a mile east and 2,000’ feet below our position, and I could just make out the pair of hunters with their guns a blazin’. Seven shots later and I still didn’t see a caribou fall, but it definitely didn’t look like the herd we’d been chasing either.

“Look, at the tracks AJ, I am really sure they just made their way down the ridge. Let’s go check out B.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

As AJ said that over his shoulder he was already off and running. We followed the tracks and fresh droppings down the ridgeline until suddenly they made a sharp turn to the south. Thankful that they did not drop to the north away from camp we crept forward. Approaching a bald knob at the top of drainage B, we crept over the edge on all fours. There. Cows. Less than 100 yards away. Moving further towards them, the herd was revealed below us. Not seeing the bull, and only seeing about 20 of the 40 or so animals that were in the group I decided to drop down further and maybe try to look into A3 to the west. I made it no more than 10 yards when I saw the funky horned caribou and desperately tried to get AJ’s attention without making too much noise.

Successful in catching his eye, I motioned him down to me. Carefully, AJ crept down and around the ridge without alerting the cows that had now fed above us only 80 yards away. AJ brought his rifle to rest and lowered his eye to the scope. I shouldered my gun in the hopes that the bull would appear in the aftermath of AJ’s shot and I might get a chance to shoot.

“I just don’t have a shot! There’s too many cows moving behind it, and it isn’t ever clear!”

“Yeah seriously. Ok. Looks like the one behind it is going to move….now! You’re clear! Wait! Another one is back there now. Just wait…just wait…ok now!”

As I heard AJ take in a deep breath, I braced for the crack of the rifle 5 feet away.

“STOP!!! BULL! BULL! STOP!” I whispered frantically, hoping to catch AJ’s attention before he pulled the trigger.

“There, down and to the right, 120 maybe 150 yards. He’s going to give you a shot any second. Do you have him?”

“YEAH! I see him! Ok…as soon as that cow clears him I’m going to shoot.”

I raised my gun in case AJ missed, and watched as the bullet punched through the bulls lungs.

“Great shot! You nailed him! Reload in case he makes a run for it. He’s sick…yeah he’s hit good.”

“There he goes, he’s down! I GOT HIM! HE IS GOING ON THE WALL!”

We watched as the bull tipped over, and it was done. Or so we thought. Gravity had other plans. As the bull died, it began to roll. We watched helpless as it barrel rolled nearly 1,000 yards down the scree before stopping, convinced that at any moment we’d see its antlers snap off. The rest of the herd, confused at the chaos, finally worked their way out of the draw and over the ridge top.



As we carefully picked our way down the mountain to AJ’s bull, we basked in that particular sense of elation that can only be known by those who hunt in places where physically, they really shouldn’t. We paid our respects to the bull, taking pictures as he lay perched on the mountain with his nose pinned under his shoulder.









As we attempted to free his head for a better photo, we watched in horror as he began to roll once more. Another 500 yards tumbling down the mountain, with 17-week old Ava barking and nipping at his heels the entire way, and the bull finally came to rest.


You can see the bull to the left of AJ.


Unfortunately, this last roll snapped one of the two backscratchers on the bull’s left antler, but the velvet kept the piece connected for easy repairs. After assessing the slope where the bull stopped this time, AJ made the decision to remove the head without trying to get any additional pictures. As soon as we cut the head free, the bull once again began to roll.





Looking at the slope, having rolled the bull half way down the mountain already, we decided to continue this efficient process and quarter him out in the clearing at the base of the drainage.





We can neither confirm, nor deny the allegations that video footage captioned as “Reindeer Flight Training” exists. What we can confirm is that Chester the Caribou most certainly is not a flyer.

At the base of the mountain, we paused to drink some water and cram fistfuls of blueberries into our mouths. Then the work began. Just as we started to clean the bull, the rain started. It was quite considerate of it to wait for us to get off the mountain, kudos to whomever put that request in.



After an extremely messy cleaning job, and a number of fecal-and-blood spraying surprises, we loaded up our packs each with half of the bull with AJ strapping on the antlers for the piece-de-resistance. Apologies, I was too tired to continue taking lots of photos at this point!



After debating whether to walk the extra distance in the easy draw, or to try the shorter draw we’d identified from the mountaintop and to hope it wasn’t too brushy, we opted to roll the dice. With a number of rest stops, blueberry gorge sessions, and a fair amount of complaining about AJ passing on all those easy cows on the road, we made it back to the truck just after 6 p.m. After setting the meat up at camp, a quick clean up and fresh clothes, we decided to check in at the lodge.

“You owe me a burger or something for packing out that bull!”

“Deal! That was awesome! I can’t believe we did that!”

“Me neither! You know AJ you’re all right! You are my kind of stupid! I’d definitely hunt with you again!”

At the lodge we heard more tales of few to no caribou seen. Somehow, our appetites disappeared despite the delicious smell of pork ribs filling the dining room—but I couldn’t resist the slice of apple pie! The things I’ll do for a slice of pie…apparently that now includes 10 hrs of crazy hiking and packing out ½ of a dead caribou. Sounds about right!

Opting to camp out that night and make our way slowly towards Anchorage in the morning, we decided to drive down the road a ways before turning in. Maybe we’d see a bear. We ran into the guy that we’d spoken with earlier that morning and learned they’d been watching us all day, narrating as we toiled. I must say, I’m quite glad somebody enjoyed the show as it was a pretty impressive feat!

The hateful alders (~8' high right here):


Driving out Tuesday morning proved mostly uneventful. At one point, I spied a pair of sheep on a mountain that really looked like rams…and they were fairly accessible with only a mile or so of climbing. We sat and plotted a course through the brush and high country for 20 minutes—me, mostly waiting to hear AJ give some minor sign of encouragement, but to no avail. And so we continued onwards. A few miles later I spied a lone caribou bull, similar in size to AJ’s way up on the mountain, with a few other scattered cows further away.

“I might try to make it up here with the family this weekend again…but I think I’ll wait until Labor Day, give the animals more time to move towards the road.” AJ probably grew bored of me repeating this every few miles…but what can I say? I have a serious addiction, an illness if you will, and if there’s a cure I don’t want to know about it.

I had waited 11 years to be back chasing caribou, and though I didn’t pull the trigger I was thoroughly satisfied with the experience. The tundra has a certain pull that captivates your mind and pulls at your heart. Once tasted, you can never quite forget the tang of rain washed arctic blueberries with a hint of caribou blood.

I can't see your pictures..

I changed the hosting server, perhaps that solved it for you?

Yep Awesome pictures

Great write up on a successful hunt. You two will probably have more fun another season. Congrats!

very interesting report and photos!

Thanks for the report - I enjoyed it. (And I, too, couldn't see the photos when you first posted but they show up fine now.)
Jeff

What a great report!!! Love the play by play and finally "you are my kind of stupid"..Had to clean the monitor off.

I'm sure a video of the guy watching you all and narrating would have been icing in the cake...I could see him now "You remember Randy Quaid in Days of Thunder talking about a monkey and a football? Well, you should have seen these two guys yesterday chasing this caribou down the hill."

Thanks again for sharing...

Nice write up. You're a better and much, much more patient man than me, though. I don't care for people who say one thing and do another...

Nice write up and excellent story and pictures.

Man is that ever steep where y'all got the caribou. I am not sure my surgically repaired old beat up legs are up to that terrain at the end of the hunt.

Nice!