The MacKenzies - The Land that Time Forgot

[Big Fin]

A part of me thinks I should just post photos of this adventure and spare the writing. Yet, the other part of me is trying to find words that articulate how it is that some of us connect to certain places in a way that is hard to explain to others. I suspect we all have our own place of refuge from the demands and expectations of the real world. For me, it seems the MacKenzies are that place, though my place of refuge wasn't always a place so isolated, lonely, and remote.

As I think about the regenerating value of lonely places, my mind goes back to Pine Island State Forest as the location where I found a lot of comfort at a difficult time in my life. My parents went through a messy divorce when I was ten. Being the oldest of three kids, I was probably caught in the middle of it more than my younger siblings, and that seems to be why I sought places that made sense.

The perfect "nuclear family" notion seemed to be my future. Yet, when my Dad decided that drinking was more important that running his businesses, that notion came unraveled in the course of about three years. Standing on our steps, watching his logging equipment, his trucks, and his land get sold at a bank auction was a stark reality of how rapidly one's world could come unwound.

When my Dad moved a few hours away to find work in the iron mines, I was pretty much on my own as far as outdoors. Thankfully, with a quick half-mile walk down the hill from our trailer house, across Larry and Patsy Cook's place, onto Albin's land, I could climb up into the trolley car that took me across the Big Fork River to Pine Island State Forest. In doing so, all the stresses of life were left behind. Nobody knew where I was. And nobody else invested the effort to trolley across the river and disturb my three-thousand acre pieces of unexplored wilderness.

It was this place where I found some sanity in during a very turbulent time. I didn't understand why I was so attracted to that place. Not sure I can explain it well, even today, fifty years later. Yet, in this small place, a place that seemed like the most remote corner of the planet to my ten year old mind, it was very comforting.

Things made sense. The false premises of human society were absent. No egos, no charades, no human drama, no stigma for having divorced parents, none of the fake expectations humans created. Nope, just some Ruffed Grouse I hoped to find, a lot of Snowshoe Hares, Evening Grosbeaks by the hoards eating on wild rose berries, and the hum of human activity drowned out by the gurgle of the river. The simplicity and honestly to my young mind was very comforting.

Since that time, it seems I've continued to seek places of refuge from humanity. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it's just the human need to be undistracted, focused, and calm. We attach many terms trying to explain such; "recharge our batteries," or "soothe the soul," and many others. Whatever term we use, it works for me. And as I left northern Minnesota, the places that provided that feeling for me got bigger, wilder, and more remote. As I got older and my budget allowed, the places I sought were even further from the modern world.

When I went to college in Nevada, there were lots of vast lonely mountains and basins. When I moved to Montana, the presence of grizzly bears kept most people out of my newly discovered favorite spots. With family in Alaska, I had shortcuts to adventures and lonely places that made my Montana sanctuaries seem semi-tame in comparison. And then I discovered northern Canada, specifically the MacKenzie Mountains.

All of those special places along my journey, from Pine Island State Forest, to Nevada, to Montana, to Alaska, have done some great things for me. They've provided some great adventures and some quiet times to sort out my thoughts and re-prioritize my life. Yet, for reasons only explainable to those who have been there and find the same comforts in loneliness and human insignificance, the MacKenzies are a different level.

My first trip to the Mackenzies had me looking for what was there - Dall's sheep, Mountain Caribou, grizzlies, and a landscape seemingly just unpackaged for human view the day before I arrived. This trip, I would be coming back for that "isn't there." What "isn't there" is human complexity, noise, internet, cell service and it's continual pinging, expectation of immediate response, masses of people, drama, politics, and a much longer list of conditions absent from the MacKenzies.

Flying out on the final day of my last trip was a contradiction of feelings - still in awe and wondering how such a dream became reality, offset by the realization I'd likely never be able to return. When I got home, a lot of thoughts focused on returning to the MacKenzies, the most significant being the cost to do so. Being a tightwad CPA can result in some screwed up priorities, most often leaning towards financial security. Two weeks in the remote expanse of northern Canada helps align those priorities.

Unburdened with the normal American obligations of mortgage, retirement savings, college costs, and other adult-duties, reprioritizing got a lot easier when I really thought about it. It took two years and a cancellation opening to get back to the MacKenzies, but with Mrs. Fin's complete support, a lot of my "saved this for a rainy day cushion" is going to be pissed away while my health allows.

Those who feel the slow erosion of Father Time probably relate to this "later-in-life" reprioritization. I know I would not have related to it in my thirties or forties and my effort to maintain a pace on the Great American Treadmill. Add in a liver condition that at last report was showing incremental decline, and I am the classic poster child for the slogan, "Beware of an old man in a hurry." I'm in a hurry alright; a hurry to immerse in places that slow down the craziness of our modern lives and allow me to throw away the last four pages of my five-page "to do list."

I have spent a lifetime searching for my "MacKenzie Mountains." The MacKenzies are a place on a map, a place that time has yet to disturb, yet I'm starting to realize that we all have our "MacKenzie Mountains," sometimes not too far from home, maybe not as vast, and maybe not as quiet, yet they are "that place" that does something for us that we know is good for the mind, the body, and the spirit. I feel blessed when I get to be physically present in the MacKenzies, yet some times "My MacKenzies" are in a remote bay on Fort Peck, alone on the vast Montana prairies, in a lonely sage basin of Nevada, or listening to the click of llama hooves trailing behind me in western Wyoming. For the times I can't be in northwest Canada, I cherish those special places and the refuge they offer.

With that background, I'll try to do justice to a place, an adventure, and a hunt that is hard to explain with words. Physically being there is the only way I know to fully appreciate it. I hope everyone has their "MacKenzies" and they spend as much time there as possible.


As always, amazing photos are credit to Marcus Hockett.

 

[Lmartin5]

Great read above...in for this!

 

[Big Fin]

The logistics of venturing to remote places is always well above the norm, with some sort of inverse relationship between the complexity of getting there and the value derived from being there once the logistics are behind you. For this trip, it went like this:

Day 1 - Up early. Pick up Mike, hunting partner on this trip and friend of 30 year, at 6:00am. Grab Marcus and his mountain of camera gear on the way out of town. To the border crossing at Sweetgrass before noon, with firearm paperwork paid for and the truck bound for Edmonton. Overnight in Edmonton and do a last re-sort of what I need and what I can do without.

Day 2 - 5am to the Park2Go and shuttle to the airport. As always the Canadian version of TSA has an unexpected wrinkle. The firearm passes through with ease. Mike's bow adds no additional complication. Then they weigh our carryon bags. The lady must have woke up too early to get her daily coffee, as she is adamant that we cannot exceed 22 pounds per person. Marcus's cameras, lenses, batteries, and charging banks have him at 47#. Mike and I have our optics in our bags, putting us close to the 22# limit. I reluctantly pull the spotter and binos from my pack. I ask the lady to let me grab my checked bags where I burry those items. Marcus hands me our new $5K camera on its maiden trip, which I wrap in my clothes and bury deep inside a checked bag. Marcus reallocates batteries and charging banks between me and Mike. Somehow we get close to the 22# limit and the lady relents.

We get to Yellowknife around 10am. Rain pelts us as we whistle down taxis to take us and our gear to the North Wright Cargo terminal where we will take a twin turbo to Norman Wells later in the day. The depot is stacked with hunters returning and hunters going out. All twelve passengers are going to Gana River Outfitters with us (seven of us), or with Arctic Red just to the north of the Gana concession (five other hunters).

Touch down in Yellowknife around 5:45. Sense of relief when all firearms, bows, and cameras arrived without incident. Get shuttled to Canoe North, where we will get dinner, spend the night, and fly out of their seaplane base in the morning. Time to sort gear even more. Weight and space are even more challenging.


Hard cases for bows and firearms are stowed away, along with anything that might be a duplicate among the three of us. Al and Lin are great hosts. Lots of fun talk among the hunters, all of us having big expectations, possibly bordering on unrealistic expectations.

Day 3 - The Twin Otter is afloat and ready to go. We stow our gear amongst the drums of aviation fuel loaded for the use in the two Super Cubs Gana River has. Of the seven hunters, three are hunting sheep, me and Mike are hunting caribou, Sarah is the wife of one of the sheep hunters, and Marcus is the camera guy.

Our first trip is turned back due to bad weather. According to my onX, we are about 15 miles from base camp when the clouds are just too much. I feel the plane bank as we climb. We are obviously turning back.



While waiting for the pilot to get the plane ready for round two, a group of hunters fresh out of camp is brought to Canoe North. One of them looks very familiar. @psinclair steps off the bus, smiles at me and waves as he grabs his gear and his sheep horns. Mike, a former baseball teammate of Pat leans to me and whispers, "If I didn't know better, I'd think that is Pat Sinclair." I laugh, as Pat had mentioned he had an epic trip planned for this year. Luckily, his extraction date lines up with our insertion date. We catch up with each other for about twenty minutes before Pat and his crew are shuttled off to the Game & Fish office for registration permits.

It's worth reading the epic adventure of @psinclair at this thread - https://www.hunttalk.com/threads/mackenzie-mountains-in-july.333880/

Shortly after that group heads to the G&F office, the pilot lets us know there is an opening and if we hustle, we might make it. We land on Palmer Lake, the base camp of Gana River Outfitters, around 2pm. We are met by the welcoming party that is the entire Gana River crew, from the owners down to the guides, cooks, and wranglers. Waiting there with his caribou wrapped and packaged for cargo is @MTGomer. A buddy of Mike's also happens to be there. What are the odds of being this far from the real world and everywhere we go there is someone we know?

As we deplane, the Otter is loaded with more gear and people for the return flight to Norman Wells. Harold, the outfiitter and managing partner of Gana River shows us our cabin for storing our gear. He tells us that supper is ready and if all goes well, we might fly out to our hunting area yet tonight. That would be great, as we wouldn't lose one day due to the 12-hour flight rule of NWT. It also would force me to get my act together and repack all of my ten day's worth of food and belongings in my pack and meet the weight limit for the Super Cub.

And that is what we did. By 10pm the two Super Cubs had shuttled me, Mike, Marcus, and our guide, Riley, to a short piece of tundra standing high enough to not be washed away by the braids of river that sandwich both sides of this soft patch.



Something cool about watching your last connection to technology and humanity fly off over the ridge lines. A sense of relief, freedom, and calm suddenly take over. This is what you came for. Be present. Enjoy it. Forget life's burdens. The next ten days are what dreams are made of. Be grateful that your life events have led you to this point, on this day, in a remote valley that seems impossibly beautiful.



Camp is set.


A grizzly strolls across the opposite side of the valley, as if to tell us who owns the joint. He's completely unaware, or maybe unconcerned about the intruders trespassing on his turf. Maybe it's just one of the many reminders I will have as to how insignificant I am in the bigger picture. No matter the bear, we start glassing for caribou in between our comments of awe as to how beautiful this valley, one valley among dozens nearby, is to the human eye.

 

[Big Fin]

August 6 - Hunting Day 1

I needed some sleep. The anxiety of logistics, gear, final details before leaving town, always wear on me. The guys were up around 6:00am sharing coffee and excitedly chattering about what might be on these ridges. I stayed in the tent until around 7:45 am. My liver wasn’t feeling very good and rest, even an extra hour, seems to be the best medicine.

While eating breakfast on a small tuft of tundra, Riley spotted two caribou bulls on one of the "lower" green hills. One very good bull and a slightly smaller bull. They are feeding just above a grizzly bear. Riley has hunted this valley a few times, some for sheep and some for caribou. With the hot temps, he predicts the caribou will go high to escape the Warble flies, mosquitoes, and cool down.

The bulls grazed out of view by 9:15am. Mike and I commented how deceiving the distances were. We had guessed the bull to be about a mile and a half away. Nope. I could get a 2,500 yard reading on a rock that was maybe half way there. Dang, this is gonna be a hike.

Riley had us loaded and laid out his plan for the day that would hopefully get us close enough for a better view. With the next two days forecast to be unusually warm, Riley wanted to use those days to locate as many caribou as possible. His theory is that cooler weather, even rain, is "caribou killing" weather. To have multiple groups located for the weather change headed our way on Day 3 would be beneficial.

We hiked down valley a couple miles, crossing and recrossing the river braids, pausing to examine grizzly, wolf, and some caribou tracks littering the few sand bars.


I think all of us were so distracted by the scenery that we could have easily missed some caribou along the way. These mountains look like the youngest mountains on the planet. I'm no geologist, but the rugged, unpolished edges, lacking much evidence of erosion, make it seem that a rapid tectonic convergence happened just a few years ago leaving the MacKenzies as witness to the geologic powers that form our landscapes.



Eventually Riley led us to a wide alluvial fan. We dropped packs and set up spotters. I dug out some bug dope and deployed my head net. These temps were perfect for mosquito revelry. With all pleasures must come a few inconveniences, and the bugs here on warm days are surely that. Yet, a minor distraction to the aesthetics.

We relocated the two bulls. They were in a great location - just whether or not they’d stay there with these hot temps. If the wind could keep the bugs away, they might stay put. If not, they would likely climb into the far reaches of rock, snow, and shadows for relief from sun and skeeter.


We crossed the river as we headed east. A foraging grizzly was an obstacle we had to navigate. Riley decided it was best to gain elevation above the creek and see if the bear would stay below us. It worked perfectly as the grizzly fed out into the broad valley allowing us to continue our trek.

We stopped on the first big bench trying to nudge its way into this long north-south valley. It gave a good view of the bulls above and a quick chance to glance down the valley for more caribou. No other bulls were found, but the view was worth the stop. The bulls above were still bedded, just barely visible from this bench that got us closer, yet at a steeper angle below them.


Riley decided that with the change in winds, mostly thermals now pushing upslope, we had to get above them. How to scale the 1,600’ of vertical to get above them without being spotted or winded. We got there. It took a lot of time, but within three hours we were in position for Mike to stalk. Hopefully the bulls were still there.


Hiking and trying to keep up with a 29 year-old mountain guide is a function of pace. Riley's pace is far beyond what Mike and I had in mind. I suspect Riley tired of waiting for us. As we'd get back within ear shot, he ask, "All good?" When we responded affirmatively, he'd turn upslope and chew up more elevation like a sixth-grader on a Snickers bar. Marcus probably had to be strategic when trying to get hiking images with Mike and I anywhere near Riley.


As we neared the summit, I stayed back 100 yards, filming from afar. The slow pace indicated Riley was confident the bulls were just over the lip. They weren’t. Bummer. All this work, this time, and no bulls to be found. Such is the randomness of caribou behavior. Unknown to us, when we climbed up the creek bottom, the bulls moved off, surely in search of more comfortable surroundings.

We glassed until our eyes were tired. The bulls were nowhere to be seen. It was now 5pm, yet the daylight intensity made it seem like 1pm. After some napping, Marcus located the bulls. They’d crossed behind us and were now tucked into the cliffs to our south. Not stalkable. Hard to believe these were caribou in this spot, not goats or sheep.

Since things are about to get exciting, I'll start another post, as I'm reaching the limit on words.

 

[Big Fin]

August 6 - Hunting Day 1 (continued)

I'm trying to find some images of where these bulls headed to. All I can find is this one from later in the day, when shadows filled the valley. They were now on their feet, but not very visible in this image. They are in the gray band of shale, tucked right against the brown cliffs above them. In this 9pm image Riley is trying to figure out how we would make a stalk. He concluded it would be impossible with a bow. We all concurred with his assessment.


The only option was to wait them out. Hopefully with the cooling temps and their stomachs empty from being in the rocks for the last eight hours they'd be tempted to come down and feed. At least that was Riley's best guess. A plan was built around that notion. it gave me time to inspect the biggest bull.

This was a very good bull. My estimate:
Beam length - 45”
Width - 40”
Total points - 32
Longest in top - 20”
2nd longest top - 15”
Top mass - 8” + 8”
Bottom mass - 10” + 9”
Bez - 20”
Shovel - 16” + 12”

Conservatively, I'm coming up with 380". Probably bigger. That's a great bull.

Around 10pm, the bulls started moving. First, rapidly crossing the shale to the first bit of green forage. They started feeding hard. As they skylined, it became obvious that this biggest bull was a first day bull. Riley doesn't get too excited, but he made it clear that he wanted one of us to shoot this bull on the right. The bull on the left is no slouch, but he's clearly not the boss.




As if the bulls concurred with Riley's plan, once they got their bellies stocked with some greens, they started moving downhill. Their current trajectory would take them to the creek bottom we'd traversed on our trek up here. They were joined by four cows and two calves who fed further back and without a demonstrated hunger that these bulls exemplified.

Now, it was a waiting game. Would they come lower into the creek bottom and use the tight corridor where Mike would have a shot? Or, would they cross and come back up here where we had seen them feeding earlier?

It was now 11pm. Riley suggested we hedge our bet. We'd use a small rock wall to drop some elevation, brining us closer while staying hidden, and giving us the option of dropping quickly to the pinch point in the creek bottom if the bulls took that route.

Off we went. We were in position. Now, it was a waiting game. The bulls' path would dictate our next move.

Lucky for us, the bulls started moving down the creek. Riley and Mike moved down to the pinch point. Marcus was just behind them with two cameras in hand. I stayed slightly upslope, laying on my back in hopes I wouldn't mess up this stalk.

Every few minutes I'd rise my head to keep tabs on what was unfolding. I saw Riley sneaking up to me, using the small rock ledge to stay obscured. He told me the cows were moving up above us and he wanted to bump them down to Mike. If the bulls followed the cows, they'd be out of Mike's range. In my mind I was thinking, "What are the odds that one person can wrangle eight caribou to a specified location with hundreds of square miles for them to escape?"

Well, I've learned to not underestimate Riley. His ability to scramble up these ridges at such a rapid pace is impressive. I'm now watching Mike and Marcus below me and Riley playing "goalie" above me as he tries to bump the cows and calves in play. I see Mike rise and take a range. Marcus brings the big lens to play. This could happened.

I see Mike drop back down. I look up to Riley and he's now on the skyline of this ridge. He's obviously making himself visible to the caribou. I can only guess what is going on, as I'm staying tucked down and out of view.

The rock ridge is about thirty yards to my east, running uphill. As I look up to see where Riley is at, I see velvet antlers outlined by the dimming skies. It is the smaller of the two bulls. He's about forty yards away. Riley is skiing the rock and scree towards me. Obviously he is trying to push the bigger bull further down to Mike's position.

As the younger bull is inspecting me as an unfamiliar object in the grass, I slowly roll over to my stomach and slide a round into the chamber of my rifle that is propped up by my bipod and pointed uphill. As I look uphill, the bull crosses above me, from right to left. Thinking the bigger bull might follow the smaller guy, I roll over to a small grass clump to my left and extend my bipod. The smaller bull stops to inspect that this foreign body rolling in the grass below him. At 3x, he fills the entire scope.

I see Riley scrambling fast and making himself even more visible. He's dropping my direction in a hurry. I catch antlers to my right, just over the rocks. It's the bigger bull and he's obviously wondering what his buddy is looking at. I slowly lift my rifle to my right. I'm ready.

I see Riley scooting my way. This is not good. If the big bull follows the other bull, he's going to cross in between Riley's location and my shooting lane. And that's exactly what happened. I don't dare place my rifle crosshairs on this bull. I'm loaded and ready, but I cannot take the risk. I look back to see if Marcus is rolling, though he always is. Being prone, I can only see the top of his hat and part a lens.

The bull has had enough. He starts moving left and uphill. Riley is yelling for me to shoot the bull. Marcus and I are moving up and left to navigate some of the small rolls and undulations. The bull is curious what we are doing and as I drop to go prone again the bull stops. As I start to draw down on him, he starts moving straight away, uphill, following the exact path of the younger bull.

I'm now fully prone and following him. I range the small rock pile on the ridgeline above him and to my north - it's 180 yards. He stops. He's fully skylined from my view. Riley, slightly uphill and to my right about 75 yards has a different view. He's wondering why I'm not shooting. Obviously, I can't take this shot. I have no idea where the other bull is located, though he is somewhere over that ridgeline.

Eventually the bull trots off and out of sight. Riley is confused. I explain to him that my first shot option would have put him in danger and my second shot was a skyline option that I couldn't take. If ever I've seen a "You've gotta be kidding me" look, this was it.

I turn to Mike who is now coming up the slope to me, Riley, and Marcus. He explains that when Riley first bumped the caribou, they dropped down towards him. The closest the big one got was 72 yards. Not a shot Mike is going to force.

After all of this, no bulls were harmed. A lot of miles covered and elevation gained. When we got back to camp around 2am, Marcus's track said 9.6 miles. It was agreed we'd all sleep in tomorrow.

Animals seen today:
Caribou - 2 bulls, 6 cows calves
Grizzly - 1
Dall’s sheep - 4 rams

 

[Big Fin]

August 7 - Hunting Day 2

Slept in after a very late night. Up around 10:30 am. Riley served coffee when people work up. Peak Fuel Biscuits & Gravy for breakfast, if a noon meal can properly be called breakfast.

Hung around camp until 2pm. A couple rams were hanging out at the lick across the valley from our camp. Riley says its very reliable place to find sheep, but often it is not attractive to the older rams, 10+ years old, that they target for their hunters.

Riley surmised that our debacle of last night probably pushed those two caribou bulls into the next valley, a full day hike to get to, not counting the day to hike back if we did shoot something. So, it was decided we'd head up the valley to a place known to have caribou stage while on their movements to the eventual rutting grounds they congregate at in early September. Just the hike and the new scenery around every corner was worth the effort to get there.


A two-hour hike had us at the glassing spot. Got there around 4pm. This is the top end of the valley, just below the pass that separates this valley and its north direction flow to the Ram River from the big drainage that drains south to the Fritz River. It is as beautiful spot of a spot that I've ever glassed from.


No caribou nearby, just the two bulls from yesterday back on the big grassy mountain. Riley was surprised that they had returned, given how much we'd messed with them. They were over five miles away, yet Riley and Marcus were confident it was the same bull.

A few more rams showed up at the lick; all young rams. No bears today, just lots of bear scat. And blueberries on top of blueberries. I'm rather content to fill my stomach with blueberries while glassing such amazing country, even if a small afternoon squally tried to slow down my berry grazing.


By this time, my mind is fully checked out. I'd look at my orange inReach. I almost wanted to bury it and any temptation to plug in to the "other world." Yet, I promised Mrs. Fin that every evening she'd get the "All is good here' inReach message. I wrote a lot of notes this day. Just sitting, in the quietness, nothing but the wind rustling my hood, thinking about how much the Lower 48 looked like this before the grinding wheels of "progress" traded its wildness for comfort and convenience. This was the day when my mental pace really started to slow down and absorb all I was seeing, smelling, hearing, and breathing.


Got back to camp around 11pm. Dinner and sleeping shortly after. Day 3 we planned to head back down the valley and try to find that big bull with his sidekick. As we hiked, I was struck at how small every human item seemed here. Our camp coming into view as clouds built to the northwest seemed out of place. Well, I guess that's because it was out of place when measured against everything else here lacking human contrivance. Yet, it look so insignificant as to not even be a measurable object among all that is here.


Animals spotted this day:
Caribou - 2 bulls and six cows/calves
Sheep - 6 rams

 

[Wyoming270]

I deffinitely found that comfortable feeling in the woods as a kid. I spent my 20s thinking i needed to be hiking in wilderness areas to get that same feeling. Ive now come to realize i can get it in any isolated woods. Learning to not worry about money, or making a bunch of it, limiting my time at work and maximizing my time in the outdoors has brought that feeling back a lot more these days. somewhere around late 20s is started to make the connection between not spending money unessicarily and having more time in the woods while being financially sound. That has brought a lot of comfort to me.

 

[Big Fin]

August 8 - Hunting Day 3

We were up and glassing near camp at 8am. A slight drizzle made it what Riley calls a great caribou day. Cloud cover is really low and the temps are at least 10F lower. I'm liking this.

I choked down another biscuits and gravy breakfast. Something wasn't sitting with me well. Marcus asked if I was OK, having seen me crash and burn on a few other backcountry trips. This was different; not the normal liver problem. I told the guys I needed an hour or two to settle who was going to win this battle; me, or the items trying to reverse the path from my stomach.

The guys brewed up another batch of coffee. I opted for tea. From camp Riley can see two bulls down near the spot where we chased them on Day 1. He thinks it is the bigger bull and a different bull with him. The sidekick looks to have some serious shovel/bez action when I looked at him in my spotter.

We were on the trail around 10am. I was still losing the battle with my stomach. I figured if I drank enough water, it would encourage a good puke. No luck. Put your head down and hike, Randy.

Just before noon we set up on the same bench from where we glassed these bulls two days prior. Thanks to the cool weather and their vigorous feeding, their lower position on the mountain gave us good visibility of the bulls from below. Now, there's a patter of rain tapping on my hood. Riley continues to test the wind. The mixed readings give Riley concern as to the likelihood of stalking to archery range.

By around 1pm, the bulls have bedded on the very top of this grassy knob. In most places it would be called a mounting. In the MacKenzies, it's a great big knob. With a steady wind, Riley has a plan. We load our packs while Riley explains the strategy.

Mike tells me that he wants me to kill this bull if anything goes sideways. I tell him this is purely an archery stalk and if not for bears, I'd probably leave my rifle right here. We're off,

We will hike the creek bottom as on Day 1, but this time we'll climb up the slope opposite the bulls and see where they are bedded before proceeding closer. That should allow us to get a visual and account for the wind.

Before heading out Riley scares off another grizzly that is getting too close. Ursa Horribilis runs down the valley upon getting our wind. No warning shot needed.

An hour later we’re on the steep slope opposite the bulls, with the creek drainage between us. The bigger bull is feeding while the other bulls has moved up hill to the right of this image.


The bigger bull is now feeding up the hill where only the velvet tips of the other bull can be seen. This pic is the last image before they rebedded with only velvet tips visible.


They seem stationary, likely in their day beds. Riley thinks it's a good stalking position with a slight bench above them with a good approach wind. At least from over here. Anyone who hunts the mountains knows that the wind in one place doesn't mean it's the same wind on a mile-away mountain top.

We scramble down to the creek and hike further up the canyon to give the best wind angle for Riley and Mike’s approach. From a corner in the creek bottom Riley picks a steep cut for the ascent. I'll be honest, we've covered a half mile of creek and the entire ridgeline above looks identical. I have no idea how Riley can anticipate what section of that homogenous slope is the right spot that will put them within thirty yards of bedded caribou.

I tell them I’m staying here, at a wide spot in this creek drainage. A stalk with three people will be almost impossible. A fourth person, me, merely as backup almost insures we would need a rifle to shoot a spooked bull. Mike gives me a look of, "Don't say I didn't offer." I smile and tell him, "This is an archery stalk. Go big or go home."

Riley smiles at us, nods, and gives his favorite Canadian hockey expression, "Skoden!"

The guys drop their packs, shed their rain gear and start the 500' of remaining vertical. This is a very steep slope. It will take them to the very top of this mountain. If the wind stays like it is, they should be able to stalk down slope, if necessary, with the wind in their face. All I can do is film them as they finally disappear above one of the last visible benches.

I position myself such that if the stalk goes south and the bulls go to where they bedded on Day 1, which is south, they'll come within my range. I'll have two iPhones and a rifle at the ready.

After a pretty long spell, the smaller of the two bulls crosses the creek bottom below me. It's a bit too far for a shot if the big bull follows behind him. I contemplate my options. None are good.

Then I see Riley and Marcus emerge on the skyline above where they had disappeared about an hour ago. They raise their arms in triumph and yell to me, “We got ‘em.”

What great news. They scramble down to where the packs were dropped for the stalk. I start up the slope to Mike, knowing they’ll catch up - they're 29 and 36 years old and in true "mountain shape."

The rest must be told by the footage. I'll give a recap based on the footage review and the retelling by eye witnesses.

When I get to the top I find Mike. He's just shaking his head. He retells the story of coming to draw three different times, waiting for one of the bulls to stand was more than his nerves needed. With Mike at full draw three different times, Riley could not make enough noise to get them to stand, even at 29 yards. Each time Mike had to let down.

Mike whispered to Riley that he was going to shoot whichever one stood up and gave a shot. Riley gave Mike the "No effing way" signal. Mike said it was obvious that Riley had one focus - the big bull.

They repositioned slightly. Marcus's camera rolled for 16 minutes with three guys huddled together, staring at velvet antler tops less than 30 yards away. Having since watched the footage, I'm stunned that they got that close, for that long, with three people and never got busted.

Finally Mike say the bull rock his head forward as animals do when they are about to get out of their bed. He came to full draw. Now, rather than just antlers, Mike can see pretty much the entire body of the bull, unfortunately with head down and feeding toward them. As the bull turned slightly to their left, Riley whispered, "29 yards." That was good enough for Mike. He drove a three-blade Grim Reaper completely through the bull.

Riley sprinted forward, wanting to keep an eye on the bull that had rounded the corner of the ridge. He got to the corner just in time to see the bull make his final kicks.

When I got to Mike, he was examining his arrow. He didn't really say much. Mostly just a combination of a huge smile and a wide-eye'd look of disbelief at what just happened. When Riley and Marcus joined us, the talk and retelling of the entire event had an excitement level that is a great byproduct of hard-earned success.


Bulls with these kind of injuries don't go far.


Reaching the character limit. I'll continue in another post.

 

[Big Fin]

August 8 - Hunting Day 3 (continued)

About the time we all gathered near the bull, the wind was howling and the rain as coming sideways. Good thing these guys pulled this off when they did. The conditions at this point might have made an archery shot impossible.

This is an amazing bull. Mike in all of his humility is even more quiet than normal - just a grin like I've not seen him show in our thirty years of friendship.


Mike and Riley with an experience that neither will ever forget. This was Riley's first guided archery caribou. He was very happy, full of compliments on Mike's patience and arrow placement.


The wind relented a small bit, yet the drizzle turned to an all out monsoon. It makes the cutting and caping far more difficult. Riley has surely caped a lot of animals in his time, and it shows. Each of us help as we can, all being experienced in deconstructing an animal in the field. Riley and Marcus tagteam on the carcass and hide. As the quarters come off, Mike and I bone the quarters on a tarp and bag the meat. We make pretty fast work of this bull, laughing and retelling bits and pieces as we go.


Now, we allocate the pieces. The huge body makes for a lot of meat. Add in the cape and antlers and nobody gets any slack. We estimate the weight of each pile. Mike and I are probably between 55-65# with meat and assorted gear items we’ve taken from Marcus and Riley. Marcus estimates he was “north of 85,” which is code word for around 100# Riley wouldn’t guess his weight with meat, cape and antlers. Marcus lifted Riley's load and proclaimed, “Every bit of 100.”


Today's 9+ mile round trip was more rewarding than the same trek on Day 1. And it was also a lot more strenuous. The rain had mostly stopped and we took a lot of breaks. Marcus and Riley were under amazing strain, yet they were talking and laughing as if it was a walk in the park. Mike and I concluded that we'd finally found a keep up with these two guys.


We got in around 11pm. Everyone was happy to drop their packs. We unloaded the quarters and trim into the heavy duty plastic bags Riley brought. With those, we could lay them in a shallow braid of this snow-fed creek, cooling the meat quickly and lessening the interest a grizzly might have.


It was asked if we wanted to sleep in tomorrow. No other ideas were offered and I surely wasn't going to suggest otherwise.

I laid in my tent thinking about what an unmatched day this was. Dead tired and loving every moment. Fully aware that this might never be replicated in my life. And completely satisfied if such never happens again.

What an amazing day, spent with top-notch people, in an indescribable setting.


Animals seen on this day:
Caribou- 2 bulls, 5 cows/calves
Grizzly - 1
Sheep - 2 rams

My home internet is giving me fits while uploading pics. I'll probably type out the rest of the story and post it from work tomorrow afternoon. More good stuff to follow.

 

[Dave N]

Story of the year right there and it's not over yet!

 

[Rack Daniels]

I love your writing style. Great story so far and I look forward to reading the rest before watching the video

 

[Adam in Ohio]

The pictures are great, but the story is better. I, for one, am very glad you didn't spare the writing.

 

[Big Fin]

August 9 - Hunting Day 4

I slept in until 12:30 pm. Exhaustion allows for that. The guys were in the tipi enjoying coffee and breakfast. I joined them. Still a lot of enthusiasm over the results of yesterday.

It's really hard to get a bull with a bow. A giant bull is even more difficult. To capture it on film has me wondering what sort of hunting miracle was gifted to us.

Riley messaged for a meat/hide/antler pick up when cloud cover allowed. About an hour later a faint buzz has us scrambling to haul the meat from the cool creek to the airstrip, along with antlers and cape. There were challenges with inReach messages in this bad weather and low cloud cover, making Ryan's arrival a bit of a surprise. We got everything there just as Ryan's wheels touched down.


Marcus did get Mike's permission to keep some of the backstraps and one tenderloin for camp meat. The rest was loaded for a ride back to base camp.

Ryan and Riley were discussing how to get the antlers attached to the struts without too much impact on the aerodynamics of the Super Cub.


These guys have done this before. They come prepared with foam for cushions and enough cord to keep Houdini under wrap.


Afternoon naps were in order. The patter of rain in a tent next to a stream makes for great sleeping noises. Hunting consisted of emerging from the tent during rain lulls and glassing for caribou that might be moving through. None spotted. Just the same six rams traversing the knife ridges that form this 25 mile long valley.


Not long after Ryan took off, the serious rain came. The cloud cover was just barely off the valley. Good thing he got out while he did, or he might have been sharing a tent.

The good news was coming in on Riley's inReach. Seems everybody (other than us) was seeing a lot of caribou movement in the cool rain. We hadn't seen anything, but with this being on of the more reliable caribou spots, Riley was confident we'd be passing on bulls over the next days of rain and cool temps.

I don't really remember falling asleep. It didn't take long and I was out. A place this quiet makes for great sleeping conditions.

 

[El Jason]

The reverence with which you, Pat, and Buzz have all used when describing the McKenzies tells me it truly is a magical place. The photos remove any doubt. Keep them coming.

 

[Big Fin]

August 10 - Hunting Day 5

Still tired. Raining hard. Laid in the tent listening for a lull in the rain. I didn’t crawl out until 10:30am. I didn't see anything. I could hear the guys in Marcus's tipi tent. They were howling about the great taste of caribou. I decided to invite myself in. It was fantastic, especially following too many days of dehydrated food.


We set up the tarps and glass from under those all day. Great conversation, but no caribou spotted.

Evening got cold and windy. Was great to retreat to a toasty sleeping bag.

Animals spotted:
Grizzlies - 2
Caribou - 1 small bull far away
Sheep - 2 ewes crossed the valley. Same six rams on the ridges above.

---

August 11 - Hunting Day 6

Rained hard all night. Woke at 7:30 and met Marcus and Riley at the tarp. Snow on the ridge lines. The rain relented for a little while, allowing me to eat my B&G.


Riley gave the caribou report that the other guides had messaged him with during the night. All had double digit caribou sightings. Not sure how we could be striking out when we were in such a great location. Oh well, if they're not here we're not going to see them. It was just a mater of time and one of them would show up when we least expected it.

By 11:30, A caribou bull way down past where Mike shot his. Not worth going after. The clouds eventually hid him. One grizzly up the valley, just below the pass.

Marcus decided we should polish off the last of the caribou meat. That, along with hot chocolate was a big hit under this tarp.


Around 1pm a single cow caribou appeared across the valley. Seemed to be playing ping pong between the bear locations. She looked very vulnerable all by itself.

A couple hours later Riley spotted something gray way out in the distance. A wolf. Mike and I both had wolf tags. We had previously determined that Mike had first chance at a wolf, given he'd never shot one.

This wolf was about 950 yards out, gnawing on a carcass from a couple weeks ago. I stayed under the tarp and filmed through the Ollin system. The guys made their way across the creek braids to the last set of cover. From my ranging, I guessed they'd be 550-600 yards off. A damn long shot at a small target like a wolf, especially with a lefty shooting a right-handed rifle that he'd never fired before.

I watched them get set up. In the scope I saw hair fly and the wolf whirl as he bit at his shoulder. He ran off. I watched, expecting him to drop at any time. He kept going and going and going and.......

A review of the footage showed that Mike had just grazed him on the shoulder, explaining the fur flying and the biting at his back. An inch lower and it would have been a dead wolf. Dang, so close. Not bad for a 520 yard shot with a rifle he'd never fired before.

Around 4pm the rain stopped for a bit. A grizzly worked his way along the opposite side of the valley. He gave no notice to us. He seemed content to graze the berries and excavate something that had his interest.

Ryan messaged us to get a caribou report. Nothing. Ryan had an idea to extract us and hunt near base camp. They had seen 23 bulls on the mountains above base camp over the last two days. We saw ZERO.

Riley asked what I wanted to do. I asked for a half hour to decide. In the end, I wanted to stay here the rest of the day, go on a big trek tomorrow, then be extracted tomorrow evening if we aren’t seeing any caribou. It just seemed leaving this evening would be shortcutting our chances. A roll of the dice, given the lack of caribou, but all hunting is a bit of a gamble. And, if I was going to waste another day, this valley, on a day that forecasted scatted clouds and clearing skies, seemed like a great place to waste a day.

Slight rain started again at 6pm. We waited it out until dark. No caribou spotted.

It was supposed to clear in the middle of the night and temps down in the 20s. Good sleeping conditions if you have a great sleeping bag. It was just that for me.

I was excited for tomorrow. We'd spent most of two days under a tarp, glassing at the same country and having little action. If it cleared, we were all ready for a good long hike.

 

[Big Fin]

August 12 - Hunting Day 7

Woke up to a lot of frost. Definitely chilled when it cleared off over midnight. Can tell we are at high elevation.

Excitement for a good day had us up at 6am. Breakfast in Marcus’ tent. On the trail by 7:30 after glassing up the valley for a while. Riley explained the plan for the day.


Hiking down valley felt good. Too much time under a tarp or in a tent is restful for the mind, but cramps the body after a while. I felt like a kid watching out the back window of grandpa's Ford Galaxy. Every corner held something new and stunning.


Eventually we got to the green ridges where Mike shot his bull. Lots of glassing. No caribou. Seems impossible under these clearing, yet cool conditions. The same old grizzly working the willows below us. One small group of cows and calves at a lick just to the right of this big alluvial fan across the valley from our glassing position.


I always get asked what rifle, cartridge, etc. In this case, it was the normal Howa Gen2 SuperLite in a .308. It shoots 165 grain Nosler Partitions better than I am capable to shooting. The scope is a Leupold VX5HD Gen 2 in a 3-15x 44mm. I normally have this lightweight setup suppressed, but Canada doesn't allow that. I could put a break on it, but for the sake of bystanders, I don't. The bipod is an MDT single pull. It's a great setup to be packing around these mountains.



About 3pm the text came from Ryan that he would be extract us at 5:30. They had seen nine bulls in the mountains above camp today. Every sheep hunter had seen caribou. We'd seen nothing. With only three days remaining, hanging out here would be too much of a gamble. Time to tighten the boots and do the double time to camp.


Hoofed it to camp by 4:30. Packed in a hurry and we were on the airstrip by 5:30. Ryan landed at 5:45, first taking Mike, then me, then Marcus, then Riley.



A shower and great hot meal were welcomed. Turned in early. Reports of caribou crossing the mountains above Hydro Creek had me excited that maybe my chance would come in the final three days. Just didn't seem like my sparse luck could continue. I had shot my 2024 a mere four miles from base camp, so hopefully I didn't use up all of my luck on that hunt.

 

[Big Fin]

August 13 - Hunting Day 8

We were all up early. At this base camp, the coffee is already brewed by 6am. Folks are glassing the known travel routes in the mountains above base camp well before the 7am breakfast call is announced. This morning was no different.

Harold (outfitter), Ryan (pilot), and Riley were all excited to find three nice bulls way up on top. A smaller bull was pushing through right at timberline, though he showed no signs of stopping. He seemed disassociated with the other group.

Knowing our only hop would be if these bulls hung in the basin, we all answered the call for breakfast, gulped down some eggs and bacon, then headed out to the optics to get a better view of what these bulls looked like. Thankfully, they looked content to stay in this basin.


One bull was sporting a really nice drape of silver velvet. Two others were nice, but looked small-bodied compared to the silver-antlered bull. None of the caribou experts seemed too excited about the silver velvet bull, so I declined the idea of climbing to the top where they were headed. With afternoon rain in the forecast, I accepted Riley’s plan to climb up to the head of the alluvial fan and glass the drainage. Only about a mile from where I killed a great bull in 2024.

A ninety-minute hike through the blueberries had us in an amazing glassing spot. If a bull were to cruise through, odds are we'd see him. And equally good odds we could make a move on him.

Other than a grizzly patrolling below us, the caribou were absent. Never mind. We were in the blueberry capital of NWT. The caribou will eventually show up, but when the berry picking is this good, in such a scenic locale, I'm easily distracted.


I spent many good summer days picking blueberries in northern Minnesota. If not for my cravings, the $.25 per quart would have paid a better wage. Today, it's all about satisfying my own taste buds.


From this location we could easily glass Caribou Pass, about four miles away. In my past hunt here, that pass lived up to its name, with twelve good bulls hanging out there on the day I filled my tag. Yet today, it deserved a different name. Still a stunning view and a fun place to keep an eye on.


The forecasted rain eventually arrived around 5pm. It didn't bring any caribou to our setup, just another grizzly wandering off the opposite mountain and headed toward base camp.


"If you're even gonna see the rainbow, ya gotta stand a little rain." Our reward for sitting out two hours of showers was a stunning double rainbow. Unfortunately, it takes perfect light to capture it all. The lowest one, the hardest to see in this photo, painted the entire mountain with a special pastel light that I've never seen before.


Riley read his inReach message, "Dinner will be kept until 9pm. If you aren't here by then, you'll have to wait for breakfast." We were all hungry enough and given the dearth of caribou, we packed it up and started towards the dinner bell.


On our way back to camp, the light came through as if it was trying to tell us something. Marcus stopped and took an amazing panoramic that he stitched together. Too bad that at 25% of its original size the compression reduces the effect. It's one of my favorite images he took on this trip, albeit not a stunning on a webpage with file size constraints.


We arrived in time for a reheated dinner. It was excellent. Desert was some sort of blueberry desert with homemade ice cream. Good thing we didn't spend the entire hunt here, or I would have tighter pants rather than looser pants.

Discussion was had about the plan for the last two days. The weather was about to heat up again. History shows that hampers caribou movement. I was so sure that the coolness and rain of today would have pushed some bulls through our position. It didn't, causing me to question my sanity of passing the three bulls in that group this morning.

All experienced hands weighed in on our options for tomorrow. None seemed overly optimistic. I proclaimed that if for some reason, by some strange stroke of luck, the silver velvet bulls came back to this side of the mountain, he'd suffice at this point in the hunt. Nobody verbalized their doubt of such a strange thing happening, but their faces and pinch of lips to the side of their mouth told me I had likely wasted that chance today, even though catching up to them before the moved over the mountain would have been very unlikely.

Oh well, it's been a fantastic hunt. Mike shot an amazing bull. The country and the companions were enough to make the trip worthwhile. I fell asleep wondering dreaming of velvet bulls feeding in the high shaded basins.

 

[Big Fin]

August 14 - Hunting Day 9 (two days left)

We were up early. No time to waste with only two days remaining. Riley banged in our cabin door as we were headed over for breakfast. The silver velvet bull and another bull were up on the ridges feeding up to the crest where they had disappeared last yesterday.

No way. As it was explained to me, once bulls passed through this basin and cleared that mountain range, they were as good as gone. Maybe these bulls didn’t leave the basin yesterday. We saw them at the top and then they disappeared, leaving us to assume they headed to the next stop on their journey. Who knows. Today, there were only two of them, but one was the cool looking silver antlered bull that I promised to shoot.

We washed down an early breakfast with coffee. Looking at the map and seeing that saddle crest was 2,200’ above camp, I knew today was going to require all the BTUs I could get in my stomach.

The four of us had our packs shouldered while Riley was explaining his plan. We were on the trail by 7:30, hoping to use the downdraft to our favor. The high ridge to the east would give shade longer than any slope in these mountains, so we needed to take advantage of that. If these bulls headed over the ridge where we thought they disappeared yesterday, finding them would be extremely unlikely.

We were off. Riley’s pace is hard for someone twice his age to match. I think he was taking it slow, as he wasn’t even using his trekking poles. Mike and I would stop for a breather, look at each other, and shake our head with the, “I remember being that young” look. Even at that age, I doubt either of us could match Riley. Marcus on the other hand, was right in Riley’s pocket, even burdened with a heavy load of cameras, lenses, tripods, and batteries.


It took three hours to get where Riley thought the bulls would bed. He’s hunted here before and he knows the small benches they use to stay out of view, And, where they use wind to keep the bugs at bay.

Once Riley thought we were close, he slowed down to a stalking pace, navigating the winds that were changing fast as the sun now had cleared the ridgeline. Tough to manage the thermals at this time of day. It forced us to zig zag laterally as we worked for more elevation. Given what precision Riley demonstrated in the stalk on Mike’s bull, he had my complete trust, even if it meant a lot of extra steps and loops to retain a favorable wind.


Rock hopping didn’t make for quick progress. We’d already covered over 1,500’ of vertical. It didn’t seem that steep from below. But it was. And the slopes ahead were even steeper.

I could see Riley shaking his head as each bench he creeped up to was empty. By a process of elimination, only one remained bench below the final ridgeline. Keeping silent and using hand gestures, I could tell that Riley surmised that this final bench was the only place they could be. If not here, they had crossed the ridge crest, and we’d likely never see them again. Here is a photo of us, almost to the top of the mountain, with Riley playing the wind for his approach to the last bench these bulls could occupy and still be on this side of the mountains.

Riley eased up, slowly, very slowly. We’d climbed 1,900’. No time to get impatient now. Riley’s knack for knowing where these bulls like to bed is incredible.

Marcus, Mike, and I stayed back five yards as Riley would move forward a few yards and peak over. He’d wave us forward. We’d stay put while he’d move forward again. Rinse and repeat.

About the time it seemed we were out of terrain, Riley stops his slow rise from his knees and quickly squatted low. He turned back to us, with his head down, hiding his face, and giving the “I see them” signal of a peace sign towards his eyes. Somehow, some way, he'd again stalked us right into the bull' bedroom even though they had long since been out of view.

We stayed low and out of sight as Riley inspected the situation. After about five minutes he waved me up to his side. I slowly eased higher, inch by inch. Riley was slowly pushing his pack ahead and hiding behind it, clearing the vegetation as he crept. As he signaled me, I’d move to his heels.


The sun was directly in our face. Terrible shooting light.

I could see the smaller bull looking our direction. This bull was no slouch, yet he was dwarfed by the silver-antlered bull. To his right and behind a small roll, I could see the tops of the bigger bull, velvet glistening in the bright sun.

Riley used his fingers to indicate “150 yards.” I spun the CDS dial and zoomed to 8x. With a bipod, this should be a layup, if we’re patient and wait for our opportunity.

We waved Marcus up to our position. He was grinding to get some footage. He rose up with his 100-400m lens, used Riley’s pack for his support, and got a few minutes of footage. He eased back behind me and Riley, ready to capture what might unfold. Mike, ten yards behind and below, filmed with one of our iPhones.


Riley whispered for me to ease forward a foot and be ready. I did. The bipod extended and a pack as a rear rest made this a bench rest shot. The sun angle in our face was very difficult. I suspect the younger bull was seeing lens flare from the optics, camera lenses, and the maybe the scope. The sun angle was just that direct, that bad, for our position that nothing could be done other than be ready. The smaller bull kept his eye on us, knowing something wasn't right, but not sure what.


A couple of minutes passed with me on the trigger, waiting, patiently. For reasons unknown, the sliver bull decided to get up and walk over to his buddy. From Riley’s angle the bulls seemed too close for a safe shot. I, ten feet to Riley’s left, with Marcus between us, had a perfect broadside shot with no interference from the smaller bull. Being cautious, Riley told me to hold off. I did, but not without some temptation to disregard his instructions.

The silver bull laid down behind his buddy. Dang it. No shot. Wait some more. Riley and I both used excited hand gestures to indicate that we could see a second long shovel on the silver bull that we had not previously seen.

His napping gave me even more time to mentally practice the shot. Which I did.

About five minutes later, the silver bull got fidgety. He rocked forward and stood up again. This time he cleared the bedded smaller bull enough that Riley was comfortable giving me the OK to shoot.

(reached the character limit. I have to split this into two posts).

 

[Lmartin5]

I'm loving this...can't wait for the update!

 

[Big Fin]

August - Hunting Day 9 (continued)

For me, it is at this time when experience takes over. I remember the crosshairs settling just behind the front shoulder. I remember the breathing cycle almost bottomed out. In my focus, the last thing I hear is Riley telling me to take him when I'm ready. Then, nothing but mental silence as I focus on the point of aim and hundreds of live-round repetitions cause the trigger to break. The recoil wakes my consciousness and I instinctively chambered a round while inspecting the results; a habitual response that proved unnecessary. Autopsy would show the top of the heart severed by the 165 grain Partition.

The other bull stood, trotted to our right, then examined us for a few minutes at close range. He moved over to the downed bull as if to ask the old boy if he was going to join him or just lay there. Eventually, he decided his life expectancy would benefit from leaving and he trotted off to the south, seemingly confused by what may have been his first encounter with humans.


Mike moved up to our position. We were all smiles and excitement. A perfect stalk resulted in a quick end. Seeing the tops of the bull over the rocks and grass had me commenting that he was better than I thought.

As we grabbed our packs and excitedly walked up the slight incline, we all came to the same conclusion at about the same time - this thing was way bigger than we had expected. As much as Mountain Caribou bodies dwarf their lowland cousins, this guy was outside the bell curve for obesity and headgear.


Once I got to where he expired I could only stare. This was a truly remarkable specimen. His frame matched his body size. His bez and shovel were huge. His beam length as beyond anything I’d ever seen on a caribou. Mike joined me and neither of us really had many words, just the mutual understanding that the last ten days were as remarkable as they were rare.


Waking me from my stunned stare, Riley asked, “Well Randy, watcha think?” I just turned to the three of them with a smile that couldn’t hide my disbelief. We all were shaking our heads.

Looking around, here 1,900’ above the lake, able to see up multiple wild drainages, any one of which would be deemed worthy of National Park status, seemed unreal. I just looked around trying to absorb what a truly special moment this was.

Dropping my pack and again rechecking my rifle as empty, I finally walked over to the bull, gave him a few words of appreciation, stroked his sleek mane, then lifted his head from the soft spongy bog rooted between the rocks that formed this small bench.


Yup, he was what I came here for. More than I could have ever imagined expected. Eventually awe gave way to excitement and exhilaration. The chatter among all of us was as if we’d just discovered the lost gold of the 1715 Spanish galleons.


The day stayed bright and vibrant as we took photos, caped, quartered, and boned the meat. Enough wind to keep the bugs away, yet hardly a cloud to be seen. Watching the team work employed in disassembling this old boy reinforced how lucky I am to share the mountains with some great people, a blessing in itself, no matter the outcome of each day.


Loading the packs, Riley and Marcus claimed most of the load. Mike took a hind and his gear. I took the head, the cape, and my gear. Riley and Marcus split the rest.


It was slow going. Partly due to the weight, partly due to the many rockslides to be navigated, yet mostly due to my desire to soak in all that this moment represented.


This day would likely never be repeated, and I’ve hunted long enough to know that. One can only breathe in as much of the magic as possible and be thankful for such.

Going back to the start of this story and why I’ve become more focused on places, adventures and people that fascinate me, this pack out encapsulates all of that.

With a liver issue that is slowly deteriorating, I’m not inclined to think about what tomorrow might bring. Days like today grab my attention. These moments, these places, and people who understand the value of this experience are what I seek at this point in my life.

Thankfully, my brain will never be able to erase the many sensory impulses recorded in that three-hour pack. Marcus’s images do a better job of illustrating what my words try to convey.


Yet beyond the visuals are the inner gratification. The understanding that a lifetime of decisions and some heavy doses of good luck, or maybe an absence of bad luck, has placed me here. All the bumps in the road, the challenging times when I wished for an easier path, all have led to this moment.

As I cautiously placed each heavy step on the boulder-strewn descent, I recalled a feeling first felt when taking a trolley car over the Big Fork River to a few square miles of Pine Island State Forest; my version of “wilderness” at the time and what I am now coming to understand was my first "MacKenzies." How that place, absent the scars of people, just a small quiet place among the daily noise, a place where my crumbling world of divorcing parents didn’t matter. Where sanity was provided and the comfort of nature’s honesty helped a youngster make sense of life surrounded by human facades, societal lies, and the drama humans manufacture to cover up their unmet expectations.

Here, fifty years later, I felt that same sense of honesty, fundamental truths, and the strange contradiction of finding comfort in vulnerability. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried to explain in writing or articulate in video. Maybe I never will. Maybe it’s one of those things where you know or you don’t know, based on formative experiences.

I can say that no place has captivated me as this place does. In my notes I have an entry every day - “Number of planes, boats, vehicles heard or seen.” All ten days have a zero. Not a single jet contrail, not a single combustion engine, other than the Super Cub we asked to pick us up.

The Mackenzie’s value is not just what is here – there is a lot to find here. The most invaluable and unmeasurable aspect of this place is what is NOT here. In a world where no landscape seems exempt from being sacrificed to the “cause of human progress and comfort,” the rarity of this place and its absence of human imprint is what creates a rare experience likely attainable in less than a handful of places on this planet.

Thankfully Riley stops to scoop some blueberries, bring my mind back from the wandering thoughts and refocusing my attention to what my eyes tell my brain. The most beautiful landscape a hunter might ever inhale is here before me. The previous night’s rain having washed any smoke or dust from the lens through which I am viewing, creating colors and imagery that must be seen, felt, in person, and where its silence must be heard by your own mind to be fully understood and appreciated.

If I was offered the deal to give up my remaining years of hunting and fishing in exchange for assurance that the MacKenzies will be spared the plow, the blade, and the miner’s bit, conserved as it exists today, for generations yet unborn, my gear would be up for sale by noon tomorrow.

Wherever it is that gives you this same feeling, this comfort, this primal understanding of honesty, I hope you go there. I hope you prioritize doing so in your budget of time and finances. And I hope when that place is under threat, you love it so much that you will be the loud voice that speaks of its value, impressing upon others that in a world as spoiled as we are today, the real values are not explainable in words or measured in dollars. The greatest value these places hold is to be lived, to be seen, breathed, smelled, and earned.

I hope you find your MacKenzies.