This country's hard on people. You can't stop what's coming.

The contrast in hiking fairly unencumbered out here compared to a heavy pack is very noticeable, and maybe only because we just finished our 8.7 miles with 5 days worth of camp on our backs, because it's still hard. No matter how much weight is in your pack, the tundra is still trying to swallow your feet.

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The tundra is not all that conducive to stalking. Do what you can. Priority is being downwind, of course. There looks to be enough of a rise to their east/northeast that we could slowly sneak up within 300 yards. A double up is not out of the question.

I've made clear to Bluffgruff that he get's dibs on whatever he wants out here, doesn't matter who saw it first. I'm riding on his coattails of hard work and learned experience in this country, he shoots first all day every day, unless he doesn't want to.

This is definitely a bull he wants to shoot.

It's time to move slowly. Take a few steps and glass, look for antler tips. There are cows further up the ridge that I worry about. But they seem to pay us no mind.

We know we're getting close, but we really don't know how close. We begin to crouch, and shuffle. Rise, look, move, repeat.

Finally they come in to view. It is an impressive bull. They are looking directly towards us and this rise did not bring us as close we thought, 500 yards maybe. No great way to shoot.

They're becoming unsettled, they know something is up over here. Despite how careful we really were, they sensed enough movement to know maybe they oughta roll. We should've tried to approach more from above them.

They rise and start to walk away, trot at times, briefly run, down hill, off to where the ridge our camp is on descends to a small creek and then a perpendicular hillside begins. They seem to settle down there. Definitely in play. But now another straight line mile maybe.

That was a 1.5 mile stalk though. It's now past 9 pm. It's been a very big day. It's rainy and windy. We need food. Time to call it.

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We got the tarp set up and got dinner going. Windy, spitting rain, darkening sky. It was around 11 pm.

Sitting there under the tarp, while it serves as a really wonderful reprieve from the wind, I'm still back to shivering. Drinking tea while the dehy rehydrates, it's honestly kinda just back to misery. All parts of my feet hurt, the tundra doesn't care if your boots are properly broken in, it wrecks your feet. My blisters hurt, and you already feel the calorie deficit, which is undoubtedly a big contributor to struggling to feel warm. Combine all that with the wind and the dampness of your clothing and the cold just seeps to your core. I just wanna be done with dinner and get in that sleeping bag.

It was a weird juxtaposition of feelings. I mean, we barely even managed to begin getting camp settled and we already have worthy bulls to chase. The excitement was real and genuine. We weren't struggling to find caribou and I still couldn't believe I was in Alaska. While half of me was genuinely soaking it in the other half of me was wanting to just get this over with and get out.

It really puts some profound perspective on the fact that Bluffgruff has successfully done this solo. He'll be the first to admit he has zero, if not negative, interest in doing that again.

Welcome to the North Slope, I guess.

I slept well.
 
There was no attempt to get up all that early. We weren't really fully up and getting breakfast going till 9:30 or 10.

It was still cloudy, still windy, not raining exactly, just spitting, like it mostly has been. Biscuits and gravy with coffee. A double up on Starbucks Via will do today.

Plenty of caribou around. I'm crouched down 20 feet or so away at the tundra puddle filtering water for the day when Bluffgruff announces "3 bears, sow and 2 cubs." They're over a mile away, probably a mile and a half, not moving towards camp. We do have a rule, you don't say the word "bear" unless there is actually a bear.

Unfortunately they were out of view by the time I was done filtering water. Bummer, I wanted to get my eyes on some North Slope grizzlies.

We kind of just laze around, staying on our feet, wandering here and there, watching caribou, waiting for a plan to kind of announce itself. I'm getting cold, it's still windy, and I want to just start hiking somewhere to warm up. Hiking out here is such a commitment though, best to usually wait until there is good reason.

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There is a noticeable bull way up on the ridge above the draw where our spooked bulls settled in last night. Above and left of Bluffgruff in the above picture. Cows too. They kind of appear and reappear on the ridgeline. We're keeping a close eye on that. We both have independently concluded that is likely the big bull from last night. The smaller one appears too.

We set up the bear fence. We continue to keep tabs on these bulls. Definitely last nights bulls. We're mostly convinced they will disappear over the ridge before long. Maybe we could hurry over there and get on top of them if so.

Bear fence up. I'm given a warning that this thing zaps through all manner of clothing and hurts like $*)Q!#@$ mother )#$(*))@.

Check in on the bulls. They have disappeared from the ridgeline, no more cows to be seen either. Should we try and gain that ridge and hope they're just on the other side? Or in some playable location?

Oh shoot, wait, they're down the hill side a little, meandering, in our direction...

Still glued at the hip.

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Do you keep a journal during your hunts? The detail is impressive but the really fantastic part about all your write-ups is the introspection. The description of how you feel at various points really makes it relatable and makes it more than just a hunting story. 10/10 writing.

I don't. And thank you.

I honestly just take a genuinely obnoxious number of pictures and use that to help my brain remember order of events, time, timing, and other details. Looking at the OnX tracks helps keeps all the geographic details straight too, like details on the stalks and whatnot. I lay a track on pretty much every movement we make.

Now, some things do have a little artistic license, so to speak. Like, did we see those bears that morning or last night just before dinner while I was pumping water? I actually can't remember, but I think it was that morning, so I just stick it in where I like its flow in the story haha.

It would be a fun exercise to see how Bluffgruff remembers lots of the details versus how I put them to paper.
 
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The bulls have a very solidified direction at this point. They are moving down towards the draw, the creek bottom, that our ridgeline drops directly down to. From camp to there it's not even 3/4 of a mile. Will they gain our ridge? Head out into the little valley on the south side of our ridge and camp and move our direction? Good, plausible, and hopeful options. The only bad one would be if they drop into the little creek and follow that down. It would leave us quickly exposed to them and no way to approach any further. But if we got far enough down before they emerged from the draw we could be close enough to shoot if that happened.

Looking like it could be a perfect set up. Two out of their three possible options leave us with an immediate, higher confidence play... unless they turn around for some reason, the wild card fourth option.

Time to gear up and go. Even with how close it is, you don't leave without enough gear, food, and water to be gone for a long time. This could turn into a chase that leads us miles from camp. It's not looking or feeling like that's how this is gonna play out though.

We can stay on the north side of our ridge to stay out of view, head in their direction, and hopefully will soon be able slowly pop over our ridge and be within shooting distance of them. Provided they stay the course and we don't get over zealous.

No reason to put guns on the pack, this is a stalk, not an approach.

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We don't hurry as they are not exactly out of sight. We move further away from the ridgeline to stay out of view. They are continuing down to the creek bottom.

This is Bluffgruff's bull. However, the other one is without any doubt a bull I'd be ecstatic to go home with. We discuss in earnest how a double tap might play out. We both know it's a fantasy. But, like an onside kick in football, the odds are not zero, so you must run the drills, and when the circumstances are such, you have to try.

It's as simple as this: Bluffgruff is shooting suppressed. With this, he has witnessed on many occasions how differently animals react to suppressed shooting, in that often there is little reaction. However it plays out that we might be chambered and on target(s), I will simply wait for his gun to go off and will then take my shot if I have one.

A fantasy. Cool to think about and you prepare like it's going to happen. But we all know fantasies are fantasies.

After 20 to 25 minutes the caribou are out of sight. We are 500-600 yards from the end of our ridge and cannot see the creek bottom. But we can see it on our right and we can see the valley on our left. No caribou. The geometry of this situation means they are in front of us, less than 500 yards. Our assumption is that they are still moving in our direction.
 
The geometry of the landscape, combined with their last known location, and what we can see dictates with urgency that it's time to move slowly. Extremely slowly. It's a big guess exactly how close they are, but under 500 yards is basically a guarantee and within a maybe 20 degree zone of radius in front of us.

Slow, slow, steps. We are slowly working towards a tiny rise that slowly reveals some of the valley that's been on our left. The tundra continues to command your attention though. You must always be analyzing your next step. Bluffgruff is mid step analysis while I'm in my brief forward looking analysis when the antler tips poke above the rise. "STOP, STOP. Antlers." I whisper hiss. They continue to rise and it is immediately apparent this is Bluffgruff's bull.

100 yards, maybe.

Without a beat and within seconds we are both prone and chambered, my ear plugs are in, but the bulls eyes cleared the rise in those same seconds. It had tracked some movement and evasive maneuvers were beginning. It had largely completed it's ascent of the rise and was beginning to about face as the smaller bulls head and neck began to emerge to its right.

My crosshairs are on my bulls neck as he rises. Then the thump of the suppressed 300 Win Mag reverberates in my chest. The big bull crumples immediately and the smaller bull's head whips around and disappears.

Safety on and I am up and running, backpack still on, towards the rise. He's still there, he's still there, I'm saying to myself. Go, go, go.

Bluffgruff is right next to me, stride for stride and we are sprinting. Well what one could call sprinting on the tundra.
 
We make it to the rise and find the other bull, moving off to our left, maybe 70 or so yards. It sees us and wheels a little, unsure of which direction to go.

My safety is off and I'm tracking him in the cross hairs, off hand. He makes a turn to start going to our right and picks up a little speed. I hear Bluffgruff yelling "HEY, HEY!! HEY!" through my ear plugs to try to get him to stop and look. His movement finds brief hesitation but no stop.

It's now or never I say to myself. I track em on his shoulder and squeeze the trigger.

With some forward momentum, the bull is seemingly swept off his feet and crumples to the ground. In my head it was as cinematic as the final buffalo kill during the hunt in Dances With Wolves.

We look at each other with genuine shock, simultaneously let out a victory cry and high five.

Actual disbelief at what just happened.
 
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But actually, I couldn't believe it. I was genuinely ecstatic. Couldn't be happier with this bull.

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And boy, did Bluffgruff bag a good one. Very deserved.

The sky was showing signs of a very positive weather change. How good could this possibly get?

I do think for a moment though about what the hell we've just done to ourselves...
 
The sun had come out and it was incredible. The sky had become nearly cloudless. Once we were done cutting, the ferrying of meat back to camp, the mere 0.7 miles it was, was as enjoyable as anything I've ever done. Walking this ridge and taking in the North Slope in this low angled sunlight. The stress and worry of unknown success dissipated and forgotten.

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