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

[Mule Kick]

I’ve been loving this thread! So many of the pictures are familiar from the same trip I did in ‘24. We flew in for our actual hunt though! I can’t imagine hiking that many miles in that stuff.. We decided that ‘tussocks’ was misspelled. Should be tusSUCKS!
Congrats on 2 great bulls and thanks for sharing the adventure with us!..

 

[TOGIE]

We finally give in and flick on the head lamps after realizing that having a perfect view of each potential next step is far more beneficial than any long distance visual acuity you retain from un-shrunken pupils.

It's past midnight. Slogging through soppy tundra. Feet are cold, body is cold. Everything hurts. It's sounds really hyperbolic, but in these moments, where the brain starts to go into survival mode, I was kind of starting to question every decision in my life that ultimately led to this moment.

We still have to round trip again. FFS. Why? Why oh why oh why?

12:40 am. My brain is in the depths of despair. Bluffgruff abruptly announces "well look at that"

Oh, whoa. Would you look at that.

Very faint at first. But as we stand there gawking, bodies straining under the load, it starts to get wild.



And it got even more wild. It is literally right over our heads. Twisting and roping like slow motion flame in real time. Dancing. The Northern Lights were literally dancing over my head.



It was paralyzing. I kinda flop down and lean into the hillside, pack still on, head straining upwards. Pain forgotten.

Not so upset anymore about burning over 2 hours at camp this afternoon.

We are on the home stretch. Less than a mile. Truck is basically in view. The Lights starts to fade. We keep moving. But I keep looking, even as it slowly dissipates.

 

[mtmuley]

Thank you @TOGIE . mtmuley

 

[Bluffgruff]

I kept wondering why I took so few photos this trip and just realized 3 weeks later that it was because I was the slow one. I was always plodding along so as not to stall the train.

 

[TOGIE]

We are back at the truck right around 1:20-1:30 AM.

It feels like a routine we've held daily for years at this point and yet it would only be the second time we've done it - grab a bag of chips, some cookies, apples, oranges, and jump in the cab, fire up the engine, and just sit there and munch, mentally digesting what we just did, the pain in our bodies, and at least for me, the fact that we're not done.

I don't know how this bag of chips could also be the best bag of chips I've ever consumed in my whole life. But it was.

We hop back into the box and make a massive bowl of spaghetti with sausages. I melt at least 4 tablespoons of butter into my noodles with a healthy shaking of salt before covering them with hot meat sauce filled with cut up sausages we fried.

Ella Langley would hopefully understand that being compared to piles of hot noodles in the back of a U-Haul is, in fact, a very high compliment.



By the time we crawl into sleeping bags it's almost 4 am. Today will be a rest day, if not obviously.

 

[TOGIE]

I kept wondering why I took so few photos this trip and just realized 3 weeks later that it was because I was the slow one. I was always plodding along so as not to stall the train.

The disparity is not likely as great as you may think, and even if it was, the inverse disparity in mental grit is even greater.

 

[TOGIE]

We sleep in. The weather has shifted and it's cold, cloudy, and spitting snow. We wake up, sit in he cab for awhile, eat food, organize meat and gear a little, and then head back to the box.

I make some more coffee and drink it while Bluffgruff goes back asleep. I wander around a little and then finally get back in my sleeping bag. It's mid afternoon. I snap a pic before dozing back off myself.

 

[Robert N]

If hunting was easy, everyone would do it.

It’s the ugly challenges, the pain, the mental damage…that I remember and savor the most.

 

[BenP]

For some reason you're making me want to do a hunt like this even more. The brutal pack out sounds terrible and satisfying at the same time.

Can't wait to read the last of the tale. Excellent stuff Togie and bluffgruff

 

[jvanhoy]

Man this is what keeps me coming back to HT. So awesome! Huge congrats and respect to you both. Great stuff!

 

[El Jason]

I think you broke Hunt Talk with this story. What an amazing recap.

 

[EKYHunter]

All I can say is wow! Question, are their vehicles that pass by where you all have the U Haul parked? Congrats to you both!

 

[TOGIE]

A full day of eating and sleeping. We awake from the afternoon nap and head back to the cab while it continues to kinda half rain half snow. Our bodies feel like concrete.

A warm cab and snacks. Looking off across the other side of the access road I catch glimpses of a brown blob as willow branches start shaking back and forth. I'm about the say "whoa bear" when a Muskox quite suddenly emerges from the willows and steps out onto the access road not 60 feet away. He continues across the road and wanders off. Couldn't care less about us.

Just constant entertainment on this landscape.



We spend the evening getting ourselves organized for the final round trip.

 

[TOGIE]

The box, as I've obviously come to call it, is a great place to sleep in my opinion. It's become my home sweet home, the place of safety, comfort, and chips.

I slept quite well. We are up and at it more efficiently than we typically have been. Double dose of oatmeal, double dose of Via, patch up my heel. Priorities.

We make several peanut butter and honey sandwiches each for our food for the day. Bino harnesses get left behind.

And we set off. Around 9:45 am.

Feet hurt like absolute hell. Heel hurts like absolute hell. Body stiff as a board. Everything kinda warms up over the next hour or so and begins to hurt less.

Or maybe it was justthe Advil we took before locking up the U-Haul.

The tundra is a frosty wonderland.



Let's get this over with.

As we pick our away across the tundra I suddenly have this realization that we have no more chips at the truck.

#*^@#*

 

[TOGIE]

Our route picking continues to be refined and we are making decent time. At about the 2/3 mark in this direction we run into two dudes named Michael, also from Colorado, that had trekked out to intercept us as we were passing their camp. One carrying his gun, also suppressed - never wander unprepared, I assume. They simply wanna chat, they saw us with our bulls the day before yesterday and wanna hear about everything. I wolf down a peanut butter sandwich. We burn over 20 minutes chatting with them. They have one bull down. Have a couple more days to get another then they need to start the trek out of here to make flights.

They are full of life and stoked on everything. Yes they are at a different stage of their hunt, but it's a good reminder for me to re-align my brain a little. Yes, we're in the most miserable stage of one of the most mentally and physically challenging hunts available to the DIY hunter, but remember, how freaking awesome is this? Life can't get much better. Seriously.

We gain our ridge and work towards camp, watching some caribou on the hillside a half mile away to our left. All said we're at camp in just a hair under 5 hours and pack up as quickly as possible. Munch another sandwich. Filter some water. Bluffgruff's hide remains and we try to get weight/gear fairly even between us. Pack ended up around 65 lbs.

The final one. Actually, the final one. Give a good look around at our now barren home, nothing left but caribou bones and bits of head hide, and we head towards the truck for the final time. In my head it feels like such a momentous occasion. Spirits are high.

Not 15 minutes later, heading back down our ridge, we see a glassing tarp set up down on the hillside a little. It's set up to block the wind and therefore blocking our entire view of who is in there as we approach. That definitely wasn't there when we passed by an hour ago. Did the Michaels get bulll number 2? We're not even a half mile from their camp. The caribou we watched on the opposite hillside are gone.

Never heard a shot, but even unsuppressed shooting does not carry well on the tundra. Every hillside is functionally sound absorbing foam. As we finally pass around the side of the tarp there are those two infectious smiles again, one with a big lump in his lip, both with bloody hands, kneeling over small, gutted bull.

They give us the elevator pitch version of the story. There was a bull in that small group of caribou we were watching and the group made a mistake. Again, their relentless joy and optimism out here is such a breath of fresh air for my weary mind.

I keep looking at the lump in the one Michael's lip, my brain aching for the same thing. I can assure you, for those who have never partaken, there are few things on this planet as enjoyable as standing over a dead critter and throwing a massive wad of Copenhagen in your lip before you pull out your knife. Seriously. I've quit nicotine though, it's been over 9 months now. Squash the thought.

Final congrats and goodbye. Much slogging ahead.

 

[TOGIE]

You ever have the friend that won't freaking shut up about something?

While the packs were relatively light, this was still another 8.7 mile haul on the tundra and before we left camp that afternoon we had already logged a hair over 45 miles of it, not to mention the 23 or so miles we did prior to the North Slope.

Exhausted and hurting, to say the least.

Every 30 minutes or so I make a comment in disbelief that we had no more chips. I mention that I literally stood there in the grocery store, looking at our 3 bags of chips, thinking to myself that we should buy more. Nah, we're mostly backpacking, not truck camping, we don't need tons of chips I rationalize.

Stupidest thing I've ever done, or not done. More food is always better, even if too much - a mantra I proudly and consistently live out.

Unconscionable that we're gonna get back to the truck and have no bag of chips to have between us in the cab as we motor south. Simply unconscionable.

I can't let it go.

 

[TOGIE]

All I can say is wow! Question, are their vehicles that pass by where you all have the U Haul parked? Congrats to you both!

Oh yes. We're maybe 50 yards from the Haul Road itself. Truck traffic is fairly constant. Hunter traffic is too. We were one hunting vehicle parked amongst as many as 5 or 6 others in this exact spot at one point.

 

[TOGIE]

We finally step back on to the Haul Road to cross back over to the truck. The hard concrete-like road base is extra painful to tender feet. You weirdly want to step back on to the spongey tundra.

I'm still agonizing over the lack of chips.

But, it's about 9 pm. We hastily unload meat, change clothes, get the box organized for travel, grab soda's, lunch meat, bread, and mayonnaise and jump in the cab and peel out onto the Haul Road. I can't believe it's actually over. Almost 60 miles later, we did it.

We are determined to get over the pass before true darkness and sleep in Coldfoot tonight. We will awake for breakfast buffet. The only thought that manages to alleviate some of my anguish at no chips.

We drain sodas while I make us ham and cheese sandwiches on the bumpy road.

We arrive in Coldfoot well past midnight. Rearrange the box for sleeping, throw the heads and our trash bag on the roof and fall asleep, visions of Coldfoot breakfast buffet dancing in my head.

 

[elkduds]

At least it's a dry heat. (sarcasm emoji here)

 

[TOGIE]

We are awoken early by the heavy sounding plop of a bird landing on the metal roof.

It flits about, feet scratching the roof as it is clearly picking at the heads or the trash bag.

Well, I'm up now, it's about 7:30. I get up and get my jacket and crocs on. Bluffgruff had already pounded on the roof, poked his head out, and scared the bird away.

One of the nearby helicopters fires up to ferry gear over to the landing strip a half mile away across the Haul Road. Hunter's gear no doubt. This is a very consistent occurrence here.

I emerge and walk about a little. Watching the helicopter take off only a couple hundred yards away.

I snap a pic of our set up on our last night in the U-Haul.



Bluffgruff's bull really is something. The breakfast buffet awaits. The finality of the task, the satisfaction of self imposed suffering having been overcome, is setting in.

We meander our way over. This place is buzzing this morning. Lot's of Haul Road hunters, lots of tourist groups, truckers emerging from their humming cabs for breakfast.

There is another U-Haul, as we are walking by the sliding door opens, two faces emerge into the light for the first time this morning. Everything clearly looks as though they are heading north, not south. I think about what lie before them, thankful I'm heading in for bottomless coffee and a victory meal before continuing south.

We pay, grab our plates and pile them high, fill up our coffee cups and begin to dig in.

Instead of standing on the side of the road, looking off at the vast wilderness thinking "I can't believe I'm actually here, about to do this." I am thinking, "Holy crap, I can't believe I'm in Alaska, and just did that. We actually just did that."

Bluffgruff and I have not known each other long. Having hunted only for the first time together in the fall of 2025. I'm still astonished he trusted me with an invite to do something of such logistical, physical, and mental magnitude. I can say with much confidence that there are few people more enjoyable to spend days on the road and days in the sticks with.

What. A. Freaking. Trip.

This picture, I definitely send to my wife.