Erik in AK
New member
After making an initial inquiry to TB, followed by a few weeks hammering out the details via PM's and emails, I arrived in Kodiak on Saturday night after a 9 hour ferry ride from Homer. The weather was nice, so it made for a pleasant first ferry ride to "the Rock". TB and his missus were kind enough to let me stay at their place the first night, which turned into the whole trip. Special thanks goes out to Mrs TB for allowing some random "internet weirdo" to stay in her home.
TB and I got to know each other a little better while talking about the next day's plan. TB had a couple of spots on Kodiak's north end he wanted to show me and was confident I'd kill a buck, but then added with a smile "...as long as it isn't bigger than mine."
Sunday dawned spitting rain, and snow, or both depending on your elevation and when we arrived at spot #1 there were already 3 other rigs parked at the trailhead so we drove a few miles further, button-hooking around to the backside of the same group of mountains.
Spot #2 was open so we hit the trail, which after two or three so paces, turned up...and stayed turned up. Kicking footholds in the semi-frozen trail we climbed for nearly a mile. Now for a man of my advancing years I can still hold my own in the hills....but TB is something else. Wow! Can this guy climb! After 15 minutes of my ego trying to keep up with mister younger and stronger, I felt as if something had snuck up and ripped my calf muscles right off the bone! Evidently, I don't hold my own as quickly as I used to. Doing my best not to be any further burden on his generosity I push as hard as my protesting legs would go. Every now and then I'd glance up the trail and catch TB looking back at me with a mix of amusement and concern. His expressions flashed between "C'mon city boy! Try and keep up." and "Don't die, OK?"
After we'd gained several hundred more feet of mountainside the rain turned to sticky snow but at least we were in prime deer country. Now above the protection of the big timber, the wind was noticably stiffer and gusting. Visibility was terrible as the wind brought scudding clouds, fog and snow squalls in off of the sea. During the lulls in between the heaviest gusts, the fog and snow let up enough to glass. We were on a knob at the end little finger ridge that gave us a commanding view a large basin. After a couple of hours of looking for deer bedded in the underbrush, the wind eventually beat the warmth out of the both of us. We decided to move. To reach our vantage point, we'd climbed the right rim of the basin we were watching. For the descent, we swung to our left, and across the face of the basin to the opposite ridge. This route would allow us to loop back to the truck. We still hunted through the thickest cover hoping to move deer (and no bears) but other than a spot where a bear had claimed an earlier gutpile, we saw nothing of deer or bears. Wet and cold, we made it to my truck with a few hours of daylight left. Not wanting to waste the light, we took a little road trip out to the southern limits of Kodiak's road system. It was a beautiful drive and TB filled me in on the ins and outs of the various sights we passed. We got back to his place late. After a nice meal of Dall ram tenderloin from his successful sheep hunt earlier in the season, we hit the rack.
Monday was Halloween and the last day for rifle hunters along the road system. Yesterday's storm had blown out despite the encouraging sunny, clear weather, yours truly is sore as hell and feeling the crud coming on. I do not want to get out of TB's comfortable spare bed but he is subtle with his assaults on my manhood and deep down I know if I puss out now I'm never getting invited back. I really do feel like crap but I get up and get dressed, and despite the late start head back to spot #1 which is open. TB has to work so I'm solo this time.
I double check my pack and pockets to make sure I haven't forgotten anything and head down the trail. After a brief climb away from the road, the trail turns west and levels out along the top of a long, low ridge that fronts a cluster of mountains known as the Three Sisters. I am happy to find last night's skiff of new snow unbroken except where it's been crossed by deer, fox and hare tracks. In one spot you could see where a weasle chased a vole. Stopping occasionally to glass suspicious shapes, I see does in two's and three's strung along the lower benches of the Sisters. I feel good that a buck or two is not far behind and even better that I did not cut either a man or bear track in the new snow. At about two miles in the trail split as TB had described. I decided to turn right and, ultimately, up (always with the up. I need counseling). Up into the hanging valleys that separate the Sisters. That's where the bucks must be.
To my left, a deceptively open looking ridge led up the west side of the Sister's western most hanging valley. Spotting more deer I began to climb to a finger of rock that would be my next glassing spot. It was 10:59 am by my watch. For those who've never been, the hills on Kodiak are densely covered in alder, salmonberry and tall grass. Alder has been explained in depth on HT before, but salmonberry is a shorter, denser growing cousin of the raspberry and covers acres and acres of every slope less than 40 degrees or so. The snow and lateness of the season gives the uninitiated the impression that the ground is open. In the followings pics the patches of light grey are alders and virtually everything in between is salmonberry. It grabs at every step you take.
By 11:45 or so I'd gained the half mile and 300 vertical feet needed to make the rock promontory. It was from here that I spotted the buck. He was farther up the valley and feeding with a doe. I estimated the distance to be about another half mile away and 600 or 700 feet higher. He looked to be a decent Sitka buck....just wider and a bit higher than his ears. I slipped away keeping out of sight, and continued to climb. The going was very steep. At one point I stopped and strapped my rifle to my pack. I needed both hands. The pic of my hand blocking the sun is looking SW to show the steepest section of the slope I climbed to get in position for a shot. I am about 2/3 of the way up at this point. It was only this steep for about 50 yards and fortunately I chose my foot and handholds well. I knew right then that if I killed this buck I would have to go down by another route.
After gaining this steep section, I cautiously traversed a hundred or so yards of brushy benches to a low growing pine. From there I found myself about 200 yards and crosswind from the buck, now bedded. A few more minutes study with my binos confirmed he was an even 2x2 with eyeguards and decent mass. It was 3:19 pm.
The buck was bedded in the sun when readied myself for the shot. I was sure he couldn't see me as he had to look right into the setting sun to look in my direction but I took extra care nonetheless not to make any sudden movements or to clank anything together. Sitting in the snowy grass, I slipped out of my pack and looped the wriststraps of my trekking poles over each other to form a bipod. I tested the weight of my rifle on my makeshift rest, slooowly chambered a round and quietly popped open my scope covers. A quick check of my watch and I settled into the stock for the shot. It was 3:27.
Hindsight being 20/20...I should've shot him where he lay, but he was facing me and I did not want to risk a non-fatal shot to the face or neck. I figured since I was in position with a solid rest I just wait until he stood up. By my calculations the sunset shadow that was creeping his way would reach him in 10 to 15 minutes and that he would stand up as soon as it did. At 3:48 the shade overtook that buck and he lay there just the same for another 12 minutes.
It's now 4:00 pm a day after the clocks had been setback. My mental clock has not factored in the shorter day...I am running out of daylight and uncomfortably cold. Ten minutes of isometrics is only wearing me out. My hind parts are numb and my toes and fingertips are burning. I try to think of a way I can get him to stand without bolting. Nothing brilliant comes to mind. It's time to take the risk and force the issue.
A whistle draws the buck's attention but thats it. Waving my "Yuppie Camo" HuntTalk cap has no effect. "OK" I say to myself, "I'll stand and move towards him. Hopefully he won't bolt and I'll have time to reset for a clean shot". Carying just the rifle and poles, I stiffly get to my feet and advance nearly 20 yards before the buck gets to his. He's alert but doesn't spook. I immediately drop, set the poles and quickly settle in for the shot. The doe is far more alarmed and making straight away for a large alder patch on the other side of the valley. The buck follows her at a stiff walk and I've got no shot as I track him in the crosshairs, "willing" him the whole time to turn. Just before he reached the safety of the alders he does, to my right and downhill, pausing broadside just for a moment. It feels like 225-230 yards as the last ounces of pull come off the trigger.
BOOOMMmmttthhhWOCK!! I hear the bullet impact. He drops but an instant later I know its not a good hit. He's pawing his way downhill, sliding, crashing, trying to gain his feet. I'm calm and focused at shot two...he goes down and out of sight. I'm not cold anymore but I'm feeling sicker than I ever did earlier that morning. It's 4:02.
I beeline to an odd shaped alder stump I chose as a marker. Scanning 360 I find the deer just downhill, still breathing. A third shot through the ribs and its over. I'm genuinely pleased to be successful but at the same time I'm a little disgusted with myself for not taking a few minutes during yesterdays sight seeing to check my zero. I know everybody makes the occasional bad shot, but this is first deer I have not killed cleanly. No matter, I'm grateful not to have lost a mortally wounded animal. Its now 4:10 on Halloween afternoon and I've got about 3 hours before it gets pitch dark on the island of the world's largest carnivores.
After a couple of minutes to cheese it up for the camera I got to work with the butchering. An hour or so later the meat is bagged and loaded, the head, left whole to save time is strapped down last. I decide to cary the rifle...just in case. Taking a final moment to choose a route down, I say "Screw it" and head straight downhill into the alder hell, rationalizing that its one-way and not uphill..."How much can it possibly suck?" thinks I. The hike out proves to be interesting. About halfway down steep turns into vertical as I find myself at the top of a 50 foot cliff with two choices...back up or go left. I bull my way sidehill for 50 yards (felt like 50 miles) and find a little side cut with some handholds that I can lower myself down with. Well, I manage to get down this cliff without falling only to have a stray branch at the very bottom spring up, rip my glasses off and fling them off into the canyon. "Swell...what little I can see is now blurry".
Other than some weak twilight on the western horizon, its your basic dark about now and with my glasses gone...my bear-anoia is deepening. Did I wear a neckstrap? Nope. Bring a backup pair? Of course not. So there I am....on Kodiak Island, in the dark, on Halloween no less, with 60 pounds of warm bloody venison on my back and now I can't see to boot. Lets just say my Fun-Meter was pegged. After a couple more hours of slipping and tripping and stumbling and cursing my way through the alders and snow, I make it to the trail without getting mauled and have an uneventful hobble back to the truck.
Man I can't wait until next year!!
Oh and TB's buck is bigger
TB and I got to know each other a little better while talking about the next day's plan. TB had a couple of spots on Kodiak's north end he wanted to show me and was confident I'd kill a buck, but then added with a smile "...as long as it isn't bigger than mine."
Sunday dawned spitting rain, and snow, or both depending on your elevation and when we arrived at spot #1 there were already 3 other rigs parked at the trailhead so we drove a few miles further, button-hooking around to the backside of the same group of mountains.Spot #2 was open so we hit the trail, which after two or three so paces, turned up...and stayed turned up. Kicking footholds in the semi-frozen trail we climbed for nearly a mile. Now for a man of my advancing years I can still hold my own in the hills....but TB is something else. Wow! Can this guy climb! After 15 minutes of my ego trying to keep up with mister younger and stronger, I felt as if something had snuck up and ripped my calf muscles right off the bone! Evidently, I don't hold my own as quickly as I used to.
Doing my best not to be any further burden on his generosity I push as hard as my protesting legs would go. Every now and then I'd glance up the trail and catch TB looking back at me with a mix of amusement and concern. His expressions flashed between "C'mon city boy! Try and keep up." and "Don't die, OK?" After we'd gained several hundred more feet of mountainside the rain turned to sticky snow but at least we were in prime deer country. Now above the protection of the big timber, the wind was noticably stiffer and gusting. Visibility was terrible as the wind brought scudding clouds, fog and snow squalls in off of the sea. During the lulls in between the heaviest gusts, the fog and snow let up enough to glass. We were on a knob at the end little finger ridge that gave us a commanding view a large basin. After a couple of hours of looking for deer bedded in the underbrush, the wind eventually beat the warmth out of the both of us. We decided to move. To reach our vantage point, we'd climbed the right rim of the basin we were watching. For the descent, we swung to our left, and across the face of the basin to the opposite ridge. This route would allow us to loop back to the truck. We still hunted through the thickest cover hoping to move deer (and no bears) but other than a spot where a bear had claimed an earlier gutpile, we saw nothing of deer or bears. Wet and cold, we made it to my truck with a few hours of daylight left. Not wanting to waste the light, we took a little road trip out to the southern limits of Kodiak's road system. It was a beautiful drive and TB filled me in on the ins and outs of the various sights we passed. We got back to his place late. After a nice meal of Dall ram tenderloin from his successful sheep hunt earlier in the season, we hit the rack.
Monday was Halloween and the last day for rifle hunters along the road system. Yesterday's storm had blown out despite the encouraging sunny, clear weather, yours truly is sore as hell and feeling the crud coming on. I do not want to get out of TB's comfortable spare bed but he is subtle with his assaults on my manhood and deep down I know if I puss out now I'm never getting invited back. I really do feel like crap but I get up and get dressed, and despite the late start head back to spot #1 which is open. TB has to work so I'm solo this time.
I double check my pack and pockets to make sure I haven't forgotten anything and head down the trail. After a brief climb away from the road, the trail turns west and levels out along the top of a long, low ridge that fronts a cluster of mountains known as the Three Sisters. I am happy to find last night's skiff of new snow unbroken except where it's been crossed by deer, fox and hare tracks. In one spot you could see where a weasle chased a vole. Stopping occasionally to glass suspicious shapes, I see does in two's and three's strung along the lower benches of the Sisters. I feel good that a buck or two is not far behind and even better that I did not cut either a man or bear track in the new snow. At about two miles in the trail split as TB had described. I decided to turn right and, ultimately, up (always with the up. I need counseling). Up into the hanging valleys that separate the Sisters. That's where the bucks must be.
To my left, a deceptively open looking ridge led up the west side of the Sister's western most hanging valley. Spotting more deer I began to climb to a finger of rock that would be my next glassing spot. It was 10:59 am by my watch. For those who've never been, the hills on Kodiak are densely covered in alder, salmonberry and tall grass. Alder has been explained in depth on HT before, but salmonberry is a shorter, denser growing cousin of the raspberry and covers acres and acres of every slope less than 40 degrees or so. The snow and lateness of the season gives the uninitiated the impression that the ground is open. In the followings pics the patches of light grey are alders and virtually everything in between is salmonberry. It grabs at every step you take.
By 11:45 or so I'd gained the half mile and 300 vertical feet needed to make the rock promontory. It was from here that I spotted the buck. He was farther up the valley and feeding with a doe. I estimated the distance to be about another half mile away and 600 or 700 feet higher. He looked to be a decent Sitka buck....just wider and a bit higher than his ears. I slipped away keeping out of sight, and continued to climb. The going was very steep. At one point I stopped and strapped my rifle to my pack. I needed both hands. The pic of my hand blocking the sun is looking SW to show the steepest section of the slope I climbed to get in position for a shot. I am about 2/3 of the way up at this point. It was only this steep for about 50 yards and fortunately I chose my foot and handholds well. I knew right then that if I killed this buck I would have to go down by another route.
After gaining this steep section, I cautiously traversed a hundred or so yards of brushy benches to a low growing pine. From there I found myself about 200 yards and crosswind from the buck, now bedded. A few more minutes study with my binos confirmed he was an even 2x2 with eyeguards and decent mass. It was 3:19 pm.
The buck was bedded in the sun when readied myself for the shot. I was sure he couldn't see me as he had to look right into the setting sun to look in my direction but I took extra care nonetheless not to make any sudden movements or to clank anything together. Sitting in the snowy grass, I slipped out of my pack and looped the wriststraps of my trekking poles over each other to form a bipod. I tested the weight of my rifle on my makeshift rest, slooowly chambered a round and quietly popped open my scope covers. A quick check of my watch and I settled into the stock for the shot. It was 3:27.
Hindsight being 20/20...I should've shot him where he lay, but he was facing me and I did not want to risk a non-fatal shot to the face or neck. I figured since I was in position with a solid rest I just wait until he stood up. By my calculations the sunset shadow that was creeping his way would reach him in 10 to 15 minutes and that he would stand up as soon as it did. At 3:48 the shade overtook that buck and he lay there just the same for another 12 minutes.
It's now 4:00 pm a day after the clocks had been setback. My mental clock has not factored in the shorter day...I am running out of daylight and uncomfortably cold. Ten minutes of isometrics is only wearing me out. My hind parts are numb and my toes and fingertips are burning. I try to think of a way I can get him to stand without bolting. Nothing brilliant comes to mind. It's time to take the risk and force the issue.
A whistle draws the buck's attention but thats it. Waving my "Yuppie Camo" HuntTalk cap has no effect. "OK" I say to myself, "I'll stand and move towards him. Hopefully he won't bolt and I'll have time to reset for a clean shot". Carying just the rifle and poles, I stiffly get to my feet and advance nearly 20 yards before the buck gets to his. He's alert but doesn't spook. I immediately drop, set the poles and quickly settle in for the shot. The doe is far more alarmed and making straight away for a large alder patch on the other side of the valley. The buck follows her at a stiff walk and I've got no shot as I track him in the crosshairs, "willing" him the whole time to turn. Just before he reached the safety of the alders he does, to my right and downhill, pausing broadside just for a moment. It feels like 225-230 yards as the last ounces of pull come off the trigger.
BOOOMMmmttthhhWOCK!! I hear the bullet impact. He drops but an instant later I know its not a good hit. He's pawing his way downhill, sliding, crashing, trying to gain his feet. I'm calm and focused at shot two...he goes down and out of sight. I'm not cold anymore but I'm feeling sicker than I ever did earlier that morning. It's 4:02.
I beeline to an odd shaped alder stump I chose as a marker. Scanning 360 I find the deer just downhill, still breathing. A third shot through the ribs and its over. I'm genuinely pleased to be successful but at the same time I'm a little disgusted with myself for not taking a few minutes during yesterdays sight seeing to check my zero. I know everybody makes the occasional bad shot, but this is first deer I have not killed cleanly. No matter, I'm grateful not to have lost a mortally wounded animal. Its now 4:10 on Halloween afternoon and I've got about 3 hours before it gets pitch dark on the island of the world's largest carnivores.
After a couple of minutes to cheese it up for the camera I got to work with the butchering. An hour or so later the meat is bagged and loaded, the head, left whole to save time is strapped down last. I decide to cary the rifle...just in case. Taking a final moment to choose a route down, I say "Screw it" and head straight downhill into the alder hell, rationalizing that its one-way and not uphill..."How much can it possibly suck?" thinks I. The hike out proves to be interesting. About halfway down steep turns into vertical as I find myself at the top of a 50 foot cliff with two choices...back up or go left. I bull my way sidehill for 50 yards (felt like 50 miles) and find a little side cut with some handholds that I can lower myself down with. Well, I manage to get down this cliff without falling only to have a stray branch at the very bottom spring up, rip my glasses off and fling them off into the canyon. "Swell...what little I can see is now blurry".
Other than some weak twilight on the western horizon, its your basic dark about now and with my glasses gone...my bear-anoia is deepening. Did I wear a neckstrap? Nope. Bring a backup pair? Of course not. So there I am....on Kodiak Island, in the dark, on Halloween no less, with 60 pounds of warm bloody venison on my back and now I can't see to boot. Lets just say my Fun-Meter was pegged. After a couple more hours of slipping and tripping and stumbling and cursing my way through the alders and snow, I make it to the trail without getting mauled and have an uneventful hobble back to the truck.
Man I can't wait until next year!!
Oh and TB's buck is bigger
