"Well, you came up here for adventure, didn't ya?"

[Bluffgruff]

Is what the old cabbie said after I finished relating the abbreviated version of the whirlwind that had somehow, almost miraculously, set me down unharmed in his cab on the way to the airport.

I've had many months to reflect on his words, and I certainly had gone there for adventure....

 

[Bluffgruff]

I also had gone there for the critter that dropped these:



or a buddy, cousin, friend, or something of his.

 

[Bluffgruff]

Earlier in my hunting career, I imagine myself going to Quebec with my dad, trying to repeat his highly successful semi-guided trip from 30 years ago. That plan WAS a good one until just a few years ago. Then I start to think about our own tundra-filled North. The idea is just in my head for a few years. Draw tags sound like the way to go: high chances of animals being where a pilot could drop me off, but the Alaska draw is an annual disappointment for me.

I start looking for other options.

I basically exhaust every avenue for a fly-in. I'm too late to the game, and all seats are filled, forever, a few pilots tell me politely. Like preference points, I am not in on the ground floor.

There's a long pause. Another draw passes without success, then another.

The videos say it's like walking on bowling balls hidden in layers of kitchen sponge, or some other simile designed to convey the unstable, wet misery they're experiencing with every step.

How bad can it be? Five miles isn't very far.

 

[Bluffgruff]

It really isn't.

I can go trot around my 'burbs neighborhood and get to 5 miles within an hour. Even with a backpack loaded down, a few hours is all I need on trail.

So with this knowledge in hand, I plan my approach, even without knowing the results of the current draw (I mean, I knew, but the AKDFG hadn't given it to me in writing).

I envision my feet floating over a living, soggy, tan carpet. I learn later that my mental palette is bland, and the carpet has almost every color woven through, the other parts of the schema are accurate, however.



On the day the draw results post, within the hour, I have my flights and rental vehicle booked.

I'm really doing it!

At least I'm pretty sure, this gets real a little fast, and I have second thoughts, right up until the cabbie drops me off for my return flight.

 

[Bluffgruff]

I need to give Mr. Hockett some credit. My saying "yes" to this hunt so many times when I could have said "no" often involves thinking back to his video segment on how to manage choices.

Many obstacles line up for me through the spring. Another draw out of state, an opportunity of a lifetime in many regards, forces a change in dates for this adventure, then this trip definitely, for sure, becomes a solo endeavor, and finally coming up against my first confirmed and significantly symptomatic case of COVID.

On day 11 after my symptoms started, I'm asymptomatic, testing negative, and can walk up a flight of stairs without having to stop. My FIL drives me to the lightrail, and I'm off on leg one.

 

[duckhunt]

Great stuff

 

[Dougfirtree]

 

[Caseknife]

Are you taking a nap????? C'mon, can't get us started, are you buffering

 

[OntarioHunter]

Are you taking a nap????? C'mon, can't get us started, are you buffering

Still recovering from COVID?

 

[Bluffgruff]

I sit down on the plane, a window seat on the shady side. It's early in the morning still, relatively, and I don't do mornings. After a while, the older gentleman next to me starts talking to me; we'll call him Doug. I'm wearing a mask, he isn't, and he never asks why. We get through the small talk, and I learn he's a surveyor, father of six, hunter, and adventurer like myself, but AK is his home. He asks if anyone is going with me on my trip, if I'm meeting someone, or if I have a local contact. He seems genuinely concerned, so he gives me his info and tells me to contact him if I need anything.

I do have a contact, who is basically responsible for this trip going as well as it does in several key moments, but Doug's cautions are a little unnerving. This guy has made a living in a tough place, raised six kids on his own for decades, and put a bunch of moose in the meat shed. He knows this place, and doesn't want me dead. Decent fella.

While I'm talking to Doug, I'm also looking out the window. The best part of flying is getting the bird's eye view of places along my route. I fly over my sheep unit in Wyoming, a couple places I want to hunt in Idaho, the Cascades, and the coastline of BC.




Doug and I part ways in the airport. I grab a quick lunch, and I'm on to the next flight.



And about 12 hours after I stepped on the lightrail, I wheel my vagabonding supplies out to the sidewalk. I pull off my mask for a moment, and breathe in that fresh, sprucy air, and have a good coughing fit.



The shuttle van pulls up to take me to the hotel. The lady shuttle driver is very nice. I tell her I'm wearing a mask out of an abundance of caution. She says, "we don't believe in all that up here."

I keep my mask on.

I still have some questions about whether I can walk where I'm planning to walk, some concerns about whether my body is really up for this. To test out my legs, I walk the 3 miles to a local brewery.



No issues there. Just a nice pleasant walk.

I like to taste my way through my travels, so I order a flight from a nice lady in a hooded sweatshirt.



I'm not sure how, but just a little bit of beer on an empty stomach has my head spinning, so that's how I end up with Navajo tacos and some fry bread.



After the fry bread, all things in my head are calming down, so I decide to grab a pint of an IPA. I don't have a picture, so just imagine, if you will, the gentleman serving this beer. Classic euro mullet, handlebar moustache, skin tight canary yellow wifebeater, matching canary yellow booty shorts (plum smugglers, as my wife calls them), tall black socks, tennis shoes. This guy has confidence for days. He also knows quite a bit about beer.

I drink my beer, savoring the endless evening. It's still broad daylight when I decide on a cab ride home. Dave drives me back to the hotel in the comfort of a minivan. I'm plumb tuckered out at 8pm, and I sleep for about 10 hours.

 

[CRJR45]

Tell us more , please .

 

[Bluffgruff]

Next morning. I pick up my ride, Yentna.
No disrespect meant for the rental company, but Yentna is not really my idea of a 4x4 meant for a trip like this. She's low to the ground, has zero scratches, no windshield chips, and about 4k miles. She even still smells brand new. The guy at the counter agrees. He says, "I hate it when the other location sends these over, they show every tiny speck of dirt and they're a pain to clean." Oh yeah, I have to return this thing spotless, without any "game smell," and I can't put anything on the roof, period.



Next time, if there is one, I'm specifically asking for the worst looking POS on the lot, as long as it runs.

 

[Bluffgruff]

Learning to drive my 2022 Jeep while running my errands to get food and fuel, I find that there has been a run on white gas. I went to 4 different places without even finding a single can or bottle of the stuff. If I had a cannister stove, I'd be in luck, though.

Finally, at REI of all places, I find a quart and buy it. I learn from the cashier that a big group of hunters just came in and bought $9000 in freeze dried food and other supplies. I find that hard to believe, but maybe 15 guys on a 2 week rafting trip for caribou and moose could need that much food. Hmmmm.

I go to the AKDFG office and buy my license and locking tag. A good handful of groups of camo clad guys who otherwise look a lot like me are doing the same. None of them are alone. The guy selling me my license asks if I'm going alone.
"Yep."
"You have an InReach?"
"Yep."
"Bear spray?"
"Yep."
"Well, good luck stay safe."
"I'll try!"

I could spend a lot of time looking at the natural history museum there. So many cool things to look at.





Next comes my contact, who offers up advice, local knowledge, specific affirmations of my plan, a tundra sled, bear spray, and a place to cut up and vacuum seal my meat if I kill something. Pretty wild that there are people like this out there still. This trip would have gone differently without all this kindness. The fresh grizzly skull and massive caribou rack in the back of the truck from a hunt that concluded the day prior is both a warning and motivation.

I grab a coffee and a sandwich for breakfast and tackle the frost-heaved blacktop on my way north.



Way, WAY north. So much north I get real tired of it. The scattered houses and towns give way to occasional shacks, the pavement turns to gravel, to mush, to gravel, randomly back to pavement, then gravelly mush for hundreds of miles. Signs update me on my agonizingly slow progress.




Passing trucks is a fun distraction, pull way over to the side, as far as I dare, and come to a stop, letting the truck slide their way by. They typically wave and toot their horn for my giving way.





I pass the Yukon camp, and grab a $20 burger. And some $7.50/gallon gas. Next stop might or might not be open.




I continue on, but stop taking pictures of the road, through the forests, up the hills, over the mountains, and finally to my predetermined parking spot. It's late, but I think there are a couple hours of daylight left. Did I mention the evenings last forever?

I pack up and start walking the tundra, crossing a few decent sized creeks, I make the top of a ridge and the walking gets easier. The bugs are pretty bad. Glad I brought the bug net, but since I can't remember where it is in my pack, I keep walking. Bugs aren't really biting, just crawling all over, getting in my eyes, nose, mouth, ears, beard.

It's almost 10pm. Sun is still up. I've passed some curiosities and some bear scat, colored bright blue by the berries. Apparently the berries have done well. Hopefully the bears are fat, happy, and shy.



When it gets dark enough to need a headlamp around 2300, I'm just getting to the edge of my prerequisite slog.



I pitch my tent. Carry my food bag 100 yards away to a spot on the tundra I can see from my tent, and toss the sled over it. Maybe I won't have any visitors, but I hope to hear them if I do. Even after midnight, the sun peeks through the clouds on the horizon. I have answered the first big question, my body is in pretty good shape considering 12 days ago I had to stop 3 steps into a flight of stairs to catch my breath. I had also called in sick to work for the first time in 5 years. My confidence is pretty high for the first time on this trip, and I get in my sleeping bag, too tired to worry about the critters outside.

 

[Bluffgruff]

Fair warning, there might be a pause before the next installment.

 

[SwaggyD]

Love this story so far.

 

[Nunyacreek]

This is great!

 

[rtraverdavis]

Top notch storytelling with just the right amount of photos so far. Keep it coming!

 

[Desk Pop]

Nice @Bluffgruff

 

[Bluffgruff]

By 6am the next morning, it is very much daylight, clouds draped over everything just high enough to see the hills around me. Sled is where it should be, as is my food bag. I collect my gear and a clif bar and ease my way up the ridge about a half mile to a better glassing location.



It would be nice to see an animal early in the hunt, maybe not this one, though.



First from a couple miles away, then from a mile, this guy has me thinking how glad I am that he's across a wide, steep gully and appears to be wholly engrossed in mauling blueberries.



Look at that gut. Sucker looks like it's dragging the ground.

Someone who knows what they're talking about tell me, is this actually a big boar? That's what I've been telling everyone....

One bear is enough bears, but I won't get anywhere near that lucky.

 

[WNC2500]

Enjoying following along and the play by play @Bluffgruff