It’s easier than it sounds. Just start by believing that the stories you are hearing are actually true. In my defense however; the stories were about hunting Caribou. And the stories were being told by a resident Alaskan. And I was hearing these stories at a hunting convention in Alaska. And, lastly, we were talking about Caribou. The one deer species that could, literally, stampede your camp for days on end. From all of the documentaries, hunting shows and, of course, stories from hunters, I was under the distinct impression that a Caribou hunt was a slam dunk. From all that I’d read I knew that there are five distinct sub-species of ’bou that number in the millions. There are also dozens of known, and named, individual herds that number in the hundreds of thousands. How could an Alaskan Caribou hunt be anything but a screaming success? Hell, as a non-resident they even give you two tags. In some units they give resident hunters five tags per day! Caribou just had to be everywhere…
I’d met Ken at the same convention several years before. He was a nice enough bloke and, being a typical Alaskan, liked to hunt and to drink. Seemed like we had enough in common to go on the float trip for ’bou and Moose he was planning. He had done the same trip with a couple of his mates before. And besides, the place was bloody crawling with Caribou. Ken and his mates had simply shot big bulls from the boat, packed them on board and kept on motoring. Sounded like a pretty good plan to me. The clincher was that Bryan Tyler wanted to come along too.
Bryan is a pisser. He’s about five feet five inches tall and weighs about 65 kilo’s wringing wet. He’s a former US Marine. Tough as old boots and has a great sense of humour. Bryan is also a fanatical bow hunter. He had been an Alaskan resident for about five years at that stage and had moved up there just for the hunting. He had taken plenty of critters in the lower 48 with a stick and string set up and was now moving on to Alaska’s bounty. He was obsessed with arrowing a Grizzly. A couple of Caribou and a Moose would be fine as well. Ken assured Bryan and I that we would be knee deep in critters without raising a sweat. Bryan and I were sold. That September was locked in.
The seven hour flight up to Anchorage was the usual mixture of boredom and astonishment as we flew over the length of the Rocky Mountains, across the Canadian coast and into the glacial sounds. It didn’t really occur to me at the time, but there’s an awful lot of empty tundra up there. I’m yet to fly over a Caribou herd in daylight, but I’m sure they would stand out. While it’s true that there are immense herds in the frozen north, it’s also true that there is a lot of critter-less country between these herds.
|
