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The 4x4 Sitka blacktail buck ambled down the trail fifty yards upwind from where I crouched in the brush. Sliding an arrow out of my shoulder quiver, I carelessly clinked the arrow on my longbow`s handle. The buck stopped and stared. I froze and tipped my chin down so the brim of my hat covered my eyes. The muscular rutting buck hesitated for thirty seconds and continued on his way. Nocking the arrow, I slowly raised my bow in anticipation of a 25-yard broadside shot. The calm was broken with the twang of Greg`s arrow release from below. The arrow flew low and the buck blazed forward to escape. Raising to my knees, I picked a spot and swung with the deer, pushing my bow ahead of the deer`s fleeing body.
Kodiak Island has become a well-known destination for deer hunters across North America. Most flights pass through Seattle, Washington, and Anchorage, Alaska. A 45-minute flight southwest of Anchorage puts a hunter at the Kodiak airport. Kodiak is the only major city on the 3,588-square-mile island. With the unpredictable weather found on the second largest island in the U.S., this is not a good hunt for a tight schedule.
By 7:30 Saturday morning, our hunting party gathered at the Kodiak airport to catch a flight to the south end of the island, where our floating hunting camp awaited. This adventure included myself, Tavis Rogers and Greg Jouflas, all from Colorado, Texan Dirk Dietrich, Neil Summers of Oregon, and TBM editor T.J. Conrads. Dirk, an entrepreneur in the oil business, met T.J. and Greg in Texas the previous year and was enchanted by their stories of Kodiak. Tavis, an engineer for Cyprus Minerals, had seen my pictures and the Sitka blacktail mount in my trophy room. He got hooked on the idea of an island hunt and volunteered to join our group. The rest of us had memories of previous Kodiak hunts, and were returning for the best deer hunt in North America.
The weather deteriorated by the hour, and it wasn`t long until we checked into the Buskin River Inn and resolved ourselves to a delayed departure. Unfortunately, Sunday was a repeat of Saturday. We made the best of it by going to town and visiting the Alutiig and Baranov Museums, shopping at several sporting goods stores, and touring the harbor.
By Monday morning we were weary of hotel food, watching television, and the pounding rain on our windows. It was still raining steadily but our faithful captain, Rick Swenson, predicted we would be in the air by 2:00 p.m. At 2:10 the air service told us to load up. The long, choppy flight ended with a smooth landing next to the Sourdough, a 50` boat that would be our home for the next five days. The Sourdough is owned by Roark Brown and Rick Swenson. They have outfitted deer hunters on the island for eight years. Rick and Roark alternate week-long hunts on the boat and easily handle six hunters with the help of a deck hand. Rick is a carefree, friendly sort, quick with wit and a real organizer. Rick`s right-hand man, Larry Croff, a 25-year-old Wisconsin native with six years of experience on the Sourdough was invaluable in caring for our needs.
Packing gear for the hunt was tough, even though I`d been through it before. The terrain is steep, the ground wet and soft, and the wilderness unforgiving.
A hunter wants to travel light, yet needs to carry a pack frame to pack meat, and enough survival gear to spend the night in case of injury or severe weather. This is an unguided hunt. From the time a hunter is dropped off on shore he is 100% responsible for navigating the mountainsides, caring for game harvested, and transporting meat to the beach.
Jack O`Connor, the famous sheep hunter, once said, "A mountain with grizzly bear is much more interesting than one without." With this is mind, Kodiak is very interesting, as the largest brown bears in the world wander the island. I packed a .454 Casull revolver the entire trip. I`m also an advocate of the GPS and used it daily to mark the boat`s location and numerous vantage points to navigate home in the evening. Sudden rain or snow storms can reduce visibility to zero on Kodiak. By being prepared, I didn`t need to be stressed out over bears and weather; I could focus on the purpose of the journey - the hunt.
Our hunt began with some urgency, as we had lost two and a half days of hunting to the weather, and only four days remained. T.J., Tavis, Greg and I were dropped off on the rocky shore below a ridge at first light. Greg and I separated from T.J. and Tavis and worked our way up the rain-soaked ridge. A light rain and stiff wind worked against us. Two miles down the ridge I realized we were only a mile from a favorite spot where we had chased some good bucks two years earlier. We picked up the pace and soon ran into Tavis. He was all smiles; a rutting buck chasing a doe had just passed below T.J. and him. T.J. put an arrow under the buck`s chest, and Tavis hit the doe with a long downhill shot from his Redbud Hollow longbow. After congratulating Tavis and reviewing the morning`s events, we left Tavis behind to skin and pack out his first Sitka blacktail. Greg and I headed for the "honey hole" and T.J. split off to stalk a buck he had previously located. A mile down the ridge Greg and I were beat from four hours of hiking and decided to have lunch. I fired up a sterno can and made hot tea. We sat below the "honey hole", the head of a basin with two saddles connecting several drainages. Greg glassed a good buck coming over the saddle, so we reluctantly slid on our packs and continued our quest. Once reaching the first saddle we stopped to glass and immediately spotted a 4x4 buck and doe 500 yards above us. It was a cloudy, unfriendly day. Greg and I both wore rain gear to shield us from the rain and wind. Stripping down to quivers and bows, we moved quickly across a small stream and navigated our way up the wet mountainside. Cutting the distance in half, we peeked over the next ridge.
Luck was with us. The buck had worked his way down the mountain and was in a draw a hundred yards to our right. I told Greg to run below the buck to intercept him. I stayed put to watch the action.
Spotting the doe only fifty yards away, I turned my 10x40 binoculars to admire her. When I looked back, the buck was gone. Curious, I meandered along the ridge. That`s when I saw the buck working his way toward me. As related earlier, I released as the spooked buck ran below me. The three-blade snuffer caught him in the lungs, he ran less than 100 yards, and collapsed in sight.
Greg and I ran toward each other; he didn`t know I had shot the buck until he saw my fletching protruding from the side of the expired buck.
We had fun taking pictures, caping the buck for a shoulder mount, and boning out the meat. Greg and I have done this many times together. Whoever harvests the trophy gets the messiest jobs and heaviest pack. Having an experienced extra hand always makes the chore easier and more fun. We carefully carved all edible meat from the carcass, even the neck and ribs, to comply with Alaskan regulations. As usual, the time passed quickly, and when we looked at our watches it was 4:00 p.m. We had one hour to get to the shore by nightfall, but we were four hours from our drop-off point. We needed an alternative plan, and figured our only choice was to find a trail we had used two years ago. Greg led the way as my knees were shaky under the weight of the pack. I made the mistake of wearing all-rubber boots, without any ankle support. I swore that the boots had seen their last day on Kodiak. With amazing luck we found the deer trail we were looking for and squirreled our way through the alders. We slid, fell, and stumbled down the slope at a rapid rate trying to beat the sun. It was black as a kettle when we hit the beach. We reminisced about our previous hunt when we hiked nearly two hours in the dark with mini-mag lights. It could have been worse. No matter how tired and ripped up you feel carrying a heavy pack, it`s amazing how the journey becomes bearable upon reaching the goal. We sat on two wet rocks and radioed the Sourdough to pick us up. Exhausted, we quietly ate trail mix and emptied our canteens. What little conversation we had was focused on how good the hot meal waiting for us on the Sourdough would taste.
In the following days, I scored on another buck, as did T.J. and Dirk.
The trip ended much too quickly. We had a ball, life on the Sourdough was like summer camp. The nightly bull sessions in the bunks, Rick`s excellent table fare, and good friends made it another hunt to remember.
Kodiak is a special place. You leave a little piece of yourself on its mountainsides. No matter how tough the hunting and weather, it`s magical and draws you back for another round. Everyone talked about the "next" trip to Kodiak.
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