Alaskan Moose Hunt

[Ratdog68]

It was November of '91, and I was making a statement. Instead of going to the final hearing for my divorce, I was flying from Anchorage to Kotzebue to go moose hunting with my dad, and to spend Thanksgiving with him up there. Never wanted it, but, the mechanics of the process all went my way, and I wasn't going to give her the time of day from that day on. Besides... an Alaskan Moose hunt with my father? Who needs help making that decision? LOL A man's gotta have priorities ya know.

A very close friend of mine, Carlos (who I worked with as a cop up there), was returning the favor, and loaned me his nearly brand spanking NEW Yamaha Phazer snow mobile and Eskimo basket sled. Dad had a Polaris Indy 340 long track and an Eskimo basket sled he made from oak. Another close friend of mine (Tom) from Anchorage was coming along too. A close friend of my dad and I (Raymond Brown) and his son were coming along as well.

Now, Raymond (OO-ya-lack) (don't know how to spell it correctly, nor what it means) (R.I.P.) was an interesting fellow, I'd first met him when he was on my crew during spill clean-up efforts during the Exxon Valdez spill, he was one of the bear guards. He was a good soul, loved a good laugh, enjoyed the out of doors a little more than the next guy, had a team of dogs he cared for... and was always ready (loosely said) to go hunting. You could count on Raymond for ANYTHING, but having equipment in good repair. LOL If it wasn't a trashed prop on an outboard, a snow mobile that wouldn't run well, a 4-whlr. that needed fixing, a rifle in DESPARATE need of cleaning/oiling/rust removal... then it was something as simple as bringing a .270 rifle and grabbing his .243 shells in his hurry to leave. It was always something. But, it was always a good adventure, some hearty laughs, and a good story for later. Years later, Raymond and another hunter vanished. They were snow mobile hunting on the ocean for seals, and as I recall, only a gas can with one of their names was ever found. I helped Raymond with getting dogs for his team. We'd get some dogs in at the pound, and before they'd take a final trip to the dump, I'd call Raymond and have him come down and pick one or two he wanted to adopt. He took good care of his dogs. My one and only sled dog ride was with Raymond, a year or two after his team built up. I never knew dogs could take a dump at a full gallop... but, they can... and, in the open air... at speed, it stinks just as bad as if in a room with 'em. LOL I had the pleasure of many caribou hunts with my dad, and with Raymond along. I'll miss his company in the years to come... as much as I've missed it since his disappearance.

Tom? He and I became friends when I moved to Anchorage (from Kotzebue) shortly after getting married. He and his wife attended the same church that we started going to, and his wife sang in the choir as did we. Tom's friendship was a God-send for me... for, it was during my separation/divorce that our hunting/fishing adventures helped with keeping my sanity, and he never turned a deaf ear (though, I'd imagine he wanted to from time to time). He was a lineman for the Municipal Light and Power company. We'd load his boat after work on Friday, drive about 150 miles to Seward, launch his boat... fish for halibut, drive back to Anchorage... clean fish (and the boat), and make it (barely) to church Sunday morning. I'd brought him caribou hunting in Kotzebue a few times, we'd never moose hunted together... although, he'd done a LOT of moose hunting over the years.

Being the latter half of November, it was (on average) -10F ambient. Everything was frozen over, snow was on the ground... but, there was ONE hazard to be watchful of (besides the cold)... "over flow" on the river. The ice forms on the surface, the river rises and breaks through... can be another 3-4 feet deep above the ice, and then freeze over again... break through again and be standing water ontop of that layer of ice. We had three machines/sleds for the five hunters. Tom, riding in my sled... Raymond's boy in his sled... and dad hauling most of the gear in his sled. I had ONE strict rule for hunting in the arctic... when dad said: "My suggestion to you is...." that was LAW. By age, he out-ranked Raymond, but they were the ones to lead and made the more critical decisions.

When going afield in the Arctic, I tend to go a little gear-heavy... as well as tools/resource heavy. Always been kind of handy, but you can't just go to the store for something needed. Ain't no WalMart handy. At least half a dozen knives, multiple fire making means, extra clothing to change into since being wet can kill you in those temps, plenty of things like webbing for lashings, extra rope, cordage... whatever I could pack along for that "just in case".

The plan... travel north on the Noatak River, headed towards the village of Noatak (where my grandmother was born), and just prior to getting there, camp on Raymond's land. He had a canvas wall tent set up there, with plywood inner walls and 2x4 framing to support the canvas. It was insulated with pink foam board, and, had a wood stove in it. Right on the river, in the middle of NOwhere. Life is GOOD !!! From there, we'd travel up and down the slough bottoms, then up the bank to the tundra and willows (where the moose browsed).

Snow machining on glare ice is interesting. Not too bad if you have carbide skegs on the skis and a studded track... however, if you didn't, give steady/smooth acceleration after even the slightest turn... you'd end up looking to the side and seeing your passenger facing the wrong direction and with an odd look on his face riding backwards (at speed) in a jack-knifed sled... still attached to the snow mobile. One can become rather proficient at correcting this with a slight push against the rail of the sled and being smooth on the gas. Sleds have flat runners, with a Teflon strip screwed to them to keep them slick. Passengers also do NOT enjoy the same benefit of suspension to soak up the uneven affects of tundra. Life is good on the machine with such things as: heated grips, a windshield, heat exchangers beneath your boot covered hooves. One earns extra points with his passenger when he turns around and asks the inquiring "OK?" with a thumbs up... and pays attention to the response (and, not take offense to the urgency of the delivery of whatever gesture is returned)... for, you TOO could end up riding in the sled. Did I mention already? Life is GOOD on the machine !!!

To be continued...

 

[Ratdog68]

The State of Alaska has a fish hatchery on the west shore of the river as you head north (towards Noatak). Just north of there is where we encountered our first hint of over flow. Nothing of concern on the trip up.

Raymond's camp was on the east shore of the river. There are trees along this section, as well as the usual clusters of willows at the river's edge. On the west side... no trees. A trail was cut through the willows/trees on the back side of camp, which emptied into a feeder stream to the south. This trail is wide enough for only one machine. We got settled in, gear stowed in camp and we head out for some scouting.

After running some slough bottoms, it's time to ascend on up to tundra level. This means about a 20 foot change in elevation, with at least a 60 degree slope. "The plan" was to gain some speed, turn into the slope with enough speed/momentum to crest the top, "catch a little air" and land up on the tundra. So... the question for the passengers was, "you up for the ride, or you wanna climb on foot?". The passengers opted to climb. Being this was before the days of digital cameras, cell phones, etc., we didn't get this on film. So, here we go. Raymond leads off with the "here's how we do it", dad follows to confirm, and I'm last up. I matched their speed and path after getting the all clear that the other two are well beyond the "LZ" and launch. Tom tells me that he saw daylight beneath the tails of the sled runners (at the back), and I was still "nose up" in the air. That's 14 feet of sled, and 8 feet of snow mobile, and a good 4 feet of hitch tongue in one straight line... we got air !!!! Lots of powdery snow to land into, as well as a bed of willow branches woven beneath the snow... nice and soft for a landing.

We repeated this routine multiple times a day, for three or so days. We weren't finding any moose. Tom and Raymond needed to get home, family were awaiting them for Thanksgiving, so the three of them broke off and headed for Kotzebue in one snow mobile/sled. Dad and I had the freedom to remain and hunt.

The next day, dad says he'd been telling Raymond that we needed to be in "such and such" an area (off the river), but Raymond had wanted to hunt the area we'd been in. Well... seems good enough reasoning to me to try the areas we hadn't, no moose were where we HAD. By late morning, we're running a slough bottom and up ahead we spot a pair of cow moose up on the tundra. We were further upstream on these sloughs, so we were only about 3 feet below the shoreline, the willows stood another 3 feet... so we could stalk on foot and remain below them. Machines parked/idling, it's time to kill moose !

Dad had cataracts forming and wasn't trusting his ability to shoot, and wanted me to shoot for him. I began the stalk, remembering that animals KNOW when you're looking at them (as my dad taught me), so I would only glance up from time to time to verify my range (mostly keeping my eyes to the path I walked). Once I closed the gap to within 75 yds. I decided I wanted a neck shot. The moose was quartering away, I was on her left flank. I raised my rifle and placed the crosshairs just to the left of her shoulder and began to stare. Sure enough... that big ol' head/neck swung around and she looked over her left shoulder right at me when I began to stare !!! With my bead centered on her neck (high up, close to her head), I flicked off the safety and squeezed the trigger. My Remington 700 ADL barked, and I heard the solid THUD of the 220 grain soft point finding its mark. Upon getting back on target, no moose in sight. I turned to look back at dad and he's already screaming up to me on my machine and hollering: "Go get the other one !!!" A quick confirmation of his view... she flopped onto her right side, blood spurted up, she kicked 4 times and died. Turns out, while he was dressing her out, I'd hit both carotid arteries. Text book kill (my first shot at a moose) !!! He's puttin' his tag on her and off I head for the second cow.

Coming to a sliding stop on the machine, rifle up... and I proceed to clean miss her... TWICE !!!! Third shot (after gathering myself back together)... BANG-FLOP ! Now, if you've never walked up on a mature Alaskan Moose carcass, there's only ONE thing that comes to mind.... "What the heck did I do THAT for??? NOW the WORK begins !!!!" And, NOOOOO.... she didn't conveniently flop on over to her right side (so that the liver isn't hanging down where you're working while gutting... like dad's moose did), when I connected with the CNS shot, all four of her legs buckled and she nestled down between two saplings and wedged herself "belly-down" between 'em !!! Otay, tag installed, now it's time to go to work.

To be continued...

 

[Ratdog68]

It's times like this, when one is grateful that weather permits a snow mobile. Unhitch the sled, grab that rope that's packed in the gear bag and pull her out from between those trees. Tie her left legs to the hitch and scoot the machine far enough to keep those hooves pointing up while working. With nothing but a few knives to work with, it took five hours for both animals to be gutted, skinned, quartered, and loaded onto the sled. Work between the joints with the knife to cut the connective tissue and you're GTG. Ok... so, dad's pile of quarters was purdier than mine was. With having to work that hard, the -10F ambient was a blessing.

Obstacle #1 hit. Dad's sled developed a crack in the runner on one side, so, ALL of the meat from two moose had to go into my sled.

Obstacle #2 hit. Upon returning to the Noatak River, "over flow". No safe place to cross the river. We can SEE camp, but, no safe passage to GET there. This isn't going to be fun.

So... we find us a spot on a slough where the wind isn't quite as brisk along a bend and set up "camp". We start cutting willows and pile them onto the ice to create as much of an insulating layer as we can. The moose hides go down onto the willows (flesh side down). I'd brought along one of those orange tubular rescue bags, there's one wind block for dad, and, we have one canvas snow mobile cover. The machines go nose to nose on the up-wind side, and the sled with meat outside of that. More willows cut up, and a fire built. It's going to be a LONG night. We cut some chunks of meat off, cooked 'em on sticks and took on the Arctic night with meat in our bellies. Hmmmm? Have the grizzlies denned up by now? The wolverines don't, the foxes don't.

Being dressed for the weather helped tremendously, but... wind chill DOES chip away at you... especially as your body is resting. So, it began... doze until you could feel your feet begin to get REALLY cold, then get up and pace. As soon as that chilled blood from your feet hit your torso, the heavy shivers would set in... BAD. Walk until you ALMOST break a sweat, then lay back down and doze. As the night wore on, the periods of dozing became shorter and shorter, and the periods of walking became longer and longer. The fire's died down, and now I'm hearing some gurgling in dad's breathing (he was 60ish at the time). Enough of this, time to build the fire again. We're both up, gathering willows and stockpiling for a long night ahead of us... but, no sleep while feeding a fire is better than this... at least you're almost warm.

The sun came up, we'd made it through the night (almost warm). Time to see what our options are. It's about a five mile run back to the main river, there's NO way we can risk hauling that load across the fragile ice. So, the plan is to come back for the meat after getting to camp, getting some rest, repair dad's sled, break camp. I cut some more chunks of meat for stew back at camp and we head for the river.

To be continued...

 

[Ratdog68]

Obstacle #3. Once back to the river, not much has improved concerning the over flow. Steam rising off the surface just plain lacks Zest. Neither one of us remembers which slough (down river) is the way into the back trail to camp. After talking it over for a bit, dad decides he can make it across... will then take the trail to the southern route's beginning and come get me from that direction. Not real crazy about this... but, I agreed to sit put and wait for his return. He's making pretty good progress across the river, and suddenly I see his headlight beam pointing straight up into the air ! I hear his engine RPMs scream as it revs... then his headlight beam is doing all manner of strange things. When all is said and done, his headlight is facing me and I can hear his engine idling. I wait, and wait... nothing's happening. I wait some more. Finally, his machine moves and I can see him going passed the tent and onto the trail... soon vanishing from sight.

After what seemed like forever, I hear a snow machine engine wound tight and screaming in the distance (dad never hot-rodded on his machine). Before long, I see him FLYING across the river (south of me), his red gas can tailing him on a rope. He didn't look too sharp when he finally arrived back to where I was. He had a smoke.

Well... it went something like this... he managed to skim across the weak ice. Being a long-track, it spread out the weight (working in his favor). He'd left his sled with me to remain as light as possible. Just as he'd neared shore, he felt the ice giving and he nailed the throttle. Like a shot he was up the bank, and upon landing (before being able to back out of the throttle), his ski caught a stump, turned him around and had to work quick to get stopped before being launched back into the "now open" water he'd just cleared. It'd taken him a few minutes to collect himself. That was the delay. Once back on the river, he saw a patch of black ahead, thinking it was open water, he wound it up tight and set to skim across. Turned out to be a mound of sand bar... and he was airborne before he knew what'd happened. His gas can came dislodged when he landed, but, he wasn't backing out of the throttle until he was across. So... we were GTG to get back to camp from the southern route.

Once at camp, that's when I realized I'd forgotten to pick up the meat I'd cut before we'd left my sled. 'DOH ! Oh well... dad flopped on a bunk and turned to gel. I set about getting a fire going, getting some water down us, some fresh oranges down us for a sugar spike, and made up a 'tater stew (sans the moose meat). We ate our fill and crawled into the rack for some much needed sleep.

The next day, we examined the broken sled runner. Into my bag of tricks I go digging and come out with a big wad of nylon straps with plastic buckles. I had a gaggle of these things. So, we back the screws out and pull the Teflon from the oak, and set about lashing the runner. Once we were done, dad poured water on it to freeze it solid, and we snugged the Teflon back down. We're back in business. Gear packed up and into dad's sled and we head out, back to my sled (loaded with moose meat). Foxes had arrived and chewed on one hunk, pee'd on the sled frame... but nothing else had bothered our meat. Time to head to Kotzebue, and HOPING we were done facing death. (But, no such luck).

To be continued...

 

[Ratdog68]

My earlier comment of how nice life is when your machine has carbide skegs on the skis and a studded track? Well... since mine didn't have them, and I was having to be extra smooth with the throttle and such... having the load of TWO moose was compounding matters. Sleds do NOT have electric brakes and the load FAR outweighed the tow vehicle. The saving grace on forward travel is:
1. Low friction between Teflon/snow and ice.
2. Low friction between Teflon/snow and ice.
Stopping? Well... that was a whole other ball game. LOL

Dad's got point with the light load. All was going well for the most part. Then I saw it... a whisp of water spray up from his track (WATER atop the ice) ! I nailed the throttle to gain as much speed as I could over this section, but, it was too late. The track just spun beneath me. A moment later, I felt it. The ice began to buckle beneath me. The only thing keeping me moving forward now was the momentum of the weight of the sled and the lack of adhesion of the Teflon runners on wet ice. As the machine began to go nose up, I was scrambling to stand on the seat. So, here I am, taking quick inventory of the situation... engine is still running, and above water, top of the seat is above water, I'm still dry, only the very top of the frozen meat it above water... and I'm not going anywhere. Look up... dad made it to solid ice and I'm waiting for him to realize my headlight isn't casting light towards him anymore. It's -10F above the water, and there's a fair current below the ice I'm sitting on. I don't know how thick that ice is... how long it'll hold me. If it gives way, I'm a goner. If I get soaked to the skin in this weather, I don't have a LOT of time before I'm in bad shape. The funny thing though? What's also flashing passed the front of my mind is... you're on a BORROWED, BRAND SPANKING NEW SNOW MOBILE !!!

It didn't take dad long to figure out something was awry, and turn back. The conversation went something like this:
You OK?
Yeah
You wet?
No
Where's the trash bags?
I dunno, why?
The trash bags must be on the sled with the meat, see 'em?
Yeah, WHY?
Walk back (on top of frozen/wet/rounded blobs of meat, without falling in) and get the garbage bags.
Do WHAT?????
You need to wear 'em as waders to stay dry while you stand in the water and unhitch the sled.

After exchanging the last three lines a few times (in protest and encouragement, depending on which edge of the solid ice you were situated)... I was thankful for my youth, and steady feet, wishing I had a balance pole as I walked back, bent over to grab the plastic bags, turned, and walked back to the machine. All without slipping and falling into the water. Now, there's two types of people in this world, those who lock up tighter than a drum and can't take a dump for days when they're terrified, and those who (after the crisis is over) can't find a toilet fast enough. I'm one of the latter, and trying to remind myself I'm NOT THERE YET. LOL

So, here we go, engine is still above water (skis sitting atop the ice) and idling smooth, I'm still dry (and safely back from my balancing act). I'm telling myself: "The ol' man's pretty smart, garbage bags as waders... I can't believe he wants me to stand in this water and do this !!!" Coat off, sleeves rolled up... "+32F water never felt so warm".... the damned clevis pin won't budge !!! I can't get it to loosen ! Now, I'm no runt, and at the time, was nearing my prime, mechanically inclined, and a capable person... but, this clevis pin will NOT budge !! It AIN'T moving. Now what?

To be continued...

 

[Ratdog68]

Getting out of Obstacle #4 for this hunt isn't going bad, but, isn't going great either. It's time for "Plan B". We'd brought along the rope from dad's boat (used as a bow line). It was in his sled. He unhitched, and dragged the machine to the edge of the solid ice... and tossed the line to me. JUST enough to tie a bowline onto the front bumper of the machine and two feet of slack !! "The plan?" He'll nail the throttle to apply some jerk to the line, and I'll nail the throttle to help. SMACK !!! Slack taken, and he's just spinning... BUT, machine/sled/meat/me all moved ONE foot forward ! (Line held) So... he drags back to the edge of the ice and we'll do it again... SMACK !!!! Again, same thing, AND, one more foot of forward motion ! So... he drags back to the edge of the ice again... SMACK !!!! Only this time, it wasn't like hitting a brick wall. He's feeling and seeing a little forward motion, and I'm feeling/seeing some forward motion... so, neither one of us back out of the throttle ! After what seemed like an eternity (m'be two seconds), she grabs... and I'm holding on for dear life ! The whole mess comes launching up and out of the water and up onto the solid ice. We keep the forward motion (tethered together) until he knows the back of my sled is well up onto the solid ice, and, thankfully, he understood the next phase of things. Steering is sluggish at best for me, so he veers left a little as he backs off his throttle and I come sliding up his right side as I'm trying to get stopped.

We're not done yet though... I've gotta get the back of the machine up in the air and sling the water out of there before I have a frozen mess all locked up with ice. Yep, you guessed it...NOW the clevis pin loosens for me as if I'd just forgotten to ask it nicely before. I pick up the ass-end of the machine and dad gives it full throttle for a few seconds. We'll be ok now.

A mile or so down river is the fish hatchery... some hot coffee, and most importantly... a toilet !!! We have a pleasant visit with the guy stationed there, got warmed up and settled down again. Time to continue.

As the sun got lower in the sky, we rounded a bend... and that dirty little town of Kotzebue never looked so good !!! We got back to the cabin, time to unload gear. The cabin was about 9' x 13', no running water, no sewer, but, had lights/electrical hook-up. It sat in the yard of one of dad's friends, and we were welcome to come in and use the shower/toilet as needed. I told dad to hit the shower first, and to come get me when he was done. (that was an awfully long shower he was taking) When I had the last of the gear/meat stowed, I opened the door to find him comfortably in a chair, drinking coffee, smoking, and talkin' with the neighbor. Well... when you're silver-haired, putting away gear is optional when there's young bucks afoot.

Alaska, there's no place on earth like it. The beauty of the land is incredible. If you don't respect her, and prepare for her, she'll turn on you in a heart-beat and kill you. She MAY choose to kill you even if you ARE well prepared. Thankfully, the good Lord will also look after his own, and help ya through the obstacles you face. Dad's gone, Raymond's gone, Carlos is gone, dad's neighbor is gone too. Tom and I keep in touch, and once in a while get together for dinner when I'm passing through town. We shared our moose with Tom, Raymond, dad's neighbor, my buddy Carlos, dad's aunt Elsie and others... but, they had to hear the tale of that hunt.

I'm hungry for moose meat.

 

[FrankT]

Excellent, great story, thanks for taking the time to share.

 

[Itsazonik]

That is one long story to get through all at once but a great story

 

[Ratdog68]

Excellent, great story, thanks for taking the time to share.

That is one long story to get through all at once but a great story

Thanks. That's the first time I've put the tale in writing, and also why I chose to segment it out, trying to break it at places that would keep an interest in coming back. Definitely an adventure of a lifetime for me.

 

[Itsazonik]

I came in part way through and had a lot of reading to do

 

[RattlesnakeDan]

Good Story RD! My last trip to Alaska entailed 3 planes, alot of waiting, No moose killed, 11 days in a raft, frozen, wet, soar and tired. I tried to convince our gov't to give her back to the Russians but I guess we still own, Good Old Alaska

 

[Ratdog68]

LOL Every two weeks, my trip to Alaska entails 2 planes, a bus ride, a boat (or hover craft) ride, no moose, often nearly frozen, and tired. And, that's just to get a pay check. My vote, kick the Govt. OUT of Alaska and get to work harvesting the natural resources she holds... pi$$ on the Russians too. LOL

 

[FrankT]

Is there a reason you don't live there RD? Are you a native that gets a check each year? Just curious...

 

[Ratdog68]

Been considering moving back up there... however, the notion of digging my way TO the front door after being gone for two weeks (working) keeps me from rushing that decision. "Residents" of Alaska get an annual check. It's called the "Alaska Permanent Fund Dividend". There's over half a million residents. This year's check is $900 per person. And, of course... the State Lawmakers are trying to weasel a way to get their mitts on the fund, since they're drunken with spending money just like the rest of the country's idiots. Since I'm not a resident, I don't qualify to get that check.

And, I spend nearly 10x that amount annually in plane tickets to commute to/from.

 

[FrankT]

Oh so it is all residents? I though it was native Alaskans. Did the amount not used to be 2000-3000. For 900 like who cares, IF you have a job. I guess it may cost more to live there than your trips, that and the hassle and cost of everything.

 

[Ratdog68]

The amount varies from year to year, dependent upon how the investments do. The highest it paid in a year was in the neighborhood of $2000 per person (2008 I believe).

 

[EGarza04]

Wow RD, that is one heck of a story. Makes me feel bad for getting upset at all the little things that have gone wrong when I go hunting. None of them are life threatening, well none have been yet. Thanks for sharing.

 

[Ratdog68]

The biggest plus? NO skunks to deal with !!! LOL But, I hear they're as far NW as the NW Territories of Canada.

 

[Pootie]

Thanks for the story - always enjoy a good story!

 

[Ratdog68]

Thanks for taking the time to read it.