You will, however, note the use of probably in the foregoing statement. A pistol rubs, it scrapes, and it invited wisecracks, but if that rare attack occurs, the gun may be worth every prior bump, curse, and conceivable inconvenience.
If you are going to carry a defensive (or hunting pistol) for gosh sakes carry a .44 Magnum. The .357 Magnum is not enough. Consider these figures:
Obviously, the .44 Magnum has almost twice the power of a .357. When trying to stop an animal that could weigh seven hundred or more pounds, no one is so competent that he can willfully give away half the wallop his handgun could have.
Few would consider a .30/30 Winchester a proper weapon with which to face say a charging bear. But, the .30/30 with a conventional 170 grain bullet at 2220fps delivers a KO value of 16.6. That puts it ahead of a .357 Magnum, but well behind a .44 Maggie.
The self-defense pistol, as we apply the meaning to big game, has to not only kill the animal, it has to put it down RIGHT NOW! Thirty seconds after wounding could mean a badly mauled or stomped hunter.
Jeff Cooper, then Hand Gun Editor of Guns and Ammo magazine and one of the most knowledgeable writers in the pistol field, a confirmed advocate for the .45 ACP in police work, notes in the magazine's issue of April 1973 that in bear country he packs a .44 Magnum. No other pistol can cut the mustard on a big bruin.
To continue compiling similar commentaries by writing luminaries would be merely gilding the lily. Accept the fact that if you carry a handgun to defend yourself against attack by Alaskan wildlife, it must be a .44 Magnum.
Most will be aware that there are more powerful pistols on the market than the .44 Remington Magnum. I do not discuss them because all are oddities that only a few could like and even fewer could shoot well. All kick like mules and, because of recoil recovery, all are extremely slow on follow up shots. Carrying defensive pistols physically larger than a .44 Magnum becomes a bit grotesque and inconvenient as well.
In 1973, I ran into Joe Benner, the Hall of Fame shooter, in The Bullet Hole in Sarasota, Florida. (I was outside seeking warmth.) Joe and I had, of course, fired against each other in matches around the country. I never recall threatening his scores on any course of fire. We posed for this photograph with my new .44 caliber Auto Mag, shown elsewhere in this chapter.
The Auto Mag attained fame as The Executioner's pistol in Don Pendleton's fiction series.
The pistol is easy to shoot, it is accurate, and it has little recoil. It is a good choice for those who hunt with a handgun. The Auto Mag is NOT a good self-defense pistol. It takes great effort to operate the slide, and the big pistol is really a two-handed affair to shoot properly. It is heavy and the balance is odd with the weight high in the hand.
As long as the author can remember there has been a lot of scoffing at long range pistol shooting. Having seen the average man trying to shoot a pistol, it is understandable why many cannot accept the claims of accurate shooting well beyond 500 yards. When a shooter has trouble finding where his bullet went while firing a scoped rifle at 200 yards, the same man dares not believe that another can HIT game at 300, 400, and 500 yards with an open-sighted handgun.
Well, most cannot shoot a pistol properly, and they cannot hit game at long ranges. Other men may be able to dot your eye at 50 yards but have never practiced at long range and find the concept improbable. Some give it an afternoon's try, and when they experience ignominious failure, are forever convinced that 600 yard hits are all talk.
I recall a test conducted by a pair of writers for a popular gun magazine. The two nimrods took a newly purchased Ruger Super Blackhawk in .44 Magnum to a sandy beach, set up a target and backed off a few hundred yards. They could not hit much of anything. They reported trying to aim high overhead at branches and things to give them aiming points, but they did lousy. Their article confirmed their belief that Elmer Keith, in particular, was talking through his big hat when he claimed he shot game way out there.
Those men were wrong. A pistol can be used for hunting at long ranges. More correctly, a pistol can make hits on game sized targets at ranges out to 600 yards. Perhaps a pistol can regularly hit game further than that. I have not practiced beyond that distance.
From this position, I could do real damage out to about 600 yards. Can you see the Mag-Na-Port below the front sight?
If a shooter intends to dispute this claim, he should prepare in a number of ways. He should first read the books on the subject. Sixguns by Keith would be an excellent start. He should note, for instance, that sighting for extreme range is not done by holdover, but rather by raising the front sight while still holding on the target If you do not do it this way, you will experience indifferent results.
Shooting positions should be studied. Flopping on your belly and straining your neck while half-expecting to have the recoiling Big Bertha plant a hammer between your eyes is not conducive to effective shooting. The author's favorite long range position is shown in the previous photograph.
After many months of diligent practice, one might then consider himself qualified to voice an informed opinion. And, one will then have nothing to expose, as one will be hitting targets at previously seemingly impossible ranges.
In his book Pistols, A Modern Encyclopedia, Henry Stebbins notes that while practicing with the All Navy Team at Annapolis he shot his 9mm Luger at a 600-yard target. It took him two shots to get on the paper. Thereafter, all shots went on the six-foot square sheet with about a third of them within the twenty inch bull. He also notes that at 300 yards, using a Model 1911A1, he was able to put seven shots from his magazine into a twenty inch target spotter.
There are a number of interesting points here. First, not only Elmer Keith and I say it can be done. Also noteworthy is that neither the 9mm nor the .45 ACP is exactly ideal for such long range work, but it can be done even with such inappropriate pistols and cartridges.
My first years in Alaska, I fired and recorded over three thousand rounds from my .44 Remington Magnum, Ruger Blackhawk. This was the early Blackhawk with the fluted cylinder. Most of those rounds were fired at long ranges. I sat on the bluffs over the Tanana River and shot at rocks and flotsam. I perched on likely spots above Jarvis creek and the Delta River and drove hundreds and hundreds of bullets into unoffending stones and logs. I developed a strange callus on my second finger (the one below the trigger finger) where the trigger guard struck it—on both hands. I wore the full cock notch off the hammer the first year, and the ejector rod and housing regularly flew back over my head. Bill Ruger put the works back together for me, and I shot it all loose again.
Before I quit keeping records, I had fired over six thousand rounds through that old gun. Most were fired at long-range targets. Additionally, I wore that pistol on my hip nearly all day, every day, for over two years and less regularly for years thereafter. I still find my hand now and then trying to rest on the gun butt.
This is Elmer Keith's long-range shooting position. The author's modified preference is shown a few paragraphs above. Keith's is steadier but, unless raised up a little, the author had difficulty shooting across flat land.
During all the shooting, I discovered I could hit with astonishing regularity at seemingly improbable ranges. I hit hat-sized stones at two hundred yards as a matter of course. I would say that once I got on at 600 yards, I could hit the side of a one-hole outhouse almost every time.
Of course, I also shot at game. I recall missing a coyote making time across Bolio Lake. I never caught up with him, but dusted him until I could not see him anymore. That was good for a rueful laugh, but it was the coyote's speed that got me, not the range.
I thumped a Harvey Protex bore, 220 grain bullet through a caribou at 165 long steps. The bullet passed completely through the animal, including breaking his spine. I used my favorite hump shot on that one. I took four caribou in two years with that pistol, but that was the longest shot.
Arguments over whether or not a good shot can hit big game at long range with a pistol should cease. I
t can be done.
Should it? I must ruefully join the camp of those who say it should not. Unless you hit exactly right, the pistol is not powerful enough for Alaskan big game. Unless you are a cool and deadly shot at longer than usual ranges you will wound and wound and wound.
After all, when I exclaim that no one should shoot Alaskan big game at over 300 yards with a rifle, it would be ludicrous to endorse similar shooting with a pistol.
I am embarrassed to say that in this case, "Do not do as I have done; do as I tell you. "
Forget pistol hunting for Alaskan big game.
Which brand of sidearm should a hunter carry for self-defense? If we stick with American made pistols, our choice lies primarily between Ruger and Smith and Wesson. A Dan Wesson might get in there as well, but we will keep the explanation simple. I have carried my single-action Ruger Blackhawk for decades and my Model 29 Smith almost as long.
If I thought I was going to be attacked by a grizzly or an insane moose in extremely close quarters, I would go with the Smith and Wesson 29 for two reasons. The Smith is double-action. Pull the trigger and the gun fires. The Ruger must be cocked between rounds—not as inherently fast.
For me, at least, the Smith and Wesson recoils straighter back, more into my palm than rotating upward in my hand—as does the Ruger. If you are shooting two-handed, that might make little difference, but using one hand, the way one might in an emergency, straight back allows quicker recovery.
Finally, there is the matter of carrying. We carry a lot more than we shoot. I like the Ruger best on my hip. It feels like a pistol ought to feel, and I can haul it out more certainly than I can the Smith. For the first shot, there is little difference in speed. Thereafter, the Smith and Wesson pistol is better.
In this photo, I'm making a new (and higher) front sight for a Ruger. My Rugers, as they came from the factory, always shot high. On this sight I included a slanting ramp across which I inlaid silver bars. The idea was to use different bars at various ranges. This was Elmer Keith's idea, and it worked pretty well.
13 - Bush Flying
I learned to fly in Manhattan, Kansas. Kansas is parking lot flat. I flew my single-engine Cessna up the Alcan Highway to Fairbanks, but the highest point in that road is only a bit over 4000 feet. I learned little from the trip except how very far Alaska is from Kansas. Navigating the Alaskan Mountains, on the other hand, provided many learning moments. Some of them were frightening, as an example will demonstrate.
I had been told a hundred times never to fly UP a canyon. Always fly down a canyon The down-canyon rule is basic, and breaking that rule can find you unable to climb steeply enough to clear the rising ground.
On a handsome July day in the late nineteen fifties, Jerry and I flew UP the Gerstle River to examine sheep along the canyon edges. We saw a lot of rams, and more than a few were worthwhile with more than a full curl.
Admiring sheep, I paid too little attention to how far upriver we had proceeded. Belatedly, I realized that the ground was rising rapidly; the canyon was narrowing, and ahead rose the intimidating height of Mount Silver Tip. We were far below the canyon rim, and it appeared dicey whether I could climb fast enough to get above an edge before I ran out of air.
On came full power, down went the flaps, and up came the nose. Slow flying at the edge of a stall, my eyes glued to the altimeter, we leaned forward in our seats straining to help the slightly underpowered 170 Cessna to rise beyond its expected capabilities.
Approaching steeply rising ground, a pilot can expect either a lift from rising air or exactly the opposite (which would wipe out any chance we had of getting above the cliffs hemming us in on either side). The situation was so desperate that I was considering pointing the nose straight down and diving while racking the plane into a 180 degree turn and trying to drop toward the river as I built up air speed and pulled out heading back downstream. I might make it, but if the wind were wrong, I would be attempting a low altitude, downwind turn, and that is most often deadly.
Almost as I considered the drastic maneuver, we got a tremendous lift from wind blowing toward the mountain. As if on an elevator, up we went, and over the ridge to the right we flew. Trapped one instant, free and clear the next. Scared the hell out of me!
Do not misunderstand, I never considered myself a "genuWine" bush pilot Those "fly-anywhere, almost anytime" pilots have skills beyond those most of us acquire. Few hunting guide pilots are actual bush pilots. Guides fly in and out weather permitting, but they do not brave the arctic month in and month out delivering and picking up precious cargo. Still, any flying in Alaska can be hazardous as most landing strips are informal affairs, and only the largest commercial airports have control towers and weather advisories.
There are dirt landing strips all over Alaska, and in the old days we used to land on the highways. However, if they find game, hunting guides and other bush pilots land in some hugely unlikely places. In the winter they land on strange snowfields. In warmer months they drop onto gravel bars and flatter tundra. A popular landing technique is to fly low and slow over a chosen "strip" looking closely and judging the wind. On the next pass you hold flying speed and lightly drag your wheels or skis over the surface. If everything feels good, in you go on the third pass.
Gravel bars along rivers are popular landing spots. Most of the named rivers and larger streams in Alaska have wide flats along them and some are braided rivers, meaning that the river divides itself into entwining channels. Those rivers or creeks are sometimes half a mile wide and many offer safe landing.
Many pilots shift their landing gear from fat balloon-tire wheels, to floats for the countless lakes across Alaska. In the winter, everyone not flying from or to conventional airports has skis.
During one of my first years in our state, I was given a set of fat-tire, tandem wheels by the US Army Arctic Test Board that had finished fooling with them. The idea was to be less committed if a wheel fell into a hole, but they slowed the plane and made taxiing less friendly. I used them for two summers, as best I can recall.
This next photo shows a typical Alaskan bush landing strip. This one is a flat along the Johnson River. It is well up toward the glacier where bears and sheep can be found. Pilots often hang a rag or two in nearby saplings to help with the wind the next time in; the wind can often be shifty and bumpy in the mountains.
In the lower forty-eight states, flying close to the ground was always dangerous because of unexpected towers or wires strung here and there, but during my earlier years in Alaska, I took great pleasure in flying along at about tree height (Always downstream!) watching animals and enjoying the challenge of following a river or a stream's course. Back then, there simply were no towers or wires beyond the edge of a community.
It is said that Alaska has more airplanes per capita than any other state, and the report seems correct. If you hunger to be a light plane pilot, go to Alaska. The restricted zones are few, and the flying is exciting. If you intend to become a hunting or fishing guide, learn to fly and fly well.
A final thought is that a hunting guide does not have to be an instrument-rated pilot (although that is not a bad idea), but he should be able to execute a one hundred and eighty degree turn in the thickest soup. He should practice that maneuver often and stay razor sharp on it. That getaway maneuver can save your life when—as it surely will sooner or later—a whiteout or something similar drops in. Which encourages a final flying story.
My buddy and I had flown some trophies into Fairbanks and were attempting to get back to Fort Greely by flying under overcast that eventually forced us down into the riverbed of the Delta River. Not to worry, we knew the area and would recognize the exact spot to turn left, pop up into the soup with one eye on the ground, cross the Richardson Highway and sit down on the immense Fort Greely runway. (Fort Greely had been a Lend Lease airstrip during WWII where Russian pilots took over the airplanes the USA was giving them. The runways were so large that anything flying could land and take off without diffi
culty.)
Unfortunately, weather closed in ahead of us, and I could only roll into a very tight turn and head back out—back to Fairbanks. Only, the ceiling had dropped behind us, and we were flying in an increasingly small bowl of clear air. Instant deciding was essential. No time for discussion or reconsideration. I picked a likely-looking gravel flat and stalled the Cessna in as short as I could manage. Made it. Bald-assed luck, mostly.
When the overcast lifted a little, I backed off as far as I could get, full flaps, stood on the brakes, and revved the engine until rivets strained. I got the back wheel up and let off the brakes. We staggered aloft and made it into Greely. Hardly worth talking about—we claimed.
Master guide, Ray Atkins, Cantwell, Alaska—a bush pilot with more than thirty years experience.
Landing on a snow field and setting up camp almost under a wing The wise thing is to immediately tie down the airplane by screwing anchors into the snow, one for each wing and another for the tail. Winds can come from nowhere in the mountains. If the temperature is going to get really low and the plane will not be used, the oil must be drained so that it does not freeze or get too thick in the engine. You warm the oil over a stove or a fire before you put it back in the engine. If the engine does not immediately crank, you drain the oil and do it over again—before you run down your battery. If you fail to restart, someone has to fly in a generator and a Herman Nelson air blower to heat up the engine. Have a good radio and file an excellent flight plan—just in case.
This is a reduced-in-size copy of the Hunters' Flight Plan that was introduced more than forty years ago. The idea is that if a pilot runs into difficulty and cannot fly out, the Alaska State Police will have his whereabouts on record and can initiate a rescue.
The Hunter's Alaska Page 9
