The Hunter's Alaska

by Roy F. Chandler

  We could set up spotting scopes at tent door and study the rising ground around us for many miles.

  There is some value in looking slightly upward into distant woods. Animals that might be hidden from higher spotters can be picked out and examined as they browse or rest under trees. The old Jarvis Creek camp was especially well situated in that respect

  While the tents were going up, perishable foods were placed in the cold creek water, and the Bombardier tractor dragged in old logs to use on nightly bonfires. Most of our cooking in moose camp was done on Coleman stoves, but the crisp evenings were warmed by comforting flames that never failed to induce storytelling and a sense of close companionship.

  Camping on gravel bars, we could build large fires without possibility of their spreading, and after successful hunting the flames often rose high in celebration.

  A meat rack is important in moose camp as it is expected to hold many hundreds of pounds of meat. Ours on Jarvis Creek was made of an eight-inch-thick log placed a little to one side where the wind off the glacier blew across it. At night, the Bombardier tractor was parked so that its highlights bore on the hanging meat. If a prowling grizzly approached, it could be quickly exposed and probably driven away.

  The Old Guide took no part in our camp preparations. He established his spotting scope and began examining the area in detail. If a spectacular bull was sighted we went hunting, but more often the camp went up with little interruption.

  When we were ready to hunt, Art would show us the various moose he had located. Often there would be a dozen or more. Most were cows, and many were quite distant We would talk it over and lay out the hunt

  Our hunting system from that camp was simple. A pair of hunters moved toward the moose. Periodically, the hunters turned and observed the camp through their binoculars. In camp the Old Guide watched both moose and hunters. By arm signals he would tell the hunters which way to go. The normal folds of earth and intrusions of woods and brush usually kept the hunters from sighting the moose until quite close. Without guidance from afar, the animals would not often have been located.

  Two arms held straight overhead was the signal to keep going directly away. Two arms held low (similar to the military position of Attention) meant, you had passed the animals, come straight back. An arm pointing in a direction meant, go there. A circular arm swing said, "Look around, you should see them."

  Using this system, most moose were shot at less than 100 yards. Many were unsuspecting. Rarely, was a second shot needed, but it was usually taken. A second bullet quickly and accurately delivered is excellent insurance.

  Finished with Dall sheep hunting, we moved down to our Jarvis Creek camp. With rising ground all around, we began glassing for eligible moose. Note the second spotting scope on top of the tractor.

  A lot of hunters take cow moose these days. At this time, the Game Department permits it. There is certainly nothing immoral about shooting cows. However, it has always seemed to me that cows should not be taken unless it is intended to reduce the moose population.

  While that may be desirable in some areas, it seems inapplicable for most of Alaska. I admit to being only a hunter and do not profess to understand all that game management people know.

  Time will tell if we are wise in allowing antlerless moose hunting. Those of us who have gone after and taken the big bulls sometimes fail to adjust to new ways. Some whitetail buck shooters in the lower forty-eight states still resist doe hunting, and for the most part they are wrong.

  Since I shot my first moose, that little 28-inch meat moose, I have never touched trigger on anything under the magic 45-inch measurement. After all, could you imagine a hunter mounting a cow moose head?

  OK, this next photo shows a nice moose and a great way to get him out. My first question is: Where is the meat? A moose of the size indicated by the rack would half fill this johnboat.

  There have been various changes in the laws and a decade or two back some trophy hunters alibied their failure to bring out what they shot by challenging the law requiring a hunter to save and make use of what he killed.

  Their pitch was that they had a right to hunt only for trophies—period. And they won. I have never understood that decision and I think it an unforgivable waste to leave entire carcasses of great animals to wolves and bears. The policy smacks of the old days of shooting buffalo from moving trains for their hides and leaving the rest to rot.

  This is my hunting pal Stan Thomas. Stan shot this moose when he was nine years old using a Swedish military rifle. This picture shows the mighty hunter lying within the moose rack only moments after his successful hunt.

  In this photo, Stan is twelve years old, but the moose rack still looks big. It is. The rack measures 63 inches in span, it is well balanced, and it has a lot of points. A trophy and a memory to be savored for a lifetime

  24 - Caribou

  When compiling a list of Alaskan game animals that have fallen to my gun, I find that caribou lead the rest—combined. That surprises me, as I have never hunted caribou particularly hard.

  There are about 600,000 caribou in Alaska, although in some decades that count has fluctuated wildly. I suspect their vast numbers explain in part why a hunter like me would shoot quite a few. The facts seem to be that many caribou are taken while out hunting other game. To paraphrase an old tritism, "They are taken because they are there."

  One might expect that a caribou would be found sharing pastures with moose because they are both deer. Although this may occur, it is not the usual way of things.

  The caribou has an unbelievably effective fur that keeps him warm in the bitterest cold. It also keeps him too hot in the warmer hunting seasons. So, we are likely to find caribou in cool spots. Where a moose might settle for the shade of a spruce, the caribou is more apt to stand on a snow bank. Where moose are found in the tall tundra or browsing on young willow growth, the caribou is probably out in a cooling breeze, down along a damp creek, up in a sheep meadow, or munching on the green things growing below a glacier.

  The caribou is the most curious animal in Alaska. I have enticed them into short range by waving my handkerchief and I have simply sat while they maneuver on their own, getting closer and closer.

  Stan Thomas and I were photographing grizzlies in the fall of 1974 when the best double shovel caribou I have ever seen appeared on a skyline. He eventually saw us and came down to determine what we were. He kept coming until he stood in a typically awkward caribou stance (which means splay-legged and sort of twisted) only about forty yards from us. I shot a bunch of pictures until the wind shifted. He got a scent of us that acted on his system like a hot poker. He went straight up in the air, bucked like a stallion, and took off. Those are typical caribou actions.

  I could believe that caribou suffer some sort of short circuit between their ears. They may dash about, perform blatantly idiotic gyrations, stand looking really dumb, yet prance with the most handsome stride in the Alaskan kingdom, all within the space of a few minutes.

  In summer heat a caribou, like this weary looking young bull, can seem a sad and dispirited creature. They sort of sag in the middle, they stand around a lot, and their fur appears to be molting. We do not hunt them then. Caribou like it cold.

  The caribou is the only deer that I know of that both male and female wear big antlers. The cows' antlers are smaller and very spindly, but they are still large if compared to those of other animals.

  A big, white-necked bull caribou is a magnificent sight to behold. Not only is a bull caribou the size of an elk, his spread of antlers is at least comparable, and he can move with a grace that is stunning to watch.

  The caribou runs with a high knee action and lays his vast antlers back along his neck, adopting a stride that track coaches should point out to their middle distance runners. Whew, he is beautiful. His run is poetry—high knees, long springy stride, everything flowing in harmony.

  Even ordinary caribou boast very impressive racks of antlers, and their size takes
some getting used to. Hunters from outside are often overwhelmed by their first sight of a caribou bull. They shoot an animal they believe is monumental but, later as they encounter a lot of caribou, they find their trophy to be only average.

  A caribou rack is judged by its spread, heaviness of beam, number of points, and whether it has two shovels. A shovel is the palmated section of antler that runs down over a caribou's nose. A typical caribou has only one shovel and a long point on the other antler. The width of the palmation on a bull's shovel is also important A sixteen-inch-wide shovel is very good, but the double shovel is what we all look for.

  I would say that unless your bull has around thirty points and very heavy antlers with wide palms and two shovels you do not have a truly super rack. Then, I have to add, with caribou you do not need a super rack to have an impressive trophy. Even a typical set of caribou antlers is attention getting—outside Alaska.

  Our barren ground caribou bull (which is the kind we have in Alaska) may weigh as much as 600 pounds. I would guess that 500 pounds is a more likely figure.

  A typical annual caribou harvest in Alaska will number around 35,000 animals. A great many of those taken are killed during the migrations. Many others are shot by hunters out for other game, or, perhaps out for any game would be a more honest way of putting it

  Migrating caribou near the Denali Highway in the Alaska Range

  Our parties have not hunted caribou for many a year. When we encounter caribou we do take them for meat, however. A quota of caribou can fill a man's larder for most of a year. With the price of domestic meat in Alaska, a freezer full of wild game is not a small thing.

  Years ago, nearly every home took a couple of caribou. The limit was three caribou per license back then. The quarters were often tossed onto the roof or hung in an unheated shed where they froze rock hard. The weather provided a free deep freeze, and one used a bow saw or whacked off a desired chunk with a hatchet Certainly, there were less crude methods of storing winter meat, but the old way proved pretty effective.

  Caribou meat is tender and tasty. Not having a discriminatory palate, I think it tastes as good as any meat I have ever eaten. Some tell me that to them the meat tastes weak. I gather that means a bit tasteless. I believe it is all in their heads. There is no evidence that I know of to support such a contention, and most people like caribou meat

  I have rich memories of caribou shoots. I recall sitting on a rock over Dry Creek watching a bunch of caribou loafing near the stream banks. A big, white-chested bull saw me as something different and decided to investigate. He high-stepped his way closer in widening loops until he was within a hundred or so yards. Then he stood looking at me awhile. When a caribou looks, he is likely to get himself twisted into genuinely grotesque positions. His back may get all out of line, and his legs will probably end up splayed as though he was wind-broken.

  This inquisitive bull moved closer with his nose high trying to wind me. He closed within seventy-five yards as I sat still with only my scope following his movements. The bull was so close that I could clearly see his eyeballs through the 4X glass. Eventually, a breeze drifted my scent down to him. He nearly shook his antlers off trying to rid his nostrils of such a foul smell. Then, he sun-fished a bit and took off, tail up. Horns laid back, with his high knee action trying to hit his chin. He was so beautiful in stride that I let him go a long way before I plunked him. That was a long time ago. I guess now I would not shoot him at all.

  Either sex of caribou can be legally taken. Either is fine meat. The best meat caribou is not your mighty bull. Young animals are the best eating. So, most of the racks we have taken over the years have been of less than trophy size. After all, how many big caribou racks should a hunter hang in his home? Too many can weaken the display.

  The photograph above is of Mimi, Andy J. Mefford, and the Old Guide posing with their caribou on a hunt into the Granites. Unfortunately, the picture is old and has become poor, but in the background you may be able to make out two tents and a track vehicle with a trailer. The Old Guide leans on two sets of small antlers. Those were his meat caribou. Andy is standing in front of a truly fine set of antlers. As I recall, Andy J. rose early and stalked the bull alone. Took him with a .270 Winchester, I think. Mimi shot hers from over a clump of grass at about 100 yards with another .270. A funny part is—we were on a sheep hunting trip. We did fine on caribou but lousy on the rams.

  All three friends have now gone to their great reward. I hope there is good hunting up there for them.

  One other point in the old photo is worthy of interest. Both bulls came from the non-migrating herd at the foot of the Granites. A close look shows that Mimi's trophy is still in perfect velvet while Andy's is polished clean. Now, how do you account for that?

  The caribou may be the easiest of all Alaskan big game to shoot. It is not that they are so weak that they cannot take a bullet. A big part of it is that they are out in the open and, in most cases, offer good shots. That caribou are incredibly curious and often pose for the hunter helps as well.

  A caribou's eyes are not the best and make rather open stalking practical. I doubt caribou vision is much better than a grizzly's. Caribou rely mostly on their sense of smell and great speed to get away. If caribou hearing amounts to anything special, I have never detected it.

  Hunter: Skip Hoecher, .300 Winchester Magnum. This trophy is an outstanding white-neck bull, a classic caribou in antler size and in coloration.

  Of course, there are so many of the animals! When they migrate they are blind to most other things, and many hunters just line up along a march route and pot them going by. More about that later.

  If a .30/06 or .270 is ever a right cartridge for Alaska it would be for use on caribou. There are fewer hurried shots on caribou. There is time for follow-up shots, and usually there is a chance to shoot from prone or sitting.

  But I am in no way convinced that .30/06 class cartridges are the best even for caribou. Nearly always (unless the shot is perfect) a caribou will run around with a .30/06 in him. He will fall down eventually, but that should not be considered good enough. Down and out should still be the rule.

  If you read critically the writings of O'Connor, Annabell, or any of the prolific hunting writers, you will note how often those using .30/06 class rifles have had to use two or more shots. Jack O'Connor, I found to be an honest writer. Jack was a .270 Winchester man and made no bones about it He also admitted to using two shots or more on about everything. Not extra shots to be safe, but extras to get his animal down. While I like his honest reporting, I fail to grasp his reluctance to use more gun. If O'Connor had used a .300 Weatherby or better yet a .338 Winchester Magnum, he would have saved a lot of ammunition over the years.

  One year, Art Troup and I were out along Shaw Creek. We saw a group of caribou that included a very nice bull. I sat down perhaps 600 yards from the animals. Art went out 200 yards or so in front of me. Our plan was for me to entice the caribou in close enough for Art to shoot

  I began waving a red bandana over my head, and after a while the caribou began edging closer. Pretty soon they came at a trot, apparently looking only at me. They passed Art upwind and never turned a hair. He let them get by and swiveled around to watch them coming up to me.

  The caribou milled to a stop about 150 yards from me and shifted around with their noses sniffing in my direction and their rumps pointing at Art only fifty yards behind them. The bunch of them circled downwind a little and finally got my scent They whirled, bumped each other, started in a couple of directions, and settled into a sort of stampede—right at Art Seeing them coming, he jumped up and waved everything he had. The dopey animals stopped short, milled some more, and trotted off a little to one side, apparently to think it over. Finally, they trotted away, except the bull that casually began feeding. The range from Art's big gun was about 75 yards, and I saw him raise and lower the rifle repeatedly.

  I knew the feeling. You are hunting for the trophy, the meat, and the challe
nge of the shot. There he is, but it is so easy, you hate to take him.

  The bull again got wind of one of us and after frantic snorting and jumping he took off as hard as he could run. Art laid one into his butt under his tail, and he tumbled head over heels with the heavy .338 bullet plowing nearly the length of him.

  Oh, it is not always that easy. Still, I have never had to take a really long shot at caribou, and there have been many times when I could have shot long. All who hunt encounter long shots. The difference seems to be whether or not the hunter decides to chance the imaginative ones. I get closer. Over the years, I have lost caribou by trying to get in tight but I also wonder how many I have taken cleanly that might have been missed or at least made a mess of by shooting at long range?

  The most shameful caribou hunting I know of is the slaughter along the infamous Denali Firing Line. Hunters in throngs gathered on or near the Denali Highway to meet the migrating caribou herd determined to cross. In the old days, men stood right on the road and shot up, down, and across it. That was illegal even then, but they did it and the road was not a safe place to be during migration.

  Years ago, some people in the Game Department set up a metal silhouette of a caribou and attached an old pair of antlers to it They placed the rig illegally close to the highway. When a hunter shot it, the thing rang like a bell—gave off a hell of a clang. Still, within a week the device was shot into a sieve and even most of the antlers were shot away. Hunters continued to screech to a halt and blast away at the remains.

  As sad a demonstration of slob hunting as that was, I must point out that such rotten sportsmanship is not unique to Alaskan hunting. I can recall an almost identical incident occurring in Pennsylvania whitetail deer hunting.