Planning the next Alaskan caribou hunt began the day our last hunt ended. It's the high point of our trip. Since first hunting above the Arctic Circle, we've hungered for more.
If you have interest in seeing past trips, log into www.2alaska.blogspot.com, Hit the black bar on the right and if necessary open the file cabinet icon. Click on 2013, "Caribou", "Tundra", "All Hunting" In 2011, "Peace and Quiet", "Tundra and More"
Alaska Airlines carried, my husband Bucky, my daughter Carlisle and myself to Kotzebue, north of the Arctic Circle. We relied on Golden Eagle Outfitters to get to our hunting area. We became acquainted with Golden Eagle in 2011. I'm not sure if it was their pilots' tight jeans, their flying prowess or the slogan on the back of their jackets,"Trust us with your lives, not your daughters or your wives", a challenge to Bucky, but, whatever the reason, we're proud to wear their sweatshirts. We reserved with Golden Eagle well in advance of our planned hunt, knowing how busy they are during the hunting season.
We were startled, last Spring, when Golden Eagle notified us that changes had occurred within the hunting units. Conflicting reports on herd numbers resulted in the closure of federal land we had hoped to hunt. While native groups were seeing a decrease in caribou numbers, biologists and game management officials saw the herd as healthy and stable....the native organizations won out. Golden Eagle encouraged petition signing and letter writing, but there seemed little hope that the units we had hoped to hunt would be reopened. One option was to focus our hunt on state land, some of which lay further north than we had hoped to fly. Flight time can be as expensive as $800 an hour! We arrived in Kotzebue not knowing where we would be dropped. Our raft had been sent by air cargo and now sat with our food and hunting gear inside Golden Eagle's hanger. I was surprised when entering the hanger to see hardly any gear being held for incoming hunters. Owner, Jared, informed us that 90 hunters had cancelled their trips upon learning of the new restrictions.
I'm hoping this map will help clarify our hunt. You'll notice the city of Kotzebue on a spit of land jutting into Kotzebue sound. We would end up hunting within the Noatak Preserve, an area almost completely enclosed by the Brooks Range. It encompasses more than 6.6 million acres of pristine wilderness and is known to be one of the largest untouched river basins surrounded by mountains in North America...... a jewel! No roads enter the preserve. Some biologists see this area as the last remaining river system in the US untouched by human activities. That's a strong statement when the Noatak River is a destination for birders, scientists, photographers, boaters, adventurers and hunters like us. All of these people are brought in by aircraft. The Noatak River's source is within the Gates of the Arctic National Park and terminates 396 miles away in Kotzebue Sound. Bucky, Carlisle and I would end up floating the Noatak for about 60 river miles in search of the Western Arctic caribou herd of approximately 490,000 animals.
Aug.29th
Bucky and I awoke simultaneously, before our 1am alarm sounded. We were met at the pickup by Carlisle. With strong coffee in hand and the aurora dancing in waves of green overhead, we began the two hour drive to Anchorage. Our early morning flight deposited us north of the Arctic Circle in the native city of Kotzebue, a city of about 3,000 people, 80% of whom are Inupiat Eskimo. It is the supply hub for the native villages of the Northwest Arctic Borough and most government agencies have offices here.
Once inside the Golden Eagle hangar, a plan was formed. Jared, owner and pilot, felt that our best chance for caribou would be near the Colville River, north of the Brooks Range. I was surprised at Bucky's enthusiasm despite knowing the duration of this flight. His stomach is sometimes bothered by flying in small planes. Our thinking was to travel light, establish a spike camp, kill two caribou within a few days, get picked up and relocated on a river giving Carlisle a chance at a grizzly. With this in mind, we unpacked and repacked for a 2-3 day hunt leaving the remainder of our food and gear to be brought to us later with Jared flying our dead caribou out. You have probably already guessed that such a brilliant plan wasn't going to work. It all sounded too easy and just too perfect!
Jared flew us with minor discomfort over the Brooks Range toward the Colville River. We were seeing small herds of caribou on the way along with several majestic lone bulls. It's difficult to describe this region so I'll let my pictures speak.
Knowing that this style of flying is dependent on visibility, it was not good to see a large layer of cloud ahead. Jared tried to work his way around, over and under, but it wasn't to be. Bucky's stomach screamed for wheels down!
Jared returned with our raft, cooler and additional gear. Now, he would fly Carlisle and the gear to a new location on the Noatak River, somewhat east and about a half an hour away. Bucky and I laid out our sleeping bags and enjoyed the first of many ensuing days of sweet sunshine. Within an hour, Jared returned, flying Bucky and I to rejoin Carlisle. He flew low, skimming the tundra, enabling us to see bears, musk ox and the occasional caribou beneath the wing. Some animals ran from the plane while others seemed unfazed. I was surprised when he landed away from the river on a natural airstrip interspersed with short willow. It felt good to be together again, knowing that anything can happen when lying in the bush.
Our trip was about to begin. The willows at the water's edge created a perfect place for our tent. Within minutes, the tent was up and camp established. The remaining chore was to carry the raft and frame to the river bank. Folded rafts are heavy, very heavy. Bucky and Carlisle struggled with reassembling the frame which came apart much easier than it went back together. With their full concentration on inserting the correct bolts into the correct holes, only I saw the grizzly approach! In my calmest voice, I whispered to Bucky......big mistake, hearing loss....."Bucky, there's a bear coming". Fortunately, Carlisle's young ears heard me. "Dad, Dad, there's a bear coming....he's close". Bucky looked up. All would have been fine except for a rookie mistake, no gun! I can't help but picture us as characters in a comic strip. Each square of the cartoon showing the bear advancing while we move en masse toward the gun leaning against a tree back at camp; with the final square being Carlisle and I shouting at the bear who had yet to smell us. The whole episode was more comedic than scary.
Caribou tracks were on the river bank and our spirits were high. Had we known what lay ahead, we probably would have stayed here longer, but we were curious, so within a day, we shoved off.
Along with a grizzly, a fox, squirrels and ptarmigan, came the biggest surprise.....Musk Ox!
August 31
I was now time to move. Our curiosity had the better of us and we needed to know what lay ahead on the Noatak. It's important to say here that hunting the Noatak River also came with restrictions. Due to outcry, the land along the river bank, the gravel bars within the river and any land determined to be within the 100 year flood line had been reopened to hunting. We joked many times as to where exactly the 100 year flood line was when glassing bulls a mile away. No longer was it possible to hike into the tundra and set up a stalk if caribou were located.
August 31- Sept 2
We floated and floated, pushed along by a strong current, but often fighting a head wind that made it appear as if we were stationary. Large bends in the river kept us guessing as to where we were. Having a map would have been helpful, but as you remember, we had no plan.
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We were becoming discouraged. We hoped that near the mouth of the Anuik River we would find areas where caribou were crossing. Without a map, we had no idea when we would arrive there. As it turned out, it surprised us! Bucky had glassed and wasn't overly impressed with what he saw, so we floated on.
What appeared moments later, were caribou on the hillsides above the Anuik. Maybe, just maybe, they'd make their way down to us. Making our way to the far bank it was decided to go back upriver.....no easy feat. Bucky and Carlisle lined the raft and in a mad dash, bucking the current, we arrived on the opposite shore.
enjoying fruits of the tundra
September 3
It happened quickly, as is often the case. We had been lulled into complacency after a long day of floating. Along with the warmth of the sun, the movement of the raft had me near napping. I was snuggled between two dry bags in the bow, feeling totally comfortable, when Carlisle suddenly shouted to Bucky, "Caribou in the river!" Her sharp eyes saw them well in advance allowing Bucky time to ready himself. It was a small group of animals making their way across a braided piece of the Noatak. I was surprised to see a calf bringing up the rear, having crossed some deep, swift water. Calves are often near the front or close to their mothers. Perhaps the current had slowed his progress. There were two bulls in the group and Bucky took the larger one. We were thrilled with the outcome and fantasized on how delicious our supper would be.
This caribou had the largest heart and we thanked him for it. It was to become breakfast, lunch and dinner. We repeated over and over again, "have you ever tasted anything more delicious"?
In the confusion of first travelling light, anticipating a two day spike camp, we left food, a stove and clothing in the hanger. Jared didn't bring these when he returned.....our fault not his. There was the constant worry of running out of fuel although wood was plentiful and we had sun everyday. At night my face burned in the warmth of my sleeping bag. I could tell I'd had too much sun....who would have guessed I'd be so lucky! We weren't at a critical point with our food, but we weren't eating as well as planned. The meat we received was welcomed. I trolled for fish as we floated, but with no luck. The hope was for surf and turf.
September 4-5
We floated by a bear digging on the riverbank. He never heard or saw us until Lisle called his name. No need to risk a swat to the raft.
We spent two blustery cold nights on the gravel bar we were searching for. Lisle paced it off and it was easily the 1000 feet of small stone that Jared liked. But, after calling him on the satellite phone, he instructed us to look for another spot as the winds were too strong for him to land anywhere that didn't have a north/south orientation. Bummer! We spent one uncomfortable night with the sides of our tent bowing in, making sleep difficult. The morning dawned sunny, but cold and still very windy.
September 6
Lisle worked hard to move the raft any distance against the head wind. It was with great relief that we rounded a bend to see what appeared to be the perfect gravel bar for pickup. What followed was a call to Jared, deflating the raft, organizing our gear into orderly piles and the skinning of Bucky's animal's head as we waited for Jared's late afternoon arrival.
September 6-8
It's always sad to leave the Arctic as I never know when I'll be there again. When Bucky and I first hunted here in 2011 we called it "the hunt of a lifetime". We're both hoping that we have enough "lifetime" left to do it again.
The next two days and nights were spent at Joe's air B+B, our first air B+B experience. It was perfect. We shared the house with, Joe, a room mate, Mike who works for Bering Air, Dennis who flies in for accounting work and us. We had vague directions to Joe's, but no worries as he greeted us in the yard. Strangers to town are pretty obvious. A dinner of moose burgers and caribou brats followed by a hot shower, sent us to bed happy campers. I think the vodka and tang helped. Kotz is damp which means people can drink in their homes, but there are no bars. Like us, Dennis had brought his own bottle and Joe and Mike had theirs in the house so a mini bar room was created.
The following evening, Lisle attended a yoga class and learned of a loop to run around the hills outside Kotz. Joe spoke of his 16 years of employment with the schools, often working in the surrounding villages with native students. He told us about supervising students who helped biologists collar swimming caribou and about hunting musk ox. Carlisle and I couldn't resist rubbing our faces against the musk ox hide that was hanging over the stair rail. The hair known as qiviut (kiv-ee-ute) felt as soft as it appeared to us when seeing these animals on the river bank. Rather than try to explain this northern city, I'll share the following photos.
When Carlisle returned from her run, outside of town, she encouraged me to hike that way with her. I'm so glad I did. We passed through town where most people use four wheelers with the cost of gas over $5 a gallon, along the boat harbor where nets were still stretched to dry and to a hill top cemetery. We hunkered down in the tundra and ate some of the largest blueberries imaginable, watching airplanes fly overhead to land nearby at the airport.
Bucky and Lisle inspect a musk ox at the very informative museum near the airport operated by the National Park Service.
In town graves.
