Chronicles of a hunter

It was three years after our first Alaskan hunt that my brother, Sam, called me up one night and said: "Hey, I want to go hunting for Dull sheep, are you in?" I thought about it for a second or two and said," Yes." How about Randy and Don? Sam said Don couldn't go this time, but Randy was in. So, it was the three Brown boys off on another adventure. I called Don and talked to him to see if there was anyway he could go, but he said he had a really big job to complete and there was no way he could get out of it.
As usual most of our hunts are spur of the moment things, with little planning, so I didn't really know where we were going. Sam did say something about north slope of the Brooks Range Mountains and something about being 450 miles north of Fairbanks, Alaska. That would put us above the Arctic Circle. I never hunted Dull sheep before, but read countless stories about the men who did in the major hunting magazines. It wasn't like I didn't know what I was getting into. I really didn't give grizzly bears much thought, but it did cross my mind how scared I was on that last hunt. But then, I said to myself, "Hey, what the chance of running into a grizzly bear, up on the side of a mountain, hunting sheep?" Anyway the odds were with me, I thought. Some man go to Alaska and other places specifically to hunt the big bears and never even see one. So I put the thought of running into any bears out of my head and thought about hunting Dull sheep.
Randy and I flew up to Fairbanks together from Pa. and quickly organized our things. Sam was on the ball this time and had most of the hunt planned. He even had a brush pilot lined up. Although Sam never seen or hunted this area, he did talk to someone that said they thought it might be a good place to go. Thoughts of that last hunt started creeping into my head, what do you mean he thought this was a good place to go? I was thinking to myself.
It was going to be a seven day hunt. The brush pilot would land us on Porcupines Lake; it was a high mountain lake that was just seventy to a hundred miles south of the Arctic Ocean. Because we were flying so far this time, the pilot told us we could only take fifty pounds of gear apiece with us. We spent all evening before we were to fly out, going over our gear and cutting it down to bare essentials. I was a little concerned. Fifty pounds for a seven day hunt isn't very much. There would be no extra food or anything else to fall back on if something happened, like bad weather like fog or snow, where the pilot couldn't fly in and get us. We had to know what we were going to eat for a day, and that was it. But we hunted before, so it wasn't really that big of a deal for us. Besides, we thought we could kill a sheep.
We got a good nights sleep and was off to Fairbanks airport the next morning with all our things. The pilot wasn't kidding about the weight. He put all our gear on a scale and weighed it. Everything was OK, so we helped him load up the plane. This was a little bigger float plane then the one Cleo had on the last hunt. There was a little more room to move around.
One thing I would like to correct from my last story: I misspelled Cleo's last name. The proper spelling of his name is, Cleo B. McMahan. After a little research,I found out that Cleo passed away in 2005. His daughter wrote a book about him and his adventures. The name of the book is "PAPA WAS A BUSH PILOT. You can find it at http://www.papawasabushpilot.com/ I'm going to get a copy for myself. I think I'm going to contact his daughter and tell her about the adventure we had with her dad, flying us in and out on that hunt. I also have some old home movies of him and his plane someplace. I actually forgot all about them until I was writing the last story. I'll have to dig them out and refresh my memory, to see what's on them.

After we had everything in the plane, it was time to take off. So far everything was perfect, just like I hoped it would be. I just knew this was going to be the perfect hunt. The pilot taxied the plane down the man-made lake to the far end and turned the plane around for the take off. So far, so good. Sam and I were in the back seat and Randy was sitting beside the pilot. So far, this didn't seem so bad. We wasn't going to be running on one pontoon or bunny hopping, like last time, just to take off. As we started to move down the lake, the pilot told us to buckle up. Pretty soon we were humming down the lake at full power, but we weren't taking off. As we passed things on the shore line, they looked like a blur. As I looked out the side window, I could see that we were coming up on the end of the lake very fast and I thought to myself, "Not again! We're going to die and we haven't even left the airport!" At the last minute, the pilot shut the planes engine down and we hit the bank hard, throwing us forward in the seats. The pilot radio's the tower and told them he failed to take off and wanted clearance to try again. He told us because we had so far to fly, the plane was over loaded with fuel. Plus our weight was going to make it a hard take off. The pilot got out and pushed the plane back out into the water and turned it around. Then back up the lake we went, to try it all over again.

When we got back to the head of the lake, the pilot told Sam and I to take our seat belts off, then move forward, and lean over him and Randy, when he tried to take off again. I thought to myself this can't be good. I could see myself flying out through the wind shield, if we hit the bank again. Off we were again. Sam and I leaning so far forward over Randy and the pilot that we could touch the dash. All of a sudden, all those bad memories of the last hunt came floating to the surface and I said to myself, "What did I get myself into again?"

As we started to pick up speed again, the pilot told Sam and I again to lean forward as far as we could. Our head and shoulders were over the front seats as far as we could go. I couldn't see out the front window. But, I could see the same things along the shore line, so I knew we were coming to the end of the lake once again. I really thought we weren't going to make it, and we almost didn't. I could feel the plane breaking loose of the water at the last minute and we were off. Just missing the embankment by only a couple of feet. I don't mind telling you, my heart was beating a little fast at that point, but we made it. We could sit back now, and enjoy the ride over the endless miles of the Alaskan wilderness. As we flew north, it was amazing how many planes you see crashed. I saw one that just flew into the side of a mountain. Can't see how anyone could have survived that. I saw another one just laying in the tundra; it wasn't broken up too bad. But it was far enough in the mountains it will probably be there forever. Another plane landed on a small pond, but there wasn't enough water for the plane to ever leave that spot.

Flying over the Brooks Range was just beautiful, a true wilderness indeed. The pilot told us that we were going to have to make a gas stop, but it wasn't going to be at Arctic Village. It seems that our native friends didn't want other hunters using their airfield, even through it was built with taxpayers money. I don't know if things have changed, but that's the way it was then.

Our pilot told us that he had cached some gas on a high mountain lake, about half way to Porcupine Lake. We were going to stop there and pick up the gas. Landing was uneventful and we picked up the gas. What we didn't know was the gas wouldn't be put in the gas tank. We loaded the 5 gallon cans inside the plane. So there we were, sitting inside the plane with five gallon gas cans all around us. I don't have to tell you what was running through my head. It gets to a point where you just have to laugh about what's going on around you. To top it off, the pilot told us he might have a hard time taking off because we were higher in the mountains. The air was thinner, so the plane wouldn't have the same lift as it would at sea level. We made it off OK, but it did take a long time to get off the water. Thank goodness it was a long lake. I was hoping nothing else happened, especially with all those 5 gallon gas cans sitting all around us.

Finally, we made it to our destination, Porcupine Lake. He flew us around the valley, then landed the plane. We got out and took a deep breath of fresh air, after smelling gas fumes for a couple hundred miles. I help the pilot fuel up his plane by handing him up the gas cans onto the wing. Mean while, Randy and Sam looked for a good camp site. After saying our goodbye's to the pilot and him telling us that he hoped the weather was good and that he could come pick us up in seven days, he was off. The sound of his plane faded into the distances, then it was complete silence.

We set the tent and camp up and decided to take a short hunt up the mountain before dark. Walking wasn't that bad. There were willows growing around the lake, but after we got through them it was easy walking, with no brush. We made are way up the mountain, and as we broke over the first ridge, we could see a herd of sheep made up of yews and young lambs. This was a good sign we thought, where yews and lambs are, there has to be rams. We watched the sheep for awhile, then headed back to camp for our evening meal of freeze dried food and hot chocolate, then off to bed.

The next morning we were up, early, ready for hunting. We decided to take a two day scouting trip up the mountain, so we were traveling light. We walked about two miles when we seen something laying out in the open that looked something like a bear. As we got closer, we could see that it was a grizzly. But, it was dead and freshly skinned. This bear was killed illegally, because bear season didn't come in until another four days. We were high enough up on the mountain to see the whole lake below us now. There was a small plane sitting directly below us at the end of the lake; it was a big lake, so we didn't see it when we landed.

These were the people that probably killed the bear. It wasn't long after, we seen them that they took off, they probably seen us also. I was disgusted that someone would kill such a fine trophy for no other reason then greed. They probably spotted the bear moving along the mountain from the airplane, landed, then made their way up the mountain and just sit, waiting for it to come by. I remember thinking to myself, what's the odds of someone flying from Pa. to Alaska, then flying another 400 miles or so, then just walking up on a freshly poached grizzly.

After we watch them leave, we made our way up to a low place in the mountain, which gave us a good view of our valley and the next one over. We sat up the spotting scope, and it wasn't long until we saw five nice rams laying on the side of the next mountain over, we also seen some rams on another mountain in the other direction but they were to far away. It was too late in the day to make a stock, so we decided to start at the first light of the next day. Sheep don't move a lot. If they have good food, they may lay several days in one spot. Sure enough, the next morning they were still there. But, getting to them wasn't going to be easy. We decided to separate. Sam and I would try one direction and Randy would try getting to them from another direction. Pretty soon, we were out of sight of each other. The mountain was rough. Climbing and walking wasn't easy. We tried to stay on a sheep trail, but the only way to do that was if we were riding a sheep. It's something how they can seem to walk right up a cliff. About half way down the mountain, we seen the rams getting up. Then, single file, they were moving up higher. We finally made it down to the valley, but when we got to a place where we could see the rams again, they were gone. We decide to move up a large ravine that looked like it would open up into a high mountain meadow.

It became very hot. Before we started our climb up the next mountain, we decided to leave our coats and some gear behind and just take a pack frame. We made it up the mountain to a nice big meadow, when we felt a chill in the air. We noticed some black clouds moving in fast and it continued to get colder. At that point, we knew we made a mistake by letting our coats at the foot of the mountain. As the sky got blacker and the wind got colder, it started to rain.

Then all hell broke loose. Hail stones, as big as dimes and nickels, were hitting us. There was no place to hide. The ground was turning white with these marble sized ice. We tried covering our heads with the pack frame, but that didn't help much. Then I remember I had a big plastic garbage bag in the pocket of the pack frame. I quickly took it out and cut it with my knife so it would cover both me and Sam. Then we laid down on the ground as close as we could to stay warm, and be under the plastic bag. But, from our hips down, there was little protection. The hail storm lasted almost fifteen minutes. It seemed longer at the time. Finally, it ended. The sky cleared and it warmed up once again. I was glad it ended. I had about all I could take of that beating. Those things really hurt when they were hitting our legs. I don't know how we would have done if I didn't have that plastic bag. It just goes to show, you should always be prepared on any hunt.

As we continued our hunt, we hiked up to the top of the mountain were we saw another ram high above us laying on a big rock. He was too far away and a stock was impossible. We stayed up there for awhile and looked around, but didn't see the group of rams we seen earlier. We started back down the mountain, hoping to run into Randy along the way. About half way down, we looked over at the mountain, there was a ram coming right at us. If he kept coming, he would only be a couple hundred yards away. He wasn't a big ram, but legal. After watching him, we decided not to take him. This was only the third day of the hunt and we knew there were some bigger rams on that mountain. As we sat there talking and watching the ram move closer, there was a big puff of smoke off the rock right in front of the ram, then another, then we heard the report of a rifle echoed up the mountain side. Randy decided the ram was big enough for him.....LOL.....he couldn't see us because we were higher and to his right. We could see every bullet hit, and none hit the ram. Pretty hard to shoot 400 yards off hand, but Randy bullets came close. The ram kicked it into high gear, and was gone in seconds. We walked down to Randy and got a good laugh at him, missing the ram. He got a good laugh at us for having to lay out in the hail storm. He told us that he had found a big rock to hide under so he didn't suffer like Sam and I did.

At that point, the day was pretty well shot. It was almost dark and it would have been too dangerous to climb up those rocks to get back over the mountain to our camp. So we decided to build a lean-to, then build a fire for the night. I think we might have had a candy bar or two left. There was lots of water to drink, so it wasn't that bad. It did get pretty cold that night sleeping on the hard ground without our sleeping bags. The thought of grizzly bears did cross my mind before I went to sleep. The next day, we pack up our stuff and hiked out to our fly camp and ate the last of our food. We didn't want to leave that part of the mountain, so Randy said he would walk back to the main camp at the lake and pack what we needed.

Later on that day, Randy showed up with the food, but had a funny look on his face. He said, "You know we don't have enough food to last the full hunt. We're going to be three days shorts!" He said he looked all over the place for the other bag of food but it wasn't there. We couldn't figure out what happen to it. But we knew one thing for sure, hunting was going to get a lot more serious in the next few days. After we ate dinner, we decided to split up again for a short hunt. We no more got out of sight of each other, when we heard the report of Randy's rifle. We walked up over the hill to where he was. He shot a little ram. He said he could see something was wrong with it. At closer inspection, we found out it was blind in one eye. That made us feel a little better about having to kill it. Three days, without food, in those mountains just wasn't possible. Not knowing what the weather was going to be like from one day to the next. Nothing went to waste. We boned out all the meat and took it with us.

We moved down the mountain along a high cliff, and found a big cut in the mountain that looked like a natural game trail. Moving down into the next valley through the cut, it open up into a beautiful flat little meadow with a stream of water and it made the perfect camp site. We were surrounded by high mountains on every side. After doing some scouting, we decided to stay the night there, then move on the next day. The mountains were just to rough to climb. We did see something very interesting in that tiny valley. The valley floor was as flat as a football field and it was covered with ram skulls. Some of them were real trophies. They were all bleached white by the weather and the sun, giving the place a eerie look. As though the skulls were head stones in a cemetery. The grass was short, like it was freshly mowed, so the skulls really stuck out like tomb stones. This was probably a place where the rams wintered. Then, because they were old, or just couldn't find enough food after being snowed in, they just starved to death. There were so many skulls laying around, I didn't even bothered to count them. It would have been an awesome sight to see all those rams in one place, at the same time. These rams could have all died the same year or over many years. It just goes to show, nature can be cruel. More rams died there, then were ever shot by man in that remote place.

We sat up camp there that night. We feasted on fresh sheep meat that was cooked over an open fire on sticks. Let me tell you, my mouth still waters to this day, just thinking about the taste. It was very tender. I hardly had to chew it. Just as our ancestors did a thousand years ago, we sat around the camp fire and talked about all the things we seen and did so far on the hunt. The next day we were going to go check out another mountain in the opposite direction. We seen some rams over there also on the second day of the hunt with the spotting scope, but thought it was too far. We were closer now, so we would head to that mountain in the morning. Full stomachs and warm sleeping bags made for a good night sleep. As I said before, in the wilderness its very still at night, and you rarely heard a noise.

Around 3 O'clock in the morning, I woke up to a clicking noise. It was very far off and I couldn't figure out what it was. My first thought was it might be a herd of caribou moving up the valley. The clicking noise was probably their hooves on the rocks. I listen for a few seconds, and then punched my brother, Sam, in the ribs with my elbow. I whispered to him, I hear something coming up the valley. He listened for a few second, then said," SHIT! I know that sound. Its grizzlies!" He said when he was camping in Denali Park, a grizzly walked up a creek bottom right passed their motor home and his claws was making that exact sound, on the rocks. After he said that, I quickly woke up Randy. I told him that we had trouble coming, and that it was coming up on his side of the tent. I was a little more then worried. Even though we cooked our sheep meat thirty yards away from our tent, the bears would only be passing a few feet away. I guess my brothers are a lot braver then me......LOL......because they left their guns outside the tent. Not me! When I'm hunting, my gun doesn't leave my side for anything, and neither does my hunting knife.

Even through I knew we could be in great danger at this point, I had to laugh at my brother Randy. Not having his gun in the tent, he wanted me to give him mine! I told him, "No way!" But, I did give him my hunting knife. Sam was defenseless. We were hoping the bears would catch our scent and change directions, but no luck there. The silence was deafening. But those clicking claws, on those rocks just kept coming closer and closer. The Alaskan night never gets quite dark. Something like dust in the lower 48's. I could see my brothers inside the tent. Randy was laying there with my hunting knife tightly in his hand over his chest, as the grizzlies got closer. I could actually hear his heart pounding. Sam was laying there defenseless with that deer -in-the- headlight look. It was even hard to breath, because we were trying so hard to hear what the bears where doing.

Finally, the grizzlies were in the camp. We could tell by the sound of the clicking on the rocks, they were only a few feet away from Randy's side of the tent. Then there was nothing. You could have heard a pin drop. We knew the bears were just outside the tent, but they weren't moving. To tell the truth, neither were we! We were trying hard not to make any noise at all. I remember having to remind myself to breathe. I don't know how long we laid there motionless like that, trying not even to breathe. I don't remember who whispered these first words, "Do you think their gone?" Now, this is the funny part.

Randy and Sam voted, since I had the gun, I had to go out and see where the bears were! I must have taken a stupid pill before I went to bed that night, because I said, " OK, but you guys come out behind me and get your guns." I came out of the tent with my gun on my shoulder. Randy was behind me with my knife. He quickly got his gun. Sam, on the other hand, didn't come out of the tent. I think, maybe he was thinking that if something happen to us, he would be the lone survivor to tell the story. One thing about hunting with brothers, they always have your back.

We looked all around, but the grizzlies were gone. How they got out of there without making any noise was beyond us. They sure made enough noise walking up that valley. Looking around the tent, we found their tracks in the mud right beside the tent. A big sow and two cubs. We could tell by their tracks, they walked up to the back of the tent, then turned, and looked right at it, then turned and walked away. After our adrenalin settled down a little, we got back in the tent and tried to go back to sleep.

The next day we got something to eat, then sat around a little and laugh about the turn of events and how lucky we were that nothing happened. Then we packed up our things and were off, hunting as we went. We reached the foot of other mountain and picked a good place to set up the tent on a little ridge so we could see all around us. Sam walked down to a little stream bottom about hundred and fifty yards away from the camp site, to get some willow for a camp fire. We thought it would keep the bears away. I don't know why we thought that. It didn't keep them away the night before. The only place to find any wood, in that country, is along stream bottoms or around any water. Then its just little stuff, you can break it over your knee. That's what Sam was doing, he had a pretty good arm load when I heard Randy yelling, " GRIZZLY!". I looked around and there was this big grizzly running full speed down the ridge on the other side of the stream, right at Sam. I started to yell at him, to run. Looking back, it was kind of a funny site. Sam had this big arm load of wood and it was flying back over his head, as he was running up the hill toward us. The bear was within hundred yards of Sam when he must have heard us yelling. The bear slammed on his brakes and stood up on his back legs and put his nose up in the air, checking the wind. That gave Sam time to make it back to us. As we watch the bear, he circled our camp, stopping, and standing, to catch our wind. Finally he circled us 180 degree's, then caught our scent, and off he went on a dead run. We could have easily killed that bear, but season didn't come in until the next day. He was beautiful. A nice big hump on his back; his legs were pure black up to his belly. As he ran, I could see his hide ripple the full length of his body, because he was so fat. Probably weighed 800 pounds. When they say, you can't out run a bear, believe it. I put the spotting scope on that bear and watch him run for almost three miles. He never slowed down and he was running for the most part up hill. The last I seen of him he was crossing a high ridge. His tongue was hanging out about ten inches when he finally disappeared. What a sight! We figured that the bear was hunting along the ridge top when he heard Sam breaking those limbs, and thought it was a moose or caribou or something else he could eat for lunch. Sam was lucky that Randy seen that grizzly when he did. A few more seconds and it would have been on top of him. Oh yeah, he didn't have his gun with him again!

We finally finish setting up camp when I heard Randy say in a low voice, there's a grizzly moving down the stream bottom toward us. The stream bottom was thick with willow so we couldn't make out what it was until we looked through our rifle scopes. It wasn't a grizzly, but a big wolverine moving through the brush. He was the same color as the bear. As it move closer into an opening Randy said he was going to take him. The shot was almost 300 yards off his knee. It was that quick, and he had a nice wolverine. After skinning it, we decided to take a little hunt up the mountain back of the camp. We didn't go very far until we started to scope the tundra. I spotted a nice bull caribou standing several hundred yards away. Our hunting tags covered caribou, so I thought I would try to kill that nice bull. Besides, we were running out of time for hunting sheep. We should have planned another three or four days, as it was, we only had two days left.

I laid down and put my gun on my hunting coat...it would be an easy shot, I thought. I pulled the trigger. The 06 roared and the bull just continued to feed. I thought my gun wasn't shooting right. I'm not a bad shot. I put another shell in the chamber and pulled the trigger again, nothing! I had my gun sighted in for 300 yards. I thought that was the distance I was shooting. I put another shell in the chamber and put the cross hairs on his shoulder again, still nothing. I put the fourth round in the chamber and put the cross hair on the top of his back and pulled the trigger, that time I hit him right in the shoulder. I had my range, the next shot was also in the shoulder and he was down for good. Later as we were skinning him, I found three bullet cuts on the back of his front leg, they just cut the hair off. After figuring the range out, by the drop of the bullet cuts on his leg, it was more like a 500 yard shot. Distance was very deceiving up there for me. Things looked closer then they really were.

As we stood up and started to head for my caribou, we looked down the ridge. There, out of no where, appeared a group of bulls. Randy shoulder his gun and missed one that was running. Then his gun jammed. I handed him my rifle. He shot and hit a bull in the head, right below the antler. I can still see that antler flying five or six feet in the air. Then he hit it again, and it was down for good. Sam didn't want a caribou because he killed one before on another hunting trip, so he didn't shoot. But as we turn around there was another big bull coming right at us, not more then 100 yards. I told Sam, shoot it,..........LOL.........so he did and down it went. Then he kept saying "I don't know why I shot it; I didn't even want to shoot." He blamed me for making him shoot.

So there we were, three big caribou bulls down in less the five minutes. Our hunt was over that quick. Now the work would begin. We had to bone out and pack the meat back to the lake. That was almost a five mile hike and it would take two trips. It would have only taken one, if Sam wouldn't have shot that caribou. So he was complaining and blaming me for the extra work we had to do. We were up early the next day and started packing the meat back to the lake. First load wasn't too bad. Second load was a lot harder. After walking almost 20 miles, I was ready for a good meal that evening and a good night sleep. Nothing unusual happened that night, but the thought of a bear smelling all that meat and blood did cross my mind. We put the meat plenty far away from our camp, so if the bears did come in, they wouldn't be close to us.

At the lake the next day, Randy was up first and outside. He stuck his head back inside the tent and told us that there were three moose very close to the tent and one of them was a bull. Sam and I got out and looked them over. It would have been an easy kill because it was right beside the lake, we wouldn't have to carry the meat very far. Since Randy seen them first, we told him to go get him. The bull disappeared behind a small ridge. Randy moved to cut him off and was out of sight in no time. As we

waited for the report of his rifle, it never came. Pretty soon Randy came walking back with a smile on his face. "What happened?" we ask. He said he cut the bull off. He came within fifty yards of him, but after he looked at it some more, he decided it wasn't big enough and thought maybe it should grow a little more. Most likely that young bull died of old age back in there.

There was nothing more we could do, the hunt was over. The only thing we wanted to hear now was the bush pilots plane coming back for us. He was on time, we could hear the plane's engine as he crossed the mountain. He landed on the lake about a mile away. That's where we first set up camp. Because we weren't there, the pilot was very worried. He thought something had happened to us. I shot a couple rounds out of my rifle, without result, he was too far away to hear it. I think his plane engine may have been running. Then we got a mirror and a orange tarp out and reflected the light at him and finally we got his attention. He taxied the plane up the lake to where we were. We loaded all the meat in the pontoons of the plane and got in for the final take off. The pilot said it was going to be a hard take off because of the load. But it was a long lake and we had no problems.

Finally we were in the air. As we made one last circle around the lake, it made me kind of sad. I knew that I would never see that beautiful place again. Only in my mind will I see those mountains, lake, and beautiful scenery. The flight back to Fairbanks was uneventful, until we were about hundred miles out. I seen the pilot tapping the dash amp meter, then he said something to Randy, which I didn't hear at first. It was almost dark, but he was turning all the lights out on the plane. I ask him what was going on. He said the alternator stopped working and we were running on the battery power alone. Knowing a little bit about engines, I know that's a problem! The pilot told us he hoped there was enough charge in the battery to make it back to Fairbanks. Being a float plane, there was no place else to land except on water. I thought to myself we were almost home free, and once again, we were in a serious situation. Suddenly, all those crashed planes we seen flying in, came to mind. I could feel myself tensing up a little. I must admit, I was very worried, if that battery went dead we were going down. We made it back to the airport OK and he landed the plane, that was a big relief. It was a short hunt, but full of excitement. A hunt I will remember for the rest of my life. I didn't get the Dull sheep that I was going after, but we did see a lot of nice rams. That was good enough for me. If we had only a few more days, I know we would have gotten our sheep. But then, there's always next time.