brownbear932008
Well-known member
Awesome story so far! So at this point you are a ways from the truck with heavy loads.
"Well, you came up here for adventure, didn't ya?"
- Thread starter Bluffgruff
- Start date
Bluffgruff
Well-known member
I eat my dinner by the big rock up the hill 800 yards from my tent, then move my food bag to 400 yards on the jeep side of my camp on a different tor. I haven't seen any bears since the solo juvenile, and there are no bears in sight when I crawl into my tent. There's almost comfort in knowing there's a tastier and easier meal for them up valley. I celebrate by changing into a fresh pair of underwear, and I crash hard for the next 9 hours.
When I awake the next morning, the fog is thick. Way too thick to even consider going to the meat cache.
The plan for today is to get the meat and antlers all the way to the truck. The tent is 11 miles back from the jeep, and the cache is another 2. Meaning I would have to do 15 miles to make it happen. I would then sleep at the truck, and walk back for camp the next day. In total, there are 230lbs of gear, meat and antlers. This math starts looking pretty bad pretty fast.
I take this opportunity to double up my coffee. After breakfast, I feel pretty good. Maybe I can pull off this 15 mile day.
The fog waxes and wanes. At one point, a herd of caribou, maybe 10 cows, ghosts down from the hill behind camp, through the valley, passing at 200 yards, then effortlessly climbing up towards the far side where the juvenile bear had been yesterday.
After a several hour wait, I can see the saddle where my caribou is, and there are no scary brown blobs in sight.
I empty my pack completely except for water and attach the sled, which I slowly begin to hate, even if it is cutting down on miles. I decide against taking my rifle. There are 170lbs of meat and antler up there, and the 10lb gun doesn't make the cut. Bear spray available, I make my way to the cache,
checking it from distance, then moving in. Nothing has disturbed it.
The tarp holds the rain pretty well, and the meat is cold and dry.
I skin the head, marveling at how big it is compared to the body.
I put 65lbs on my back and 105lbs in the sled and start slogging back. I am able to keep a constant slight down hill for the first mile. Once I cross the creek and the terrain lifts slightly back to camp, I can't pull the sled any farther.
I put more meat in my pack, 85lbs on my back, 85lbs in the sled and I am able to grind the last mile to a new alder cache about 400 yards from camp.
When I left camp to get the meat, I truly believed I would be back at the truck that night. Instead, it's 1700, and I'm just caching near camp. I decide to take hams, shoulders, and backstraps to my halfway tor about 5 miles away and figure out a way to cache it there. Not long after I start that way, hams and choice cuts in the pack, shoulders in the sled, I see my four friends moving left to right across the ridge a few hundred yards away. The wind is angling to them at 20mph, and when they hit what must be a fairly powerful scent cone, the sow raises her nose for a few seconds and then takes off at a run into the valley to my right. I never see them again. I power on to the tor, wedge the meat into a crack in the rock and turn around for the journey back to camp.
It's raining off and on, and... and just look at this double rainbow! It's so beautiful oh my god!
Empty pack and sled, the return trip is much faster. Back at camp, I get a fiery sunset at 10pm, and I'm still thinking about bears. I did 14 miles today, 7 of them unloaded.
The bears give me a pass tonight.
I sleep pretty well, again.
When I awake the next morning, the fog is thick. Way too thick to even consider going to the meat cache.
The plan for today is to get the meat and antlers all the way to the truck. The tent is 11 miles back from the jeep, and the cache is another 2. Meaning I would have to do 15 miles to make it happen. I would then sleep at the truck, and walk back for camp the next day. In total, there are 230lbs of gear, meat and antlers. This math starts looking pretty bad pretty fast.
I take this opportunity to double up my coffee. After breakfast, I feel pretty good. Maybe I can pull off this 15 mile day.
The fog waxes and wanes. At one point, a herd of caribou, maybe 10 cows, ghosts down from the hill behind camp, through the valley, passing at 200 yards, then effortlessly climbing up towards the far side where the juvenile bear had been yesterday.
After a several hour wait, I can see the saddle where my caribou is, and there are no scary brown blobs in sight.
I empty my pack completely except for water and attach the sled, which I slowly begin to hate, even if it is cutting down on miles. I decide against taking my rifle. There are 170lbs of meat and antler up there, and the 10lb gun doesn't make the cut. Bear spray available, I make my way to the cache,
checking it from distance, then moving in. Nothing has disturbed it.
The tarp holds the rain pretty well, and the meat is cold and dry.
I skin the head, marveling at how big it is compared to the body.
I put 65lbs on my back and 105lbs in the sled and start slogging back. I am able to keep a constant slight down hill for the first mile. Once I cross the creek and the terrain lifts slightly back to camp, I can't pull the sled any farther.
I put more meat in my pack, 85lbs on my back, 85lbs in the sled and I am able to grind the last mile to a new alder cache about 400 yards from camp.
When I left camp to get the meat, I truly believed I would be back at the truck that night. Instead, it's 1700, and I'm just caching near camp. I decide to take hams, shoulders, and backstraps to my halfway tor about 5 miles away and figure out a way to cache it there. Not long after I start that way, hams and choice cuts in the pack, shoulders in the sled, I see my four friends moving left to right across the ridge a few hundred yards away. The wind is angling to them at 20mph, and when they hit what must be a fairly powerful scent cone, the sow raises her nose for a few seconds and then takes off at a run into the valley to my right. I never see them again. I power on to the tor, wedge the meat into a crack in the rock and turn around for the journey back to camp.
It's raining off and on, and... and just look at this double rainbow! It's so beautiful oh my god!
Empty pack and sled, the return trip is much faster. Back at camp, I get a fiery sunset at 10pm, and I'm still thinking about bears. I did 14 miles today, 7 of them unloaded.
The bears give me a pass tonight.
I sleep pretty well, again.
Pucky Freak
Well-known member
Great off-season gift. You rock, man
Bluffgruff
Well-known member
The next morning, I eat as much food as I can. I don't want to carry it. I've got 22 miles to go. It takes me until 10am to get camp packed and the sled loaded. There have been no visitors, but I can see a bear on the far ridge in the general vicinity of the carcass. Leaving this knoll is bittersweet.
I drag ribs (25lbs on the bone, this better be worth it), neck meat, and skull, carrying my entire camp and remaining food to the midway cache. There, I drop the meat and antlers, put hams in the sled and continue on to the jeep. Even with all the extra oxygen, I run out of breath to keep loudly proclaiming "hey bear."
I put some really obnoxious dirty white girl pop on repeat at max volume on my phone and save my breath for the intermittent climbs and gravel patches. The sled is both saving me a whole trip, and teaching me about the coefficients of friction - gotta keep moving. Back at the jeep around 5pm, I hang the hams on a makeshift meat pole and empty my pack into a duffel bag in the truck. Rifle in the case, bear spray around my waist. I had broken the buckle in a seemingly inocuous way while butchering the caribou, so it's just held to me by a square knot in the strap. I have 1.5L of water left, and my filter is almost useless, taking 30 minutes to get 3L earlier in the day. I leave it in the truck.
It takes 2.5 hours to return to the cache
I have some sheds, but I'm so exhausted that I can't fathom even another single pound. I'm 17 miles into my day at this point, 5 more to go.
It's 820pm when I leave with my final load. My whole body is starting to swell with the inflammation of exertion, my feet are just soaked with sweat, and my shoulders are burning under the straps, but I'm not sad about it.
Clouds and mist are almost constant companions, but as I crest my final high point on the ridge leading back, the sun peeks underneath the blanket for a final sunset.
I plod on, miles to go. It gets dark, then I run out of water, and I'm really sweating, pulling the sled through the rough tundra. Finally, FINALLY, I drag the sled within a few feet of the jeep, and pull the lift gate. I load the meat into the plastic tub, it's still very cold. After the truck is packed, I grab my filter and walk the few hundred yards to the creek to filter more water. Four or five pumps in, the threads that hold it together break, and the filter is completely dead. I have maybe a shot of clean water. I'm debating just drinking the creek water unfiltered, but I'd rather not. I InReach my contact, who is awake for some reason, and I get the location of potatable water a ways back down the road. Getting changed and into dry clothes is a really nice feeling, but I still have to get to this water. My dinner is peanut butter m&ms. I drive south, and the rain picks up. When I get to this flowing well, I fill my nalgene with the best tasting water I've ever had. There's no way to possibly pitch a tent in this downpour, so at 230am, I pull into a dirt parking lot and sleep in the driver seat in my sleeping bag. The meat and I are safe tonight.
The next morning, I can barely walk. Getting my shoes on requires me to unlace them as my feet have become enormous overnight. The 22 miles in wet boots has given me tropical immersion foot, and almost changed my shoe size. I relieve myself in front of the jeep because I can't walk more than a few feet, then drive on to the next station where I eat the biggest breakfast they have.
As I return to the jeep, a not so shy female pipeline worker looks at me and says, "hope you don't mind me saying, 'nice rack,'" nodding at the antlers riding shotgun. She mounts into her enormous pickup and smiles as she drives off. I'm smiling too. This IS a nice rack, and so much more.
I drive straight to my contact's house, grab the key from its hiding place, and completely break down the caribou and vac seal it. It goes in a cooler I buy in town, and the refuse into a dumpster. The next day, the antlers get wrapped in layers of packing wrap and paper towels because my skull simmering plan fails. I take everything to the airport, and get it checked in almost 4 hours before my flight. Then I take the rental car through the car wash, twice.
Rental car returned, the guy at the rental office calls me a cab.
I sit down in the front seat, and introduce myself. It's a 10 minute or so ride, and I tell the cabbie the story as best I can in that amount of time.
A few meat and antler pictures:
My impression of Alaska
When I get to my home airport, all my stuff stacked up, I have to answer a lot of questions from other hunters and non-hunters about the trip as I make my way to the exit and my Uber.
When my uber driver in her Subi crosstrek sees the pile, she pauses, and I'm worried she's just going to leave, but then she says, "we can make it fit " and flattens out the back seats.
Somehow it all fits, fits perfectly.
I drag ribs (25lbs on the bone, this better be worth it), neck meat, and skull, carrying my entire camp and remaining food to the midway cache. There, I drop the meat and antlers, put hams in the sled and continue on to the jeep. Even with all the extra oxygen, I run out of breath to keep loudly proclaiming "hey bear."
I put some really obnoxious dirty white girl pop on repeat at max volume on my phone and save my breath for the intermittent climbs and gravel patches. The sled is both saving me a whole trip, and teaching me about the coefficients of friction - gotta keep moving. Back at the jeep around 5pm, I hang the hams on a makeshift meat pole and empty my pack into a duffel bag in the truck. Rifle in the case, bear spray around my waist. I had broken the buckle in a seemingly inocuous way while butchering the caribou, so it's just held to me by a square knot in the strap. I have 1.5L of water left, and my filter is almost useless, taking 30 minutes to get 3L earlier in the day. I leave it in the truck.
It takes 2.5 hours to return to the cache
I have some sheds, but I'm so exhausted that I can't fathom even another single pound. I'm 17 miles into my day at this point, 5 more to go.
It's 820pm when I leave with my final load. My whole body is starting to swell with the inflammation of exertion, my feet are just soaked with sweat, and my shoulders are burning under the straps, but I'm not sad about it.
Clouds and mist are almost constant companions, but as I crest my final high point on the ridge leading back, the sun peeks underneath the blanket for a final sunset.
I plod on, miles to go. It gets dark, then I run out of water, and I'm really sweating, pulling the sled through the rough tundra. Finally, FINALLY, I drag the sled within a few feet of the jeep, and pull the lift gate. I load the meat into the plastic tub, it's still very cold. After the truck is packed, I grab my filter and walk the few hundred yards to the creek to filter more water. Four or five pumps in, the threads that hold it together break, and the filter is completely dead. I have maybe a shot of clean water. I'm debating just drinking the creek water unfiltered, but I'd rather not. I InReach my contact, who is awake for some reason, and I get the location of potatable water a ways back down the road. Getting changed and into dry clothes is a really nice feeling, but I still have to get to this water. My dinner is peanut butter m&ms. I drive south, and the rain picks up. When I get to this flowing well, I fill my nalgene with the best tasting water I've ever had. There's no way to possibly pitch a tent in this downpour, so at 230am, I pull into a dirt parking lot and sleep in the driver seat in my sleeping bag. The meat and I are safe tonight.
The next morning, I can barely walk. Getting my shoes on requires me to unlace them as my feet have become enormous overnight. The 22 miles in wet boots has given me tropical immersion foot, and almost changed my shoe size. I relieve myself in front of the jeep because I can't walk more than a few feet, then drive on to the next station where I eat the biggest breakfast they have.
As I return to the jeep, a not so shy female pipeline worker looks at me and says, "hope you don't mind me saying, 'nice rack,'" nodding at the antlers riding shotgun. She mounts into her enormous pickup and smiles as she drives off. I'm smiling too. This IS a nice rack, and so much more.
I drive straight to my contact's house, grab the key from its hiding place, and completely break down the caribou and vac seal it. It goes in a cooler I buy in town, and the refuse into a dumpster. The next day, the antlers get wrapped in layers of packing wrap and paper towels because my skull simmering plan fails. I take everything to the airport, and get it checked in almost 4 hours before my flight. Then I take the rental car through the car wash, twice.
Rental car returned, the guy at the rental office calls me a cab.
I sit down in the front seat, and introduce myself. It's a 10 minute or so ride, and I tell the cabbie the story as best I can in that amount of time.
A few meat and antler pictures:
My impression of Alaska
When I get to my home airport, all my stuff stacked up, I have to answer a lot of questions from other hunters and non-hunters about the trip as I make my way to the exit and my Uber.
When my uber driver in her Subi crosstrek sees the pile, she pauses, and I'm worried she's just going to leave, but then she says, "we can make it fit " and flattens out the back seats.
Somehow it all fits, fits perfectly.
Last edited:
D
Deleted member 18333
Guest
Good Lord, what a story. You know I have kind of been regretting on going after the bull in Wyo because I didn't want to have to deal with the packout. After reading what you did for this caribou I just feel like a giant pu$$y.
This whole story has been too cool.
This whole story has been too cool.
Bambistew
Well-known member
Great story and pictures. Caribou hunting is fun, but man... I'm not sure its THAT fun. haha
Mountain Man
Well-known member
Outstanding adventure and storytelling @Bluffgruff! Thanks for bringing us along for the ride.
duckhunt
Well-known member
What an awsome story.
Bluffgruff
Well-known member
I told you I was up for the packout, haha! That sheep hunt was 3 weeks after I got home from the caribou trip. I was ready for more misery.
D
Deleted member 18333
Guest
Thought you were just being polite. No idea you are a glutton for punishment.
BTW, you need to up your water gathering game. Cant always count on teepee ring runoff.
You got any more stories to tell from the 2022 season?
fishing4sanity
Well-known member
Even as impatient as I am, that was worth the wait to get all those details and those awesome pics of a place I'll never get to see. Truly an adventure of a lifetime. It might be early 2023 still, but I'm ready to cast my vote for Talkie of the Year now!
Dougfirtree
Well-known member
Thanks for taking us along! Great story, and congrats!
RyGuy
Well-known member
Awesome story! What an adventure.
TheBenHoyle
Well-known member
Congratulations on the hunt! Thanks for sharing the story.
deer_shooter
Well-known member
Amazing story and pics, thank you for sharing. I can't wait to get back up into that country again. Its a special place.
PaulRevere
Well-known member
Thanks for sharing. I am so sad it's over.
MarvB
Well-known member
Good stuff right here! Oh to be young(er) again and sans the artificial parts! Well done
IDMULEYMAN
New member
- Joined
- Mar 3, 2023
- Messages
- 17
Great story that was awesome.
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