page 4 of the hunt from hell

  Early the next morning we said good by to Jimmy. He has the blown up clutch and is heading for McCall for repairs.
  The rest of the group loads into my truck and head up the mountain to our snowmobile launch area.
  It is once again bitter cold. Everything is frozen and requires twice the work for simple tasks like letting down the unloading doors on the sled trailer. We pound ice with bars and pins, making do with what we have.
  CD unloads a sled and just off the trailer shuts it down. Unknown to the rest of us, the machine has just died. We unload the other two planning on running double all the way with all the machines.
  We dress with all the clothes, hats, gloves, and coveralls we have to ward off the cold.  We jump on the warming machines and wait for CD to get his fired up. It will not start. We pull and pull till all of us are wore out and sweating in the bitter cold. We trace wires and find that we have no spark to either plug.
  Now we are down two sleds with six guys. Not going to work. We decided to push the dead sled onto the trailer, load the other two and get back to camp. At camp we unload the two running sleds and then head to Riggins with the two broken down sleds.
  At Riggins we have cell phone service and I get ahold of Jimmy who is standing in the repair shop in McCall. We talk over our options and decide Gary and Nick will work on replacing broken water lines in Gary's trailer, The rest of us will make the drive to McCall to see about getting both broken sleds repaired.
  The hunt from hell is now rearing its ugly head in mores ways than we had expected.
  At McCall we have the mechanic install a rebuilt clutch on the one sled and look at the other sled. They are behind in their daily work and cannot spend much time with ours. After a hasty look they determine that the wiring issue is more than a quick fix and cannot work on it.
  We head for the wonderful Pancake House with our tails between our legs. At least a great breakfast picks our spirits up a bit.
  After eating it is  back to our camp and hours drive away. At Camp Jimmy, Mike, and Myself tear into the broken wiring sled. Between all of us, we figure there is not much we cannot figure out, with all of our working on boats, and houses. We short kill switch wires, we trace spark plug wires, we do everything we can think of but that machine will just not give us spark to the plugs. It is truly dead.
  Gary has found plumbing supplies in Riggins and has replaced some of the burst water lines, but everything is so frozen that no water will move anywhere in the trailer.
  At town Gary had a mechanic look at his ailing truck to be informed that it was not fixable in that little town. Gary later learns that he has a cylinder down and it will mean replacing the engine.
  With a broken truck motor, and a frozen trailer Gary is throwing in the towel.  He and Nick will hunt one more day and then head home with CD and TJ, who need to get back to their jobs.
  Our group hits the mountain early the next morning. Jimmy is driving his truck to our top gate... if he can in all the snow. We have packed the road with the snowmobiles so we are hoping he can get his truck there. That will be the only way to get all our hunter in on only three sleds. 
  Jimmy makes it to the gate and we do our first round of shuttling. One group waits at Jimmy's truck while the rest of us drive the four miles in. We drop off guys and head right back to the truck for round number two.
  Mike and I decide to drop way down the mountains to where the elk are staying. We have several more days left on the hunt and figure we will be able to pack an elk out from that far in our time frame. It will not be easy, but it seems our only option.
  Sure enough, our plan works and Mike is able to get his first elk of his life. It is a big cow and he is shocked at the size of the animal when he walks up to it.
  We start working on getting the animal boned out and up the mountain in our packs. We are able to make two trips before our legs give out and it is hovering around darkness. Our second trip out has us racing darkness, as neither of us want to try that hike with headlamps in total darkness.
  There are a lot of high-fives when we meet at the snowmobiles. We once again shuttle the guys back to Jimmy's truck.
  We opt to leave the snow machines parked on the hill and just bring Jimmy's truck up the following morning. That saves the ten mile ride in the sub-zero temperatures.
  We relax around the fire with nothing to fix tonight. Very nice for a change.
  However.... the next morning on our ride in on of our three remaining sleds overheats. We are forced to park it and ride double into the hunting grounds.
  We manage to shoot one more elk to make it two elk for seven guys. With all our problems and the hostile weather, we feel we did the best we could.
  Each person on the hunt had their chances to bag an elk. With the cold and wet most of us tried to fire the guns but the caps were too wet to fire the powder, and we watched the elk run away. That is the challenge of hunting with primitive weapons, and why the ones in charge keep Idaho's laws of guns with open caps the only legal ones you can use on these hunts.
  We all agreed that we had a great time. The fire was the highlight of most days. Drying out, listening or telling stories, while eating some great meals.
  Each time you go on a hunt you learn. This hunt was no exception. Talking about it in the days past, we know how to hunt the elk the next time the temperature plummets below zero. Of course, the older we get, the less willing we are to trudge all that way down the mountain, and then fearing that once down there, we will actually get an animal.
  We keep discussing that one day we may have to surrender this brutal hunt to the younger guys and find a place less rugged for the old guys to hunt.
  Until that day, us old guys will look forward to our yearly Hunt From Hell!
  I told the guys that we need to have some shirts printed up that says; I survived the Hunt From Hell. Nobody will mess with a guy wearing that shirt!
  Mike is back in Alaska eating some wonderful elk meat. I am staying in Idaho for a while to chase some waterfowl.

Mike and I with his elk.

Mike working hard with a heavy pack.

Hunt from hell page 3

Day four of the hunt from hell has begun. Over night we picked up two more hunters. Jimmy's son, TJ and his nephew, CD. They must have run out of names in Idaho as everyone is named initials...
  Two very nice young men. CD is also the owner of a couple of the snowmobiles we have along on this trip.
  We wake to the temperatures hovering around the zero mark at the river. Almost unheard of in this area. We hear crazy sounds in the night, to find it has been ice grinding its way down the Salmon River. In places the river has frozen completely over.
  Once again the long snowmobile ride to our hunting area. This time it is with most of us riding double. We only have one machine set up for double riding the rest are the big hill climbers with the tiny seats. Makes for two grown men riding miles with your knees jammed under your chin. If you are prone to Charlie horses, the ride out at the end of a day of hard hunting can be pure pain filled misery. Our family  being one of those who do suffer Charlie horses. I've witnessed many times machines parked in the middle of the trail with one of us doing a strange crouched over, screaming voodoo dance. It can be freezing cold but when our friend Charlie the horse visits, you are streaming sweat down your face while doing the dance.
  At the snow machine parking place we split into groups of two and scatter to cover the mountains. We hunt hard all day in ankle deep snow and freezing ground. The breaks of the Salmon river are extremely steep, making very difficult walking in good conditions, add snow and frozen ground and it becomes almost impossible to traverse side hill, let alone straight down or back up.
  We meet back at the sleds at three, wore out and a little discouraged. Mike and I have spotted some elk clear at the bottom of the breaks, but way out of our range for shooting and much too far for packing back up on your backs.
  Riding the machines out that evening, we pull start one of the sleds to have the pull rope snap, but luckily the machine has started so we just keep it running till it is loaded on the trailer late that night.
  Back at camp the temperatures have plunged to zero and everything is frozen. All our bottled water is rock hard, pop left in the back of the truck is frozen and burst, lunch meat is in solid bricks, all our canned goods are frozen into the cans. It is nothing short of miserable. Ah... the hunt from hell.
  In the dark we set out to repair the pull rope on the snow machine. The exhaust has to come off and then the pull starter dis-assembled. We find that the rope has gone through the engaging teeth of the starter and it lies in the bottom of the sled in tiny plastic pieces! We will need a new starter assembly.
  The only snowmobile shop is about 60 miles away in McCall.
  Jimmy agrees to give up the next day's hunt to make the run for parts.
  It is late night when we tarp the broken sled and eat a quick supper around the fire that just can't quite keep up with the bitter cold.
  The weather forecast is calling for a week of the same. Cold, cold, and bitter cold!
  We have the snow we were needing, but the cold is something we have never dealt with on this hunt.
  I talk to Mike that evening telling him our only chance to bag an elk is to have someone hike miles down near the river and try to spook the elk into higher country. Looking at our party of hunters, we quickly realize that lovely task will fall upon our shoulders... or should I say legs.
  We make our plans to make the brutal hike, in dangerous conditions, and see what comes of it.
  The next morning we once again make the long snow machine ride to the hunting area. Some of the guys are nearing frost bite on faces and hands from the ride in sub-zero temperatures. It is almost crazy cold on that mountain face.
  Mike and I make the insane hike to just above the ice choked river and sure enough, get into herds of elk. We take pictures of the vast herds but know we cannot shoot one this far down the mountain.
  At least our presence has the desired  effect and a huge herd moves up the mountain towards some of our other hunters. (we find out later that the frozen ground has made it impossible for our other guys to hike down their ridges to where the elk moved to).
  Mike and I make it back to the sleds just before dark. Cold, wet, and dreading the ten mile ride to the truck.
  Half way down the mountain to the truck, CD's sled begins to act up. It is not running well at all and making all kinds of bad sounds. He knows he cannot stop to warm up or let the others catch up. He keeps it running until the rest of us get to the trailer and get the ramp down for him to load the machine.
  When he shuts it down, it will not restart.
  Back at camp Jimmy has the starter installed on the other broken machine, and once again we tear into the newly broken machine. It is so cold that we have to work with heavy gloved on making the work drag on into the night.
  We find that the clutch on CD's machine is gone! Another run to McCall in the morning is needed.
  Jimmy once again says he will make the run.
  At the trailers we find that Gary's trailer has run out of propane heat and all the water lines are frozen and broken. He opens all the drawers, cabinets, and bed areas after running to Riggins to get more propane in the bottles.
  The hunt from hell is living up to its code!
to be continued...

one of the herds of elk we spotted near the river

late night finish working on the snowmobiles

Hunt from Hell page 2

  Day two of our elk hunt found the two Alaskans waking up to a tiny skiff of snow.
  "If there is a skiff down here at the river, there will probably be feet of snow on top of the mountain," I told mike while making sandwiches for our packs. "Looks like a snowmobile day!"
  Everyone is excited about riding the machines in, as our muscles from yesterday's hike are so sore we can hardly walk on them. Mikes knee seems to be much better but without going down hill he is not sure how it is going to handle the day.
 Our two diesel trucks grind their way up the steep mountain road to a gate allowing snowmobile only traffic on an old logging road system. While turning around with the sled trailer I find myself very stuck in the fresh snow.
  We unload all the snowmobiles but I am still very much stuck. With daylight quickly approaching and our hunting time slipping away, we are forced to winch my truck out of the snow and complete the turn around.
  It is a four mile ride into our hunting area with the sleds, but we run out of snow at about mile three. The hike once again begins.
  We split up and hunt hard all day with only one herd of elk spotted by Gary and Nick. No elk on the ground. Trailering my snowmobile for the ride back to camp, the pull rope unties and sucks back into the machine! "You've got to be kidding!" I whine.
  Back to camp at zero-dark-thirty! We are tired and still sore from our hikes. The first order of business is to get my pull rope on the sled fixed. We have to remove the exhaust system and then gently pull the rope out of the starter, then feed it up a long spring to the outside of the machine. Everything back in place we make a couple pulls on the rope just to make sure.
  Supper is late and we crash into bed after eating around the roaring fire.  We try our best to dry out clothing, boots, and socks by the fire each night. There is heat in the trailers but with four guys per unit, there is not much room to hang drippy clothing.
  Day three wakes us with a surprise. Snow! Heavy snow on the ground in camp and snow falling like crazy.
  "At least we know we will be able to get the machines as low on the mountains as we need with this new snow," Gary comments.
  We are excited. This is the snow our hunt is needing.
  We get to the bottom of the mountain and decide to launch the snowmobiles right there. It is snowing hard and the steep mountain road can be very treacherous with the heavy snowmobile trailer pushing a truck on the way back down.
  Our four mile ride just became about ten miles.
  Snow plasters us as we ride to the hunting area.
  We split up and hunt hard, but the driving snow does not allow for spotting elk at any distance at all and no one observes anything.
  Wet and cold we meet at the snow machines and get a good fire going. We warm up and dry out a bit before making the long ride back to the trucks. The hunt from hell is living up to its reputation.
 No elk, every day struggles with machines, nasty weather... just what the doctor ordered... for crazy guys!
  to be continued...

Nick, Mike, Gary, and Jimmy thawing out at the snowmobiles before the ride out.

Hunt from Hell part 1

  Some time during our diving I talked to Mike about an upcoming annual event, a thing called The Hunt from Hell.
  This is a muzzle loader elk hunt in the wilds of Idaho.
  Mike was really excited as harvesting an elk was one of his bucket list items.
  "This hunt will test just about every area you can think of," I told him, speaking around a doughnut,  and sipping hot coffee while adding to my growing layer of winter belly fat. I glanced at the doughnut and commented, " Why, I shouldn't even be eating this, but should be feeding on carrots and apples before the hunt. One extra pound really feels heavy hiking the extremely steep mountains on this hunt." Mike nodded like he knew what I was talking about, but I knew he didn't have a clue.
 Fast forward a couple months. My phone chirps in a new text message. It reads: "hey buddy, I've decided to go on the elk hunt. Am booking tickets now."
  Mike was now committed. "Just make sure you get a non-refundable ticket," I commented back, making sure he couldn't back out at last minute.
   Mike arrived in Idaho after digging his way out of a couple feet of fresh snow in Alaska. It was warm and raining in Idaho.
  "Wow, this is great weather down here," he commented.
  I read the mountain weather report to him, "rain tomorrow, rain the next day, then three days of snow and dropping temperatures... as low as zero degrees."
  That didn't sound too bad to us sitting in that coffee shop sipping steaming lattes.
   Mike and I met up with my brother, Gary, his son, Nick, and Jimmy. I was dragging a snowmobile trailer filled with machines, Gary and Jimmy both had camp trailers clamped to their truck bumpers. The hunt was on.
  Mid way to our hunting area in the mountains Gary radioed that he was having truck engine problems. We pulled off the road to have a look. His truck had been in the shop just the week before, with the same problem. The engine sputtered, wheezed and missed like something that has had a few miles placed on it.
  "Don't know why it is acting up, it only has 325,000 miles on it," Gary commented while slamming the hood to dampen the not so good sounds.
  "It will make it. Let's get back on the road."
  "Just do like my wife does when she hears strange sounds coming from the car... turn up the radio so you can't hear them," I commented to Gary, "That fixes everything!"
  Yup, the hunt from hell sure had started.
  The three hour drive flew by as Mike and I excitedly planned our hunting strategies. We pulled into the campground and quickly helped get the trailers set up. The rain was hardly noticed.
  "Looks like we won't need snow machines for the first couple of days," I told Mike as we cranked the trailer up off my truck. "I guess we will just have them here on standby until the snow hits."
  Jimmy took Nick and Mike up the mountain that evening while Gary and I drove a lower road, to get a feel for where the elk might be.
  Listening to the rain hiss it the fire late that evening we decide to make a long hike the next day. It will require dropping off one truck, taking everyone up the mountain in the other truck. We will hike the entire mountain to the lower truck, and then make a late night drive back to the top to retrieve the top truck.
  It sounds easy.
  I keep telling Mike that morning to make sure you pace yourself. It does not look that far, but it is quite a hike.
  Rain drizzles on us the entire day. We are soaked and most of us are sure our powder or caps on the muzzle loaders are probably too wet to fire if we did see an elk.
  Just over half way down Mike tweaks his knee. He keeps going but we can see he is in pain and working hard to manage the super steep decent on a bum leg. The hunt from hell is under way for sure.
  At dark we make it to the dropped off truck. We are all tired, wet, and beat.
  "Wow, that's some steep country," Mike commented as we rumbled towards camp. "I was not expecting it to be quite that steep."
  At the fire that evening we rubbed our tired legs while cooking our tube steaks (hotdogs).
  "This looks like it might be a tough hunting year," someone commented and we all agreed
to be continued...

Jimmy, Myself, Gary, Nick, and Mike first days hike

Bucket list ideas to stay away from

  I wrote this last waterfowl season. I thought I'd post it to remind myself of the coming winter.

  My brother’s brother-in-law made an all night drive from Colorado to go water fowl hunting with us.

  Jim tries to do this each year. He seems to be blessed to hit his timing just right and we have fantastic hunting.
 This year the weather turned cold, very cold. The lake froze solid, pushing the ducks and geese onto rivers and mostly, onto private ponds where public cannot hunt.
   “We’ll just have to do the best we can with what we are facing,” I told Jim on the phone, while planning the mornings hunt.
  Jim, his son Kyle, and our nephews, Nick and Luke arrived in Jim’s Toyota and began piling on the clothes. It is so hard to dress for these hunts. We have to pack decoys about a quarter mile out in a field and then lay in a ditch to hide. If you dress for the cold hunt, you sweat like crazy packing decoys. If you dress for packing decoys you freeze as soon as you stop moving. You have to dress light for the pack because the last thing you need is for sweat to start freezing as the morning progresses.
  We packed about five dozen decoys into the field, pitch dark, working with head lamps. We hurried driving the trucks to a farm yard to hide them, then hiked our way back to the ditch.
  For the next two hours we hunkered under white sheets while laying on our backs in the snow drifts that filled the ditch, wondering why we hurried to get out of our warm trucks.
  Jim looked down the ditch at the shivering crew and made this comment, “I’m going to write a book about the top fifty crazy bucket list things one should NEVER do.”
  We managed to shoot a few geese before we all froze out. The geese were still flying over the field as we drove the trucks away. “Who cares,” I thought as I tried to warm my hands with the cold air blowing out my truck heat vents.
  The next day’s hunt was even better… I mean worse. We met at the Snake River with my jet boat to try a duck hunt. We always try to get the kids as much shooting as we can. Goose hunting is rewarding, but the shooting is usually much less than the duck hunting.
   I arrived at the river early, once again hours before daylight,  and chipped the ice out of the boat drain plug holes until I could wiggle in the rubber drain plugs. Burrrr… my hands were freezing.
   I backed the boat into the water in the pitch dark and set up to launch. It seemed to take a long, long time to get the motor fired in the bitter cold, but at last, it roared to life and in a cloud of steamy smoke. Over the sound of the outboard motor I heard a grinding sound.
  “What in the world is that,” I thought, while digging for my head lamp. I shined it at the river to see big chunks of ice float past the stern of the boat.
  I dodged the ice foes, launched the boat, and then tied it tight to the shore to wait for Jim and the boys to arrive.
   When Gary’s truck pulled into the parking lot at daylight we were greeted by the sight of huge chunks of ice floating down the river. I was looking to see if I could pick my way between them with the boat, but as the morning progressed they moved tighter together and larger in size. Some of the ice foes were as large as a car. Not something I wanted to try running a jet boat through in freezing temperatures.
  Bad bucket list idea number two.
  We decided to bag the duck hunt. Gary, Jim and the boys would go upland bird hunting in the desert hills.
  Later that day I received a call from a friend that one stretch of the river was flowing ice free, and ducks were there. I texted Jim and Gary about a hunt the following day.
  Daylight the next morning found us on another boat ramp, launching the jet boat through the ice frozen across the boat ramp. At least the river was not flowing ice, even in the below zero temperatures.
  I informed Jim that I was very nervous to be running the river in this bitter cold. One mistake and we would be in trouble. It was just too cold to make any mistakes.
   The two mile run up the river was nothing short of torture. There was no way to keep ears, face, or hands warm. It was so cold. We set out the duck decoys and had a fairly good shoot, but once again the words, “What in the world are we doing here?” kept coming up.
  Guns freeze up, as soon as you got out of the water your waders would freeze stiff and we would have to walk like little tin men! It was great.
  Back at the trucks with hands warming by the heaters, we again talked about the bucket list of things someone should never try. This was number three in just as many days!
  Three of Jim’s days in Idaho waterfowl hunting were days you could cross off your bucket list as things you have to be a bit crazy to even think about trying.
  We did them, and lived to tell about it.

I Could Have, If They Would Have

  I received the text late in the evening. It read: "Good weather tomorrow, let's go duck and deer hunting to our secret lake."
 I thought long and hard... at least one second, before I replied, "See you at daylight. I'll see if Mike wants to go as well."
  My good friend, Matt, along with Mike, and I have hiked to the secret lake for a duck and deer hunt before with good duck success.
  Mike was "all in" and we met at his boat in the morning with daylight burning a hole in the darkness.
  We raced out to the end of the road boat launch and, of course, forgot the life jackets, (Ok, so we are all getting old) and had to make a quick trip back to the garage.
  The boat ramp was busy with anxious deer hunters. It had been raining for nearly a week, so with the clear skies, the deer should be roaming the beaches. Our plan to hike for them was a little different.
  Mike raced his boat to our anchor spot and we "Indian" anchored the boat. That is a system of anchoring for rising and falling tides. The last thing you want, is to arrive at the boat after a long days hunt, to find it sitting high and dry on shore from the tide going out.
  Mike has a neat 100 foot bungee cord which allows him to drop the anchor a good 50 feet from shore motor the boat onto the beach, unload his gear and himself and then let go. with a second tie up line in hand attached to the boat you watch the boat spring back into deep water. He then ties the line to a tree and upon returning to the shore, he just pulls the boat back in.
  Matt, Mike and I load our backpacks with decoys, lunches, and deer hunting items. We load our shotguns with buck shot in the event of a close encounter with a hungry brown bear. Mike is carrying his deer rifle. Jasmine, my yellow lab, proudly leads the way through the brush.
  We hike for just about two hours, stopping every time we come to a muskeg (a swamp like clearing in the under brush and trees) and try calling for deer. All the muskegs have deer rubs on the little pine saplings indicating that there are in fact deer in the area. Nothing.
  We hike and call, hike and call. Across creeks, over blow down logs, busting through head high brush, and sometimes even walking on bear trails with very fresh bear tracks. With sweat running down our faces and backs, we make the final steep climb to the little mountain lake.
  Mike parts company to go deer hunting, while Matt and I set up our big spread of four duck decoys. It is just too difficult to pack in more than that.  It is a beautiful lake that we doubt very many people even know exists. It took Matt several years to find a way into it after a Coast Guard chopper pilot told him of it.
  We sit and chat, eat lunch, and visit some more. We watch swans fly over on their fall migration, and visit... waiting for ducks. Nothing.
  After a couple hours Mike comes back from his deer hunt. Nothing. did not see a deer. Hmmm... sounds like a couple duck hunters I know of.
  It is nearing 1:30 in the afternoon. We have got to get going. The daylight is leaving so quickly this time of the year. We quickly pack our decoy spread and head back to the boat.
  We try calling a few times for deer, but with the light fading, need to keep pushing.
  We arrive at the beach with the daylight fading quickly. We bungee the boat to us, load our gear and the dog, and race for the boat ramp.
  I arrive back home right at dark to my wife's question, "Well... did you get any?"
  "You know," I told her, "If any ducks would have flown, or if any deer would have shown themselves, we sure would have!"
  I doubt that anyone will ever do a much harder duck hunt than that one. I guess it is not in the getting of the game but in the chasing it.
  We all agreed that we did have a great chase!

                        Mike and Matt calling for deer at a muskeg             

 

 

 

Has to be some kind of record

  I jumped on a plane out of Sitka headed for Idaho, to take in the annual whitetail deer hunt with my lower 48 friends and family. 
There were a few loose ends to tie down, then I picked up my Dad, and headed for the mountains.
  Dad is 94 years "young" so getting a deer at that age has got to be some kind of record for the state. I cannot imagine too many guys hunting the hills at 94. 
  We arrived in camp to bright skies and sunshine. Not the weather we were hoping for. To get the whitetail deer moving out of their normal patterns, we always hope for snow. Lots of snow. The ground was bare and the temperature very warm, not at all what the hunters were looking for.
  My brother, Gary, and his two sons, and his wife, convoyed up the mountains with us. At the top we decided Dad would ride with Gary and I would take Gary’s son, Nick, on a long hike. 
  Nick and I took one of my favorite old abandoned logging roads, and hiked to an area where I have found many bucks make scrapes and rubs during the bucks rutting season. Not much to be found except piles and piles of wolf droppings. In each pile of wolf dropping was deer hair. Idaho is now plagued with wolves that are destroying their deer and elk herds. 
  Nick and I came up empty that evening as did Gary and his family. We did not expect to get many deer on the first evening of a 7 day hunt, but no one even observed a single deer, not even in the headlights coming off the mountain in the dark. Not looking very promising at all.
   Gary’s eldest son, Nate was the first to score. He was able to get a nice doe.  Nate was now done hunting for himself so he elected to take Dad (his grandpa) back to the area of his doe and see if there could be more deer there.
   Nate and Dad arrived at the hunting area and in no time spotted a deer. 
  Nate hustled behind Dad with his shooting sticks as the elusive whitetail deer wound through the thick forest.

  “Deer right here!” Nate whispered to Dad. Nate looked around and Dad was aiming his gun, but Nate knew he was not seeing the deer as there was a big pine tree in the way.
  “Over here,” Nate whispered and tried to tug on dad’s coat sleeve to get him into the view of the standing deer.
  “No, I’ve got one right here in my sights!” Dad whispered back to Nate.
  Nate looked around the tree on Dad’s side and sure enough there stood another deer. Nate whipped the shooting sticks under Dad’s gun and stood back watching.
  Blam!
   “You got it, you got it!” Nate shouted. Dad made a great shot and a buck was Dad’s
  It was a time of celebration back at camp. Ninety-four years old and harvesting a deer. What a great accomplishment.
  While many people that age are on walkers or in homes, Dad is able to be out roaming the forest with his grand children.
  We celebrated around the camp fire the only way to do it in a hunting camp... eating fire roasted hot dogs!
   Way to go Dad.
                                             Dad (light blue coat), Nate, and the group

Capture of the Summer

  My fishing summer is over, diving has been wrapped up, and my hunting is now in full swing.
  The rain continues to pour down here in South East Alaska, making the outside world a drippy place to be. Now is the time to dig through the summers photos and see if any I took are worth saving.
  Taking a picture from a moving boat, with the waves throwing you around is a bit challenging, to say the least. Most of my pictures are a bit out of focus, off center of frame, or just shots of bare water, sky, or my boots. Not an exciting addition to the family album for sure.
  I did happen upon a couple of shots that I'm quite proud of. here is the story that goes with it:
  "Reel them in," I instructed the clients, "Read 'em and weep, as they say in card playing."
  The end of another successful day was upon us. We were about an hour's run from town and it was time for us to high tail it that way.
  With the anchor pulled and the clients settled in, I headed the bow of the boat towards town. In the distance, towards shore, I caught a splash of white water out of the corner of my eye, nothing unusual for the ocean as the waves crash on the rocks all the time. It was a large enough splash of water to keep me looking in that direction.
  A huge dark form lifted out of the ocean and came crashing back down in a sheet of white spray.
  "Whale!" I shouted over the engine noise to the clients.
  "He is a long ways out there towards the shore line," I instructed, as we all stood with eyes glued to the far shore line.
  Another dark form that ended in sheets of white spray announced the whales presence to the clients.
  "Wow, look at that," they all shouted and raced for cameras.
  It took us quite some time to motor the three or four miles to where the big beast continued to breach.
  "Let's hope he keeps jumping until we can get close enough for some pictures," I commented as we cruised in his direction.
  We finally arrived near the area of the whale and I cut the engines with the boat still drifting towards it.
 "Whoosh!" Out of the water rose the huge dark form of the whale. He was close now and camera shutters were clicking like crazy.
  Everyone on deck cheered at the spectacular show this grand giant was putting on for us.
  We drifted for some time shooting pictures and chatting about what an amazing sight this was.
  It was the perfect end to a great day of fishing.

Deer and Bears

 Last week diving for cucumbers found Mike and I doing the combination of shrimping and diving. Our good friends, Scott and CJ, did a dive and deer hunt combination. We learned the story back in town at the fuel dock.
  On the way back to town Scott and CJ spot a couple of deer standing on the beach. They get down their little zodiak skiff and CJ paddled to the beach.
  Scott backs the big boat out and watches. He gave CJ a hand held radio, which is common practice here in Alaska.
  The deer move off the beach and into the woods as soon as CJ gets close, so he follows in hot persuit.
  Here is CJ's side;
  "I'm sneaking through the thick undergrowth on a nice game trail. I know the deer have to be close. I see movement up ahead and freeze. It is the butt end of a big brown bear. Not a good thing at all. Just then the two deer come racing down the trail away from the bear. I aim the gun when the radio starts squaking."
  "CJ! CJ! Cj, are you there?" Scott's frantic voice booms out in the quiet forest.
  CJ is desparetaly trying to muffle the radio and line up for a shot at one of the deer
  "There are two bears somewhere near you!" Scott's frantic voice booms over the radio again.
  CJ lines up a deer and pulls the trigger. A good shot, the deer goes down.
  Now back on the boat Scott is seeing things a little differently.
  As soon as Cj heads into the woods, Scott notices a couple of big brown bears on the beach lumbering along.  They turn and head into the forest on a collision course with CJ.
  Scott is on the radio trying to warn CJ when he hears a single riffle shot boom out.
  Now Scott is almost in a panic. Did the two bears find CJ? Did he shoot in self defense? Is he being mauled right now?
  "Are you there? Are you alright?" Scott keeps on the radio.
  "Hey, I'm fine, Scott. I just shot a nice buck. I'll be right out with it." CJ replies back.
  Scott relaxes a bit to hear CJ's voice but is still very alert knowing there are a couple of bears somewhere near him.
  As he draggs the buck to the beach the other deer shows itself, and CJ makes another good shot. Two bucks down, and still two bears in the woods close by.
  With the hair standing on his neck, CJ field dresses the two deer and gets them to the skiff. He paddles back to the boat and Scott picks him up.
 After comparing stories Scott and CJ learn that there were actually three bears in the woods with CJ, the two Scott observed on the beach at the same time CJ was seeing the back end of one in the woods.
  We all got a good laugh at the stories told at the fuel dock, but all were very thankful that the bears did not get agressive with CJ. It could have turned a deer hunt into a very intense situation. It is never a good idea to wrestle a brown bear in the woods.

Shrimping to go with Diving

                       
   It is now our third week of diving. Mike and I worked hard on week two with our fair share of problems. That is just the nature of the beast.
  I have watched with interest the show, a few years ago, Swamp Loggers. The owner of that swamp logging company faces one break down after another, week after week. He is a fine Christian man, and I watched with interest, to see how any one man could just keep facing all the mechanical breakdowns, and still keep calm. He has been a kind of hero to me as I face many mechanical difficulties in my floating business.
  So... without going into details, let's just say that this dive season has been a test of Mike's and my patience, and of our mechanical skills.
  It is Sunday morning when I kiss my sweet wife goodbye, meet Mike, and head to the boat.
  Dripping rain for the past three days has everything soaked. Nothing unusual about that. Mike pushes the plastic tarp over the back of the boat and
 a roar of water pitches into the ocean.
  "Wow, that is some build up of water on the tarp," Mike comments.
  "Yeah, That is from yesterday, cause I was down here clearing it then," I said as I jumped under the tarp and unlocked the door of the boat.
  I fire up all the electronics as we idle out of the harbor. A quick stop by the fuel dock for a top off, and we are under way to Hoonah Sound.
  We race past our dive area of the past two weeks. The allowable amount of Sea Cucumbers has been all but caught. Fish and Game announced a three hour opening in Krestof Sound area. Not quite enough time for us. We have elected to make the run to Hoonah Sound for the full day and a half opening there.
  It is a beautiful run on inside waters of South East Alaska to get to Hoonah Sound. We scan the beaches for deer. Mike and I would both love to bag a deer for some fresh eating venison.
  About half way to our dive area we spot a nice deer walking the beach. I slide the boat near shore and quietly drop the anchor. Mike and I quickly get the rubber skiff off the top of the boat and into the clear blue water. We silently paddle to the shore and drag the boat above the tide line. Mike has the gun and makes a great sneak to where he can get a shot at the deer.
  It is gone!
  "Ah rats!" I say as he comes back empty handed.
  We row back to the boat, load the skiff, and pull anchor and head to our dive destination.
  Mike and I have a great plan. We have loaded the back deck of the boat with shrimp pots and buoy line. We will set the pots in a good shrimping area, dive for cucumbers on Monday.  We will then sell the day's catch, pull the shrimp pots, re-bait and re-set them, and then go anchor on our dive area for the Tuesday's half -day dive opening.
  If it all works as planned we should at least catch enough shrimp for our supper on Monday night. There is nothing like eating fresh shrimp... all you can eat fresh shrimp, right out of the ocean FRESH!
  The pots set, Mike and I use the afternoon until dark running an underwater camera looking for the elusive sea cucumbers. We do not find much in the way of dive product and finally bunch it at dark, dropping the anchor on a random shore, and just hoping to find cucumbers at the eight o'clock opening in the morning.
  The wind picks up after dark and makes for quite a rocking start to the evening. Mike and I watch a good movie on our navigation computer and then call it a night.
  Somewhere around midnight the wind stops blowing, making sleeping much easier. The first night on a boat is always difficult as the sounds of waves against the hull are more distracting than soothing.
  Five in the morning and we are up getting the boat dive ready. Daylight seems to never find Hoonah Sound, but at about seven we can see enough to pull anchor and stage to our diving shoreline.
  The dive goes fairly well. I pick as quickly as I can, the cukes are small and it takes quite a bunch to fill our bags.
  I come up around noon wet and cold. My dry suit has leaked up one arm and all down my chest. I am wet and freezing. Mike and I decide to call it a day.
  We race up the sound to where our buying tender boat is anchored. We sell our catch of cucumbers to a boat named the Lucy O. She is a purse seiner in the summer and a dive tender in the winter.
  After selling we head up to our waiting shrimp pots.
  Buoy line races through the hauler to the first shrimp pot.
  "Crab on top!" I yell above the noise of the hauler motor. Mike scoops the crab off the top of the pot on onto the deck. A nice Tanner crab, plenty wide enough for the legal width.
  "Wow! Look at the shrimp!" Mike shouts.
  The pot bottom is completely orange with huge orange spotted shrimp.
  We run all eleven of our pots and each one comes up with many, many large prawns!
  We re-bait the pots and get them back on the bottom, then race back to our dive area.
  Mike and I sit on buckets pinching the tails off the shrimp till way after dark.
  "Wow, what a haul," I comment as I watch Mike pour bags of ice over a half full cooler of shrimp tails. "We are going to eat well this winter!"
   We do the same thing on Tuesday and find even more shrimp in our pots.
  We stop by the tender on our way home and drop off a half a five gallon bucket of shrimp. The fresh gift is well received!
  Mike and I drift for nearly an hour pinching shrimp, and when we finish we find we have a full cooler and more than half a five gallon bucket of shrimp tails.
  "Unbelievable," I tell Mike as we motor towards home.
  Our dive work has paid for our shrimp trip. we now have enough shrimp for our two families for the entire winter. We will certainly be eating well this winter.
                                                   shrimp pots filled with shrimp

                                                     the jumbo shrimp we catch

sink full of shrimp tails

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunset

 "Wow, look out the window," I told my wife, "we have a sunset going on that is something to behold."
  Shades of red, orange, purple, and blue lit up the evening sky and spilled onto the quiet ocean below.
  I grabbed the camera and started shooting photos as quickly as I could. Each ten or fifteen minutes would give me
a new look or color.
  Commercial salmon fishing boats were making their way from the ocean to town and added to the majestic flow of color
and background.
  I think everyone in town stopped for a time to take in this beautiful evening. Face book pages lit up with posting of
the pictures as each of us tried to out do the other.
  It is so seldom that we get sunrises or sunsets here in Sitka that the few we do get are just almost more than we can grasp.
  This truly is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Wild Alaska at its best.

Crazy Dive Page 4

  After selling our cucumbers to the packer, Mike and I race back to town before the parts stores close.
  Living on an island with small time stores is always an adventure. You almost have to be your own parts store, as most of the business close at 5:00 each evening.
  We need to get the compressor back up to full air capacity. Not being able to dive beyond 30 feet just does not put enough worms in the bags.
  For some reason the big half inch air line elbows are breaking off inside the compressor.
  Mike and I race to town for all the parts we think we need, then back to the boat to start disassembling the compressor. We have to unbolt it off the back of the boat, then remove the compressor from the system.
  We try to extract the broken elbow but find it is heated in and not budging. We do not dare ruin the threads inside as we need to get another elbow installed and run the airlines.
  Back to the hardware store. Back to the boat. To my house for drills. To the boat. Back to the hardware store.
  Daylight is now pulling darkness out of its pockets where it stored it this morning, and spreading it quickly over the mountains and ocean. Darkness creeps into the harbor quickly devouring every last bit of daylight. Adding to the fading light we are working in pouring rain requiring full rain gear and watching everything getting soaked. Lovely!
  We have to drill out the elbow then back to the hardware store for one last die for cutting new threads, we walk into the store as they are locking the door, talk our way inside and get our final purchase!
  The die works perfectly, making a good thread to install our new elbow. We use a copper line elbow system I have as a back up and, working by head lamps, finish putting the compressor back together.
  We fire up the compressor and run it as darkness snuffs out this long, long day.
  Mike and I "high-five" as we head up the dock claiming our fix bomb proof!
  "Meet you at the truck at 6:00 a.am.," I tell Mike as we say our good nights. "Good work on the repairs," I thank him as we part.
  Six in the morning comes way to soon.
  I stagger down the stairs to the truck to find my soaked woollies did not dry properly in the dryer. to my back up pair.
  Mike and I launch the boat in the dark and make the idle through the harbors by braille.
  We have to idle much farther today as the daylight is loosing to the winter hours so quickly.
  "Have to rig up the Sodium lights for next week," I comment to Mike as I throttle up. "Keep your eyes peeled for logs and kelp." This is definitely two person driving for a while.
  We make about half of our run just hoping we will see things in the water before it grows light enough to really see.
  "Wow, this is nerve wracking," Mike comments as we relax with a cup of hot coffee.
  Back at our dive spot. We fire up the machines and I quickly get into my dive gear.
  "Running good?" I ask mike.
  "You betcha!" he smiles back.
  The little 9.9 hp kicker motor seems to be failing to go into reverse gear. Not good. Mike grabs a pair of needle nosed pliers to make adjustments. We get it to go into gear after much fiddling. Not good as that is such an important part of the dive operation. Mike has to keep the boat near my bubbles and be able to get the corks to bring the bags to the surface.
  "It looks like It will work. I'll keep an eye on it," Mike tells me as I sit on the back of the boat clearing my mask for the dive.
  'Two minutes till dive time," Mike says.
  "Three, two, one, you're good to go," Mike counts me into the water.
  I clear my sinus' as I watch my computer count me down to the bottom. At thirty feet I start seeing some cucumbers. I pick as quickly as I can.
  About a dozen cucumbers into my first bag my air shuts off completely. I suck hard on my regulator. Nothing.
  I head for the surface and crack my pony bottle drawing a gulp of air. I shut it off to conserve the little bottle.
  I crank the valve shut on my dry suit to keep the air in as I break surface to keep myself floating with the heavy weight belt still around my waist.
  Mike hauls me to the boat hand over handing the air line.
  "It broke again!" Mike shouts.
 He shuts off the compressor as I climb onto the boat.
  "Yup, it is the same elbow fitting! It is broken clean off." he says, leaning over the back of the machine.
   "The kicker cable seems to be broken as well," he further informs me.
  "You've got to be kidding," I agonize out loud to him.
  Sure enough, the elbow fitting has sheered off the big half inch copper fitting and the threads are left up inside the compressor motor.
  Kicker cable is not working at all. We are done.
  "We might be able to jury rig around all of this but it will take us a couple hours of our four hour dive time," I tell Mike. "Or, we can just bag it, get back to town and fix everything properly."
  Mike and I decide to scrap the day's dive and just get back to town for a proper fix of all the machines.
  So much for our hoped better day!
  We clean the twelve cucumbers and Mike takes the meat home to try. We have not really eaten the very cucumbers we harvest so many times. Mike says he is going to smoke some of them to see if they will taste like smoked clam. (that is what we keep hearing).
  We head back to town with our tails between our legs. Not a good first dive opening at all. Each year the diving is getting tougher to find the product as the sea otters compete with us for the cucumbers. I feel we have just squandered our very best opening on one of our best dive areas. Oh well, at least I am alive and well. Next week will have to be the make up dive, even though the tide will be at its most un-divable stage that week.
  Mike and I work on the boat and compressor the full rest of the day. We learn that we have been tightening the line between the elbows too much putting pressure on the elbows. The great heat from the compressor motor causes the elbow failure. We cut longer lines between the elbows and wedge them in. It looks good, but only a few days run time will tell the real tale.
  Mike and I head home in the dark, tired and a tad bit discouraged.
  This is the life of a diver.


                                              Mike at the compressor pulling in a dive hose

                                           a full bag of cucumbers on the deck

crazy dive page 3

  "You've got to kidding!" I shout to Mike, "My back up computer is dead."
  We can see Scott's boat about a mile up the channel from us. We discuss for some time about whether to go see if he has a spare computer or to just bunch the day and head back to town for repairs.
  I do not say to Mike, but I know I should get back down to pressure to decompress from my too quick accent.
  "Let's go see what Scott has," I say, as I fire up the big engines.
  with a roar we race off to talk to Scott.
  C.J. is tending for Scott when we pull up along side. I glide in, very careful to see where Scott is so I don't get my boat over the top of him.
  C.J. looks up and cranes his neck out of the boat to hear over the roar of his compressors.
  "Does Scott have a spare computer?" We shout as loudly as we can yell.
  "What? Can't hear you!" C.J. shouts back.
  I pull the Samantha in closer to the Gracie K.
  We shout again.
  "I don't know if he has one or not. Give him a bit he is on his last bag, and will need to come up on this one," C.J. shouts back.
  We pull out and wait for Scott to surface.
  "There he is," Mike says, pointing at Scott's hooded head breaking surface.
  We pull along side and grab the rails of Scott's boat as C.J. helps him on board.
  "Scott, I locked my computer on a quick accent," I tell him as he peels off his wet hood. "Do you have a spare computer I can borrow for the rest of the day?"
  "You bet," comes his quick reply. He races in his boat and comes out with a computer.
  We discuss the dive tables I have on my locked up computer and what safe dive limits are for me now.
  "Thanks millions Scott," I shout as we pull away.
  I race back to our dive area, knowing that Scott has harvested half of his quota in the time I have just a dab. Hard not to be a tad bit bitter.
  Shutting down the boat on our dive area we learn that the rising tide is like a river flowing the opposite direction from the morning.
  "Let's get to the point up there and work with it," I tell Mike as I fire up the engines again.
  We race to the point and Mike gets the deck ready for me to dive.
  Back into the dive suit, the bail out bottle, the weight belt, gloves, hoods.... good grief, this gets old quickly.
  I jump in the water, give the thumbs up and head for the bottom. Clearing my ears as I drop I press my air valve on my suit to slow my decent to learn that I failed to hook it up on surface. All I do is fill my dry suit with a blast of very cold ice water!
  I can't find the end of the hose to connect, so back to the top I go.
  "Hook me up," I shout to mike.
  He snaps me in and back down I go.
  No air! Again. I race for the surface, this time from a shallow 20 feet.
  "The part we put on broke!"Mike screams.
  Back out of the water. We unhook the outlet hose on that compressor and cap it off so it won't drain the reserve tank. This will let me dive, but on very limited air. The tank gauge barley creeps to 90 pounds.
  Back into the water. I try to go below 40 feet and have to suck way too hard on the regulator to get air. I decide to just finish the day working shallow. But... shallow with the extreme high tide is just crazy. There is not much to find. Very big rocks with lots of kelp to dig through.
  I pick as hard as I can for about an hour when the cold of my flooded suit starts getting me.
  I am shivering like crazy and my legs cramp completely. I pull myself along the bottom with my hands, screaming in pain into my regulator. "good thing I don't have com system or Mike would think something is attacking me," I think to myself.
  "This is crazy," I think to myself. No amount of money is worth this.
  I slowly make my way to the surface.
  We are done for the day.
  "I'll have to make it up tomorrow, I tell Mike as I undress from my dive suit and get into some warm clothes. "If we can get back on the good picking at low tide tomorrow I can make up for today," I promise him.
  I fire up the engines and we head up the channel to the packer boat that is buying our cucumbers.
  We off load a surprising 926 pounds for a very tough day.
    Not bad for a decrepit old has been diver with a few obstacles along the way!
  Tomorrow is the day... but... little do we know... tomorrow may be worse!
  I'll keep you posted

Crazy Cucumber Dive Continued page 2

  Back on the bottom with plenty of air and cucumbers everywhere I look. I am filling bags in less than ten minutes, and we are definitely on a roll.
   I look at the dive computer. I'm picking in about 52 to 55 feet of water. I don't like to pick this deep very long as it uses up my decompression time too quickly, but with picking like this I have to stay here. I ignore the desire to follow the vein of worm into shallow water, choosing to leave those for later in the day when the tide fills the pool and I have to pick shallower.
  Suddenly my air stops. I suck hard on my regulator. Nothing! I immediately head for the surface, my hand going to my bail out bottle relief valve.
  I feel my air hose tighten and then I'm yanked towards the surface. I know I'm heading up much too quickly, but there is noting I can do but ride this out.
  I crack the bail out bottle for a deep breath of air, then turn it off quickly to save air. Again I'm needing a breath. I open the valve for another breath. I can feel Mike hand over hand pulling me towards the surface... but much too quickly.
  I have my hand over my head in case of impact on the bottom of the boat. I look up and can see the dark outline racing towards me.
  Whoosh, my head breaks surface. I am right at the side of the boat and Mike has a death grip on my air hose.  He is a little wild eyed.
  "Hey Bro," He shouts, "The compressor blew a line. You have no air!"
  That is like the understatement of the day for me, after sucking on my regulator till my mask dug into my face!
  Mike helps me into the boat and we inspect the compressor.
  I actually have four compressors working as a unit to fill a big reserve tank that I breath out of.
  When one of the lines brake between the compressors it immediately drains the reserve tank, shutting off my breathing air.
  We shut down the motors and go to work.
  Tool boxes are dragged out of compartments, spare parts and pieces are recovered from their hiding places around the boat.
  Mike and I work at a fever pitch to fix the broken line. We work in pouring rain, and keep glancing at the shoreline, willing the rising tide to slow down.
  "I can't think of a time I've seen the tide come in this quickly," Mike comments.
  We laugh, knowing it is just the pressure of time that makes it seem like it is lunging to its peak today.
  Mike is very handy at repairing things. He has worked most of his life at maintenance jobs. Between the two of us we are up and running in about an hour.
  Copper lines ran, we fire up the compressor and glare at the gauge on the reserve tank. The Needle slowly climbs to the 110 pounds of air pressure required for me to dive 50 or more feet deep.
  We shut off the compressor to check for leaks. Major hissing greets our ears.
  We feel the new line to find one of the joints needs a couple cranks of a wrench to stop the leak.
  "Are we good to go?" I shout at mike over the roar of the hookah.
  "Looks great!"  he beams a big smile.
  I once again suit up, tank up, weight belt, hood, gloves, and mask.
  "What about your bail out bottle? Should we fill it?" Mike questions.
  "I only used two breaths out of it. should be mostly full," I shout back.
  I plunge off the back of the boat, and give Mike the o.k. sign. He o.k.'s back.
  I deflate my suit and start down, glancing at my computer. It is not giving me any readings.
  "Oh brother," I scream to myself as I turn and kick my way back to the surface. I will not dive without a working computer.
  Back up to Mike who drags me on the boat.
  We shut down the machines and inspect the computer. It is locked up.
  Our dive computers are designed to lock up if you blow your dive tables and come up too quickly
  Once the computer is locked up you are instructed to contact your nearest dive safety expert and see about getting to a hyperbaric chamber for decompression.
  The other way to decompress is to get back to depth underwater and stay there for an hour or better, then come up very slowly.
  "I've got a spare computer," I inform Mike. "I can go back down and just dive very conservatively for the rest of the day."
  "Man, I don't know, Bro" Mike says. "I don't feel good about today. Just too many things are going wrong."
  I grab my spare computer out of my dive bag and hit the switch to turn it on. Nothing! I press the button again. Nothing.
  Dead Battery!
  "You've got to be kidding!" I scream.

to be continued...

Crazy Cucumber Dive Opening

  Mike met me at the truck at our time of 5:45 a.m., it is pitch black.
  "Looks like the weather is going to hold for us for the entire day," I commented as we drove to the boat. Only yesterday the weather center in Alaska called for gale 45 knot winds and driving rain.
  We quickly ready the boat and shove off. We idle through the harbor systems on radar and blind navigation.
  Big Sodium crab lights light the harbor behind us. More dive boats heading out.
  "Hey Samantha, are you there?" came a familiar voice over the radio. Scott on his boat, the Gracie K, is calling us on my boat, the Samantha.
  "Hey, good morning, where are you guys?" I asked back.
  "Just coming under the bridge," Scott replied.
  "That is your sodium's lighting up the harbor behind me. I am just ahead of you, leaving the break water," I inform him.
  We chat and plan for the next half hour as we travel to our dive location. Daylight slowly gathers the darkness and stuffs it into its pockets for the next ten or so hours.
  We arrive at our dive location at about 7:00 a.m. and Mike quickly readies the boat as I crawl into my dive suit.
  Mike fires the dive hookah compressor and warms it up, as well as the 9.9 kicker outboard motor, and the hauler motor. All systems are running great.
  Mike counts the time down, as I donned my bailout bottle, weight belt, dive bag with cucumber bags, hood, gloves, and mask. He grabs a screw driver and pushes the valve on the air hose to clean out my air line. Nothing!
  "Oh no," Mike yells over the roar of the engines, "this air hose is plugged"
  "Shouldn't be," I yelled back, "I cleared all the lines this past week."
  Mike takes the air line apart and cleans a big chunk of rust out of the fitting. Typical Alaska. It seems to only take overnight for things to rust, corrode, or salt up in this drippy atmosphere.
  Air line cleared up, I slid into the black, ice cold water. I gave Mike a thumbs up and he replied so I release the air out of my dry suit and slide towards the inky bottom.
  Clearing my ears at every ten feet, and watching my computer as I entered the depths, I feel the burn of the cold water as it enters my wet suit hood and gloves. I never seem to get used to how cold this water really is.
  I see cucumbers (worms) before I reach the bottom and am getting my first bag ready. I quickly start picking all the worms in sight.
  I suck hard on my regulator. It is like I am not getting my full flow of air. I glance at my computer, I'm in 32 feet of water. My air is shutting of quickly.
  I grab one last worm and then my regulator shuts of completely. I race for the surface with no air.
  I break surface and wave for mike. He spots me and slowly starts backing the boat to me. I have no air so I spit the regulator out, but am not buoyant enough to float. I am kicking hard to keep my lips above the surface, and shaking my air hose above the surface to get Mike to pull me in by it. He does not know what my signal is and keeps slowly backing the boat towards me.
  Mike gets to me and helps me up on the back of the boat. I'm panting like I've ran a marathon, and tasting salt from the water I've drank trying to keep my head above surface.
  "No air," I shout to Mike, waving my regulator towards him.
  Mike shuts down the noisy compressor so we can hear each other, as I get out of my fins and climb onto the back of the boat.
  We spend the next half hour taking my regulator apart to find one tiny piece of rust under the air release valve. We wash it out with fresh water and run a bunch of air through it before calling it "cured".
  We are racing a great morning low tide. As the day progresses the tide will be coming in, and will be at a huge 11 foot high by noon. With our diving, we need as little water over our heads as possible. By law, we cannot go into decompression diving. At low tide I can go to fifty feet for a good while. That same water by noon is 61 feet deep and gives me no time at all.
  I get my fins back on and slide back into the ocean. I race back to the bottom breathing big gulps of great feeling air. I really like to be breathing under water. The other option is just not that appealing!
  I swim past the spot I have just picked and look deeper. Everywhere I look I see cucumbers! I am grabbing them by the handful. I jam the bag full and sent the cork to the surface. I look at my dive computer. Six minutes! That can't be. I look again. Sure enough, it says six minutes. On fairly good picking I feel good to get a full bag in twenty minutes. Six minutes is unbelievable. I watch the bag head towards the surface and quickly have another one off my belt and jamming it full.
  To be continued...

SOUTH BOUND BIRDS

  Rain poured down. Not a day for working outside, except in South East Alaska.

  Fall always bring rain. Not just rain, but rain pushed by wind.
  I read the forecast to my wife.
   “Outside waters: Gale warnings, winds SE 40 knots. Tomorrow: Gale warnings, winds 35 knots seas building from 15 foot to 21 feet.. Rain!”
  We could look out our window at Vitskari Rocks and see the huge swells pushing smashing waves over the rocks. Open the sliding door of the condo and you can hear the roar of waves crashing into the breakwater.
  “Must be dive season,” I commented to Rene.
  Every winter the wind, rain, and big ocean accompany our winter diving for Sea Cucumbers. Just part of the game.
  I have the boat hauled out to make the change from fishing to commercial diving. Load after load of fishing supplies ride in the back of the truck bound for the garage, while load after load of dive gear take its ride from the garage to the boat.
  I try my best to dodge the heavy rain and do my work in the lighter misting rain. Most times you just get caught in the heavy rain anyway. Full rain gear from head to toe is in order.
  I am staring out the window again this morning, watching the trees thrash about in the rain driven wind. Sure looks like a good 40 knot blow happening.
Something out over the ocean catches my eye. Smoke?
  I quickly grab the binoculars and scan the white capping ocean. There is the smoke. It is not smoke at all, but a huge flock of migrating geese.
  We have been watching the ducks and geese fly South for a few weeks now. The little ducks like teal lead the way, followed by the larger mallards, Gadwalls, and other such ducks.
The ducks seem to migrate just ahead of the bad storms.
  The Geese do their migrating right in the heart of the big blows.  We will watch for days and see nothing but ducks, but when we wake up to the wind trying to rip the trees out by the roots, the silly geese start flying.
  They work so hard against the wind. We watch them drop from high altitudes by the mountains to skim the water of the ocean out front.
  Big wings beat steady as the hearty birds struggle their way into the gale force winds. These birds are coming from the nesting grounds near the arctic circle, so we know many of the birds are youngsters making their first journey South.  The old birds do not wait for them but muscle their way forward. Many times we watch singles struggle behind the flock working hard to catch up and gain the draft of the stronger birds.
   It is quite a time of the fall, the waterfowl migration.
  My big question is: “If the birds are smart enough to head South, Why am I not headed that way as well?”

Blue Tongue found in Alaska Hunter

  A hunter in Alaska has been found with a bad case of blue tongue. Let me tell you how it happened.

  I woke up early, sipped a couple cups of coffee, and waited for daylight to reach silvery fingers across the ocean.
  Fog laid heavy across the channel blocking the islands just a mile away. The big volcano was no longer sitting in its usual place, being replaced by a smoky layer of fog.
  I had planned on hiking the mountains behind town in search of my first deer of the season, but fog was one element that keeps me off the steep hills.
  Daylight was chasing the darkness across the ocean when I thought I'd better take a look behind our condo and up the hill, just to make sure the fog was covering those mountains as well.
  I could hardly believe it. Bare hills greeted my sleepy eyes.
  I hurried back inside and jumped into my hunting clothes, grabbed the rifle, and raced to the truck.
  I was late getting to my usual hunting spot, but I certainly needed the exercise as much as getting a big buck.
  Rain had soaked the Island for the past three days so this was going to be a very wet hike. Nothing new to hunting in South East Alaska. It is always wet when bushwhacking through the thick underbrush. Thank goodness for Rivers West rain pants and coats.
  I staggered my way up the steep mountain. It is nearly a 3,000 foot climb to get to the hunting area, and my legs are so out of shape from a summer of just riding waves.
  A hike that usually takes me about an hour dragged into the second hour and still I was not over the top. I was sweating like crazy and constantly fogging up my glasses. I stopped near the top to clean my fogged lenses once again. Glasses cleaned, I reached down to get the gun when I did a double take.
  Blue Berries! Everywhere I looked was blue berries.
  "I need the rest," I told myself as I munched happily on handfuls of the tasty little berries.
  Hunting put on hold, I grazed my way slowly up the mountain. Who needs breakfast when you stumble into a loaded berry patch.
  I did make it to the top. Deer were everywhere, but the bucks were well hidden due to my late arrival.
  I had fun calling in eight does and fawns, four of which came close enough to hit with blue berries if I would have tossed them.
I made it back to the truck and discovered something crazy. Blue tongue!
  In the wild deer herds blue tongue is a terrible killer. Many of the western herds of deer have died due to the dreaded blue tongue.
  Today the blue tongue was not a killer. Instead I smiled in the mirror at my blue lips and tongue.
  I'll worry about the big buck next time. Today was the enjoyment of marvelous wild berries I love grazing my way up and down the mountains this time of the year, munching on blue berries.

Final Fish of my Season

  The weather forecast looked good for salmon fishing near Cape Edgecumbe. The Cape tends to stack up during any blow, as all the water from Sitka Sound moves out and meets with the main ocean water trying to move into the Sound. Toss a little wind on top and you get some ugly sea conditions to try fishing in.
  "Should be a nice day," I commented to the clients as I motored the boat towards the Cape.
Surprise! The wind was much more than the fifteen knot predicted. I had two women on board and I try to take it easy on them
I don't mind beating the guys up a little, but just having the ladies come out fishing is always something to treasure.
  We made our first pass for salmon and boated eight nice silver salmon. I put the troll gear on deck and motored into the building waves, crashing our way back up to the starting point. Our next pass had just as many gleaming silvers in the fish hold.
  The wind was blowing a good twenty knots and the waves were trying their best to jump into the boat as we trolled.
  One of the  ladies became very seasick. It was time to make a decision.
  "Reel them in," I said, "We are making a move."
  Not much whimpering from the others, as we figured we could easily finish our twenty four fish limit on a different part of the ocean.
  I made a long run into the building seas to get tucked behind Biorka Island.
 Ah, calm water, now to find some fish. We trolled and trolled to find just one keeper king salmon.
  "If you guys want halibut, we'd best get out there right now. It looks like the wind had dropped off a bit," I commented to the group.
  I asked the lady who had been sick if she was up for another go at the ocean. "You bet," she said, "Don't give up on the fish for my sake."
  We bounced our way out of the channel and to the closest halibut spot I had. I dropped the hook in a nice rolling swell. The wind had dropped enough to make it a very fishable day.
  We caught a couple of rock fish and a small keeper halibut. One client kept saying he wanted to see a 200 pound halibut.
I joked with him that I didn't want to hurt my back on a big fish today.
  "Fish on!" shouted the client as his rod bent double with the surge of a big fish.
  "Wait, you might be snagged on bottom," I said as I raced to his rod to make sure he was not snagged. His rod throbbed with the surge of a monster halibut.
  "You've got a good one on, keep reeling," I coached.
  It was like the big fish was glued to the bottom. Each time the client would get a few feet of line on the reel the big fish would race right back to the bottom.
  "Keep working it. Eventually you will get him off the bottom," I encouraged.
  After quite some time the big fish began haning on the line and not fighting to get to the bottom. Now we had a chance.
  I prepared the deck for a big fish, all the time thinking it would be just over 100 pounds. We are not allowed to keep a halibut unless it is over 68 inches which books out at a whopping 160 pounds.
  At about one hundred feet to go, the big fish just refused to come any higher in the water. The client would reel as the boat lowered on the swell but the line would just strip off the drag when the boat bounced back up the swell.
  "Only big halibut will hold you like this at a hundred feet," I told the client. I grabbed the line with my gloved hand to assist.
As the boat surged up the swell I would pinch the line as hard as I felt I could without snapping it. The client would reel in the slack and we would gain just inches at a time. Slowly we worked the big fish past that one hundred foot mark.
  "Color over here!" Shouted another client on the other side of the boat. He had been working on a smaller halibut so I had put all my attention on the big fish.
  I raced to the rail on the far side of the boat to see a nice forty pound halibut hanging in the water.
  I gaffed the fish on board just to hear, "Fish up! Wow, it's huge!"
  "Stop reeling! Keep it under water! Don't let its nose break the surface," I franticly screamed as I tossed the smaller fish into the fish hold to get the deck clear.
  I raced to the rail to see a huge halibut hanging just below the surface.
  "Oh my goodness, that's a monster fish!" I shouted.
  Slowly I eased the big fish to the surface and got a large shark hook into its lower jaw. The monster went crazy. I dug in for the fight and just held on until the big fish tired out.
  Now it was up to us three men to get the halibut into the boat. The three of us grabbed the shark hook rope and began pulling
  "Give it all you've got!" I shouted as we grunted the big fish into the boat.
  The fish landed on the deck and everyone raced for cover. What a monster.
  We grabbed a tape and measured the fish. It was 83 inches long and booked out at an amazing 312 pounds.
  What a great fish on a storm tossed day.
  On the ride home I told the lady who had been sick that she was the one who truely earned that fish. If she had not wanted to go back out into the waves for one more try, I would have just been happy to fish salmon in the calm waters the rest of the day.

  What a great fish to end my season with.