Snow Goose Hunting With The Boys

 "Can you save a Saturday for me?" my Nephew Luke asked me, "I want to bring a couple of my hunting friends to shoot Snow Geese."
  "You got it," I quickly replied and with that had a Saturday saved for him and his buddies. "There are five doors in the blind so fill it if you want." I said before hanging up.
  The Saturday rolled around and I was excited because there seemed to be some new snow geese moving into the area.
  I was untarping the four wheeler when Luke rolled into the parking area.
  "Ready for the day?" I said as Halibut the dog raced around our feet in pure excitement.
  "Oh boy are we," came the quick reply.  I met one of Luke's friends I'll call Henry (probably because that is what everyone calls him) and later a friend named Adrian... same deal with his name. I sure Wouldn't want to embarrass anyone here... oh wait, maybe I would.
  We loaded decoys and batteries on the four wheeler, stacked guns and lots of shells around batteries and off we drove to the blind. We could hear the roar of hundreds, or maybe it was thousands of snows on their resting area ponds in the distance. It might be a good day.
  We quickly set out the decoys and got the vortex machines spinning, cranked up the sound system (I promised the boys music all day, but failed to tell them it was snow goose sound tracks playing on the mp3 players)
  Shooting hours found us a little behind. I had planned the morning with four of us setting up decoys and it ended up being three instead. One of the young men's dad insisted his son sleep in order to play baseball later in the day. I am impressed that there are still some great young men who obey their parents in their high school years. we hear so much about the trouble kids, but there are still some very good guys out there.
  We were decoying geese and trying to guide Adrian to our parking area by cell phone, as he drove in Luke raced over on the four wheeler to retrieve him.
  At last we had the blind in order and the guys ready for action.
  The first bird in was a single the made the fatal mistake of circling right over the blind. A barrage of shotgun fire had our first goose of the morning in the blind.
  It wasn't long until another single bird came sailing over wings locked on the decoys.
  "Ok boys," I whispered get ready we'll take him on the next pass. The white goose was dropping quickly into the decoy spread and coming right over the blind. I didn't even reach for my gun, as I knew the boys had this one in the bag.
  "Take him now!" I shouted watching the boys spring into action.
  It sounded like a war broke out. boom, boom, boom... and boom, boom... the crash of gun fire seemed endless.
  And the goose? he just kept flying! Right out of the decoys and into the happy distance.
  I looked down the blind at the three young men. All stood in disbelief.
  "No Way! Impossible! Can't be!" I kept hearing over and over as they reloaded their guns.
  I had a good laugh at their expense. I would never tell them how many times I had a sure thing in my hands only to watch it fly away untouched. That is the thrill of the hunt. If you got something every time you pulled the trigger it would become very boring. It is never boring with me shooting!
  The boys made up for it on the next goose that came in and had a pair in the blind.
  Adrian had to take off just when the best flight time was beginning to make it to his baseball game.
  "Hey, we'll think of you while we are shooting!" We teased as he headed to his car.
  Luke, Henry, and I did our best to make Adrian feel bad about not being there. We shot as many geese as we could, just for him, of course!
  The boys had a good shoot that morning. If I remember right the boxes of shells were looking pretty thin by the time they had to leave. We had shot and shot, missing more than we hit, but sure having fun trying.
  We stacked the snows up at the end of our morning hunt and had a good total of ten with us not counting the two Adrian took with him.
  I wish I could have taken the boys many more times but the season is so short and the boys had baseball starting so that was our time.
  I hope times in a blind will ignite a fire within for the outdoors. It seems like they are starting down that road but there is so many distractions for our youth now days. Most of it is in sports like baseball, football, and then the endless computer games. Hunting and fishing seem to be placed on the back burner in favor of these other interests.
  My life has revolved around the outdoors, so much that my entire living is made in the outdoors.
  I must say it was a great day with the "Boys".
  I feel confident that we have a great group of young men making their way into the real world.
                             

Luke, Henry, and Halibut with the days harvest

Fishing With Dad

  "It looks like the wind might drop enough to allow us to fish tomorrow," I said to my parents over the phone. "Dad, would you want to go fishing for perch and crappie tomorrow?"
  The pause was not very long. "Sure, I'd be up for that," dad replied.
  I had been vacationing in Idaho for nearly a month chasing the fickle snow geese. I had to bump my plane tickets out one more week just to get a day without wind.All the days sitting in the goose blind wishing for wind, and calmness surrounded me. The day the goose season ended the wind decided to blow, and blow, and blow. Go figure.
  I had my new puppy riding on the seat beside me when I tuned into the drive way with a lump in my throat. How many times have I picked Dad up for hunting or fishing trips? Hundreds... for sure. We have been fishing and hunting since I was able to hold a gun or a fishing pole. As a child, I strolled behind my dad hunting jack rabbits, ground squirrels and such. We fished bluegills in the ponds around our area, then as I grew and left home, chased bass even taking a stab at the professional circuit. Dad came along to help me pre-fish for those tournaments.
  Dad, now pushing 97 years old still up for yet another fishing trip.
  I helped him get his warm weather gear out of the closet. Hats, gloves, and coveralls were in order for this chilly trip even though it was to warm up a bit in the day. The boat ride is always cold.
  The drive to C.J. Strike Res. seemed longer than usual and we had to slow a couple of times as morning fog banks blanketed the road.
  "Man, hope the range cattle stay off the highway in the fog this morning," I commented to dad, peering hard with my one good eye.
  So many things have changed through the years. My good vision being one. Loosing your best power eye effects one more than you can know, until it happens to you.
  At the lake I help dad into his coveralls and boots. We launch the jet boat. This is also a change. Dad and I went in halves on a jet boat many years ago. We just about wore the bottom out of that craft running lakes and rivers. So many good times were had by so many of us with that boat.
  "This will be the first time riding in the new boat," Dad said as I took the tie up line from his wrinkles hands.
  I helped him into the boat. It took more time and effort than in all the years gone by. Age is a cruel master to man and animal, taking more than it gives.
  I idled the boat through the no wake zone and throttled the boat forward. The big 140 engine caused the boat to leap out of the water. Hali, the puppy was on her first boat ride so I backed the throttle to just a mild speed.
  "Wow, this boat is sure solid compared to our old one, isn't it?" Dad shouted into the wind and above the roar of the engine.
  "It has tons of power," I shouted back and punched the throttle a bit to show him.
  I raced across the quiet lake to our first fishing spot and backed the throttle to an idle. Both of us wiped tears from our eyes, not from crying, but from the cold wind. Both of our noses were running.
  "Man, that was a chilly ride," I stated the obvious to dad as I dug out a couple of fishing rods.
  I looked at the little man dressed like an Eskimo and again felt a lump in my throat.
  I am so aware that this might be out last trip together. I must get back to Alaska and my life up there. One never knows when it will be the last trip with your love ones. Life is so fragile and short.
  We fish for a while thawing out a bit, but no fish to be found.
  "Let's make a move," I suggest to Dad. I pull the anchor and we race across the lake to another good fishing hole.
  "Hey, I've got one!" Dad said more surprised than the fish tugging on the line.
  "Alright get it in the boat," I cheer him on.
  Dad swings a nice crappie over the side of the boat and I help him get it off the hook and into a bucket of water.
  "Good job," I encourage him, "Now if we can just get a half a bucket more of them."
  Not another bite for an hour.
  "Time to move," I inform Dad again.
  We make a long run to the narrows where we have caught perch and crappie for so many years in the past.
  I drop the anchor in front of "our" tree. It does not take long before Dad again says, "fish on."
  "Ok, now your whipping me badly," I say to Dad, but I'm so proud of him.
  I was not sure he would even be able to fish or if he would remember what a fish felt like on the hook. I should not have doubted. I guess it's like a bike, once you learn it you never forget it.
  It took me most of the rest of the day to catch up with Dad's lead, but I actually did catch a couple of perch before the day was over.
  The fishing was painfully slow, but the great no wind day on the lake was worth it.
  Snow geese migrated overhead taunting me that the season was over, I laughed at them and enjoyed the sight of the smokey waves of birds in the clear skies.
  I kept asking Dad if he was ready to head for home of if he wanted to continue fishing. Each time he voted in favor of staying longer. I was happy to make the same choice.
  A new puppy with all the energy, and an aging Father. The paradox stared me in the face the entire day.
  I was thankful for both. For the new puppy, but more for the years that aged both my Dad and myself.
  I have little regrets concerning my Dad. We have been such good friends my entire life. Through some very stormy years of my life, I could have been more respectful, more patient, more caring. The turmoil inside carried to the ones I love the most, which is not all that unusual, and through it all Dad was solid as a rock.
  On our way back home we see a jack rabbit running beside the road, a memory from childhood. It was like the circle had been completed.
  the lump in my throat grew as I watched Dad and Mom's house grow small in my rear view mirror.
  I have been blessed by having the best parents I could have had. I am so thankful for them.
  Looking back, I have been unbelievable blessed in my life.

                                          Dad with our first fish

                                         Dad fishing dress for the cold

                                         Dad and Hali enjoying the boat ride

Hooter Hunting Alaska Style

  "You up for a hooter hunt next week?" Matt asked me at coffee one morning. I looked at my lovely wife with a question mark. "Go for it," she quickly said. I think she just wanted me out of the house and trying to get the clouded look off my face.
  We planned hard the rest of the week but at the last minute decided the quarter inch every twelve hours rain was not appealing for camping out, and cancelled.
  "The ferry schedule is the same next week so lets do it then," Matt informed me after the cancelled trip.
  We boarded the ferry at noon with Matt's truck, a friend, Richard, and Matt's two little boys. It was a nine hour ferry ride to the Island of Kupernof, a sprawling South East Alaska Island, covered with brush and old growth trees.
  Hooters are grouse that are in the mating season. They perch in the high branches of Hemlock, Spruce, or Ceder trees and "Hoot" for a mate. They will hoot endlessly for days perched on the same branch until a hen displays herself as the chosen one.
  It sounded so easy while sipping coffee and eating donuts in the bakery next door.
  "You listen for them to hoot and then sneak up on them and shoot them out of the tree," Matt had informed me.
  "Cool," I replied, not having a clue what I was getting myself into.
  We were also taking some fishing poles to try for some steelhead in the streams that meander across the island. A one trip do it all. How simple.
  On the ferry ride Richard informed me of his past hooter hunting experiences. This guy is an avid goat and Dall sheep hunter, so when he talked about hiking 12,000 feet up mountains to find the hooters I began to question my judgment.
  "We hunted out of Hanes Alaska and the hooter would be way up in the alpine and on top of the ridges and clear at the top of the tallest trees. Very hard to spot," he casually commented. Hmmm.....
  After a 10:00 pm ferry arrival, we hurried off to bed. We awoke at daylight and I took Hali out for her morning potty run.  Hoot, hoot, hoot. I could hear all around us in the heavy forest. Hooters!
  I came back in all excited. We quickly packed our gear and wedged ourselves in the truck. It was drizzling rain as we drove the back roads in search of Hooters.
  Matt stopped the truck and we listened out the rolled down windows. In the far distance we could hear the hoot of several grouse.
  "Too far away," Richard informed us. He knew how loud they should be to be close enough to pursue.
  We drove up the road to the next place and heard much louder hoots.
  "Let's go for that one," we all said.
  We grabbed a couple of .22 rifles and Matt's son brought his youth 20 guage shotgun. Hali was beside herself as we headed out into the bush.
  Thick brush and heavy laydown logs greeted us once inside the timber. We climbed, bucked brush, and crashed our way for a long time, pausing every so often to listen for the steady hoots of the grouse.
  It seemed to be getting no closer even after we busted our way for nearly a quarter mile. "I think that one is across the valley," Richard said. "These hoots carry a long ways."
  We bucked our way back to the truck in the sopping wet brush, arriving back soaked and nothing to show for the effort.
  Hali was so wet she had to ride in her "dog box" kennel in the back of the truck from then on.
  "Need them closer to the road than that one," we all agreed.
  The next hooter we heard was right on top of us. We were just inside the tree line when we decided it was above us. We circled tree after tree trying to figure out just which tree it was roosted in. Each time we would decide on a tree, we would move and find it was hooting from a different one.
  "These crazy things are ventriloquists," I said to Richard as he glassed the tree tops with his  binoculars.
  We finally narrowed it to one tree. We Glassed and glassed but could not see the bird. It just hooted and hooted.
  I see a big knurle of a tree when I look through the branches of this one," I said to Matt, who was craning his neck looking through his binoculars.
  Matt finally came to my location and then announced, "I see it!"
  "Where?' I quickly asked. He did his best to describe it to me.
  "All I see is that big knaurle up there," I whispered still glued to my binoculars.
  Matt pointed to the branch and then said, "You have to look through those pine branches. It is fluffed up and looks as big as a turkey!"
  I looked exactly where he was pointing. That was my big huge pine knurle I had been looking at for the past half hour.
  "He is facing away from us his tail feathers are all fanned out and wings are kind of drooping past the branch he is sitting on."
  It was like magic. The bird came clear in my vision. I had looked at him over and over and had not "Seen" him.
  Richard came around to us and made a great shot through the branches and Hali retrieved our first hooter.
  That was the one we needed. Now we had a clue of what to look for.
  The rain would come in spurts driving us back to the truck where we would wait for it to subside to a drizzle, and we would be off chasing our next hooter.
  We had a couple of birds by noon when we passed a steelhead stream and decided to try our luck at fishing.
  Hali thought I was throwing fetching sticks each time I would cast so I finally put up my fishing pole and lead her away from the others so they could fish without having a dog swimming around scaring what fish might be there.
  Richard was a bit ahead of us when he turned to me and made the sign of an animal walking the river bank.
  "What?" I signed back to him
  "Bear!" he loudly whispered back to me.
  The black bear saunter through a clearing and then disappeared into the woods.
  "Sure glad it is black bears here instead of Brownies like around Sitka," Richard said to me later. "I would never trudge around with only a little .22 rifle in brown bear country. I quickly agreed with him.
  In the Sitka area, with only brown bears, we always carry a gun large enough to stop a charging bear.
  We managed to catch and release some Dolly Vardens but struck out on the steelhead. The little river was very low and that might have set the run back a bit.
  We built a fire under a big tree when the rain began pouring again to teach the kids fire building in wet conditions. Matt is good about preparing his little guys for living in Alaska. He constantly was asking them what they would do if they fell into the river, or if a bear would charge, or if they got lost. Good outdoor training. After warming a bit by the fire we stomped it out and headed back to the truck.
  We managed five hooters that first day. We opted not to camp out in tents that night as the rain was pouring down by darkness. We drove back to town where we had a trailer a friend let us stay in. We were so thankful for that.
  The second day we thought we had the hooters figured out. Piece of cake we told ourselves.
  We would drive, stop and listen, then pick the one we thought we could get.
  Our first stop we heard a hooter on both side of the road. Matt and his boys took off after one and Richard and I took off after the other bird.
  Richard and I closed in on our bird after bucking through a wall of brush and laydown logs. Little Hali was a trooper fighting her way through to keep up with us. She was having the time of her life.
  "It should be just over that little rise," I whispered to Richard.
  He was ahead of me and stopped suddenly. "Stop! Keep Hali back," he urgently said. We had come on a steep cut to a river flowing below us. One step through the brush and we would have fallen a long distance to the rock strewn river below.
  I commanded Hali to stop and stay as we now listened for the hooter.
  "That crazy thing is across the river!" Richard exclaimed in almost disbelief. "You've got to be kidding!"
  We had to turn around a bust our way back to the truck empty handed again.
  Now we were hunting these things for revenge!
  The simple "listen for the hoot and go shoot" of the coffee shop had now turned into one tough hunt.
  Matt and his boys came back proudly packing a big hooter.
  "Did you know there is a river over there?" we asked pointing to the wall of thick trees ranging across the miles.
  "These rivers wind all over this island," Matt informed us, making me want to get on Google Earth to see just where these crazy river were flowing. It seemed like they were running in the wrong direction but I guess they just meander around in all direction.
  Matt found a road around the river and we parked and headed for the same hooter. We spent hours looking for the bird hooting and hooting above us and never could pick it out. We finally gave up for an easier one.
  In the course of two days we found two hooters that we just could not pick out of the tree tops. One was close to the road and we stopped several times thinking we could eventually see him. He had picked out the perfect tree and we finally claimed him a great adversary and left him to his hooting.
  It was a great get away from rain soaked Sitka.
  We had to get up at 2:20 am to catch the ferry heading back to Sitka. We piled into our sleeping bags with the rest of the ferry passengers at about three in the morning for the nine hour ride back home.
  At 7:00 am the ferry gave a car deck call for those owning pets to go and walk your dogs for a potty break. We piled our sleeping bags in the truck and walked Hali for the 15 minutes allowed, then back to the dinging hall for a great cooked breakfast. We played card games with the boys until Sitka came into view.
  We spotted deer on the beach, eagles all over the place, seals, sealions, and whales.  It is never a dull trip if you enjoy the wilds of nature.
  What a fun four days. Oh sure, it was wet and miserable, long boat rides, living one top roman noodles and candy bars, but that is the way of South Eastern Alaska.
  Many times during the trip we would discuss how difficult it is to do things in Alaska. Living in the lower 48's is a breeze compared to here. People here are survivors, they are rugged and tough, very independent but also very helpful if you need a hand.
  I can now say I'm a seasoned hooter hunter.


                                          Hali with some Hooters (Grouse)

                                         Richard looking for a Hooter

Opening Day Snow Goose Hunt

  Snow goose season in Idaho kicked off with a bang... well, lots of bangs.
  Some of the boys helped me set up for opening day and it appeared like it was going to be a good one as we shot 5 snows while setting out the decoys the night before. We were legal to shoot snows just could not use unplugged guns or electronic calls. That made the next day our official opening day.
  Larell, Terry, Luke, and myself packed batteries, sound systems, and decoys from pitch black to the brightening of the morning skies. We were still racing around with last minute set up when legal shooting time sprang upon us.
  "Hey guys, get some shells in your guns," I said while connecting battery terminals to the vortex machines. "Any bird in now can be shot at."
  I crouched in a tulie (cattail) patch near the blind with my new hunting puppy, Halibut (Hali). I had been working for a month in Alaska trying to get her comfortable with gun shots, but she was still a little too nervous for me to stand in the blind and start banging away over her head. I wanted the first day to be a break in for the pup.
  "Peep." The morning stillness was broken by a single peep of a snow goose.
  "Single! Coming right in," I whispered to the guys in the blind. "Get this one."
  I watched holding Hali as the grey colored goose dropped down to just above the decoys and swooped right over the blind..
  Not a shot.
  What the...?
  "You guys need to shoot the goose," I said above a whisper with a little frustration in my voice.
  "It's a speckelbelly," one of the guys whispered from the blind.
  "No, it can't be. It is peeping like a snow goose," I whispered back, "Its coming around again. Shoot it!"
  The little goose once again swooped right over the blind and not a shot fired. I really wanted it to happen as Hali was glued to the bird peeping and soaring right above us.
  The little goose made a circle out past the pond and dropped right into the decoys just a stone's toss away from myself and Hali. Hali was glued to the bird. I did not move as we were right in the open to the goose now.
  "Someone bring a gun over here and shoot this goose," I whispered in desperation as loud as I could without spooking the now very wary bird.
  It wasn't long until I heard shuffling in the tulie patch behind me. Luke came sneaking to me with his gun.
  "Are you going to shoot that goose?" I asked, still holding Hali tightly.
  "It is a speck. Can't shoot those now," He replied.
  Larell came sneaking through the tulies as well. With him was his trusty pair of binoculars. He handed them to me.
  I cranked the focus on the goose. It sure did look somewhat like a speckelbelly goose. But... it totally peeped like a snow goose.
  "Ok, I see what you guys mean. It does look a lot like a speck," I whispered to Larell, handing back his binoculars. "Maybe it is a cross?" Meaning one parent a snow goose one parent a speckelbelly. We had never heard of such a thing, but in nature you just never know,
  Luke and Larell crawled back into the blind and it was not long before a flock of snow geese dropped out of the brightening sky and into the decoy spread. I held Hali tight and was happy to see the doors drop open and guns come out blazing. The boys even managed to shoot a goose for Hali.
  I was a little dismayed to see the grey goose jump out of the decoys and fly right past the blind as the boys blasted away at the snows.
  Hali was not sure of the bird on the ground. She sniffed it and nibbled at the wing feathers but would not try to pick it up. That would come in the next few days.
  We had a good snow goose shoot the rest of the day, but that first bird still bothered all of us.
  I was in bed later that night when my phone chirped that a text had come in. I rolled over to see Larell's name.
  It was a picture of the little goose that had landed in the decoys... I mean it looked like the very bird.
  "This is a juvenile blue goose," Larell texted to me. "I think we passed up the only juvy blue goose in the history of Idaho!"
  A blue goose is classified in the snow goose family and is legal to shoot during any snow goose season.
  I laughed to myself as I forwarded the text to Luke. I knew he would get a kick out of that as well, as he has the only mounted blue goose from our group hanging on his wall.
  "At least I was not loosing my mind hearing a snow goose sound out of that goose," I texted back to the guys, "I told you to shoot!"
  I was just ribbing them. I'm thankful to hunt with a group of guys who would rather pass up the first shot of the season to stay within the law then to jump quickly at a maybe situation.
  The season was officially under way. I would hunt for the next 17 days straight and the little brown dog would amaze all of us with her quick learnning skills.

the juvy blue goose

Tribute to One Of the Boys

                     
  I hung up the phone and felt a little lost. Wayne had just informed me that one of our running partners, fishing friend, and just a great guy to hang with had given up the fight for life, after battling a long time with physical complications which turned to gangrene, and that the fatal end.
  Mike also grew up in Idaho. He worked on the family farm near Lewiston. He was proud to be a farmer and felt his life would always revolve around dirt and tractors.
  Mike dreamed big and was into debt big time during the skyrocketing interest rates of the Jimmy Carter administration. Mike went from Millionaire farmer to broke overnight and fled to Alaska.
  Mike set himself up as a trucker hauling winter freight up the "Haul Road" now called the Ice Road. He invested in other trucks and made quite a businesses until four boys came along to fill up his life.
  Mike gave up the trucking and went into sports programs around the Anchorage area and was known as the one starting the Great Alaska Shootout basketball tournament.  The college program was seasonal so Mike came to South East Alaska in the summer to follow his outdoor passion and took up summer Troll fishing in Sitka.
  I am not sure where I first met Mike, but it was probably at some other persons house during the college basketball playoffs. All the fishermen would find invitations to someones house for a day of fun cheering on our favorite teams.  Mike loved basketball. He coached the Sitka college team, and several high school teams.
  Mike fished an old wooden boat named the Albo. It was on its last legs but mike found creative ways to make the old girl keep chugging along.
  Scotty Miller and I were running the ocean in our boats and it didn't take long for Mike to find a way into our little group. We would find ourselves in town during a quick turn around and would always find ourselves at some restaurant. With Mike there was always fun stories flying and lots of laughter. We would all be so exhausted from days and days of pounding the ocean 19 to 20 hours a day, but would find ourselves laughing and laughing at the crazy things we would catch each other doing.
  I remember sitting laughing over a meal with Mike so horse of voice he could barely talk. We had been fishing South of Sitka near Biorka Island and Mike had decided to anchor up behind Biorka instead of running the three hours back to town, even though the wind was predicted to blow. He snuggled the Albo in tight to the kelp in the back of Simon's Bay and sacked out for the night. The wind began to howl and his little anchor began dragging across Simon's Bay. Other boats were anchored nearby and Mike was in danger of smashing into them. He quickly raced to the bow of his boat with his engine running to pull anchor. In his dragging across the bay his anchor had picked up a huge ball of kelp. The kelp made the anchor too heavy for his winch to bring the anchor off the bottom. Mike was in trouble. All he could do was to grab the anchor cable and start pulling with all his might. People in the bay that night swore there was a sea lion bellowing its lungs out in the dark storm that night.
  We found out at that supper that it was Mike Bellowing at the top of his lungs to help heave the massive load of kelp and anchor off the bottom. It took him a week to get his voice back. Every time I go near Simon's Bay I think of Mike that night.
  Another friend, Donnie Zimmerman came along and was quite an addition to the group. Along with Mike, Donnie was a barrel of fun. We ran the ocean fishing hard but also finding time to enjoy the company of each other. We worked our way up the coast to towns like Pelican, Elfin Cove, Hoonah, and soaked in hot springs in Tenekee, at White Sisters, fought off the nasty sea lions of Khaz Bay, We would scatter each day across the ocean fishing for ourselves, but always in radio contact. Many nights we would anchor with our poles up and our boats tied together for a meal together. We would send our laughter across the dark quiet hideouts.
  It was a wild time for all of us. We worked so hard, but also enjoyed so much each other company, even if it was just voices over the radio waves.
  Donnie passed away some years ago and now Mike has joined him to fish the crystal Sea of Heaven. For Scott, Wayne, and myself our days at sea are still being lived our stories still being told, and belly laughter still shared around the tables.
  My friend Mike, may the winds blow lightly and the seas always be calm as you sail through eternity. May your lines be filled with fish and most of all, may your anchor hold each time it is set.

Duck Hunt South East Alaska Style

  My text read, "Looks like no rain on Saturday. We should take my son and try to get a duck."
  Matt and I have hunted ducks for several years up here and I don't think we have had an easy hunt yet. I was a tad bit skeptical about taking his nine year old son. Could he make the hike into the lake we usually hunt.
  "New spot. Easy walk," came the next text.
  Ok, now my interest was really on high alert.
  "I've got my zodiac skiff on Mike's boat but we can swing by in the morning and get it," I wrote back.
  "Won't need it. We'll take my big boat. I've got a kayak on top," Matt answered back.
  "Ok, see you at daylight in the morning," I quickly replied.
  Darkness was still heavy on the mountains when I met Matt, his son, and his Father-in-law next door. They were busy getting breakfast... doughnuts and coffee.
  We chatted our way to the end of the road boat ramp and then had to wait our turn as it seemed the entire island had decided the weather was good enough to get out hunting. Most of the others were hunting deer as the rut had began last week.
  Mat piloted the boat in the grey of the morning through the maze of islands and water channels. He did a great job of staying off rocks and sand flats... not an easy task in the area we were to hunt.
  We pulled into a nice sheltered cove and Matt idled the big boat to the shore. As the nose of the boat reached the beach I jumped off to catch the boat and immediately filled both of my boots with cold ocean water.
  "Wow, It's deeper here than it looks!" I exclaimed to the others. "let the boat get in a bit closer before you jump off!"
  The guys unloaded our gear off the boat as I dumped my boots and wrung the water out of my socks.
  Matt pulled the big boat out to the center of the cove and dropped the anchor. You really don't want to return at the end of a days hunt to find your boat high and dry on the beach when the tide ebbs out.
  Matt paddled back to the beach in his kayak and we dragged it high into the trees above tide line. "Just hope the bears leave it alone," our thoughts echoed.
  Now the work begins. We will have to make a hike into the underbrush and up a small mountain to find a little lake Matt had saved onto his phone GPS. None of us had hunted in this area so it can be like looking for the needle in the haystack type of deal.
  Every so often we would stop to let Matt bring up his GPS to see if were on the right course. We were kind of wondering around looking for a muskeg that would lead us to the lake.
  After topping a brush covered hill we made our way down into the muskeg, and from there easily found the lake.
  According to Matt, one of his friends had hiked a little pram skiff into the lake and stashed it out. It did not take us long to find it.
  Mallard ducks flushed off the lake as we neared, a good sign for sure. I tried to build excitement in Matt's son by telling him that all these ducks should try and come back to the lake as the day progressed.
  We turned the skiff over and launched it into the lily pad covered lake. We had carried a paddle from our boat and with the one in the skiff started making our way to a little island in the lake.
  Water began spurting into the skiff.
  "Matt, we are taking on water quickly from under your seat," I quietly informed Matt.
  He stopped paddling to look. Water was gushing in through a hole that looked about like a bullet hole. Hmmm...  It was a race to get to the island before the little skiff filled with water and sank out from under the three of us.  We made it with a little free board to spare.
  We dragged the skiff onto the island and turned it over. The hole was not a bullet hole, but rather, a bite hole from a brown bear. We could see where its ring of teeth had bitten into the aluminum boat.One of its big canine teeth had punched right through the hull. Matt found a stick and jammed it into the hole. Problem solved for now. The hole did not leak enough the rest of the day to warrant any concern.
  Not only had Matt's friend stashed the boat on the lake, but he had a couple dozen duck decoys stashed on the little island as well. A real treat for hunting a hike-in lake. Matt and I usually hike in two duck decoys, one tail vibrating, and one wing spinning decoy. Even that few of decoys can become very heavy on a several mile mountain climb.
  Matt's son had never shot a duck so the order of the day was to see if we could get him his first duck.
  The first flock that came in did not present him a shot. Ok, the old men got jumpy and shot them before he could get his safety off and find a duck.
  The next one was a single duck and Tyler made a great shot and got his first Mallard duck. We were all proud of him. It was so special for him to have his grandpa there to wittness it.
  A few more flocks came in and we managed to get some more, but the day was made when Tyler got his duck.
  Darkness comes so early here that by noon we had to start picking up the decoys and begin the whole process of boating, hiking, boating, and then anchor pulling and back to the beach to load everything.
  We pulled crab pots on the way home to finish off a great day.
  Nothing comes easy in South East Alaska. In the lower 48's a duck hunt is spent mostly in the blind hunting. Here, most of the day is getting to and from the blind and just a small amount of actual hunting.
  To be able to see some of these little out of the way places that even most Alaska residents will never see, is worth all the effort.

              Kayaking from the big boat to the beach

 

setting decoys

A Deer Hunt Turns Into a Fishing Trip

  I often tease my wife, who loves hockey, that she is just watching a fight, and suddenly a hockey game breaks out! I kind of had something like this happen to me this week. 
"You interested in going on an excursion deer hunt on Monday?" A friend asked me.
  With a lead in like that he had me hooked before he paused for me to reply.
  "Let me think... Yes!" I exclaimed, without even trying to get the details.
Jim is one of our local hunting guides. He guides for bear, goats, and deer. A hunting trip with him is a learning experience I will never turn down.
  We loaded a skiff onto Jim's big boat and headed out Monday morning early. We headed South to Redoubt lake and tied to the mooring buoy. We then unloaded the skiff and rowed to the beach. At the beach, we hauled two loads of gear up over a hill to the lake we would be hunting. Jim's Son-in-Law packed the heavy outboard motor as he is the youngest of the bunch. Jim and I lugged the skiff up the muddy, rock piled, tree root infested trail to the lake. We were both puffing as we arrived.
  "Look at the salmon jumping!" Jim said.  Big Coho (Silver) salmon were launching out of the calm water into the early morning air in silvery sheets of spray.
   "I've got a couple of fishing poles and some spinners, if we want to try for some fish," Jim said.
  I'm never one to turn down a good tussle on a fishing pole, and quickly dug into the boat for the poles. Jim dumped water out of the spinner tackle box... hmmmm I thought to myself. He handed me the box and I looked at a rusty mess with a little bit of orange color mixed in. "We call them rusty orange," Jim smiled.
  The first spinner I took out of the box had no hooks at all... rusted clean off! The next one had no color on the spinner blade, just a rusty chunk of metal. The next one had a blade and one very rusty hook of the treble hook.
  "I guess this will have to do," I commented while tying it on.
  My first cast was blasted by a big Silver Salmon. Nothing. I cast back and immediately hooked a big fish. With only one rusty hook of the treble, I eased the big fish to the side of the skiff. "Wow this is going to be tricky," I told Jim. I fought the big fish for a long time to make sure it was very tired, as we had no net, no gaff hook, or any other means of getting a slimy fish over the side of the skiff.
  Jim worked his fingers carefully into the gills of the fish and slid it into the boat! "Wow, look at that beauty!" we both exclaimed, "It is as bright as an ocean silver.
  Once salmon run from the ocean into fresh water their bodies start deteriorating.They grow a huge hook nose and jaw, their flesh turns dark and their skin starts turning dark brown to reds.
  This fish looked like it was still swimming in the ocean.
  Now we were excited. These are eating fish! The deer hunt went quickly onto hold and we blasted the water of the little lake with rusty spinners.
  After a few more fish, Jim suggested we stick to our plan of looking for deer. We ran to a muskeg he had hunted in the past and made a hike through it. No deer but one of the most spectacular places I have witnessed in Alaska. Morning frost laid thick on the muskeg and a haze of fog lifted revealing high mountain peaks capped with snow in the background. It was stunningly beautiful.
  We saw fresh deer tracks in the frost and called a bit on the deer call but they played smart and stayed hidden in the thick forest surrounding the muskeg.
  At about 1:00 pm we decided we had better work our way back to the lower end of the lake and start portaging our gear back to the big boat. Darkness comes early in the winter and non of us wanted to take the big boat through the rock piles back to town in the dark.
  The temptation of the salmon soon overcame our good judgement and we were back to casting for Silvers. We managed to catch a few more before leaving the lake and had a blast doing it.
  We were nearing town when we started spotting whale blow spouts. Jim, being the good guide he is, eased the boat near the whales and cut the engines. We drifted in the beautiful sun setting calm water with whales blowing all around us. There was not a ripple on the water and the whales sounded like huge bulls bellowing their breath's as the enormous spouts of water showered the bay.
  We slid into the harbor at dark and had to agree that this day was nothing short of spectacular!
  Very few places are left in the world where you can go catch salmon as fast as you want, hunt deer, and watch whales, and never see another person! Oh sure, there is some work involved in getting to these places, but the end result is more than worth it.
  Yes, we went on a deer hunt and a fishing trip broke out.

                          One of the dark Silver Salmon Caught on the trip