RECORDS OR THE EXPERIENCE?

Americans!  We love records, accomplishments we can measure and compare to those of others.  Hit the most homeruns and people notice.  The sheer joy of an experience gets lost at times in the quest for a record or recognition.  Hunting sometimes suffers this same pitfall.

A year ago I shot a beautiful Dall’s sheep in the Selwyn Mountains in the northern Yukon with Bonnet Plume Outfitters.  When I returned home the picture of my sheep impressed people.  Hell, it impressed me.  But, the most common comment I heard had to do with what my next sheep would be on my way to a grand slam.  I went to the Yukon for the simple purpose of hunting a Dall’s sheep.  I sought the experience as much as the animal.  Maybe I needed the experience.  You must take care not to lose the joy of the hunt.  Many think we need records to gain satisfaction.

My son and I have hunted together for a long time.  We have experienced great times over the last dozen years.  During that period he has taken a number of fine animals.  But, he does not measure those experiences by the size of the animal taken.  My son has loved the outdoors, the time with me and with friends who also love to hunt.  For him the quest for a Boone and Crockett score has never stolen the joy of the experience.

This past summer we left for our hunt from the offices of Alkan Air in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory.  My son wanted to hunt caribou.  I passed on one the summer before during my sheep hunt.  Chris and Sharron McKinnon of Bonnet Plume Outfitters agreed to work us into their schedule and find us a guide as the season’s first group of sheep hunters filled their tags.  Also, they arranged a flight on a plane chartered by a mining company.  It saved me a substantial sum of money.

They weren’t really selling solo caribou hunts at the time but they arranged one for us.  Their hunters and guides looked for and spotted some nice caribou for us during their first sheep hunts.  Chris moved one of his young guides from a completed sheep hunt into an area where caribou were seen and then flew us in to join him.

My son had never backpacked in the wilderness, hunted from a spike camp, slept in tents or eaten multiple meals of freeze dried food.  He soaked up the entire adventure.  He loved it.  We discussed what he wanted to hunt long before the trip.  A sheep, which I thought he would want, lost out to a caribou.

I wondered what he would think about flights in bush planes with landings on gravel bars.  When he climbed into the Super Cub with Chris for his first flight you could sense the excitement.  Chris dropped my son off in the bush on Saturday morning and flew me in to join him almost six hours later.  My son, Tyson Musil, our guide, and I rearranged packs, divided up the food, shouldered our loads and headed down the valley from the landing strip.  We intended to set up camp and start looking for caribou.

We hadn’t traveled thirty minutes before Tyson saw a good looking caribou about a mile away.  All of us dropped our packs and pulled out binoculars and a spotting scope.  A long look confirmed that he deserved closer inspection.  The bull fed downhill toward the creek.  We quickly planned our stalk, grabbed our packs and worked to intercept him.

When we closed the distance by half we again broke out the spotting scope.  This look confirmed that he had good tops and heavy antlers.  Before we could move again the bull reversed his direction and started working uphill.  We left our packs near the creek, grabbed the .300 Remington Ultra Mag. along with our cameras and headed to intercept the bull.  The rifle had been built by Hill Country Rifle in New Braunfels, Texas as a graduation present from high school four years earlier.  He felt comfortable with it.

The caribou moved quickly; he had lost his interest in grazing.  When they want, they can cover ground like a trucker heading for home.  Tyson set a fast pace that my son could follow but I soon struggled.  We climbed for well over an hour and gained nearly 1500 feet in elevation.  Threatening clouds rolled in from the southwest.  I decided the two of them should keep up the chase while I returned to the creek to secure our gear before the rain started.  It took me forty-five minutes to reach the spot where we left our packs.

I moved our packs up out of the creek bed and covered them.  I had to break Tyson’s into two loads to move it.  It startled me to feel how much weight he carried.  As I finished the rain came hard.  I pulled on my rain gear to keep dry.  Listen when an outfitter tells you to buy the best rain gear you can.  Good rain gear made a wet evening bearable.

After I turned back, the two adventurers had climbed another 500 feet to the top of the next ridge.  They topped out just as the rain started.  Lightning flashed close by.  The area offered little cover but, they found some bushes and rocks to lie behind.  It kept them out of the caribou’s view but wouldn’t keep them dry.

A number of caribou had descended from that ridge into a small depression.  They stood just out of sight.  Suddenly they saw the tops of antlers floating back over the ridge headed their way.  They looked good.  My son removed his scope cover and found the rain had drenched his scope.  The moisture, fog and fading light made it difficult to see anything.  At the range involved he knew he could sight down his barrel.

Tyson stopped him from shooting that first caribou as he materialized out of the gloom.  The next bull looked bigger.  As soon as the second bull topped the ridge my son used his makeshift sighting system and shot.  At less than twenty yards the 180 grain Barnes Triple Shock X bullet loaded by Superior Ammunition passed right through both lungs without expanding.  He shot a couple more times with the same result.  The cumulative affect, however, put the bull down for good.  Hunter and guide saw no ground shrinkage as they approached.  They later told me they both shouted and high-fived like a couple of kids

The rain cooled things down and they knew the meat would be alright overnight.  It made good sense to get off the ridge as quickly as possible.  They left the bull without caping or field dressing him.  Both hoped no wolves or bears would come for the meat that night.  We had seen no bear sign so that did not appear to present a problem.  They headed down to find me and our gear.

I didn’t know exactly where they were or what had happened.  It seemed sensible to help guide them to the spot where I had stashed all our gear.  I rummaged around in my pack and pulled out my Surefire flashlight.  They would come from the same direction I had, so I knew where to aim.  I stood in the open near the creek and flashed the light periodically to give them a point of reference. The heavy rain didn’t bother the flashlight and its strong beam guided them easily to me.  About 10:00 p.m. they arrived wet and cold but happy with their success.  My son had taken his first caribou.  Tyson had successfully guided his first client on his own.

We quickly set up the tents and stored our gear.  When we finished, they got out of their wet clothes and crawled into sleeping bags to get warm.  I couldn’t start a fire for them since we camped above timberline.  I stayed dry so I fetched water for some Mountain House dinners before going to sleep.  The tiredness we all felt faded with the excitement.  We made dinner but none of us felt like eating much.  Everyone needed sleep.

Sunday turned into a seven hour round trip including picture taking, caping and quartering the caribou.  On the hike back to camp the packs weighed much more than on the climb.  We ran out of water before we finished loading the caribou.  All of us welcomed the first creek we hit on the way down.

When we arrived back at spike camp we found something for lunch.  Next, we packed all of our gear and headed for the landing strip to wait to be picked up and flown back to base camp.  Each pack now weighed much more.  Tyson carried well over a hundred pounds.  We did not cover a great distance but, moved slowly.  After waiting out a storm we arrived at the strip at 10:00 p.m.  We pitched our tents right on the landing strip.

We spent Monday waiting for Chris to pick us up in the Super Cub.  The area presented a couple of valleys to glass for more caribou and wolf.  I had a caribou tag, so glassing occupied our time.  At 5:30 p.m. Chris arrived and started ferrying us back to base camp.  The flight took thirty minutes each way.  We arrived back in time for a shower and dinner.

On Tuesday night Stefano, the camp cook, grilled the caribou back straps and some sheep over an open fire.  He added dumplings and vegetables to the feast. Sharron McKinnon made a delicious pie.  This truly constituted a gourmet meal.

The next day Chris arranged for us to return to Whitehorse on a flight with a crew from the nearby mining camp.  We ended in that familiar Alkan waiting area satisfied with the entire experience.  That trip will never be forgotten.  The experience transcended the taking of the caribou.  We did not miss the joy you encounter in true wilderness hunting

I can’t say enough about the wonderful job Chris and Sharron McKinnon did in arranging the details of this trip.  As I said, they do not usually book solo caribou hunts at this time of summer.  But, they knew how much it meant to me to provide this opportunity for my son.  Because of his school schedule and a fishing trip to Alaska we had planned with my wife and daughter following this caribou hunt, our schedule was limited.  Chris and Sharron knew this and made every detail work for us.  My son and I even arrived in Anchorage for our fishing a day ahead of schedule.  Over the years I have heard horror stories about outfitters and their promises.  Believe me when I say you can trust Bonnet Plume Outfitters.