I first hunted the NWT for Dall sheep in 2014 with Ram Head Outfitters. The NWT is about as “untouched” as anywhere and full of wild game and predators. I love it there. I got to know Griz and Ginger when they owned Lost Creek Outfitters and hunted in Wyoming. Griz Turner and Ginger are all-American, but they were ready for a new adventure, so when a concession came available in the NWT, Raven’s Throat Outfitters was born.
I flew out of Birmingham, Alabama to Denver, Colorado and then flew onto Calgary and finished the day’s flights in Edmonton. The next day, I flew from Edmonton, Alberta to Yellowknife, NWT and onto Norman Wells. From there, a large floatplane picked me up along with seven other hunters and flew us to Hay Hook Lake at Raven’s Throat Outfitters. My fellow hunters and I were greeted at the dock by the entire crew of the outfit – the Turners, all guides, camp tender, cook, and the Turner’s three dogs.
After sorting and reducing my gear to the essentials, the guides loaded packs, bags, tents, food, and guns and hauled quads and trailers down to the flight pad. The hospitable crew all came down to see us off before Matt, our chopper pilot, took my guide, Brady Lough, and me up to the mountain to begin my Alaska-Yukon moose hunt.
It was a little late to glass for moose, so we gathered some wood to burn on the stove housed in the Kifaru teepee where Brady bunked and cooked. We had a light dinner and slipped into our sleeping bags with great anticipation of tomorrow when this memorable hunt would commence.
Day one of my moose hunt, we were up before daylight. After strapping on packs, we started up the mountain en route to a nice plateau that would provide a great vantage point to glass. We saw a nice bull that was receptive to the cow call, but he wasn’t what we were looking for in this quality concession. Later, we saw a really nice shooter bull, but he was two miles away and on the move with his cows. Regrettably, we had no chance for a move on this McKenzie Mountain Monarch.
We stayed after it all day until night was approaching, so we headed back to camp and called it a day. The Kifaru teepee made for a great mess tent as well as Brady’s temporary home. After having a great conversation about life, plans, and dreams, we called it a night.
On day two, Brady didn’t need to wake me like yesterday morning. He had told me the night before that we needed to be on top at first light so we didn’t miss a big bull wandering through the valley. After our oats and berries accompanied by some cowboy coffee, we were back up the mountain to our perch. We dropped our packs, started to glass, and within minutes, Brady said, “Jay, you need to come look at this bull. He’s pretty good.”
This bull was rutting and had come in during the night and gathered a handful of cows. I excitedly leaned over the Swarovski spotting scope and saw a magnificent bull who had the size and “trash” character that I was hoping for. I responded with, “I like him if you do.” There were 60-70" bulls running around up there, but I was always going to pull the trigger on “really good” early. No tag soup or regrets for me, thanks.
Brady said to get my pack on and get ready, but he wanted to wait a minute to see how and where the bull and his harem were moving before dropping off the mountain into the evergreens and willows beneath us. After watching them for another minute, Brady had an idea of where they were going and quickly formulated a plan for our stalk direction to avoid detection by sight or by wind. Incredibly, after dropping down the mountain almost a mile, my capable guide had us at 150 yards from the bull when we got a glimpse of him again. The tough part was we were not in willows and thick brush that was waist-high, so it had to be a standing shot. I prefer not to shoot “freehand” for fear of a misplaced shot. I asked Brady to extend his spotting scope tripod as high as it would go so that I could use it for a rest. He did, but it still required a squatting shot, and that doesn’t exactly equate to rock solid steady.
Brady said, “Jay, he’s now behind those spruce trees. See those small gray looking spots? Those are his paddles.”
The trees were closely spaced and it was thick, so I was wondering what kind of shot this bull would give me. Brady let out a very soft call, and the bull appeared between two evergreens, looking straight at us. I had a very narrow opening and a straight on shot, not what I was hoping for. If I waited for the bull to turn, he might bolt and we might not see him again. At such a close distance, even with a wobbly rest, I felt I could calm myself enough to place the 160 grain Partition into his pumphouse. The Kimber Mountain Ascent in .280 A.I. roared and the bull turned and ran to my left. I let two more rounds fly, and Brady said, “Jay, you hit him good. I think I just saw him stumble and go down.”
We walked up and this majestic beast prompted tears in my eyes. The first shot had done the job. He fell 40 yards from where we first faced off. After praying over my bull and giving thanks to him for giving his life and thanking God for the opportunity to harvest such an animal, I thanked B-LO for making it happen. I’m a spiritual man and take nothing for granted. The skillset of a good guide on a big game hunt is very valuable and makes the harvest possible.
We radioed for the chopper, and they came in and withdrew the quarters, cape, and antlers. We hiked a couple miles back to camp, quickly packed up, and awaited the chopper’s return to get us back to base camp. After cape and skull prep in the skinning shed, we all cleaned up and had a great time around a big bonfire that night after dinner.
On Monday, I was told that we had a day to relax and that Brady and I would be flown to our caribou camp in the afternoon. We would be ready to hunt Tuesday morning after our required 12-hour wait.
Late afternoon Monday, we flew to a beautiful tundra flanked by mountains with a lot of creeks and rivers running through it all. We set up camp and glassed until dinner and again after dinner. We saw several bulls, including one that I liked. We decided we’d walk off this mountain and kill that bull if he was there in the morning. Right.
The next morning, the sun was coming up and the bull we had bedded along with four juvenile bulls had vanished, but Brady found them two miles west bedded on the base of a mountain. We devised a plan of approach and dropped off our camp perch. After using creeks and riverbeds to conceal our stalk, we found a place where I could throw down my pack for a much-preferred prone shooting position. I pulled off my pack and slowly climbed out of the creek bed. I placed my pack down while Brady stayed. He said, “Jay, he’s the second bull from the left. Do you see him?”
“Yes, I’m on him,” I replied.
With conviction, Brady whispered, “Do it.”
The Kimber roared and found its mark, but the stiff wind drift pushed my bullet a little left of the intended target and hit him too far back to drop him. They started running, but the big bull was fading. I stayed on him and played the wind a little right of my intended target this time and hammered him right behind the shoulder with the second shot. He stopped, staggered, and went down. I got to see it all for a change, and it was a marvelous sight.
This was one of the best and shortest mountain hunts I’ve ever experienced. The memories will last for the rest of my life, and I hope my story lasts long enough to inspire others to hunt and also prompt others to give back to our great hunting way of life. Without hunting, animals will be devalued, and they will be greatly and adversely affected without the financial support of hunters and advocates of hunting, not to mention the hundreds of thousands who are fed around the world by folks just like us.
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