Outside the city of Kotzebue in Alaska stands a world that few people will ever see in their lives. A wild country that God crafted without mercy for the animals that live in it or the weather that impacts the land and beast. The western edge of the Brooks Range injects smaller rolling hills as it meets the Pacific flat lands toward the eastern edge of the Kotzebue Sound. The land is a harsh climate with winter setting in towards the end of September or early October. Prior to the cold sinking its teeth into the Arctic north, the massive caribou herds start traveling their historic routes to the winter grounds, which is where the hunters come out to face what Mother Nature has in store for the season.
I had asked my good friend, Josh Steele, to come with me on this trip as I had sent him photos of my caribou hunt from the previous year. Josh was quick to reply with a yes, so then the planning for the fall hunting season began. I had booked another hunt with the same pilot I used the previous year, Bryan Albert with Ram Aviation. Bryan is an educated pilot who knows the caribou country and how to fly in it.
Both Josh and I planned on meeting at the Anchorage airport then flying to Kotzebue for the night. We met up with Bryan at the Kotzebue airport the next morning to load our gear into the plane. Within an hour and a half, we were standing on the bank of the Noatak River watching Bryan’s plane taxi off the sandbar. Caribou, grizzly bear, and wolf tracks littered the sand, indicating the animals were using the waterway and we were in a good area. We got the tent set up in the alder thickets for wind protection and set up our cots, sleeping bags, and packs. Once the housekeeping was complete, it didn’t take us long to set up our spotting scopes and binoculars on a nearby ridge to start looking for caribou. It did not take long to start seeing our quarry.
Alaska state law requires that you not hunt the same day you fly for caribou, so we climbed a nearby ridge we would use as a lookout over the next few days to scout. Within five minutes of reaching the top, I spotted the white-maned beasts south of our position about two miles out. We could see bulls in the herd, but they were just far enough that I could not get the best view of them. Meanwhile, Josh was like a kid in a candy store seeing the caribou. The way he acted was more of a rush than shooting my own caribou. Josh was so thankful for getting him out to caribou country to complete his dream. For years, he dreamt of getting a Central Barren-Ground caribou, so when he laid eyes on the bulls, he told me that the morning’s daylight could not come fast enough. A light rain put us to sleep dreaming of big bulls running the riverbed and tussock flats until the whistle of ptarmigan woke us the next morning.
he first day of the hunt dawned with a crisp 25-degree temp and clear skies. Josh and I decided to climb back to the lookout point to see if we could spot any caribou close. In order to access the lookout, we had to cross the Noatak, a river about 100 feet across and deep. Bryan supplied us with an inflatable kayak, so we loaded our packs and guns in and started paddling across. I, of course, had a mishap on the opposite bank and filled my right boot with arctic water in the first hour of the hunt.
We got to the lookout and found the caribou to the south in a tussock flat along the river. We decided to sit tight and wait to see if caribou would come upstream and give us an opportunity for a stalk. Josh and I later made a stalk in the last few hours of the day when I spotted a herd of seven bulls cresting a ridge on the opposite side of the river and walking down to the bank. We crossed the river in the raft then belly crawled to within 200 yards of the animals, who were walking downstream looking for a crossing spot. As the animals crossed the river, they caught a whiff of our wind and took off running upstream.
Given that I had hunted caribou in the past, I figured they would run a short distance and then stop to look back at the threat. I took off running toward the herd until they stopped and looked back at me. I shot a big white-maned bull that offered a broadside shot, which just happened to be the bull Josh was squeezing a shot off on until I dropped the bull out of his sights. Josh was able to take another bull out of the herd that was of similar size. Given the fact the time was closing in on 7 p.m., about one hour from dark, we quickly took tons of photos of each bull and pulled the guts out. We pulled the bulls a short distance from the gut piles in an effort to lure any grizzly away from the bull if they happened to come across the animal during the night. I had a grizzly tag, so I was curious as to what we would find upon our return in the morning.
Josh and I planned on making the second day a pack day. We returned to our bulls to find them untouched, and no neighbors dropped in on us during the butchering of the animals. I had deflated the raft and shoved it into my Barney’s pack to bring it by the downed animals. We made short work of the caribou meat and had the raft loaded up in a few hours. Josh and I got the meat hung up and turned in for the night to get ready for day three.
The third day of the hunt revealed another cold 20-degree morning with clear skies. We decided to take another hike on our side of the river onto another ridge. We saw a few caribou but nothing close enough for a shot. With two days left in the hunt and two bull tags left, we figured we should work our way back to camp and prepare for the final days to get our last bulls.
Day four again was cold and crisp with clear skies with the sun starting to light up the sky. We went back across the river to our first lookout to see a small herd of caribou on a river flat about two miles out. Within an hour, we closed the distance to half a mile and I could see there was one bull with white antlers that still had velvet hanging off. There appeared to be points poking everywhere off the antlers, which caught my attention. Josh and I snuck within 160 yards of the group where they stood up, and we both fired at two different bulls. Though not proud of it, my shot was not perfect and required a follow-up to dispatch the bull. He fell in the riverbed of the Noatak to make the recovery of the animal interesting, to say the least. The bull had massive 16" tines with sticker points. This was the bull I came back to Kotzebue for, and it permanently has a place on my wall for years to come.
Josh and I struck out the last morning of the hunt to get his final bull. We found a group of four or five bulls bedded in the same flat I shot my big bull the prior day. I stayed back on the riverbank to watch Josh make the stalk to the bulls. While watching the stalk, I noticed a white dot in the distance and realized it was actually a large bull moose several miles away walking over a ridge and coming toward us. Josh slipped into 100 yards before firing at the biggest bull of the herd and putting a perfect shot on him.
We spent the rest of the day packing out the meat the four miles back to camp. We enjoyed the evening of the last day as it was cold, clear, and sunny. That evening, we were the audience of one of the most incredible Aurora Borealis shows I have ever witnessed. The colors danced across the sky for several hours. The next morning was our day to leave, and I could hear Bryan coming right at 11 a.m. to share our success and take us home.
Anyone thinking about booking a hunt in Alaska should definitely jump at the chance and experience the thrill-of-a-lifetime.
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