By Paul D. Atkins
Dang it, I whispered as Lew made his way around the corner where I was standing. The big bull moose, which was the only bull we’d seen in like, forever, had disappeared into the willows and was gone.
“How can a bull that big, with such a huge wingspan and massive body vanish so easily?”, I asked Lew.
“I don’t know”, he said frustrated.
But he did vanish, leaving us with nothing but a trail of river water and some mighty big hoofprints in the soft gravel we were now standing on. Choosing to chase him was a decision we had to make with only seconds to decide, but it made sense, moose meat is much better than bear, even though we had a good bear coming towards us from the other direction. I guess it’s just the way it goes sometimes.
I’ve had to make a lot of those last split-second decisions throughout my time here in the arctic. When I wished I was somewhere else rather than where I was. I’ve lost count actually, knowing that if I went left I probably should of went right, but oh well, hindsight is 20/20 they say. It’s also hunting and I’m reminded of it quite often, especially when the anniversary of 9/11 rolls around.
My first fly out do-it-yourself type hunt ended the same way. A few days before that fateful day on 9/11, we flew up north to a place that is well known throughout this region, the infamous Kelly River. This river lies about 90 miles north of Kotzebue and was once known as the premier spot for hunting moose, bears and caribou. It was on everyone’s hit list in those days and if you wanted a chance at all three species, then the Kelly is where you went. It was also the first time my wife Susie went with me.
We had great time, even though the rain poured for most of the trip and finding a piece of dry firewood was next to impossible. We hunted hard though, every day, glassing and searching for what would hopefully be my first moose. Like all hunts in Alaska we had choices to make, whether right or wrong we still had to decide. The biggest was where should we go and in what direction?
We chose to hunt north of camp, specifically from a small hill that gave us the advantage of seeing what was below. It was futile and in the four days we were there we didn’t see anything but mosquitoes and an awful lot of blueberries. But as it goes, the day we flew out, which was the evening of 9/10, we saw from the plane what we had missed, and immediately knew we should have turned our attention to the south. Three big bulls with massive headgear were feeding in the low-lying willows not far from camp and would have been an easy packing job to the plane. Crazy right? Just the way it goes I guess. Chalk that one up to experience.
Lew and I have had this happen many more times over the years, choosing to hunt this river drainage over that one or that mountain versus one that was much closer. I’m not complaining, we’ve had good luck more times than not, but many of those decisions were based on weather more than anything else. Like today for example. The wind is killing us at 30 mph and with 4-6 ft waves there’s no way we can make it across Kotzebue Sound. Oh, we could risk it and in my younger days I probably would have, but not today, too dangerous. Many will go anyway, and many will get wet, taking a chance on swamping their boat or worse. So, here we sit waiting, watching the weather channel on our phones and hoping. It’s like purgatory for hunters.
Earlier this fall Lew and I were hunting bears in a prime spot that we’ve hunted many times before. It’s legendary for big grizzly, one of those places where muddy sand bars deepened by bear tracks and half eaten dead fish lay everywhere. It’s a great spot and if you want a grizzly then this is the place to be.
On this hunt the weather was good. We eventually made it there in the boat, camping at our normal spot, one that we’ve used for many years. Our plan was grab a quick MRE and then boat up river that evening to sit and wait. Unlike most hunters who come north, those that pay the big bucks and stay for a week or ten days, we only had the weekend. Our plan was to get in quick, set camp and then hunt hard.
The evening sit was going to be great, especially with no wind, and no rain, combining for one of those perfect evenings where bears like to make their way to the river for supper. The fish, flopping and going crazy in the current, were a blessing too. The big multi-colored chum slapped constantly, trying to get to who knows where, creating the proverbial bear dinner bell for all those that could hear. It was classic grizzly hunting.
We made the ride upriver making landfall and anchoring up, it was primetime too and we were ready. In no time we had a bear swimming the current towards us. He was further up than we were, but the current was pulling him towards a small island 300 yards away from where we sat watching. Lew asked me if I wanted to move the boat to the south end of that island. I looked and yes there was a perfect sand bar that actually provided cover and would provide an easy shot from that distance. I hesitated, and after thinking it over, I finally said no. Looking back I should have said yes. I just didn’t think he would come directly at us, I figured he would go the other way into the wind, but I was wrong, and my decision proved to be one of regret, especially after getting a closer look at the size of this grizzly. He was huge, but with my indecision it was too late to move. The sound of the motor would have ended our hunt and he would have left in a hurry.
We watched and waited as the big bear headed straight for the sand bar. Damn I whispered! For a moment I contemplated wading to the spot, but I knew the current lay deep in a small part of the river and my hip boots weren’t up for cold water, and neither was I. All we could do was watch and hope.
He kept walking without a care, stopping here and there to dig at a dead fish. Sitting in the boat I had my bow ready, but from that point he was still 100 yards away, which was way too far. He kept coming along the sand bar and eventually ended up within an easy 30-yard bow shot just on the other side, but I wasn’t there to make it. All we could do was watch as the bear turned north and walked out of sight.
“It’s just the way it goes sometimes”, I told Lew.
Feeling empty we decided to float down river and back to camp, but like all things in the arctic, when dusk approaches weird things begin to happen. Pulling anchor, we began to drift, using a wooden pole to keeps us off the bank and out of the willows. Looking ahead I could see him, a big bear walking the edge of the bank looking for fish, stopping briefly and posturing like he owned the place. He was big no doubt, but not as big as the one we had just left and the one I was still thinking about. Could it be, two bears within a short distance of each other? In Alaska you can shoot from a boat or raft, as long as the motor is off. Our motor was off with me scrambling to find a good rest for a shot.
Finally achieving a decent rest on the back of the swivel seat I peered at him through the scope. I needed him to stop, but he didn’t. He actually began to run towards something to his left and he was in a hurry. I raised my head to look and could instantly hear Lew say, “sow with cubs”. Boars will eat small cubs, and these were small and so was the sow. The big male was trying to catch one of the cubs and the sow was attempting to warn him off in another direction. She did a good job as they played getaway in the willows. It was udder chaos! Bears were darting in and out of cover in every direction.
Slipping the safety off the 7-mag, I waited for the big guy to stop, but he still wouldn’t. It was then that Lew touched my shoulder and pointed down river maybe 200 yards. Four more bears had made their way to the river! One on our left and three on the right. It was a “bears gone wild” episode as we sat there in the middle of it. For most people this would have been a sight to see and believe me it was. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to slip the safety back on and watch.
And so, we did, watching until dark as bears growled, chased each other and fought like crazy. We watched them pull fish from the water, devouring them as fast as they could, all the while eyeing each other from a distance. It was an incredible evening and not something soon forgotten. Many might think, well you didn’t get a bear, and no I didn’t, but that evening we got a lot more than that. An arctic adventure like no other and a front row seat in bear 101. I guess it’s just the way it goes, but sometimes that’s good enough.
The next evening was quite different. We made our way back to the same spot, but a little earlier in the evening. We made anchor and broke out the rods and reels and fished for a bit. We caught a couple of big chums and then settled down to wait for bears. Except for an onslaught of mosquitoes, we were having a great time.
Eventually, as if on cue, the bears came, and we were in business. We spotted the same set of sow and cubs and watched as they worked their way towards us. We could also see a lone bear working his way out of the willows. He looked big and our focus turned immediately to him. Glassing beyond the bears is when Lew spotted the moose swimming the river. He was down river about a 1000-yards, so we had a decision to make.
Moose was number one on our hit list and like I said moose meat is much better than bear meat. So, we pushed the boat out and tried to get downstream as quick as possible. We got there just as the big bull disappeared into a wall of willow. We searched in vain, but not moose. With little daylight left we moved back to where we started. The bears disappeared at the sound of the boat, but we knew they would back or at least maybe some new ones. We were right.
Sitting there in the almost dark we could see a big bear moving down the bank towards us. Lew was up and ready. Grabbing his rifle, he headed across the sand bar and got into position. I watched from the boat and it wasn’t long before I heard the echo of the big rifle boom across the river. Big bear down or so I hoped.
I made my way over and after a nerve wrecking search in some super dense alder we found the bear. He was a brute, big bodied with a big skull. With me watching and Lew skinning we got him field dressed and out of there in the dark. Scary, but well done, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes things happen for a reason or they just happen. You succeed or you don’t and sometimes it just takes a little luck. I will always take luck over anything else. All I know is I can’t wait to get back there next year!
Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author from Kotzebue, Alaska. He has written hundreds of articles on big game hunting, and fishing throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the arctic. Paul’s new book “Atkins’ Alaska” will soon be published and available this Christmas. Look for it online and at all major bookstores.