Posted By: 30/06
Alaskan Hunting story - 08/26/21 05:33 PM
You may recall that over the past year I've posed various rifle and shooting questions to my T'man Select Panel of Experts. That was a key part of my 15yo daughter's selection, practice, and proficiency with her Bergara B14 in .308 with Leupold 1.5x5 scope. We did lots of shooting over the summer, mostly with .22 and finishing each session with a few .308 shots. Watching her body position and breathing, I knew she was getting better, though kneeling with shooting sticks wasn't producing satisfactory groups. All this with Milspec 7.62x51 ammo and at 65 yards. So I bought the Magpul bipod, she switched to prone, and voila! She was outshooting me at 200yds. Paternal pride.
Throughout a year of weekly checks for hunting ammo, I'd happened upon 2 boxes of Nosler ammo with 168 gr copper bullets. I ratholed them. She took the online portion of Alaska Hunter's Safety, and spent a sleepless night worrying about the practical shooting test. She forbade me from watching, and gave me a strict pickup time. Well the test ran long, so I was there for her shooting. She saw me, her face had a dreadful look. But as soon as she picked up the .22, I knew she'd do well. You could tell by her body position and control. Need I say she shot the best group in the test? More paternal pride.
Last winter she helped me find, shoot and pack out, by foot, 2 caribou. Then she cooked many meals from them. She also had a few minor breakdowns over Freshman Algebra. And then we failed to draw any game tags we'd applied for. In a moment of paternal empathy, I told her if she got good grades, and kept practicing, I'd take her to the Brooks Range for caribou. The little bugger went out and scored straight A's! Now I had to live up to my promise.
As a professional pilot, I have friends who are professional pilots, and some own aircraft ideally suited for a Brooks Range drop off. Plan A was to a tiny mountain lake via Cessna floatplane, but that airplane broke on our departure date, so he flew us up to a tundra bench above a braided river valley in the deHavilland Beaver. We'd packed light, like backpacker light, and were well underweight. We had an awesome flight in, and set up camp under sunny skies. We spotted a total of 12 bull caribou that evening, several of them whoppers, but couldn't pursue due to same Alaska's same-day-airborne rule.
Next morning she got me up at 0530. I'd just finished my cup of coffee at 0600 when we saw 4 bulls moving up valley. Now caribou move fast, even when they are moseying along grazing, so you've got to get ahead of them. We did, the wind was right, we had a thin strip of willows and a few boulders for concealment, and she set up on a gravel bar for a shot. They didn't stop, so she took a walking shot at 256 yards. Actually, she took 3 shots. The first 2 had no reaction. On the 3rd, Mr. Double Shovel turned around, took 2 steps down stream, and tipped over in the shallow river. Turns out shots 1 and 2 were through liver, 3rd through lungs. We drug her bull onto an island and started cutting. A school of small Arctic Char gathered to eat the stuff I rinsed off my knife. With heavy packs and a big velvety rack, we packed back to camp, had a bit to eat and tipped over for a nap. Bliss.
Morning #2 was vary similar, except at least I got to finish coffee and breakfast. Again, 4 bulls moving upriver. This time her shot was at 320 yds, and the smaller bull was standing still. 1st shot, no reaction. 2nd shot, bull turned around and tipped over. Both shots through ribs 5 and 7 into lungs. Perfect. We cut, we packed, but no char to feed. In pursuit, Dear Daughter had led us through an over-our-boots channel, and now we were wet. A rain squall rolled up our valley from the coast, the start of 3 days of rain and snow and wind. Typical North Slope weather for this season.
We had out meat cache and food cache about 150 yards away from tent where we could watch from tent. We spent much of the remaining 3 days in tent, napping, reading, with brief outings to check our gut piles for bear or wolverine, and for daughter to scrape velvet from her racks. Never saw any carnivores, but plenty of Wolf, Wolverine, and Grizzly tracks. No human sign other than our own footprints. An Everts DC6 flew high overhead one day, probably fuel to Kaktovik.
The upside of switching to the Beaver is we could carry home 2 'bou. Actually, we could have carried out 4, her limit, but 2 was plenty. On pickup day, the Beaver came roaring out of the snow and we quickly packed up and climbed in. Away we went into steadily clearing skies. Wow! What a trip. Sorry this turned out to be a novella, but I hope you enjoy it. Have I mentioned that I'm a proud Papa enough?!
Throughout a year of weekly checks for hunting ammo, I'd happened upon 2 boxes of Nosler ammo with 168 gr copper bullets. I ratholed them. She took the online portion of Alaska Hunter's Safety, and spent a sleepless night worrying about the practical shooting test. She forbade me from watching, and gave me a strict pickup time. Well the test ran long, so I was there for her shooting. She saw me, her face had a dreadful look. But as soon as she picked up the .22, I knew she'd do well. You could tell by her body position and control. Need I say she shot the best group in the test? More paternal pride.
Last winter she helped me find, shoot and pack out, by foot, 2 caribou. Then she cooked many meals from them. She also had a few minor breakdowns over Freshman Algebra. And then we failed to draw any game tags we'd applied for. In a moment of paternal empathy, I told her if she got good grades, and kept practicing, I'd take her to the Brooks Range for caribou. The little bugger went out and scored straight A's! Now I had to live up to my promise.
As a professional pilot, I have friends who are professional pilots, and some own aircraft ideally suited for a Brooks Range drop off. Plan A was to a tiny mountain lake via Cessna floatplane, but that airplane broke on our departure date, so he flew us up to a tundra bench above a braided river valley in the deHavilland Beaver. We'd packed light, like backpacker light, and were well underweight. We had an awesome flight in, and set up camp under sunny skies. We spotted a total of 12 bull caribou that evening, several of them whoppers, but couldn't pursue due to same Alaska's same-day-airborne rule.
Next morning she got me up at 0530. I'd just finished my cup of coffee at 0600 when we saw 4 bulls moving up valley. Now caribou move fast, even when they are moseying along grazing, so you've got to get ahead of them. We did, the wind was right, we had a thin strip of willows and a few boulders for concealment, and she set up on a gravel bar for a shot. They didn't stop, so she took a walking shot at 256 yards. Actually, she took 3 shots. The first 2 had no reaction. On the 3rd, Mr. Double Shovel turned around, took 2 steps down stream, and tipped over in the shallow river. Turns out shots 1 and 2 were through liver, 3rd through lungs. We drug her bull onto an island and started cutting. A school of small Arctic Char gathered to eat the stuff I rinsed off my knife. With heavy packs and a big velvety rack, we packed back to camp, had a bit to eat and tipped over for a nap. Bliss.
Morning #2 was vary similar, except at least I got to finish coffee and breakfast. Again, 4 bulls moving upriver. This time her shot was at 320 yds, and the smaller bull was standing still. 1st shot, no reaction. 2nd shot, bull turned around and tipped over. Both shots through ribs 5 and 7 into lungs. Perfect. We cut, we packed, but no char to feed. In pursuit, Dear Daughter had led us through an over-our-boots channel, and now we were wet. A rain squall rolled up our valley from the coast, the start of 3 days of rain and snow and wind. Typical North Slope weather for this season.
We had out meat cache and food cache about 150 yards away from tent where we could watch from tent. We spent much of the remaining 3 days in tent, napping, reading, with brief outings to check our gut piles for bear or wolverine, and for daughter to scrape velvet from her racks. Never saw any carnivores, but plenty of Wolf, Wolverine, and Grizzly tracks. No human sign other than our own footprints. An Everts DC6 flew high overhead one day, probably fuel to Kaktovik.
The upside of switching to the Beaver is we could carry home 2 'bou. Actually, we could have carried out 4, her limit, but 2 was plenty. On pickup day, the Beaver came roaring out of the snow and we quickly packed up and climbed in. Away we went into steadily clearing skies. Wow! What a trip. Sorry this turned out to be a novella, but I hope you enjoy it. Have I mentioned that I'm a proud Papa enough?!
![[Linked Image]](https://trapperman.com/forum/attachments/usergals/2021/08/full-3455-105998-3eb61150_176d_498a_8ae6_394b7289625d.jpeg)
