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trailanimal
son of soil
Hunting Story
For 12 years Sharon and I lived way back in the mountains. Headwaters of the Shungnak River, Swatka Mts, Brooks Range AK. Our cabin sat where the shoulder of a mountain we called Big Wolf sloped into the valley, almost 4000' vertical begining right out the door. One day in the fall, scanning the slopes above I saw a small band of caribou. The wind seemed right, so I grabbed the 280 and headed up on the side of the ridge that kept me out of sight. When I got to the point I thought would be high enough I crossed to the other side of the ridge to begin my stalk. No caribou, this happens a lot, they are constantly moving. A village friend once told me his father told him while hunting, "if it's not moving it's not caribou." I'm half way up the mt. and it's a really fine afternoon, warm pleasant breeze. So I decide to sit for awhile and absorb the "high". A half hour passes and I hear a tremendous guttural roar from the valley floor, I mean way down there and it's loud. Only one beast here that could do that, boar grizz. I figure he's hassling with another bear and go back to my mountain side revery. A few minutes later I hear brush crunching under someone's heavy feet. I can't see down the slope in front of me because the mountain is so steep. I hear the crunching get closer and suddenly a mom grizz and her two yearling cubs come running into view 30' in front of me. My rifle lies in the moss next to me, I'm too mesmerized to move. Fortunately for me she freaks when she sees me, makes a hard left and gets her kids outta there as fast as she could. Whew, thank the Goddess, trail gets to roam another day.
For 12 years Sharon and I lived way back in the mountains. Headwaters of the Shungnak River, Swatka Mts, Brooks Range AK. Our cabin sat where the shoulder of a mountain we called Big Wolf sloped into the valley, almost 4000' vertical begining right out the door. One day in the fall, scanning the slopes above I saw a small band of caribou. The wind seemed right, so I grabbed the 280 and headed up on the side of the ridge that kept me out of sight. When I got to the point I thought would be high enough I crossed to the other side of the ridge to begin my stalk. No caribou, this happens a lot, they are constantly moving. A village friend once told me his father told him while hunting, "if it's not moving it's not caribou." I'm half way up the mt. and it's a really fine afternoon, warm pleasant breeze. So I decide to sit for awhile and absorb the "high". A half hour passes and I hear a tremendous guttural roar from the valley floor, I mean way down there and it's loud. Only one beast here that could do that, boar grizz. I figure he's hassling with another bear and go back to my mountain side revery. A few minutes later I hear brush crunching under someone's heavy feet. I can't see down the slope in front of me because the mountain is so steep. I hear the crunching get closer and suddenly a mom grizz and her two yearling cubs come running into view 30' in front of me. My rifle lies in the moss next to me, I'm too mesmerized to move. Fortunately for me she freaks when she sees me, makes a hard left and gets her kids outta there as fast as she could. Whew, thank the Goddess, trail gets to roam another day.
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trailanimal
son of soil
good one Rip
trailanimal
son of soil
hey, what are those cats on? lol
Might be more then weed
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Oh man that picture creases me up Captain Raccoon and I love the back ground you put it over.Hey man, hats off to you. I had a great time, and learned a lot. haha I might have to find that raccoon pic, show everyone what you look like in your new shirt.
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