The Kvichak Lodge is located approximately 240 miles southwest of Anchorage in the Bristol Bay region of Alaska, home to the world’s largest sockeye salmon run, trophy class rainbow trout, coho salmon, chums, kings, pinks, arctic char, pike, grayling and dolly varden in addition to experiencing indescribeable beauty in one of the most pristine regions in the state.
The lodge is situated about one half mile from the mouth of Lake Illiamna on 12 acres of Kvichak River waterfront. Our lodge was the first lodge built and in operation on the Kvichak River, giving us one of the best locations for convenience to the community as well as easy access to the best spots on the river.
The following story and photos are courtesy of ASJ correspondent Steve Meyer and running in the April issue of Alaska Sporting Journal, on sale now:
By Steve Meyer
It seems most every hunter/fisherman has thoughts of becoming a game warden. How cool would it be to go to work every day and be outdoors around the scene we love the most?
My opportunity came in the late 1980s with an offer to work for the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service in Sitka. Life circumstances wouldn’t allow accepting the job, so there will always be the “what if” thoughts in the back of my mind.
But about the same time, Rob Barto started his tenure with USFWS, working as a seasonal employee for the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge.
“It was a great time working seasonal,” Barto says. “I learned the fishing spots and had plenty of time to enjoy them, and during the offseason I could go South and work other seasonal stuff, or just hunt, fish and trap.”
But eventually we must all grow up – a real shame – and Barto became a full-time wildlife enforcement officer with USFWS in the Kenai.
The Kenai refuge sprawls across some 2 million acres of “Alaska’s playground,” the Kenai Peninsula. The terrain runs the gamut from coastal mud flats to mountain glaciers; a large percentage is accessible only by foot, horseback, boat, airplane and snowmachine in winter when snow cover allows.
Five full-time wildlife enforcement officers are assigned to monitor outdoor activities on the refuge. The hot spots where the most activity occurs include the Swanson River/Swan Lake Road, the Skilak Lake Loop (where hunting is prohibited except for some small game archery and a youth hunting season for small game), Skilak Lake, the Kenai River, the Russian River, the Tustumena Lake area, and the Caribou Hills.
The variety of outdoor pursuits on the refuge include wildlife viewing, bird watching, skiing, snowshoeing, canoeing, boating, mushroom gathering, fishing, hunting and trapping. With such a broad spectrum of activities, refuge officers wear a lot of hats. Duties range from tracking down moose poachers to answering questions about the local flora and fauna from the many visitors to the area, so they have a rather full plate. Refuge officers are also commissioned by the State of Alaska and have authority to enforce all state laws, as well.
PARTNERS IN (STOPPING) CRIME
Some refuge officers have special additional duties/skills above and beyond the norm; Rob Barto is one of them. He patrols the Kenai refuge with Rex, a canine officer and one of only eight dogs in service on national wildlife refuges across the country.
Rex is a 5-year-old golden Labrador retriever and is the only one of these canines certified in wildlife detection. He is trained to detect all of Alaska’s big game species, plus walrus, seal and polar bear. Rex is also trained in article recovery and human tracking.
The pair will travel to other areas, such as the U.S./Canadian border and some of the coastal Alaska towns where illegal trading in wildlife is suspected. Barto and Rex have also worked with our Canadian neighbors to the east in Dawson City, Yukon Territories. They will be working in Whitehorse in the Yukon this spring.
Having a canine partner is a rather significant commitment for the dog’s human partner. Besides the obvious of making the dog a member of the family – feeding, watering, housing and providing exercise – there is the ongoing training. Canines in the law enforcement world have training sessions every day and, for the most part, more than one. It is part of the maintenance of the canine certificate that makes what he does acceptable to the court. Working dogs need to be worked or they lose the excitement and drive for what they are trained in.
Training sessions must be documented (more paperwork). Barto and Rex go to local schools and put on demonstrations for the kids; it’s a great public relations service and Rex gets to do what he does.
Rex travels with Barto in a nicely built kennel in the back of his work SUV. He often rides with his big Labrador nose pressed up to the partition between the front and back seat, watching for some excitement that might employ him.
He is a typical Labrador, with a big otter tail always wagging and what one always thinks is a smile on his face. He is friendly and has the diplomacy so loved by dog folks who know his breed.
A DAY IN THE FIELD
Having the opportunity to spend a shift with Rob Barto and Rex was a pleasure and an eyeopener. His training sessions where he displayed his talents of finding small pieces of game and other articles hidden by his partner seemed picture perfect. What becomes obvious while watching the two work together is the bond they share.
We headed out towards the Skilak Loop area to check on ice fishermen and anything else that might be going on. A vehicle headed in our direction blipped on the radar gun at 73 mph in a 55 zone. Barto turned around and stopped the speeder and explained that while they don’t make it a point to stop every speeding vehicle, when there is one that is clearly excessive, they pull them over.
“There are enough people dying on the Sterling Highway as it is,” Barto says.
The individual driving was not being reckless but just driving too fast. He did have a suspended license for nonpayment of child support. In Alaska, when one’s license is suspended a notification is sent to the individual with no guarantee the person actually received the notice. With that, the first time an individual is stopped and the suspension discovered, an otherwise arrestable offense is instead turned into an advisement. Henceforth, that person caught driving would be taken to jail.
Within minutes of the first training session I attended in my law enforcement academy, the instructor made a statement that has rang true ever since: “Approach determines response.”
Barto was pleasant when he contacted the driver, who was equally pleasant and apologetic in his failure to pay attention to his speed. With that, he chose to write the speeding ticket as a federal violation instead of a State of Alaska violation. That was a new one on me; I had no idea that such a thing existed. Barto explained that there are many regulations on federal property, including the refuge, National Park Service and U.S. Forest Service land, that mirror the state regulations. In the case of the speeding ticket, the difference was no points would go against the driver’s state record with the same fine. So Barto elected to write the ticket federally and cut the guy some slack.
CHALLENGING A MYTH
The point in telling that story is that the general public often has a misconception of law enforcement officers in general. They believe that officers are out to get them (I won’t deny there are some like that) and when confronted, they become less than cordial, and that rarely works out well.
That reminds me of what I used to tell newcomers in the business: “It’s OK to be nice until it’s not OK.” In other words, why treat folks any less than with decency, unless they respond in such a manner that decency clearly isn’t going to work?
My experiences with game wardens over the years have always been positive, and the Kenai refuge’s officers have been no exception. Across the board they have always been very appropriate, helpful with questions and are just generally decent officers who share the same love of the outdoors.
Of course, there are sometimes rather humorous aspects to being a refuge officer. A common violation along the gravel roads of Swanson River and Tustumena Lake is hunters shootinggrouse while they stand on the road eating gravel that aids their digestion. To help combat this, enforcement officers will set out decoys – mounted spruce grouse that appear alive until you watch them for a few seconds. Normally, the officer watching the bird will be able to stop the “hunter” before damage is done; but it’s not always the case.
One frosty morning, a pickup pulled up and the driver stuck his .300 Winchester Magnum out the window and blew that mounted bird to bits before he could be stopped. Another time, a guy recognized what the decoy was and pulled up right next to it, grabbed it and took off down the road. He was caught down the road, and fortunately for him, the officer recognized that boys will be boys and didn’t ticket him. There are some people out there who would initally scream out “entrapment.” How about just don’t commit the violation?
I often hear hunters complain about the refuge’s officers, claiming they’re tree huggers and don’t understand hunters. I would say the opposite is true. Confusing some administrative policies that really have nothing to do with the decisions made at the local level with those who are tasked with enforcing regulations is throwing stones in the wrong direction.
All of them enjoy the outdoors as much as anyone in their free time. They hunt, they fish, they trap and live wholesome rural lifestyles. They are active with kids in the community, and some are hunter education instructors. Rob Barto and his 11-year-old daughter, Emily, have been running a trapline all winter, walking 8 miles twice a week.
What can possibly represent us outdoors lovers better than that?
Editor’s note: For more on the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, check out its website (fws.gov), Facebook (facebook.com/usfws) and Twitter (@USFWSHQ).
(Bighorn sheep photo courtesy of the Nevada Department of Wildlife)
Lower 48ers in the West who are dreaming of hunting in Alaska – and how would any hunter not want to stalk moose, caribou or bears in the Last Frontier at least one time? – and are looking for an alternative closer to home, why not try Nevada?
Here is some info from the Nevada Department of Wildlife on applying for the upcoming season’s big game tags. The deadline is April 20:
If you’re interested in hunting big game in Nevada this year, the Nevada Department of Wildlife wants to remind everyone that the big game application process is now open.
Nevada offers a good variety of big game opportunities for deer, elk, bear, pronghorn antelope, mountain goat and bighorn sheep. The Silver State is one of just a few states to possess three sub-species of bighorn sheep (desert, rocky mountain and California). Deer, elk and antelope offer additional options for weapon type (rifle, archery, and muzzleloader), sex (male or female) and season dates.
Again this year, NDOW is offering some combination hunt options that allow sportsmen hunting in predetermined areas the chance of hunting a cow elk simultaneous to hunting a mule deer, and one that allows sportsmen the chance to hunt a cow elk while also hunting bull elk.
The deadline is Monday, April 20. Online applicants have until 11 p.m. Sportsmen looking to apply for the hunt online can visit www.huntnevada.com. Hunters that choose to use the traditional paper application must use the U.S. Postal Service to submit their applications, which must be received by the Wildlife Administrative Services Office by 5 p.m. to qualify.
To help hunters understand the application process and make informed choices, the Nevada Department of Wildlife (NDOW) provides a vast amount of information. Hunter’s can find population reports, draw odds and harvest statistics, maps, Hunter Information Sheets and much more on the agency’s website at ndow.org.
The 2015 quotas will be set by the Nevada Board of Wildlife Commissioners at their May 15 and 16 meeting in Reno.
The Nevada Department of Wildlife (NDOW) protects, restores and manages fish and wildlife, and promotes fishing, hunting, and boating safety. NDOW’s wildlife and habitat conservation efforts are primarily funded by sportsmen’s license and conservation fees and a federal surcharge on hunting and fishing gear. Support wildlife and habitat conservation in Nevada by purchasing a hunting, fishing, or combination license. Find us on Facebook, Twitter or visit us at www.ndow.org.
Cover image courtesy of Albert Lewis, seespotrun.com
This is shaping up to be a great week for Dallas Seavey. The cover subject of our March issue of Alaska Sporting Journal just defended his 2014 Iditarod title with his third overall championship.
Here’s some of the Associated Press report via ESPN:
The Alaska musher crossed the finish line in the Bering Sea coastal town of Nome at 4:13 a.m., completing the route in eight days, 8 hours, 13 minutes and 6 seconds. That’s about five hours longer than the record he set in winning the 2014 race.
“Obviously going into this race, the big hubbub was all about the new trail, right?” Seavey told a packed convention hall. Concerns were about the “warm, warm, warm winter” and conditions on the Yukon River.
In fact, a snowmobile sank on thin ice on part of the route mushers were about to take. Some were considering buying rain gear.
But then winter came back to Alaska, and the trails became much more like one would expect for the Iditarod.
“We saw a lot of 40-, 50-below zero, snow,” said Seavey, of Willow. “This was a very tough race. It was not the easy run that a lot of people had anticipated for the Yukon River.”
Seavey’s father, Mitch, finished in second place Wednesday, followed by Aaron Burmeister. Behind them en route to Nome were Jessie Royer and Aliy Zirkle.
To win this demanding race three times in four years – his dad Mitch won the other – is a testament to not just Dallas Seavey but the dogs in his team (Alaska Dispatch has video of him crossing the finish line in Nome).
Seavey’s adventures in Alaska continue this Sunday night at 10 p.m. Pacific in the season finale of his National Geographic Channel series, Ultimate Survival Alaska. Seavey’s Endurance team was in last place among the four teams, but anything can happen in the final challenge. But he’s already won the show’s season competition already, so his legacy is secure. And winning another Iditarod by the age of 28 puts him among the sport’s elite mushers, with seemingly plenty of races ahead of him.
Here’s Seavey to the Fairbanks News-Miner:
“The wins are a result of doing what we love. It takes a whole team to get us here.”
Finally, here’s our story on Dallas (Photos by Dallas Seavey and National Geographic Channel):
By Chris Cocoles
Not including Dallas Seavey’s “home” squad – with wife, Jennifer and daughter, Annie – he is a vital leader of two teams that are a huge part of his life.
Seavey, who turns 28 this month, is a veteran of the National Geographic Channel series Ultimate Survival Alaska (the season finale will air on March 22 at 10 p.m., 9 Central, with new shows on Sunday nights). He’s appeared on all three seasons, leading Team Endurance to the title in season two last year and welcomed two new teammates for season three, which wraps up this month.
“It was intriguing because we were traveling across Alaska, living out of a backpack and seeing some of the most unique and strange terrain that this state has to offer,” Seavey says. “And that always takes a level of creativity and ingenuity to work your way through that environment. And it was particularly intriguing to us because that’s what my family has grown up doing.”
And for essentially the entire year, particularly the 10 or so days of the Iditarod that define the sport starting on March 9 when the race will start from Fairbanks due to low snowfall, Seavey is carrying on his family’s distinguished tradition among Alaska’s sled dog-racing community. He’s mushed his dog teams to win the sport’s premier event, in both 2012 (when, at 25, he was the race’s youngest champion), and 2014 (when at 8 days, 13 hours, 4 minutes and 19 seconds, he won the race in record time; quite a contrast from inaugural winner Dick Wilmarth needing over 20 days to complete the course in 1973).
It’s quite the busy life, but it’s exactly the way Seavey prefers his days to go: raising and racing dogs throughout his home state, conquering mental and physical challenges in the Alaskan bush, and introducing Annie to dog mushing, which three generations of Seaveys have thrived on since the 1960s. The family has dominated the last three Iditarods, Dallas’ two titles sandwiched around his father Mitch becoming the – wait for it – oldest winner of the 1,000-mile, “Last Great Race on Earth” at age 53 in 2013, his second title. Dallas’ grandfather and Mitch’s dad Dan Sr. was one of the founding fathers of the Iditarod’s inaugural race in the early 1970s. With Seaveys winning the last three races, it’s a golden era for the family
“There something to competing with your dad. And especially since my dad and I were very close,” Dallas Seavey says. “When I was with my dad in 2013 at (the White Mountain checkpoint), only 77 miles to go and him within striking distance of his second Iditarod win, it was a neat experience.”
It wasn’t the first time Seaveys had shared the stage.
WHAT’S A PRODUCER’S dream? Cast two brothers in a live-action series where contestants are thrown into the middle of nowhere and given a challenge to get to a destination faster than their opponents. At 26, Dallas was already a household name in Alaska based on his 2012 Iditarod win and, when approached by National Geographic to do Ultimate Survival Alaska, convinced older brother Tyrell, then 28, to join him.
Surely, the siblings would provide compelling conversations and, maybe, if the show was lucky, some epic arguments as they decided on a plan of attack for whatever rivers needed to be crossed or mountains needed to be climbed. Except it wasn’t quite a family feud.
“We’ve always worked together,” says Dallas of his and Tyrell’s jobs at their dad’s kennel. “And that’s a different relationship when you work with somebody rather than having to co-habitate in the same building. And a lot of siblings are, I suppose. They don’t force you to interact beyond a certain degree. But we were always solving problems and being forced to work together. So I think we hatched out most of our differences by the time we were 12.”
Dallas called it “silent communication,” when conversations about how to approach the tasks at hand would almost become telekinetic mojo between he and Tyrell. Dallas considered this as two battle-tested Alaskans who knew exactly what problems lay ahead in the area’s topography, potential weather issues that confront them or the odds of accomplishing the goals with the limited tools and supplies they were given.
So in sync with each other were the Seaveys, when they plotted their course, they were encouraged by the cameraman to interact a little more. But that “we may not be flashy, we are effective” technique fit well into the equation. Bring together a small group of alpha-type personalities who all feel like their way is the best way, and you’re sure to get disagreements.
“It’s the Seavey way to just get the job done; not a lot of flair, not a lot of extra conversations,” says Dallas, who came back the next season. As one of three members of Team Endurance, Dallas and his mates, Eddie Ahyakak and Sean Burch, beat out the other three-person teams to win the competition with complete strangers he’d never met before filming began. For season three, there’s another entirely new team in place – mountaineer Ben Jones and heli-ski guide Lel Tone. But for Seavey, the spirit of the show as far as he is concerned is intact.
While everyone has a background in some semblance of adventure sports to, in theory, handle the terrain – an earlier third-season episode saw the teams try to cross the swift currents of the Talkeetna River – it’s as much a mental as it is a physical grind. Seavey went so far as arguing the psychological effects can sink you more than having the fitness to traverse the Alaskan bush.
“Yes, you have to have the physical talent to do this stuff. And that’s not easy, but we almost take that for granted. The people who are out there are outdoor, active people,” he says. “But the real game comes down to the mental side. One of the major factors that gets often overlooked in these group situations: Here we are, warm and well fed and watered. But now let’s try it when we’re cold and miserable, and probably haven’t slept properly in several weeks, and are severely malnourished. Hunger is one of the biggest attitude changers out there.”
All the factors combined provide a thinking player’s game that has brought Seavey back for more of his second career on Ultimate Survival Alaska on top of success as a professional dog musher.
“Creativity and challenges are what I thrive on. That’s what I do when racing the Iditarod. We try to recognize a problem, break it down to its most basic elements and solve it,” he says. “Whether it’s building a new racing sled or coming up with new strategies in the Iditarod, it’s problem solving. There’s definitely a mad -scientist aspect for when you come to a crossroads of a problem that you don’t have an answer for.”
DALLAS SEAVEY WAS at a crossroads once. Though his promising wrestling career was pinned by injuries, he knew the family business of rigging up dogs to a sled and traveling fast through the snow. Grandpa Dan did it; his father Mitch did it. It was what the names Andretti and Unser were to motorsports, Sutter to hockey, Williams to tennis and Manning to football. A Seavey is expected to successfully race dogs through the treacherous Alaskan wilderness.
“My granddad moved to Alaska in the 1960s to be an ‘Alaskan.’ When he helped start the Iditarod, it was as much fun to plan the race as it actually meant to go do it,” Dallas says of Iditarod Hall of Fame inductee Dan Sr., who as recently as 2012 competed in the race, at 74 years old. “They were trying to figure out if it was possible to run 1,000 miles across Alaska.”
The race has now gone international after its early years usually featured Alaskans only. Most of the members of the Seavey family, including Dallas’s wife Jennifer, have competed in at least one Iditarod. The Seavey kids were home-schooled, mostly so they could have access to the tasks of maintaining the Seward-based family business of raising and racing sled dogs (it’s now known as Seavey’s Ididaride Racing Team and Sled Dog Tours). Mitch cared for more than 100 dogs at his kennel, and oldest brothers Danny, Tyrell and Dallas – they also have a fourth brother, aspiring singer Conway Seavey – were given various duties to make sure the dogs were fed and exercised.
Dallas made his Iditarod debut in 2005 at just 18 (the minimum age to compete) and was the youngest musher to finish the race, coming in 51st. But it wasn’t until 2009 that he was actually “competitively” racing in the event. He still seemed like a longshot to win the 2012 race, given that most previous winners were in their 30s, 40s or even 50s (Seavey said the average age of the previous 20 winners was 42). Conversely, his kennel, made up of dogs he purchased from his dad and other fellow mushers, was just 3 years old at that point. So it wasn’t as if he was known for grooming championship dogs.
“I was competing with these teams that had been going for 20 or 30 years. It’s a refining process, where you’re continually breeding from the best to the best of the best for the dogs. These dogs are just insane athletes. We were way behind the eight ball there,” Seavey says.
“It certainly seemed like from the outside, a 25-year-old racing in his fourth competitive Iditarod saying, ‘I’m going to win it and become the youngest winner ever,’ must have seemed either extremely arrogant or naïve; probably both. Maybe I was just naïve enough, just dumb enough, to believe that I could win the Iditarod. It doesn’t mean we have a lock on this race. But this was the first team I had that I knew had the potential to win – if we did everything right.”
Check. Seavey’s win was remarkable given the historical odds were so against him. This had been a sport where Father Time – like his dad – was an advantage over youthful enthusiasm. But here was the 25-year-old, a year before his father was dismissing the trend of mushers his age, winning the Last Great Race on Earth. He sat below Nome’s famed Burled Arch, sharing the stage with two of Seavey’s five lead dogs from the race, Diesel and Guinness. They were covered in yellow roses and showered with cheers from the crowd on Nome’s Front Street. Man and dogs were exhausted after such a grueling race (talk about ultimate Alaskan survival). He hugged both dogs, feeling as though winning the race was simply a bonus for appreciating what they accomplished.
It’s what this race is all about and carrying on the family’s legacy as some of Alaska’s storied sports’ personalities.
“It’s an incredible feeling. For 355 days a year I’m a dog musher, and to develop these dogs to their highest potential and to make each dog the best athlete that their genetic potential has allowed them and help them maximize that potential. That’s what a dog musher is, in my mind,” Seavey says. “For the other 10 days a year, give or take, we are focused on not necessarily winning the Iditarod, but running the best possible race. And if I run the team to the best of their ability, that is a goal met.”
In this month’s issue of Alaska Sporting Journal we have a package on the University of Alaska Fairbanks rifle team, which has quietly been a dynasty with 10 national championships. The Nanooks were ranked second in the nation when they hosted the NCAA Championships last weekend in Fairbanks.
UAF finished second to No. 1 West Virginia:
Alaska won the smallbore championship last night, holding off West Virginia by an impressive twelve shots, but it was unable to overcome the top air rifle team in the nation, as the Mountaineers rallied to defeat the Nanooks by two overall shots, 4,702 to 4,700.
“Coming in we knew that we were probably the top smallbore team in the country,” said head coach Dan Jordan. “We shot really well yesterday, but we came up just short today. West Virginia shot a phenomenal air gun today. We can’t do anything more than what we did. Both teams shot really well this weekend.”
In third place overall was Texas Christian University, who matched Nebraska’s 4,667 points, but hit 13 more 10x-shots to clinch the tiebreaker. The Cornhuskers did place in the smallbore competition, as they were in third place after last night’s action. Jacksonville State was the Championships’ fifth-place team and also went home with a trophy, as it finished in third place in the air rifle portion. Kentucky’s tally of 4,657 was good for sixth-place, while the United States Air Force Academy and Murray State placed seventh and eighth, respectively.
Alaska’s Tim Sherry placed eighth overall after finals, to lead the Nanooks, following up on his fifth-place individual finals in smallbore, last night.
Maren Prediger of West Virginia was the top individual following finals, as she topped a full contingent of Mountaineer medalists. West Virginia’s Michael Bamsey placed second overall and Garrett Spurgeon was the third best shooter. Spurgeon was also named the NCAA Championship’s Top Overall Performer.
Sherry’s 596 was the highest shot total of any Nanook, qualifying him for finals. Mats Eriksson and Ryan Anderson were Alaska’s next best shooters, as they each scored 592 points. Lorelie Stanfield and Sagen Maddalena rounded out the Nanooks, with respective shot totals of 589 and 588.
Here’s our story on the team’s coach, Jordan, who was paralyzed in a climbing accident but does not let his physical limitations slow him down from coaching or enjoying the outdoors:
By Chris Cocoles
University of Alaska rifle team coach Dan Jordan says he really hadn’t been challenged much by the time he’d reached the summer after his sophomore year at the same school.
In May 1999, Jordan had just completed his sophomore year on the Nanooks rifle team when he and a close friend and teammate, Amber Darland, went rock climbing north of Fairbanks.
“I was climbing and my safety pieces broke out, so I fell about 60 feet,” says Jordan who was asked by rescuers, was he allergic to anything. In a Denver Post story from a few years back, he recalled deadpanning an answer that would reflect on his ability to handle such a life-altering tragedy: “Rocks.”
He was paralyzed throughout his lower body.
JORDAN GREW UP in rural Franktown, Colo., not far from Colorado Springs. His family wasn’t into hunting or guns, but young Dan “was infatuated with hunting and shooting from the time I was a little kid.”
His parents put Jordan into the local 4-H club so he could learn gun safety from those who did know something about firearms
He would spend endless hours shooting targets attached to hay bales in nearby cow pastures. He’d hunt with a fellow football player and his father, who was their high school coach. Jordan referred to his coach as a “mountain man” who took the boys on an epic elk and deer hunt and slept in teepees; they wore buckskins and lived out a Grizzly Adams/Jeremiah Johnson experience.
“In the winter we shot in cow and chicken barns at the fairgrounds,” Jordan says. “When I went to the state fair and saw Olympic-style shooting, I was enthralled by it.”
Jordan went to Alaska for college and was an All-American in both smallbore and air rifle in 1998 and 1999. He didn’t have a care in the world – until May 23, 1999, the date of the accident.
“I’ve always looked at it as my life was very easy before that,” he says. “I was pretty athletic and school was always easy for me. I never had to work hard at anything. So I looked at it as I finally had a challenge in my life; it’s something I’m going to have to work at.”
THREE DAYS AFTER his fall, Jordan was flown closer to home in Colorado, but after surgery and spending almost two months rehabbing in a Denver hospital – “I got tired of being there,” he said – he told his parents he wanted to return to school in Fairbanks that August. Mom and Dad understandably wanted him to delay going back so soon and adjust to life in his wheelchair and skip a semester.
“My kind of mentality was, I would rather come up in August or September and learn how to negotiate my way around, rather than come back up in January where everything was snowy and cold,” Jordan says.
“I came back somewhere around Aug. 26, got all settled in and told my parents I was leaving to go moose hunting. So one of my teammates took me and we went moose hunting and slept in the back of his Suburban. So I guess you can say I got right back into it.”
That included training for and competing in the Paralympic Games. At the 2004 Athens Paralympics, Jordan left Greece with a silver medal in the smallbore three-position shoot.
The drive to regain the post-fall form and be accurate enough to compete in the Paralympics, let alone make it to a medal ceremony, became an obsession, much like every other obstacle he suddenly had to dodge.
“I never did it for anyone else,” he says. “I love shooting.”
And now he regularly hunts and fishes around Alaska from his wheelchair.
“One of the biggest things in life that makes me happy is just being outside,” he says. “Even when I was in the hospital days after surgery, my parents would get me in a wheelchair and just take me outside just to sit and see some sunshine.”
Steve Jordan would take his son fishing in the months after the fall, so you can imagine how emotional even a stoic Dan became on that first Alaskan moose hunt.
“Being able to come back and get back into hunting again, that’s what recharges my batteries.”
GET TO KNOW Dan Jordan and you hope you can come away thinking similarly to his attitude. To hell with the challenges his condition might have prevented. To hell with the “why me” reaction so many of us might have screamed out if something of this magnitude was inflicted upon us.
“I never had a depression phase; I never went through any kind of anything,” Jordan says. “After surgery when I woke up, nobody had to me that I was paralyzed. You knew it. It was just, ‘OK, now what?’”
It started with the friend who watched his fall in horror. Amber Darland and Dan Jordan were already close friends, and it was Dan who had been futilely “kind of chasing her at the time” before the accident.
“Then when I got hurt, she kind of started chasing me and I didn’t want anything to do with her,” says Jordan, who was a year ahead of her in school and moved back to Colorado after graduation. They were separated again for a time being, but eventually their paths crossed back in Fairbanks for good.
“It took about 10 years of chasing each other,” he says.
Now they’re married, and Jordan has happily accepted that his accident wouldn’t define who he is.
“Things may take a little bit longer and I may have to get creative with how I do some things,” he says. “And there are some things I just flat out can’t do. But that’s part of it. So be it.”
Record? Or Not? Photo courtesy of Larry Fitzgerald
The debate about records amuses me. Baseball’s true home run king? Barry Bonds’ detractors say he wasn’t clean through rampant rumors of his alleged steroid abuse, and he didn’t endure the ignorant racist hate thrown at Henry Aaron – imagine if he Twitter was around in Hank’s era? (I’m anything but a Barry Bonds fan – in fact I detested his surly attitude – and love Hank Aaron’s courage, but baseball allowed years of drug abuse by its players, so there’s no debating that Bonds hit more home runs than Aaron, so end of argument in that context).
In the outdoor sports world, George Perry’s largemouth bass record of 22 pounds, 4 ounces is still official over 80 years later, but several reports have surfaced, like here, and here, and here, that have created plenty of controversy over the most famous fishing record in these parts.
So it’s not surprising that another apparent record seems to be in dispute. On Wednesday, media outlets reported a giant grizzly bear harvested by hunter Larry Fitzgerald in 2013 was determined to be the largest bear ever taken by a hunter.
Here’s a portion the Fox News report:
Although Fitzgerald shot the bear last September, Boone and Crockett, which certifies hunting records, has only now determined the grizzly, with a skull measuring 27 and 6/16ths inches, is the biggest ever taken down by a hunter, and the second largest grizzly ever documented. Only a grizzly skull found by an Alaska taxidermist in 1976 was bigger than that of the bear Fitzgerald bagged.
Bears are scored based on skull length and width measurements, and Missoula, Mont.-based Boone and Crockett trophy data is generally recognized as the standard. Conservationists use the data to monitor habitat, sustainable harvest objectives and adherence to fair-chase hunting rules.
But the Anchorage Daily News has a different take on the subject today, arguing that some of the news hasn’t been completely accurate, if technical:
Here’s the ADN’s Craig Medred on the confusion:
That a nine-foot grizzly is the largest bear killed by a hunter in Alaska is likely to come as a surprise to Alaskans, some number of whom — hunters or not — might have seen 10-foot grizzly bears. This small fact, however, seems not to have entered the consciousness of the mainstream media as of yet.
“Alaska bear largest to be killed by hunters,” headlined The Spokesman-Review in Washington state.
“An Alaska hunter bagged a massive grizzly bear that has been certified by the Boone and Crockett Club as the biggest bruin ever taken down by a hunter,” reported the New York Daily News.
Well, not exactly. There is no doubt that 35-year-old auto body repairman Larry Fitzgerald killed a nice trophy, but lost in all of the hullabaloo over his bear is the fine print that defines Alaska’s record bruins.
Fitzgerald’s kill is a record bear only because it was shot north of the Alaska Range. South of those mountains slicing through Denali National Park and Preserve, his bear would be just another big bear. That’s because the record-keeping Boone and Crockett Club arbitrarily splits Alaska brown/grizzly bears into two separate categories — grizzly bears and brown bears. The world-record Alaska brown bear, taken in Kodiak in 1952, is much larger.
The state of Alaska doesn’t recognize the distinction between a grizzly bear and an Alaska brown bear, nor do wildlife scientists. Both say the only real difference is diet.
So there you have it. Another debate for two hunters to have while sharing a Happy Hour draft at pubs everywhere.