Falling For Winter Caribou
The following appears in the June issue of Alaska Sporting Journal:
BY BRIAN WATKINS
October up north is an end cap to fall in Alaska. Most hunts have yielded to the long winter ahead, but deer, caribou and goat seasons continue into that month.
Since we had tagged out on goat and deer earlier in autumn, our last option was caribou. Nick Muche, Trevor Embry and I had heard tall tales about how amazing hunting caribou in October can be. They’re in mid-rut and gathered in big herds. If you time it right, you can have a hell of a hunt.
WE LEFT THE FALL weather of Anchorage to face the harsh winter of the Last Frontier’s far north. Above the Alaska Range, winter sets in a few weeks before it falls on Anchorage. As it often goes with hunting, we weren’t in for an easy time.
The stories of caribou migrations along the highways made us willing to drive relentless hours in search of a herd. But when we arrived in an area we know well, the caribou were few and far between.
Nick had spotted a few caribou up in the mountains, though a ways off. The snow had already fallen waist-deep, so trekking to the herd would be a feat. The animals were nestled in a valley about 1,500 vertical feet above our level.
We had a simple plan: I was to hike the mountain and see if I could either get a shot or push the herd down the slope.
I got to within 50 yards of the biggest bull I have laid my eyes on in 10 years of hunting caribou. I went to draw my bow, and my release had frozen shut. The bull stood above the rest of the herd, ready to chase smaller bulls off.
I put my release in my mouth to thaw it as quickly as possible. By the time I finally got it to open, the bull had wandered off. I was deflated. An easy shot had been within my grasp, but the cold winter had other ideas.
I tried to reposition myself, but as I did I was spotted. The herd took off down the valley, but luckily the caribou were still within our plan. Trevor and Nick laid below in an ambush position.
As I watched the herd take off, I ran down the mountain to try and link up with Nick and Trevor. I got into position ahead of the herd but couldn’t close the gap. I watched the herd pass Trevor and Nick and saw a bull tip over. Trevor had made a great shot at 30 yards and killed a decent bull.
We spent the afternoon getting the bull cleaned, quartered and packed out. We were able to make it work in an unlikely scenario.
AS IT GOES WITH caribou hunting, we spent the rest of the trip trying to maneuver on smaller groups and failing. To me, caribou are the hardest animal to read. I call them the great wanderer, as they just mill about the open fields in no particular direction. They seem to frustrate me more than any other animal.
Nick gave me a piece of advice that I will carry with me in the future. He said when the caribou are migrating, let the lead cow and a couple more pass, then sneak in.
We had spotted a small group of caribou in the bottom of a valley, so I made my way toward them. They were migrat- ing and moving fast. I had to speed hike down ahead of them. As I got to where they were, they pulled their vanishing trick. I glassed for the herd and found nothing. I was about 2 miles from where Trevor and Nick waited for me.
With my head hung low in disappointment, I caught movement ahead of me.I saw a cow and a calf jogging in my direction. Recalling Nick’s advice, I sat low in the waist-high snow to keep out of sight. The cow and calf sped past me and I started to run to their trail knowing there could be more behind them.
As I closed in on the position I want- ed to be in, a small bull spotted me and changed course. Before, I would’ve tried to move again and get in front of him. But thanks to Nick’s tip, I went to where the cow and the calf had set a path.
It wasn’t easy to get to that spot. I ran through a small boulder field that was covered in snow, slipping, sliding and flailing all over the place. It would’ve been rather entertaining to watch.
I sneaked into 40 yards of the path in the snow and waited. The herd that I had lost was on their way down the trail. A big bull with sweeping back tops came along and I let an arrow sail into his lungs. He ran 50 yards and piled up!
When I got back to Trevor and Nick, I faked being sad and kept my smile hidden with my head low. They read right through it after they saw my quiver was missing an arrow. We had killed two awesome bulls.
And winter had arrived in Alaska’s far north. ASJ
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WE LEFT THE FALL weather of Anchorage to face the harsh winter of the Last Frontier’s far north. Above the Alaska Range, winter sets in a few weeks before it falls on Anchorage. As it often goes with hunting, we weren’t in for an easy time.
The stories of caribou migrations along the highways made us willing to drive relentless hours in search of a herd. But when we arrived in an area we know well, the caribou were few and far between.
Nick had spotted a few caribou up in the mountains, though a ways off. The snow had already fallen waist-deep, so trekking to the herd would be a feat. The animals were nestled in a valley about 1,500 vertical feet above our level.
We had a simple plan: I was to hike the mountain and see if I could either get a shot or push the herd down the slope.
I got to within 50 yards of the biggest bull I have laid my eyes on in 10 years of hunting caribou. I went to draw my bow, and my release had frozen shut. The bull stood above the rest of the herd, ready to chase smaller bulls off.
I put my release in my mouth to thaw it as quickly as possible. By the time I finally got it to open, the bull had wandered off. I was deflated. An easy shot had been within my grasp, but the cold winter had other ideas.
I tried to reposition myself, but as I did I was spotted. The herd took off down the valley, but luckily the caribou were still within our plan. Trevor and Nick laid below in an ambush position.
As I watched the herd take off, I ran down the mountain to try and link up with Nick and Trevor. I got into position ahead of the herd but couldn’t close the gap. I watched the herd pass Trevor and Nick and saw a bull tip over. Trevor had made a great shot at 30 yards and killed a decent bull.
We spent the afternoon getting the bull cleaned, quartered and packed out. We were able to make it work in an unlikely scenario.
AS IT GOES WITH caribou hunting, we spent the rest of the trip trying to maneuver on smaller groups and failing. To me, caribou are the hardest animal to read. I call them the great wanderer, as they just mill about the open fields in no particular direction. They seem to frustrate me more than any other animal.
Nick gave me a piece of advice that I will carry with me in the future. He said when the caribou are migrating, let the lead cow and a couple more pass, then sneak in.
We had spotted a small group of car- ibou in the bottom of a valley, so I made my way toward them. They were migrat- ing and moving fast. I had to speed hike down ahead of them. As I got to where they were, they pulled their vanishing trick. I glassed for the herd and found nothing. I was about 2 miles from where Trevor and Nick waited for me.
With my head hung low in disappointment, I caught movement ahead of me.I saw a cow and a calf jogging in my direction. Recalling Nick’s advice, I sat low in the waist-high snow to keep out of sight. The cow and calf sped past me and I started to run to their trail knowing there could be more behind them.
As I closed in on the position I want- ed to be in, a small bull spotted me and changed course. Before, I would’ve tried to move again and get in front of him. But thanks to Nick’s tip, I went to where the cow and the calf had set a path.
It wasn’t easy to get to that spot. I ran through a small boulder field that was covered in snow, slipping, sliding and flailing all over the place. It would’ve been rather entertaining to watch.
I sneaked into 40 yards of the path in the snow and waited. The herd that I had lost was on their way down the trail. A big bull with sweeping back tops came along and I let an arrow sail into his lungs. He ran 50 yards and piled up!
When I got back to Trevor and Nick, I faked being sad and kept my smile hidden with my head low. They read right through it after they saw my quiver was missing an arrow. We had killed two awesome bulls.
And winter had arrived in Alaska’s far north. ASJ
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It wasn’t easy to get to that spot. I ran through a small boulder field that was covered in snow, slipping, sliding and flailing all over the place. It would’ve been rather entertaining to watch.
I sneaked into 40 yards of the path in the snow and waited. The herd that I had lost was on their way down the trail. A big bull with sweeping back tops came along and I let an arrow sail into his lungs. He ran 50 yards and piled up!
When I got back to Trevor and Nick, I faked being sad and kept my smile hidden with my head low. They read right through it after they saw my quiver was missing an arrow. We had killed two awesome bulls.
And winter had arrived in Alaska’s far north. ASJ
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WE LEFT THE FALL weather of Anchorage to face the harsh winter of the Last Frontier’s far north. Above the Alaska Range, winter sets in a few weeks before it falls on Anchorage. As it often goes with hunting, we weren’t in for an easy time.
The stories of caribou migrations along the highways made us willing to drive relentless hours in search of a herd. But when we arrived in an area we know well, the caribou were few and far between.
Nick had spotted a few caribou up in the mountains, though a ways off. The snow had already fallen waist-deep, so trekking to the herd would be a feat. The animals were nestled in a valley about 1,500 vertical feet above our level.
We had a simple plan: I was to hike the mountain and see if I could either get a shot or push the herd down the slope.
I got to within 50 yards of the biggest bull I have laid my eyes on in 10 years of hunting caribou. I went to draw my bow, and my release had frozen shut. The bull stood above the rest of the herd, ready to chase smaller bulls off.
I put my release in my mouth to thaw it as quickly as possible. By the time I finally got it to open, the bull had wandered off. I was deflated. An easy shot had been within my grasp, but the cold winter had other ideas.
I tried to reposition myself, but as I did I was spotted. The herd took off down the valley, but luckily the caribou were still within our plan. Trevor and Nick laid below in an ambush position.
As I watched the herd take off, I ran down the mountain to try and link up with Nick and Trevor. I got into position ahead of the herd but couldn’t close the gap. I watched the herd pass Trevor and Nick and saw a bull tip over. Trevor had made a great shot at 30 yards and killed a decent bull.
We spent the afternoon getting the bull cleaned, quartered and packed out. We were able to make it work in an unlikely scenario.
AS IT GOES WITH caribou hunting, we spent the rest of the trip trying to maneuver on smaller groups and failing. To me, caribou are the hardest animal to read. I call them the great wanderer, as they just mill about the open fields in no particular direction. They seem to frustrate me more than any other animal.
Nick gave me a piece of advice that I will carry with me in the future. He said when the caribou are migrating, let the lead cow and a couple more pass, then sneak in.
We had spotted a small group of car- ibou in the bottom of a valley, so I made my way toward them. They were migrat- ing and moving fast. I had to speed hike down ahead of them. As I got to where they were, they pulled their vanishing trick. I glassed for the herd and found nothing. I was about 2 miles from where Trevor and Nick waited for me.
With my head hung low in disappointment, I caught movement ahead of me.I saw a cow and a calf jogging in my direction. Recalling Nick’s advice, I sat low in the waist-high snow to keep out of sight. The cow and calf sped past me and I started to run to their trail knowing there could be more behind them.
As I closed in on the position I want- ed to be in, a small bull spotted me and changed course. Before, I would’ve tried to move again and get in front of him. But thanks to Nick’s tip, I went to where the cow and the calf had set a path.
It wasn’t easy to get to that spot. I ran through a small boulder field that was covered in snow, slipping, sliding and flailing all over the place. It would’ve been rather entertaining to watch.
I sneaked into 40 yards of the path in the snow and waited. The herd that I had lost was on their way down the trail. A big bull with sweeping back tops came along and I let an arrow sail into his lungs. He ran 50 yards and piled up!
When I got back to Trevor and Nick, I faked being sad and kept my smile hidden with my head low. They read right through it after they saw my quiver was missing an arrow. We had killed two awesome bulls.
And winter had arrived in Alaska’s far north. ASJ
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