When I first came to Southeast Alaska, I was only twenty-six years old.  I was definitely ready for an adventure, and ready to move away from my home state. Though I dearly love Minnesota, I had never lived anywhere else, and sometimes change is good.  I found Alaska so intoxicating when I first came here that I vowed to stay forever.  That may or may not happen, but the wilderness experiences I’ve had here will last a lifetime, indeed.  It is truly a hunter’s paradise in the state, with lengthy “subsistence” hunting seasons on deer, elk, caribou, moose, black bear, brown bear, and waterfowl.  I can literally hunt, fish, and trap year round.  I have learned more about hunting since coming  here than I ever dreamed.  Alaska is famous, of course, for world-class hunting and fishing, and it surpasses most of the descriptions I’ve read. 

My corner of Alaska is unique.  I live on an island in Southeast Alaska.  It is classified as a rainforest, and what most people think of when they hear “Alaska” does not typify this place.  We do not have any “grizzly” bears on the island, although we have world-class trophy black bear hunting.  We do not have moose or caribou, but there are rumors of a tiny, isolated elk population nestled somewhere deep in the forest.  It is only a short ferry or float-plane ride away to islands that do have these other species, so I can still hunt for all of the above.  On the island, we have wonderful, small Sitka black-tailed deer, ptarmigan, and huge flocks of waterfowl. Here salmon, trout, and halibut fishing are incredible.  This past summer I caught my first real trophy fish, an 81.2 lb. halibut.  That was an experience I’ll never forget; it felt like a small vehicle was on the end of my rod, and in order to safely get it aboard the small boat, the captain decided to shoot it with a .45.  Halibut are extremely powerful fish, and one that size could knock a smaller person overboard easily. 

Deer hunting is a much different experience on the island than typical white-tail or mule deer hunting.  Walk-and-stalk tactics are the norm, but the walking is unique.  Our resident hunting season lasts for almost five months, starting in mid-July and going through November.  In the first month or two of the season, many deer are up very high in alpine and subalpine regions.  Due to the high concentration of logging roads, hunters have easier access to these alpine areas than in most other places in Alaska.  But the hiking is not easy.  Huge spongy swamps, or muskegs, checker the whole island.  The muskegs are relatively flat but every step seems like two and it is easy to fall into a sinkhole or get wet if you step into a hidden deep spot.  But they are beautiful and fertile, and deer move through them constantly in search of food and bedding areas. 

This past July, I went on my first hardcore alpine hunt.  The alpine unit we were traveling to was about four miles off the logging road, which doesn’t seem like a big deal until you realize what you’ll be hiking through.  Brushy stands of timber, steep sloping muskegs, and very steep rolling hills kept my heart rate high.  It took us about six hours to make it to the top.  We could have stopped earlier but my friend said he wanted to get to the top so that we didn’t have to hike in the morning.  On the way up, while resting and filtering some water, we were talking and laughing and admiring the area, and darned if a nice fork-horn with a big body didn’t come walking right up to us!  I was pretty exhausted and had already shot a fork-horn for meat early in the season, so I declined, but my other friend said, “Well, if he crosses that creek, I’m going to shoot him.”  And he did.  The deer up in the alpine look much different than the “road” deer, or timber deer.  They have thick, almost shaggy coats, bigger bodies, and much bigger antlers.  We dressed the deer and talked about how amazing it was that it had walked right up to us while we were. It rains 96% of the time in southeast Alaska, but we got very lucky with the weather on this hunt.  The night was crystal clear and the stars looked close enough to touch.  No fire; we would have had to hike down 500 ft. and gather wood and even my muscular law enforcement buddy didn’t want to do that.  We were fine without a fire under the bright Alaskan evening.  Exhaustion started setting in and I fell asleep quickly.  My tent was a disappointment; we packed as lightly as possible and my tiny one-man low profile tent was uncomfortable, difficult to get into, and impossible to dress in.  Next time I’ll sacrifice with a little more weight on my back for a little more comfort at night.  I also began to realize how crucial a good quality pack is.  Mine was splitting at the seams and it was only two months old.

Next morning dawned clear, cold, and calm.  We hiked about 10 minutes to the ridge top and looked out over an amazing panorama of an alpine mountainside.  Sure enough, after setting up our spotting scope, four brown shapes appeared and began meandering down the slope toward us.  They were about 3000-yards away and we waited patiently for them to get closer.  Three were very good size, 6, 8, and 10 points, and the fourth was a mischievous fork-horn.  We saw him prance around the dominant buck and get chased off a few times.  Unfortunately, the sun came beating down and sent the temperature soaring by midmorning.  The bucks headed straight down into a low muskeg, and did not come within 1000-yards of us once.  We headed back to break camp and hike out. 

When we were about one quarter mile from the trucks, my head kept telling me, “No deer is worth this hike.”  At the end, there was a very steep and dangerous V-notch to crawl up, and I was so tired that it felt impossible.  But I made it, and as we were enjoying some cold beverages and talking about our hunt, I realized just how worthwhile the experience had been.  It’s a hunt I’ll never forget because of the camaraderie, the weather, and the general experience of seeing great deer in their natural environment.  These deer hardly ever see or smell humans, and to see them in truly wild surroundings is an experience I’ll treasure. 

Sometimes the most successful hunt isn’t the one where you get the trophy, and though I’m a relatively green hunter, I’m glad that’s a lesson I’ve already learned.