the peaks, headed north. I was right behind him when he cut
through an opening in the rocks and spotted a buck standing
on the trail just below the peak. “Larry, quickly climb up the
other side and get above that buck,” he whispered. “You’ll have
a slam-dunk shot!”
I surveyed the spot, ducked back around the rocks, and
then scurried up the ridge. It was steep, and I had to use my
free hand to grasp ledges and creases in the jagged rock for
balance and to avoid slipping. After 15 minutes of rock climb-
ing, I eased through an opening in the rocks only to discover
the buck had vanished.
The next morning, rain hammered the roof of Bob’s cabin
and the wind howled. It stormed most of the day, so we stayed
in the cabin. We recorded one wind gust at 81 mph. It started
to let up around noon, so Bob worked on the porch while I
cooked a noodle dish with caribou meat, and then I dried my
clothes and feather fletchings and readied my equipment for
when the weather would allow us to continue hunting.
We had a low tide the next morning, so instead of hiking
uphill from the cabin and following a ridge to our hunting
area, we opted to walk a mile down the beach. It wasn’t quite
low tide yet, so once we reached the cliffs where the beach nar-
rowed and boulders extended into the cold waves, we had to
climb the boulders and use good timing to scurry past ocean
waves. Once past, we climbed a steep ridge spine to a flat, and
then we continued on up to what Bob called Anna’s Saddle.
There we spotted bucks on the rocks to the west and I tried to
get close by circling but got mixed up and blew the stalk.
Matt had spotted a buck on the south-facing side of the
ridgetop, so we decided to circle around and come over the
top. Once there, we dropped our packs and I led the way,
crouching and slowly easing over as I searched for deer.
Suddenly, four does exploded off to my right. I stepped
forward and spotted a buck 40 yards downslope — too far
for me — so I looked back at Bob and said, “You shoot, it’s too
far!” Bob stepped forward and I looked back toward the buck,
which was now standing at 30 yards. I went into instinctive
mode, quickly drawing and, without thinking about the yard-
age, lined up my arrow and released. My arrow smacked the
buck in the shoulder a little higher and forward of where I in-
tended. The buck exploded out of there, running full tilt for
about 100 yards before staggering into a draw where he col-
lapsed and slid another 30 yards. It happened so fast, I scarcely
had time to get excited.
“Good shot! Congratulations!” Bob said as he shook my
hand.
I grinned and responded, “I’m just happy to get a deer and
some meat.”
We made our way to the downed buck and I tagged him.
We took photos, filmed the recovery, skinned, de-boned, and
stashed the meat in game bags, and then we packed it all back
to the cabin.
The next morning, we walked the beach and found fresh
bear tracks in the sand, indicating a sow and three cubs were
beachcombing for food. We proceeded with caution, talking
loudly as we climbed through the tall grass on the ridge spine.
We climbed past Anna’s Saddle and hunted ridges both to the
east and west. To the east, Bob spotted a buck he wanted to
shoot, and he made a good stalk to within 50 yards, but his
arrow arced just over the buck ’s back.