Arctic Alaska Caribou Hunt - David Johnson

David Johnson's Arctic Caribou Adventure

Before I begin, I wanted to take a moment to share with you readers, how important it is to have patients when executing these types of extreme hunts. Anyone that knows me very well, knows I am not long on this important trait. I often have to remind myself that I am not in control of things like weather, flights, other people’s schedules and more. Try not to stress over what you don’t control. It can be frustrating at times and unless you get control over yourself, it could take away from an excellent experience. Don’t let it.

I arrived in Kotzebue on the morning of Sept 20th, as the last leg of my overnight Chicago to Anchorage flight. It’s a clear and warm 72 degrees as I carefully walk down the mobile stair ramp leading from the plane to the blacktop taxiway. Tee shirt weathers is not a good sign for a caribou hunter, since it’s the “cold and snow” that triggers the caribou migration. I specifically booked this last week of the season to avoid this possibility. Oh well, time to improvise and remain focused on the goal.

In the miniature airport terminal a group of us hunters anxiously await the arrival of our gear and guns. It’s always a stressful time since a trip like this is next to impossible without your well thought out and well prepared gear and rifle. Not to worry, all arrives in good shape, now I can get back to stressing about the weather.
After meeting the outfitters young helper in the terminal, we pack the old, fully rusted pickup and head to the airstrip where our tundra plane will pick us up. We drive only a few short minutes and stop at an elevated two car garage built right on the edge of the taxiway. Lined with shelves of food, fuel, tents and gear this building is the base of operations for the outfitter. There I meet two groups also heading out to caribou hunt. Facing a delay of a few hours before the planes arrive with the exiting hunters the decision is made to head into town and enjoy a quick breakfast before making the flight out.

At breakfast I meet two of the groups going to family camp for their hunts. Both are composed of really friendly people. The first group are ex-military and active secret service the other is a group of friends from Alabama. As usual, I’m the only lone ranger in the bunch.

After breakfast we return to the airport and back to the garage. The garage will serve as our launching point for the trip. It will hold our travel clothes, bags, hard gun cases and other “leave behinds” that won’t be needed in the field.
As teams return from each camp, we hear about the lack of caribou. The warm weather has stopped the migration and the caribou who “were in the area” have even begin to leave. Most teams return empty handed. Brad (the outfitter) ponders the alternatives as he begins to send out the groups ahead of me. Once they leave, Brad explains that due to the unseasonable weather the caribou have moved back further north. If I wanted a shot at one, I will need to change my plans and go “unguided” since the caribou are in an area where he can’t provide guild services. I agree and begin to prepare to do this even “more solo”. Good thing I had considered that it might come to this and packed accordingly. Since Brad won’t let me go totally solo (for safety reasons), he advises I wait for Joel Miller to return from the field who will be my other hunter. Joel, will also be hunting his first caribou before he returns to Arizona to resume his job with the highway department.

This pushes my hunt back by another day since Joel won’t be back until Friday. I travel to town to check in at the local hotel and recheck my gear. The next day brings Joel in from the field allowing him to repack his gear. Finally at 2pm they truck us over to a float plane, wait for us on the shore of the north lagoon. We will be flying over Kotzebue Sound, along to Noatak River and 37 miles further north to Pike Lake. It is in this area that Caribou have been spotted by the tundra pilots over the past few days. The greatest challenge is the lack of suitable landing sites. Only a float landing on Pike Lake could put a hunter or two within distance of the herds in this area.

If you’ve never been in a float plane you won’t believe how small the inside is. After loading up and folding myself in we headed north east over the tundra towards Pike Lake. The scenery was amazing and the landing was uneventful. We ended up on the western shore, unloaded then setup camp. 45 degrees and blue sky, not what one would expect from the arctic in late September. But gladly, keeping our spirits up across the lake we could see over 500 caribou walking the far shore. An uneven mix of bulls and cows, but no real trophy bulls as yet. Just as well, since we couldn’t hunt until the next day due to Alaska’s 24 hour wait requirement.

With camp setup complete, we enjoyed the last hours of daylight by verifying our rifle zeros. I unpack my Remington 700 Stainless Synthetic topped with a Burris Black Diamond 30mm 6x24 power scope. Shooting 225 grain Barnes Tri-Shock bullets, I put three decent shots into the piece of cardboard at 100. I’m feeling ready to go.
Saturday morning arrives and we are anxious to started hunting in earnest. Joel and I head down to the shore to glass across the lake where we saw the bulls the day before. With the wind in our faces, I remember that Caribou (like Deer) prefer to walk into the wind to catch scent of possible predators. So I turn around and focus my Leupold 10x42’s at the reverse horizon and start searching.

An hour or so later, I spot a group of caribou headed our way across the tundra. There is a mix of three bulls and four or five cows. The lead bull is excellent. At 500 yards or more I can see that his rack is taller than he is, from hoof to head. After reviewing the group with Joel’s spotting scope we decide to take off and intercept.

Slogging through the Tundra is a real experience. High stepping between clumps and often sinking mid-calf in the soft sometimes swampy soil made for heart pounding slow going. I was really glad to have brought the Alaskan hiking staff, given to me by my wife Janet for our 25th wedding anniversary a few weeks prior.

Using the terrain to shield us we crossed knoll and shallow, one by one until we reached the final hump separating us from the herd. Low crawling up the hill we can now see antlers over the crest. Quietly lowering the legs of my Harris Engineering Bi-Pod connected to the front sling stud, I position the 338 for the shot. Suddenly the lead caribou turns and spots me. I freeze in my awkward half sitting, half kneeling position. Once he’s convinced I’m no threat, the band continues to feed and amble along. The first bull is a beauty as well. Joel agrees to take the first bull. The last bull is the one I spotted originally and is my target. Once he appears we prepare for mayhem. Not realizing how deep the tundra is where I am, the legs of my bi-pod fully extended don’t totally clear my barrel from the tundra ahead. My scope clears only enough to see the bull. My first shot skips off the tundra only yards in front of me but punches a hole directly through the big bulls antler about a foot up the main beam. A quick second shot, “more off hand than rested” hits home and gets the animals moving. Joel’s 300 Win Mag barks next to me and drops the first bull with a neck shot no more than 50 yards from where my bull falls.

Not bad, 10am the first day of our hunt and two tags filled with excellent bulls. Now as most big game hunters know is when the real work begins. Funny how these five to six hundred pound animals just don’t want to cooperate once you put them down.
We ended up taking these two bulls nearly a half mile from camp. Compared to any other terrain a half mile across the tundra is like 5 miles anywhere else. Now the challenge of skinning, cape-ing, quartering and packing these two back to camp. The weather had been deteriorating steadily and was now in the high thirties and the winds building past 40 miles per hour. By 9pm the last load of caribou and with the last ounces of strength we complete the task of bringing the meat, hides and antlers back to camp.

As instructed we use the satellite phone to call in and report our kills. We explain that we are prepared to hunt the remaining days to fill our wolf tags. The outfitter explains that a fierce arctic storm is headed our way and to prepare to be pulled out tomorrow morning. “If we can’t get you and Joel out tomorrow morning we may not be able to get you at all”. It appears that behind this storm, the temperature is well below freezing. Once Pike Lake begins to freeze up the float plan can no longer attempt a safe landing. That leaves only a desperate 14 mile hike over the tundra to the town of Noatak which is on the opposite side of the Noatak River from our camp. We are so tired from the day’s hunting we sleep through the 45 mile an hour winds and rain. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes. At day break, steel gray skies and a fierce wind meet us outside the comfort of our tent. We begin to take down the camp which only a few short days before we worked so hard to put up. The phone rings to notify us our plane is on its way and about only 30 minutes out.

Joel and I continue to break down camp and pack it to the shore along with meat, hides and antlers. We watch as the pilot circles the lake four times attempting to figure out the safest way to land on this windswept white caped torrent of surf. Finally he splashes down and cuts the power. The wind makes the plane nearly impossible to control once on the water. The plane comes to rest tail first against the shoreline a block or more down the beach from our pile of gear and animals. We labor against the wind and meet up with the pilot who is anxious to get out and back in the air before it gets any worse. We now need to move the pile down the shoreline of loose polished gravel to the plane and load it in whitecaps and swells a few feet deep. It becomes apparent it will take two trips to get us out. Joel agrees to stay behind and finish the last few tasks to close camp.

The pilot and I attempt to use the planes thrust to pull off the beach, but the wind and waves have pushed us too far onto the gravel. We climb out and push the plane into waste deep water, jump on the floats, pile into the plane and apply thrust before we end up back on the beach. With one float free we finally pull off the rocks and start heading into the wind for the opposite shoreline. The whitecaps breaking over the floats and the heavy headwind makes attaining airspeed a real challenge. A hundred yards from the opposite shoreline we finally lift off and clear the opposite bank by only six feet with the floats. We made it out, and in once piece. What a way to end an arctic adventure.

Joel arrived safely back a few hours later and we congratulated each other for sharing an experience of a lifetime. The next day I would leave for my 2 days return trip home.

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