First an apology. No post until now? Yup. I flew back to the states about two weeks ago (Alaskans generally refer to the lower 48 as just “the states” - seemingly disregarding their involvement in the 50 and hinting they are something more grand. They have a point, Alaska is unique and pretty badass).

I landed straight into the last week of deer season and height of the elk rut. Add in a Red Rocks concert and it has taken me two weeks to find a couple hours to sit behind the computer. In fact I still barely can - I lugged my computer up to 10,600ft. I’m currently typing this wearing an orange beanie and glassing for sheep and elk. It’s the hot midday slumber for most critters right now - perfect computer time.

How can I sum up a perfect month in some of the wildest country the US offers? Magical? Life-changing? Career altering? It may sound cliche but it felt that way.

The last month in Alaska produced some of the prettiest sights I’ve seen in nature, some of the largest adrenaline rushes I’ve experienced, and introduced me to new life-long friends thanks to the bonding induced by wilderness.

It’s overwhelming to attempt a single blog post that encapsulates this Alaska experience. Words can’t really depict the highs I felt yet I’ll try through chronological photos and stories.

The trip began with a special opportunity to hunt my own Alaskan moose solo. A pinnacle of hunting in the US. A dream tag for most. And a challenge I was both scared and amped for.

Background - for three years I’ve been a packer for moose hunts. Yup, it’s what it sounds like. I put meat on my back. Call me the pack mule. Of course there are other responsibilities like finding moose, helping clients survive, cooking, scouting, etc. but my main job comes when the moose hits the floor. This year I completed my requirements for my Alaska guides license so I’ll begin that application process this fall.

I cherish the opportunity to hunt these beautiful animals each year. But I never figured I’d pull the trigger myself. And that was totally fine with me. I get more euphoria watching and helping someone else harvest an animal than taking one myself. That said, when the outfitter graciously let me obtain my own tag, it was game on.

I won’t bore you with all the thoughts and emotions of a 10 day solo hunt. Instead here are a few journal entries and stories.

Day 1

“crap I’ve felt no greater isolation than watching the super-cub plane fly away knowing I might not see a single person for the next 10-13 days”

Day 3

“It’s weird to hear just my voice out loud. Stick with thoughts. Words out loud without response feel lonely.”

“Number of critter sightings and perceived loneliness are inversely related”

Day 5

I broke my hunt up into several smaller spike missions. I’d leave basecamp with 2-3 days of food and camp out in various directions to look for moose. I’d name bulls I saw based on antler configurations. This let me keep tabs on individual moose, watch how they were moving, monitor progression of the rut, and judge sizes based off previously seen bulls.

“Seeing the same bulls (48-52 inches wide - too close to not-legal that I have to pass. Names - 30 rack, undercling, fork, and spider). Dehydrated, jealous of other camp’s success, frustrated, sad. Worked back to basecamp to resupply. Hiked 5 days of water and food to spike camp. Heavy but elevated mood a lot. Let’s go!”

In our unit a legal bull moose is one whose antlers are 50 inches wide or has 4 brow tines on at least one antler. None of the bulls below are legal.

Day 6

“Mindset is good, feeling hopeful. What would the hunt be if I harvested early? Nature is making me work for this one.”

“No wind. Today might be the greatest silence I’ve experienced. Besides the occasional plane or flock of sandhill cranes flying overhead, all I hear is my heartbeat.”

“My fears: Running out of food and having to return to basecamp. Not harvesting. Screwing up my one opportunity. Did I make the right call on location? Am I judging 50 right?”

“I miss everyone.”

Day 7

“It’s silly. I’ve seen more moose (40+) than I usually see elk in the same amount of time. Yet I have not had a stalk yet. The 50 inch requirement makes it almost like hunting an elusive predator - few and far between.”

“Seeing a bull > 2 cups of coffee”

I saw the only two people I’d see my entire hunt. I was glassing a ridge and, unbeknownst to me, a father and son had used the gravel bar on top as an airstrip and tied up their plane nearby. While glassing I suddenly heard, in a confused and frustrated tone, “hey”. Mike Webb, the father who was in his 60’s, approached me. A local from Fairbanks that clearly had many moose seasons and miles under his belt evidenced by his weathered face and long beard. Understandably he was a little mad and curious as to why I was glassing so near their airstrip.

I approached apologetically explaining my situation and how I’d hiked 4 miles from my camp to scout a new area. I stumbled for my words realizing I hadn’t spoke out loud in a week and forgot how to converse. Mike probed me with questions as to why I was alone and if I knew what packing a moose entailed.

His tone softened as he realized I was just an excited, albeit stupid, kid ready to destroy my body if it meant success on the hunt (most people won’t hunt a moose farther than a mile from their airstrip for good reason). He and his son had shot a moose and were running loads to their plane. They went to drop off their heavy packs and said I could finish glassing for the evening. I told them I’d be out of their area by nightfall.

Figuring the interaction was over, I was surprised when I heard Mike call my name one more time. He was passing by again to grab another load of meat. He exclaimed, “so Neil, I’ve been thinking about it. You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age - young, dumb, and overly ambitious. While we are grabbing another load, feel free to anything at our camp. Food, water, and there is even an extra cot if you’d like to sleep here.”

I was shocked. He was so friendly and welcoming. I thanked him and told him I appreciated the offer but I’d happily hike back to my small tarp shelter come dark. He walked away and before disappearing over the ridge turned one last time.

“Hey Neil.” “Yeah?” I replied. “I don’t warm up to people easy…but… you’re alright.”

“Thanks Mike”, I said and that was the last I saw of the two of them. Mike reminded me how I much I like people. People are the best and we need positive social interactions for our mental health. My interaction with Mike gave me new drive and energy to finish my hunt. It also made me overwhelmingly miss my friends and family. While it was the only day I saw other humans, day 7 was the loneliest night on the trip.

*curious porcupines would approach me as I sat still behind my spotting scope*

*in Alaska many kids get their pilot’s license before their driver’s license*

Day 8

“Few moments are greater than when you find a snickers bar you forgot was in your pack.”

“There is a lot of time in 24 hours when you have no internet or phone service.”

“Glassing for critters is like fishing. Throwing up the binoculars is like casting a line. Most of the time you see nothing, no bites. But, when that big one hits, the heart jump feeling is momentous.”

Day 8 was the day I became fed up with my island of habitat amongst the larger sea of tundra. A massive, several mile-long flat of spongy, wet, hellacious tundra separated me from the mountainous Alaska range. I could see legal bulls far off in the distance at the foothills. Getting there would require a day long trek. I’d bring along a spike came with food and gear for several days. Should I harvest that far away, I was honestly for the first time scared of a packout. It would likely take 3-4 days which I didn’t have before clients flew in. Would my meat stay cool and dry? Would the sow and three cub grizzly bears I saw that direction steal it from me?

My plan was set. I would glass from basecamp the morning of day 9. After a quick check on those bulls far off, I’d load up gear and make the journey - hopefully hunting those bulls by nightfall.

Final day 8 journal entires

“Do I want to harvest tonight? Absolutely. Added is the fact I’m scared about tomorrow’s journey. That’s a long one over shitty tundra and navigation will be tough. Seeing many bulls there right now. That will drive me.”

“Literally nothing else but a cow. Screw this area I need to move.”

Day 9

I glassed at my local knob to check on the bulls by the mountains. They were still there and nothing was around camp. I walked hastily back to camp around 8am mentally preparing to hike far with a heavy pack of 3-5 days of gear.

In my haste and louder tromping towards camp, I bumped a bull. “Dripping velvet! LEGAL! Where the F*CK have you been the whole time?!” I dropped to my knees. He wasn’t spooked but curious yet nervous from my sounds. Before entering the timber I had enough time to determine legality - over 50 inches wide.

I cow called. He poked an antler out. He was horny but nervous and ran deeper into the trees. “CRAP there was my chance right near camp and I blew it!”

I walked back to camp pissed and frustrated. “Never let your guard down. Things can happen at any time.” I started loading my pack with gear in frustration and self-doubt.

I was in my camp shoes and inside the tent when suddenly I heard raking nearby. I cow called from inside the tent. He raked the trees harder. I cow called again. He raked. This wasn’t over.

I grabbed my rifle and in my camp slippers snuck through the tundra. I followed the raking sounds through the dark spruce trees. I stopped cow calling so he wouldn’t know I was approaching. Suddenly I saw the white of an antler through the trees. 80 yards. There was one open gap to his left. I shifted left and cow called again. He looked up, turned, and walked straight into that one gap.

One 7mm round, standing shot, and he was down. “I JUST KILLED A BULL IN MY CAMP SHOES 200 yards FROM THE AIRSTRIP. WHAT?!” Never give up. Things can happen at any time when hunting. “9 days with not a legal bull nearby and then that happens right at camp. Speechless.”

I can’t describe the emotion. Eventually I’ll get a video together of this hunt. It was one of the highest highs I’ve had. I spent the rest of the day butchering the bull and packing him back to camp. “Packing” is a loose term here. It was the shortest pack of my life. Way too easy.

Butchering, on the other hand, was something else. Alaska has waste-of-game laws that put the lower 48 to shame. Every ounce of edible meat must be taken. If Game and Fish can fill a quart-sized ziplock of edible meat you’ve failed. It took 5 hours to butcher my bull alone.

The hardest part was flipping him. After butchering one side of an elk I can easily flip the carcass myself to get to the opposite side. A moose is much bigger. I had to gut the animal. That released several hundred pounds. But still it was too heavy. I finally found a solution. I tied his back leg with paracord to a tree via a trucker’s hitch. I yarded on that until his hind leg stood up-right and tied that off. I then grabbed his front leg and head. Slipping in the pool of blood, I found purchase with my boots, shoved him hard, and he rolled. Sweaty and sore I was now half way done. Shoot dang moose are big.

Exhausted and proud, I spent the night sipping whiskey. It was crazy to think less than 24 hours earlier I was stressing how this hunt would go and if I’d fill my tag. Now I was sitting cozy in down pants and camp shoes with the elation of a successful hunt.

Alaska gave me the greatest gift and experience I could ask for. Yet it had one more surprise for me. That night was the first clear night of my trip. I awoke around 2am to the first northern lights of the trip. Icing on the already insane cake of a day.

Day 10

Low fog and wind kept our pilot, Robert, grounded. I was so excited to see him, catch up, and talk with someone. But by early afternoon I was wondering if I would spend another day alone.

Finally the weather turned and he was able to make two trips to fly my moose out of the field. My dream hunt was complete. Possibly my largest personal and mental test was a success.

Two days remained before clients flew into camp with additional moose tags. Craving social interaction, I chose to hike to our other camp. An off-trail trek across swampy tundra, rivers, and mountains. Tundra miles earn their own place in hiking measurements. The other camp sat 12 air miles away. That came to roughly 15-17 miles of actual hiking - some shin-deep in water and moss.

With soaking wet feet I arrived at the other camp on the evening of day 11. It took 10 hours. The other camp had harvested a black bear and moose in the days prior. We gorged ourselves on moose meat cooked in bear fat sharing stories all night. I spilled out 10 days of needed conversation into one evening.

The following morning I said goodbye and began the trek back to my original camp. The others asked why and how I had the motivation to unnecessarily slog across so much terrain. First, I love people. Social interaction was only 10 hours and a gallon of sweat away. Worth it.

Also, when do I get the chance to navigate across endless Alaskan tundra and mountains? I saw caribou, picked up their sheds, and had a wolf pack erupt in howls nearby while I picked my way through dense spruce trees. Moments I dream of. Moments that make the wet feet and sore legs completely worth it.

I spent one final night alone at my original camp. Tim (guide) plus Dan and Ben (clients) would fly in the next day. A rotting moose carcass sat less than 200 yards from our tents. That final night I heard ravens soaring and squawking nearby. Predators would come next.

I could legally shoot wolves. Dan and Ben could legally shoot grizzly bears. I laid in my sleeping bag hopeful any predators would stay by the carcass that night and not approach me in camp. “I’ll sneak in and check that in the morning”, I said to myself.

The following 15 days in Alaska only got better. Jump to Part 2.

Alaska - part 1

Alaska - part 2

alpine recovery