Fumbling in the pack to drape the blanket around me, I discovered an old army candle that must have dated back to World War II. I remembered dropping it in the canvas sack on another trip intending to heat a can of something over its tiny flame.
I wrapped up in the blanket, but the cold leaked in like water through a sieve, and I almost decided to chance the dangerous descent to lower ground.
Then I remembered a trick used by Simon Kenton, the old frontier scout. Poking around for Indian sign, Kenton built a tiny fire and sat with it between his legs with his furs draped over both himself and the blaze. I decided to give it a try using the army candle.
I have used such candles to warm a pup tent, but this technique was new to me. I cut a slit in my blanket and draped it poncho style over my shoulders. Then I got comfortable against my packboard, which was in turn braced against a rock, and lit the candle between my thighs.
It worked beautifully. My hands were inside, and as any outdoorsman knows, your face can stand a lot of weather if you can keep up your body heat.
Those little candles will burn for hours. Mine was sputtering when the mist thinned and I dared to venture forth. The comforting warmth had allowed me to doze, and as the mists moved away I felt rested enough to continue scouting.
Ah, a fire, boots drying, wriggling your tired feet. Ecstasy!
One night we were camped on McCumber Creek when a huge wind came sweeping down the mountains. You can expect that when you camp below high notches, but this one caught us about half-ready. The Old Guide's tent pole snapped off, and I could hear him muttering under the collapsed umbrella tent. Our own army tent was trying to fly off down the creek, and we got out in the cold wind trying to pile rocks on the tent pins and flaps. In the morning I saw rocks stacked on those spots that I could not believe I lifted. It all made for a less than restful night.
I recall Art Troup and I putting up our tent in less than three minutes—where it ordinarily took about ten minutes of fumbling. There was a big rain threatening, and we were determined not to get soaked. There were some other campers (non-hunters) watching our performance that evening. I am sure that they marveled.
I have slept in arctic sleeping bags without a tent down to fifty below zero, but that was not hunting. I was in the army doing arctic testing, and it was survival. I guess we hunters have all slept on rocks, in marsh, on bare ground and on ice, and maybe occasionally in a tree.
Sometimes, mostly in times long past, we have put together almost luxurious safari-like hunts. Those were usually flatland hunts, and the tractor did all the work. Maw Rausch and her friend Mimi cared for the camp while we mighty explorers were hunting. It was still tent camping but amid shameful luxury.
Camping, both good and difficult, goes with Alaskan big game hunting, and it is a savage loss when the two are regularly divorced. Despite the wondrous safari hunts, I find it hard to imagine doing much serious Alaskan hunting while returning to cozy shelter each night. I have gone to camps that were a bit too modern for their use; their luxuries added nothing to the trip and perhaps took a little something away from its memory.
Too many of us who hunt destroy some of our pleasure by working so hard at normalizing the conditions of the trip. We can bring so much of home into the wilderness that part of the adventure and zest of being afield is lost.
I have gone both ways in luxury and hard grounding it. There is no question that efficient gear makes camping comfortable. But, it can also be god-awful constricting. Setting up an elaborate camp can become a major time consumer, as can breaking camp in the morning. Even backpacking can be a monster if you carry a huge load of goodies.
Harking back to our military days, a lot of us know well that when weary enough we will sleep on rocks and be grateful. A hunter's body adjusts. His systems take a big gulp, emit a groan or two, and then adapt. While sporting goods outfitters provide a great service, we ought to keep in mind that we do not need everything in the catalogs.
The freedom from possessions can be stimulating. Henry David Thoreau hit it on the head when he wrote that a human becomes a slave to his belongings. We tend to expend more effort and time buying, caring for, and disposing of equipment than we do using the glorious accumulations.
The point of this next photograph is not to disclose the hunter's massively muscled physique. The point is to show how untanned Alaskan bodies are. Every Caucasian Alaskan I know (who has shown me his/her body) is snow white—Alaskans do not sunbathe—they almost never expose their skin to sunlight. It's the climate, not a tan aversion. Goth-inclined teenagers would love to look like this.
There are now probably more track laying vehicles in use in Alaskan hunting than there are horses. That pleases me. Horses are a pain in the butt. They eat when not in use, and grizzly scent panics them. Bull caribou occasionally get confused and attempt to add a horse string to their harems. Horses roll with packs and get fractious at inopportune moments. They bog down in muskeg, and they love to scrape their packs or the riders' knees against tree trunks. We used to keep horses. We quit as soon as efficient cross-country vehicles were available. What a relief!
Understand this: No four, six, or eight wheel-drive vehicles can make it cross country in Alaska. Forget the balloon tires, dual wheels, etc. They won't work—satisfactorily. You have to have tracks! It sometimes seems as if everybody hunting has to try to beat that rule. Occasionally, someone gets by in limited hunting for a little while, but sooner or later they will greatly regret their efforts to avoid the expense of a track vehicle.
The first track-laying vehicles we used were army weasels. We tried early tractors by many companies, including common wheeled farm tractors by John Deere and the like. All bogged in muskeg, and most were prone to sinking their front wheels in anything soft. Nothing proved rugged or versatile enough. The early Bombardier tractors were not much good either. The company had some rigs with tracks on the rear and wheels up front like WWII half-track command cars. They were terrible. But, those early models paved the way for the really fine tractor pictured many times in this volume.
Strangely (to my thinking), very few guides and bush-livers have taken to track vehicle transportation. Those who live far out could make their supply trips to civilization pleasant outings instead of the terrain battles that now often ensue. In winter with deep snow? A good track laying vehicle will prance across the country as if it were summer.
It is true that there are places that a horse can go that a tractor cannot. But, they are few. Our tractor has walked out of high country towing a trailer with four moose, a clutch of caribou, and a flock of rams aboard, plus the hunters and their gear. We know because we have done it (see the photos herein). The horse or mule pack train that could do that would still be in camp when the front end reached the taxidermist.
There is nostalgia attached to horseback hunting. But horses in Alaska are expensive and inconvenient. Even outfitters try to do without them, and for sport hunters, horses are impractical and unnecessary. Forget them. I elaborate further on track-layers and horses in chapters 28 and 32.
In Alaska, what your camp ends up looking like depends on how you transport your gear. In horse days, we did pretty well, but watched weight and size with a jaundiced eye. In this tractor era, we can (if we choose to) have big tents, all kinds of camping goodies, and vast supplies of eating stuff in base camps. I feel no longing for the horses. The animals were a necessary evil required to get into hunting country with enough supplies to last a while, and at least a partial means for taking the game out. The tractor does the job better.
When we backpack in, it is, of course, another story. Then we watch the load. We figure and calculate to save a few ounces anywhere. I think backpacking is the purist method of hunting.
When you are after big animals of the moose and caribou class your packing in is limited by your packing out ability. For practical purposes, you really cannot go in more than a couple of miles. A single moose makes ten good, tough round trips, and your perso
nal gear is still in there. Anyone planning on packing a moose five miles is a pretty courageous citizen. That totals eleven round trips, plus the hunting. Or, at least 110 miles of hiking with half of those miles being burdened to the eyeballs. I think that two miles off the road is an absolute maximum for backpackers after big animals.
This is a caribou camp along a glacial creek. The drum is the spare gas can for the Bombardier tractor. The twenty-gallon drum was sometimes carried on the tractor, but more often it was slung on the front of the trailer, as shown in some photos. Twenty gallons? That is a lot, but we sometimes went long and far. Unlike horses, the tractor never ate or drank when we were not using it.
You can do a little better when hunting goats and sheep. I once backpacked a Dall ram for ten miles. The ram was a good one crowding 40 inches. Obviously an old fighter, his horns were heavy and battered. He had 12 annual rings and slightly broomed tips.
The hunt had been memorable with good weather and abundant game to look over. The ram had been taken on a high meadow up against Mount Hayes. After three days of hard hunting, long glassing, and then more tramping, I was already tired out. The walk out to the Richardson Highway promised to be a lulu. It was!
I cached my extra food with a few odds and ends where I might profit from them on some future trip into the area, and as most of the hike would be downhill, I arranged the bulk of the ram's weight in the center of my back. On flat land or working uphill, I like the weight high on my shoulders, but coming down, such a top heavy load can get ahead of you and cause a nasty tumble.
I removed my pistol and lashed it to the side of the load and hooked my rifle sling over the upright of my packboard.
To hoist such a burden it is necessary to sit in front of the upright pack. The arms are slipped through the carrying harness, the hunter rolls onto his hands and knees, and then pushes himself erect. Once on his feet, the load is totable for some distance. It is the getting up and down that is most exhausting.
I started off down the mountain, finding it necessary to rest every few hundred yards. Later, as I tired, I rested every one hundred steps.
It is difficult to measure pack weight. The longer one lugs, the higher the estimate is likely to become. I suspect I carried nearly one hundred pounds of sheep that day. Great horns still in the head and the always-weighty hide add poundage quickly. Most of the edible meat was boned-out and plopped into the pack. Meat should be low in the load to balance the horns—which are normally at the top of the load. Rain gear, rifle and pistol, plus my basic camping equipment (primarily a sleeping bag) could have jacked the total another forty pounds. Such a pack is no joke. Only a vigorous younger man should even consider it. As the first mile crept by, any meager sense of humor I may have possessed dripped away, and I wondered just why in hell I had taken a sheep so far back in.
Once I held too closely to a streambed and had to retrace steps out of a slick-sided gorge that drained away my energy and left me blown and weary-legged. As I tired I began to fall. Fighting an out-of-balance burden can result in strained and sprained parts. So, I had learned years before to go with the load and land as lightly as possible. But, it became extremely difficult to get up under that pack again and again.
There is only one way to whip a weight such as that ram. You just hang in there and chew away at the distance. But boy, it can hurt!
When I reached the wood line I cut two willow sticks and made an "A" frame for the pack. Thereafter, I could rest without lowering the load to the ground, and my strength began to gain over the exhaustion of the long downhill trek. By the time I reached the highway, I was in better shape than I had been halfway down that mountain.
I hailed a passing truck and got a lift to civilization. I noticed the driver wrinkling his nose a few times. Old sweat and defunct sheep made an odoriferous combination. I paid my way by telling the story of the hunt, but the driver opened the window anyway.
An aerial photograph of that hike does show about a ten-mile walk out to the highway. The long carry felt more like fifty.
A tent fly goes over the tent itself. Flies divert moisture that will eventually work its way through, and it keeps the tent walls relatively dry. Weighs little, and if bad weather drops in, a fly is very welcome. This next photo shows another use for a fly.
I think that if a hunter needs to be told about the advantages of one brand or type of personal camping equipment over another he is not ready for hunting in Alaska. The Great Land is not the best place to learn to camp and hunt. It is more like a graduate course. The beginning hunter would do better to learn basic camping and out of door living before he concentrates on taking the grand animals of Alaska. Still a few reminders might be in order.
Buy the best sleeping bag you can find. Never get a mummy type bag. Not being able to move your feet can get annoying after a while. Why bother with it?
Our tent out at Bolio Lake. No, we did not backpack this load in. The tractor did it. This picture accidentally shows the ultimate boot sole, a Vibram®. All soles will slide; this one slips the least.
Bring along your sleeping pills. The first few nights take one before you sack out. You will not become addicted, and you will wake to a new day rested and ready to tear into the steepest mountains. Incidentally, I do not claim discovery. The great hunter and woodsman, Colonel Townsend Whelen, advocated a sleeping pill.
Bring footgear to wear after daily hunting. Your feet will need rest, but you will still have to hobble around camp. I often carry sneakers to base camp. I do not carry extra shoes to spike camps.
If you have medicine, break it into two packets. One packet stays at base. The other goes with you. Up on the mountain, it is comforting to know that you have reserves within reach if you really need them. This goes for eyeglasses as well.
When hunting in company, you can carry some things that your partner does not. I always have two packets of matches. My partner may not feel the need for extra matches, but I always have two waterproof packs. Take no chances on fire starting. When you need a fire, you just might need it desperately.
When Art Troup and I are hunting, we pride ourselves on taking very little. My concessions are to sleeping and lounging comfort. I take an air mattress and my sneakers. On the other hand, I rarely bring a fork or a mess knife. I eat with a spoon and cut with my hunting blade.
I like to keep clean shaven. It makes me feel good. I carry a razor with one blade in it
Most of my buddies have turned away from coffee. That may sound like an odd thing, but all have stopped smoking, and coffee seemed tied to the cigarette habit. It is nice not to have to wait while people suck smoke into their lungs and coffee into their guts. Now we are up and gone before most camps have their water hot.
We rarely eat breakfast. We snack along the way. When your feet hit the tundra, you should be off and hunting, immediately. Loaf later on. Wake up while you are moving. Camp time is for evening, not pre-dawn.
I go few places without reading material. I adore lounging in camp on a day off, reading a novel, and escaping from everything. Sometimes on a high ridge I get too tired to enjoy more. It is nice to quit and loaf around, reading a little and letting time wear by.
Of course, most of my hunts have not been time-limited. On most I have been able to spend all of the days I desired. If you have flown in on a two week vacation, and your guide is costing big money, you will be unlikely to squander time just enjoying being up here, but remember, in Alaska it does not get dark early during fall hunting seasons. You will have light until ten or after in the evening, and it will again be light by four or five in the morning. Those are long hunting hours, and breaks can be welcome.
I feel genuine sorrow for individuals who have not developed the skills or the habits that allow casual reading. A good book can really fill out a day.
This nylon screen device is called a mosquito bar. Originally designed to go inside an army pup tent, the bar can be used alone in good weather. When the mosquitoes are thick, a hunter would tr
ade his trophy for such a comfort.
Camping on a flood flat where streams join? Guess they got away with it, but I've seen those rivers rise a foot in a few hours. Their tent pegs should be two feet long to hold in that gravel if a big wind comes through. I would move onto a bank—now.
Bring plenty of toilet paper. Under a photo in this volume is the same reminder. Add this: If you have transportation other than your strong back, change from conventional toilet paper to paper towels. They are tougher.
Carry along spray insect repellent when heading for your latrine, and use it on your bare legs and butt, but avoid the most sensitive of parts. The repellent can burn there. Squat where you have a small tree or limb to hang onto. A back flip into your own pile is disconcerting.
This wilderness-looking campfire was only a few yards from our truck, but we had risked a two-plank bridge that was older than either of us, and we had circled a new beaver pond to make our way through a woods to this spot from which we would enter the mountains via foot. When you leave your transportation for an extended period, you always wonder if some reprobate will steal it. Alaska was once safe in that respect. No one touched others' stuff, including isolated cabins, but safety blew away with the arrival of the hippies after 1965 and later the pipeline from 1974.
This fire seems good. I am sure that I laid it.
Cutters® is the only insect repellent we can recommend. It is the only brand we use. We have tried them all, believe me. For long lasting, Cutters foam is the most effective. Liquid is next best, and spray is last.
For the hunter, the only backpack to use is the old time cargo packboard. You need a pack to which huge and awkward loads can be lashed. You need an upright to hook your rifle sling over, and you need a frame that can stand violent banging around. The modern aluminum frames rarely measure up. But, if you can find one that does, you will save a lot of weight over the old model Yukon boards. If you are merely hiking, little of this applies, and you can use the almost frameless packs. If you plan on carrying out an animal, my advice is golden.
The Hunter's Alaska Page 22