Goat hunting with Craiggars

October, 2009

After only two years of trying, I was lucky enough to draw a goat tag out of Sadie Cove across the bay from Homer, Alaska . Not many people get a tag, and I was told by Fish and Game, about 2% actually fill it. I take it that means about 1-2 people a year kill a goat in this area. I had planned to go across Kachemak Bay with my friend Craig who has a sailboat. We set off in early October.

The trip across Kachemak was beautiful. We saw whales and dodged seals and rafts of ducks on the way. Craiggars has hunted in the area and was a wealth of knowledge. We started spotting goats right from the start. The ridge bordering Sadie crawls out of the ocean and quickly climbs into the clouds topping out around 4000 ft. There are a few cabins inside the cove, and one lodge that sits inside the only break in the ridge- Sadie Creek. I had asked them if I could use the creek basin as an access weeks prior to leaving, and they responded very nicely that they didn’t want to help me kill “their” goat herd. The only advice they could suggest was from the beach, which was the steepest. I wasn’t real excited about climbing from the beach, but had no other choice.
The first day, we spotted some relatively low lying goats on the south side of the cove inside a small runoff. Craiggars anchored nearby, and I paddled the raft to the beach. On land, I could not see the creek or the goats. I made a guess as to the best approach and started braiding my way through the alders. The path I chose required climbing a few rock faces between 10 and 20 ft high. I made it up the first two, but was unable to top out of the third. At one point, I was within reach of it when my shoes lost grip and I fell all but the last three feet. My shirt had caught a spruce limb and I hung just off the ground. The shirt ripped but still works fine. Kim has asked me to throw it away several times, but in the end, she’ll sew it for me and it will be a reminder of my adventures.

I slowly and quietly made my way up the crick. I couldn’t see the goats above me nor the boat below me. The boulders that made up the crick bottom were cold and wet, and each step was more perilous than the last. I stopped below the area I knew the goats were and sat down. I waited and listened and glassed and waited some more. I couldn’t see or hear anything but the water rushing by. When the sun began to set, I headed back down to the ocean and paddled the raft towards the sailboat. I glanced up to where the goats were earlier, and there they were, still lounging on a rock bench, maybe 40 ft above where I had sat to rest. Craiggars said they hadn’t moved.
The hike up to these low goats had exhausted me, but thankfully, Craig had dinner ready on my return. I was a little disappointed that I was so close to my target without seeing them, but Craiggars was enthusiastic about tomorrow, and helped bolster my hopes.

We woke on day 2 and settled the boat beside the beach. Again, I left the raft above high tide, and found my way through the alders, my rifle catching on each tree with every step. I had planned to climb the mountain inside a crick that at its top, was 500 ft from the goats. I took a small meal, and no water, planning on drinking the water the mountain provided.

Halfway up the hillside found me so tired, I sat to rest every 10 steps. My lungs burned and my legs quivered. I guess it took about 2 hrs to emerge from the brush and alders. I was dizzy with exhaustion. I lay down in a dry ravine and fell asleep for a short time. When I woke, clouds were beginning to roll in, covering the mountain top. I walked to the crick for a drink of water and gorged myself. The water came right out of the rock face, and tasted like the best water ever made. From where I stood, I could see half a dozen goats above me. I found my way up and behind a huge boulder to hide me from the herd, and half walked half crawled closer. Suddenly, above and behind me I could hear something walking on the rocks on top of the mountain. It was a goat, and by this time I had told myself, the first legal animal was dead. Lying flat on the hillside left me no where flat. The mountain was steep here, and I was holding a bead on the goats head, lying around a 60 degree angle. The first shot hit the rock wall behind her head. As I rolled another shell in, she started running up and over to the other side of the mountain. I took another shot but missed again. The noise the shots made echoed against the rock, and I could hear the 6 goats I was originally headed for scramble in all directions. I was upset at myself for taking a quick shot, and scaring the rest off.
With no goats, and the clouds now allowing 30 ft visibility, I hiked down the mountain. Every step forward made my legs cramp solid. I had to reach down and help each leg finish the step. I found the raft and paddled back to Craig. He had dinner waiting, and the heater inside the cabin on. As I stripped down to my long johns, I told Craig nothing could make me climb that mountain again. I fell asleep fast.
The 3rd day in Sadie Cove was overcast, and raining. We decided to run to Homer for water and gas. The top 1000 ft of mountain could not be seen, and neither of us wanted to sit on the boat all day long. On our return trip to Sadie, the sun poked its head out showing us the goats above. Somehow Craig convinced me I would go up tomorrow, our last day hunting.

We woke early. The forecast was calling for winds and rain, but for now, it was clear enough that we spotted 15 goats scattered across the mountain top. We discussed an easier route, climbing as much of the grassy hillside as possible instead of the ravine. In two hours, I was in the same place as two days prior, much less exhausted. I had taken a bottle of water this time along with a small meal. Once near the top, I was sitting about 300 yards from a small pod of 5 goats. I could see a nanny with a kid, and 3 smaller nanny beside them. I decided to turn south and climb where I could not be seen. The last 500 ft was much steeper, and it was another hour before I reached the top. From here, I walked on a 6” trail towards the target. The mountain fell steeply 100 yards or more on each side. I took my time, peaking at the goats now and then. Stalking these goats on top of the world was the most amazing experience I have ever had. The anticipation would have been overwhelming had I not been so drained of energy.
I walked along the goat trail until I reached the place where I imagined they were lying. I slowly crawled over the mountain top and saw all five goats sitting 20 ft from me, without a single sign that they were spooked. All five goats remained stacked side by side, staring at me. If I had shot one now, the bullet would surely pass through the first, and kill the next two behind her. I took a few steps closer and they stood and separated. I raised my rifle flicked the safety off and put a bullet through one. She ran a few feet and stopped. I jacked another shell in, and put it behind her shoulder an inch from the first. The nanny bolted down the hillside. By the time the next shell was in she was 100 yards away. I put the sight on her neck and pulled the trigger. The goat collapsed, rolled down the mountain, and lay there twitching.
I slid down the grassy slope on my butt, and found her tangled in the alders. Both horns had popped off, and I could only find one. After gutting the nanny, I decided to take her down whole. I lifted her onto my back and headed down, but each step had me falling or caught up in the alders, so I tied a rope around her head and dragged her to the beach. Going down with the goat was just as bad if not worse than climbing up alone. When I made the beach, I tied the goat to the raft, and paddled to the boat. Craig was beaming. He had a meal ready for me, and quickly started out of the Cove. The weather was starting to turn, and we had an hour long ride back to Homer.

The first thing I told Craiggars was that this was the greatest hunt I never want to do again. A few days later, I decided if I had another tag, I might do it again. I guess its kind of like having a baby. So happy with the result, you forget the pain.

Moose hunting with Zach and John- Sometime in September, 2009

I had such a good summer this year. A lot of fishing and hunting with family and friends. Kimmy and I were married last fall, and I had the opportunity to meet a lot of her outside relatives… outside meaning not from Alaska. I had promised my friend and former college Nursing instructor Karla that I would take her husband fishing if she brought him down to Soldotna. For one full week, the three of us were on the Kenai hunting Reds. I was successful in catching a few every day, but they had some trouble getting the hang of flipping for Reds. Both of them caught a few Pinks, and took them home along with my Reds. Working nights made it an exhausting but fun week.

In late August Zach, John and I did a moose hunting trip beginning at Watson Lake in Sterling into the East Fork of the Moose River. We were giddy talking about it… like little girls discussing little boys, or Hannah Montana. Zach and Jenny have three children, the last two being twins. John and Rebecca have 5, the last two also being twins. You can imagine why they would want to get out of the house and into Alaska.

We researched the trip using satellite images from Google Earth, and the lakes appeared to show an uninterrupted crick right to the Moose River. We could barely contain ourselves anticipating our coming adventure. John and I headed out early to set up camp at the end of the third lake while Zach finished work. We paddled our overfilled canoe across the first lake, through a slough, across the second lake, through another slough, and to the end of the third lake where it emptied out into a very small crick. Overgrown alders and grass clogged the drainage dashing our hopes of making our way into the Moose River. I had never been this far back on this series of lakes, and was just beginning to understand how difficult this hunting trip was going to be. John and I walked up the crick for a while hoping it would open up, but it did not. After talking about maybe changing plans of crossing over, we set up the tent and collected some firewood for later. We paddled back out to the car and I got a nap in while we waited for Zach.

It was pitch black paddling back to the tent, which was a lot harder than you would think. It was very difficult for all three of us to balance without seeing each other. Once again, we paddled across the three lakes and somehow found the tent despite our blindness. We pulled out our sleeping bags and prepared for sleep. I could hear John rustling inside the tent while I sipped some coffee. Zach whispered “He’s afraid of bears so he’s moving his bag into the middle…“ John got shit for that the rest of the trip. In the morning we decided to explore after breakfast and coffee, resigned to the fact that we would not be able to push through to the Moose River. Hoping to make the best of it, we split up looking for the elusive legal Bull, but soon found that we were not as far from society as we’d thought. We could hear people target practicing nearby. Why people feel the need to fire hundreds of rounds somewhere in the middle of nowhere while moose hunting, I will never understand. The amount of noise those people made was depressing. We decided it was useless to stay here. We could either turn tail and go home or try dragging the canoe through the drainage and push on ahead. It turns out it this initial obstacle wasn’t that difficult compared to what lie ahead. On the other side of the drainage the crick widened and deepened into a beautiful small valley. We found an old campsite that was perfectly set up and decided to stay there for the night. The next morning Zach and John successfully called in a very friendly Bull who nearly trampled Zach coming in. The young moose was so excited at the sound of a cow call, he completely ignored the three of us. His horns were no where near legal and we went back to camp. It was tough letting him go.

We decided to pack it up and head out Northish. It was a rough haul. More often than not, we were dragging the still overfilled canoe while trying to keep our feet dry. At one point, beavers had dammed the crick completely, adn behind the dam, spawned Reds were stacked for hundreds of yards.

The crick opened some, but seemed like it had baffles every 15 feet. The three of us had to get out, drag the canoe over the sandbar, hop back in only to repeat it all over… and over… all day long. In a flash of brilliance while taking his turn dragging, Zach decided keeping his feet dry was no longer priority, and bulled his way downstream. It made the time fly by, and the distance ahead shriveled. Somewhere earlier in the day, we heard what sounded like a cat. “MMMEEEOOOWWWW…”. Zach said “Is it a Lynx?” They don’t meow dude. Someone is messing with us. Ahead of us on the bank hid two hunters in the 6ft tall grass. The smart ass thought he was pretty funny, and whispered “Don’t worry, it gets easier”, holding his fingers up to form quotes. Zach, John and I wondered if that meant easier but still hard. It didn’t take long for us to understand. Each mile passed with more difficulty. Near the end of the day, we were exhausted, hungry and thirsty. Luckily Zach had brought beer from his brewery which provided us with the calories necessary for such exertion, as well as filled us with courage to keep on keeping on. We decided every hour, we would stop for a pint. Good decision. It allowed us frequent breaks and time to empty our boots. Empty boots didn’t matter much as they were again filled within 30 seconds of walking. After pulling for 6 hrs straight, we set up camp and I strung a cord between two trees to hang our soaking clothes. I gathered firewood, and Zach and John attempted unsuccessfully to catch a few spawned Reds. I told them if they brought one to me, I’d cook it for dinner. I was so hungry I would of eaten the ass out of a dead dog.



That night the temperature dropped. I woke up early, fighting the need to urinate. I noticed the tent was covered in ice. I had no desire to step out into that cold. As the sun rose higher, Zach started a fire and put the water on. When I was pretty sure coffee was up, I decided grudgingly to join him around the fire. I was amazed that I didn’t have a single sore muscle. I give the beer credit. There must be magic in the stuff. After packing camp, we decided we didn’t have time to hunt. I had to work that night, so we made like a baby (headed out). We had 8 hrs to paddle about 6 miles as the crow flies, of the most crooked river known to man. It reminded me of the story of Paul Bunyan hitching Babe his blue ox to a crooked river so she could pull it straight.

The flow of the East Fork is very slow. We had to look at the weeds at the bottom to know which direction was downriver. At times the current picked up speed and it seemed a joker (God) had set up sweepers around every blind corner. I was sitting in front, and became very good at reading the river ahead. If we’d had more time, we could have lazily drifted down, taking in the beautiful day. As it was we had no time, no beer, and had eaten the last of the food that morning. John found hot chocolate packets and passed one to each of us. The three of us paddled the rest of the trip until we reached the Sterling bridge. While waiting for the boys to retrieve the car I set up Johns gas stove to heat up some coffee, but it didn’t work so I drank it cold.

I’m pretty sure all three of us were disappointed at the time, but despite the challenges and no moose, this was a great trip that I'll never do again.

A trip to the farm with Kim and Porter- Thursday, November 13, 2008

It's been a while since I wrote about our adventures, 4am is as good a time as any.

This summer, the family met up in Delta for our annual week long camping trip at the farm. We usually do a lot of sitting around the campfire, eating grouse and rabbits that the kids have shot, and not much more. Usually- we get our fill of relaxation in the Delta heat. Vacation not so far from home. This year was gonna be different.

Dad is building a cabin out in the middle of nowhere and needed help getting the roof on before winter settled in. He started it earlier this summer, got the pilings in, floor down, and walls up (which is an amazing feat considering he did it all by himself with a hammer and nails). I hadn't visited or seen pictures since he had started construction, and I wasn't totally convinced he had done as much as he said he had. Men tend to make things bigger sometimes.

Kim and I finished our night shift at the hospital, and quickly made our way out of town. It took a bit longer than normal to escape Cooper Landing due to poor road conditions (do RV's count as poor conditions?). Kim assumed her usual position of sleeping against the window with her seat pulled way back. We made a stop in Anchorage, picked Porter up from his mama's, and took off, heading north. Porter and I have made this trip many times, but this was Kims first Delta visit. I understand it isn't every girls dream to vacation in Delta, Alaska, but I baited her with stories of high temps and long days (I don't like to leave the state).

It is a long drive from Soldotna to Delta, and after working 12 hr shifts you'd think I'd have to pull over to take a nap. But the excitement of having 10 full days off was making me high. One traditional stop in Glenallen for gas and snacks, and before you know it we are pulling into Delta Junction. The sky was filled with dark clouds. Kim asked me where the heat was. I didn't respond.

By the way, the rabbits were thick as weeds this year. I counted 43 in one mile, and only hit a few as they dashed across the road. Oftentimes, one would run in front of me, only to run back to its original sitting place after I had passed. Must be peer pressure that drives them.

The farm is off of the highway, down a dirt road, down a trail, and across a field of grass. Typical Alaskan directions. We pulled into the campsite that evening and the only thing missing was the blue tarp. There stood the cabin, on top of pillars, wrapped in Tyvek. I was impressed that so much had been finished, and told my dad I was proud of him. It's a big cabin, and he nailed every board down with a hammer. Crazy...

He dragged an old van that doesn't drive out there a few years ago. He and mom have been staying in it when they are in Delta. The first thing mom pointed out is how she's painted the inside of the van. I looked in and saw a little sign hanging that says HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. "Is it pretty?" I don't know mom, ask Kim. Why would you paint the inside of a crappy little van? "Its my home! I can do what I want." Ok.

Porter hopped out of the car, grabbed his box of shells and his rifle. "Can we go hunting?" How about in the morning buddy. "Can I shoot anyway?" Sure.

Dad set up targets while Kim and I rested around the fire. It was still overcast, and I could smell the rain coming. I knew Kim could see this, but I didn't bring it up. She was promised sun, so I stayed optimistic that the morning would be brighter. We ate dinner, and hit the hay. Man I was tired. I have no problem falling asleep, and it has been the focus of many arguments between Kim and I. She sees me pass out instantly, and gets frustrated. Plus, she's been single a long time. Kim likes having the bed all to herself. That entire trip she was crammed into a camper every night, between two Fannon boys who sleep talk a lot, and migrate all over the bed. Tons of fun.

I'm pretty sure Porter woke us the first morning. "Can we go hunting?" Sure buddy. Go get your rifle. We left Kim in the camper. As I stepped down, I looked to the sky and saw that nothing had changed. Gloomy clouds were still settled over us. I started the fire and put the water on. I looked in the coolers for some cream, and settled for milk to add to my coffee. I made Porter tea, and we were off. It was an unsuccessful hunt, but it was nice to be outside with my son. He isn't the best shot in the world, but he doesn't let it get him down. Jacks another shell in and keeps at it. The only way to get better is to shoot.

Dad had breakfast ready by the time we got back to camp. We ate eggs, bacon, toast and more coffee. Kim was itching to get started on the cabin, so we got to looking closer. Dad started cutting and Kim and I were nailing as fast as we could to finish the floor. I hit my thumb three times. Each time, I tightened up in anger, cocking the hammer back behind my head, ready to swing wildly, and each time Kim said, "Don't!" She doesn't like my outbursts...

After finishing the floor, we took the rest of the day off. Kim only noted the lack of sun a few times. Mom backed me saying, "Its usually too hot to work! This is so strange." Thanks mom. Porter and I took off on the 4 wheeler looking for anything, but once again, came back empty handed. That night we sat around the fire, ate hamburgers, and relaxed under a cloudy sky. I said a little prayer asking for some sun, but didn't get my hopes up.

We spent the next few days starting the roof, working through howling winds and pouring rain. There were 4 hrs of sun somewhere inside the first 4 days, and instead of working, I took off with Porter to find the Tanana. I had looked at the map several times, and was pretty sure it was less than 2 miles through the woods. He carried his rifle, I had mine, and took a backpack of various survival gear. We took off through the trees, and not far from camp, hit flood water. At first we hopped from hummock to hummock, but soon, we were both wet. I said screw it and started wading to get to the other side, but the other side never came. Porter was a trooper and didn't whine. He was wet up to his thighs, but kept on pushing. We did find some blueberry bushes which raised our spirits some. We stood in knee deep water, and ate every single berry in reach. We decided to walk back to where we came from to escape the water, and dad was there waiting. He took Porter back to camp to dry out, and I kept on. I did find the Tanana, and had a good time, but I was soaked. I came across a berry I was unfamiliar with, and filled a baggy with them. I headed back towards camp almost totally exhausted. I fell into the chair and had a big cup of coffee. It was 75 degrees for another 4 hours, then the sky clouded back up. It felt good to cool off, but I would of been just as happy to see Kim soaking up rays. I pulled out the berries and my berry book, and learned that they were soap berries. I have read how natives used to whip them into a froth, add sugar, and use it as a dessert topping. I set to whipping at a few of the berries and the froth filled the cup- at least 4 times the amount of I started with. It tasted ok. I wouldn't suggest you go looking for it, but it was edible. Kim nor my parents were excited about it. Porter actually said he liked it, but did not ask for a second taste.

Around day 5, some more Fannons showed up, and were impressed by our progress. My brother had hauled the metal roof up from Anchorage with him. After putting OSB up on the trusses, the metal would finish it. The last 5 days were sunny, but windy. Putting a metal roof on in the wind is dangerous, and it was not fun. I'll rephrase. It was fun having the family there working together, but not fun moving metal panels 15' in the air. It's like a kite... a big, sharp kite.

I wouldn't say it was the best roof ever built, but it did the job. Day 10 came fast, and I didn't feel like I was ending a vacation. I was tired, sore, and kind of missing work (I know its weird). Mom and dad were ecstatic about the work we got done together, and my brother and his family stayed to finish the walls. It was a good time, and I'm pretty sure even Kim had fun.

On day 9, we had some excitement. While working up on the roof laying OSB, Kim made us stop because she thought she heard a kid scream. We all stood still for a while but didn't hear a thing. I made fun of Kim, but she swore she heard a scream, so mom took off on the 4 wheeler looking for the twins. They were down the dirt trail hunting squirrels, and when she found them, one was crying and visibly shook up. Supposedly, while off the road looking for squirrels, a brown bear confronted one of them. He said it was face to face, and he screamed for his brother who was nearby. The bear turned and walked away. When mom brought them both back to camp, the big boys (adults) took the crying kid back to where he saw the bear, and made sure it had taken off. We found tracks, but never did see anything. The boys were shook up, but even more upset they were told not to go hunting without an adult from then on out.

We left Porter there with his cousins, and made our way home. I didn't have nearly as much energy leaving as I did coming. I was eager to be home.

On a side note, somewhere in the middle of nowhere we saw tire tracks heading off the road down a hill and into the woods. I turned around to check it out hoping to come upon a car full of money, but only found an empty mangled ball of metal that once was a car. CD's of angry rappers littered the ground, and a carseat was lying on its side in the back seat. Baby toys were scattered all around. Kim said, "It must of been a black guy", referring to the CD's. I called her a profiling racist. While I was down there, someone stopped on the road above me and asked if everything was Ok. I think they thought it was me that had wrecked.