Like every hunter, Dad and I were always looking for a “secret” trail or an easy trail to hunt off of that no one knew about. We spent more time exploring and looking for old forgotten trails than we did hunting when I was growing up. Don’t get me wrong, I loved every minute spent in those horrible, mosquito infested swamps. We didn’t kill a ton of animals but the memories we made together are priceless. As the seasons passed we never did find that mythical trail.
In 2011, my brother in law Ben and I decided the easiest way to get away from people is to work harder than most are willing to. Leaving motorized vehicles behind, we decided to hunt moose by walking into areas a four wheeler couldn’t go. That year we tipped over a 57” bull 12 miles from the truck. It was 4 miles from kill to camp and we packed all but one load to camp that day. The following morning we woke early and finished getting the meat to camp. Thankfully my Dad made the trip in to help us get the moose out. That final day was 24 miles for Ben and I, for my Dad it was 32. The mileage wasn’t as big of an issue for those two since their hobbies include running in the Alaska Mountain Race series. Having trained very little, my knees had enough of my shenanigans. The last few miles were more stumbling than walking as it felt like my knee caps were separating. To date, that is the most grueling thing I have ever done. I paid for that hunt with crippling soreness for several weeks. I actually had to walk down stairs backwards because it hurt my knees so badly. Vowing to never let that happen again, my training regimen has increased vastly. I still won’t subject myself to mountain races for just t-shirts though.
In the summer of 2002, in one of our secret spot areas, we decided to explore an old miner’s trail up an “unnamed” creek bed. Mom decided she would tag along with us for the day as it seemed like a good opportunity for a hike. It was easy walking but the creek crossings quickly had our feet numb. The day was very hot and we had packed sandals to cross not knowing how many times we’d have to cross that creek. As the elevation rose, so did the banks of the creek as they quickly turned into cliffs. That day we decided it wasn’t the easy route we had hoped for. In 2014, with fresh perspective on hunting and what it takes to be successful, I decided to revisit that creek route. That summer even though there was bear sign everywhere, I didn’t kill anything on either trip into the area but I did see a big billy. He was all alone, 600 yards away and couldn’t have cared less that I was watching him. It wasn’t the species I was after but it definitely grabbed my attention.
Last fall during the State of Alaska Mega Millions Lottery, I added a DG tag to my list of hopefuls. The good Lord blessed me and I drew that goat tag the very first time I applied. If only I could have a similar blessing on buffalo, going on close to 20 years trying for that tag. With nightmares of knee pain still in my head, I knew better than to underestimate a goat hunt. I began hiking Lazy three nights a week after work and on weekends. Being married with two kids, running a bait stand, working full time in Anchorage (I live in Palmer, about an hour each way), and trying to get in shape for a goat hunt, I was a busy fool for several months.
My bait stand turned out to be a second full time job but it was a good investment of my time. My solo customer had been a griz for over a month. It was fun looking at the pictures on the game camera of its movement through the evenings and nights. On one particular Sunday evening my grandma called and informed me she had a grizzly in her trash can behind the house, I threw everything in the truck in burned out to find nothing but scattered trash and the neighbor skinning a small grizzly in his front yard. Apparently it had wandered just down the road into the wrong yard. As I was sourly cleaning up trash for my grandma I saw movement out of the corner of my eye on the airstrip. It was a large coyote trotting along, I dashed into the house grabbed my gun and cracked off a round. It was only after that I remembered I was packing a .300 RUM loaded for griz. Needless to say, it dropped in its tracks with a messy spray behind it across the grass. The hide didn’t fare well but the moose calves will thank me.
In 2011, my brother in law Ben and I decided the easiest way to get away from people is to work harder than most are willing to. Leaving motorized vehicles behind, we decided to hunt moose by walking into areas a four wheeler couldn’t go. That year we tipped over a 57” bull 12 miles from the truck. It was 4 miles from kill to camp and we packed all but one load to camp that day. The following morning we woke early and finished getting the meat to camp. Thankfully my Dad made the trip in to help us get the moose out. That final day was 24 miles for Ben and I, for my Dad it was 32. The mileage wasn’t as big of an issue for those two since their hobbies include running in the Alaska Mountain Race series. Having trained very little, my knees had enough of my shenanigans. The last few miles were more stumbling than walking as it felt like my knee caps were separating. To date, that is the most grueling thing I have ever done. I paid for that hunt with crippling soreness for several weeks. I actually had to walk down stairs backwards because it hurt my knees so badly. Vowing to never let that happen again, my training regimen has increased vastly. I still won’t subject myself to mountain races for just t-shirts though.
In the summer of 2002, in one of our secret spot areas, we decided to explore an old miner’s trail up an “unnamed” creek bed. Mom decided she would tag along with us for the day as it seemed like a good opportunity for a hike. It was easy walking but the creek crossings quickly had our feet numb. The day was very hot and we had packed sandals to cross not knowing how many times we’d have to cross that creek. As the elevation rose, so did the banks of the creek as they quickly turned into cliffs. That day we decided it wasn’t the easy route we had hoped for. In 2014, with fresh perspective on hunting and what it takes to be successful, I decided to revisit that creek route. That summer even though there was bear sign everywhere, I didn’t kill anything on either trip into the area but I did see a big billy. He was all alone, 600 yards away and couldn’t have cared less that I was watching him. It wasn’t the species I was after but it definitely grabbed my attention.
Last fall during the State of Alaska Mega Millions Lottery, I added a DG tag to my list of hopefuls. The good Lord blessed me and I drew that goat tag the very first time I applied. If only I could have a similar blessing on buffalo, going on close to 20 years trying for that tag. With nightmares of knee pain still in my head, I knew better than to underestimate a goat hunt. I began hiking Lazy three nights a week after work and on weekends. Being married with two kids, running a bait stand, working full time in Anchorage (I live in Palmer, about an hour each way), and trying to get in shape for a goat hunt, I was a busy fool for several months.
My bait stand turned out to be a second full time job but it was a good investment of my time. My solo customer had been a griz for over a month. It was fun looking at the pictures on the game camera of its movement through the evenings and nights. On one particular Sunday evening my grandma called and informed me she had a grizzly in her trash can behind the house, I threw everything in the truck in burned out to find nothing but scattered trash and the neighbor skinning a small grizzly in his front yard. Apparently it had wandered just down the road into the wrong yard. As I was sourly cleaning up trash for my grandma I saw movement out of the corner of my eye on the airstrip. It was a large coyote trotting along, I dashed into the house grabbed my gun and cracked off a round. It was only after that I remembered I was packing a .300 RUM loaded for griz. Needless to say, it dropped in its tracks with a messy spray behind it across the grass. The hide didn’t fare well but the moose calves will thank me.
Last edited:
Hope to have my kids in the same area in a month or so. 
