$4000.00 Rabbit
By David Tetzlaff

It is said that when maneuvering through brown bear country to make noise. Alert these huge predators that you are politely passing through their territory. So having a much better singing voice than I, my hunting companion Paul Pifer was in the middle of that old Mac Davis tune, "Oh Lord, its hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way..." when I interrupted him with a question.

"You know what's easy about Alaska?"

"No, what?"

"Nothing!"

Paul agreed and we continued downhill through the alder thickets heading for our temporary floating home known as the "Sourdough."

Nothing indeed. We were on Kodiak Island where pleasant, sunny days are looked upon as spontaneous miracles in one of the harshest environments in North America. You have to be tough to hunt Alaska and twice as tough to live there. They sell shirts on the island that say, "Kodiak Rain Festival January 1st - December 31st." Add snow, high winds, bears the size of Volkswagen Beetles and you have a place that sends the less hearty packing.

Paul and I have been friends for over thirty years and he was actually in a veterinary practice in Anchorage for several years. Although he spent time hiking, camping and fishing out there, Paul did not get into the hunt scene. Upon his return to Ohio in the mid 90's he picked up the bow and arrow of his youth, started seriously bowhunting and took me along for the ride. Each fall I would make the drive from Florida to Ohio to spend a few days hunting together. Inevitably, Paul would mention going back to Alaska and hunting there, encouraging me to come along. I repeatedly told him I wasn't going until I took a deer first. Finally in October of 1999 I managed to arrow a Pennsylvania five point and we started making plans with my confidence kill in the freezer.

We began splitting up the legwork for the trip. Paul arranged airline tickets and lodging on Kodiak and I sorted out the actual hunt details with Homer Ocean Charters' head honcho, Captain Roark Brown. Numerous phone calls, faxes and e-mails later and we were set on the logistical end of the trip. Paul's fellow vet Dave Drake and mutual friend Tim Smith would complete our group.

For months on end, Paul and I e-mailed back and forth regarding our gear lists knowing we would have to keep clothes, bows and other necessities to seventy pounds or less for the trip on the float plane from Kodiak City to our rendezvous with the "Sourdough" on the south end of the island.

The Leatherwall forum on the Stickbow website was useful in connecting with more experienced bowhunters who had Kodiak experience. Mark Viehwig, Denny Sturgis, Jr. and Hatchet Jack Keener all provided useful information for a first time "cheechako" on Kodiak.

I also perused back issues of Traditional Bowhunter Magazine, Bowhunter Magazine and the writings of E. Donnall Thomas, Jr. for further insights on Kodiak Island.

Another integral part of the preparation process was getting into shape. I have heard story upon story of guys who scrimp and save for a big out of state hunt and find out they couldn't hack it because they were not physically conditioned for the hunt. Not me. I anticipated enough difficulties in a new place and new terrain. With many unknown variables, being in shape would be a constant.

So I began running 4-5 times a week, 2-3 miles a day. In between I used a Soloflex machine inherited from my wife Kelly upon our marriage. After 6 months of my new exercise regimen I felt in better shape at 38 than I did at 18.

Finally, late October of 2000 arrived and it was time to meet up with the crew in Ohio and begin our fantastic journey. I arrived in Ohio with a day to spare, so Paul took an afternoon off and we drove across the Michigan line to the gigantic new Cabela's store in Dundee. While there I picked up a planned purchase of MTO50 Rain Gear.

The following morning began our multi-leg trip starting in Detroit, stopping in Minneapolis and then on to Anchorage. As luck would have it, I sat next to a pipeline worker on his way back to Alaska who was also a bowhunter with experience hunting deer, elk and pronghorn. The in flight movie was "The Perfect Storm." Ah, the irony! We were about to spend a week on a boat.

We made it into Anchorage with seconds to spare to make our connecting flight to Kodiak. Our gear did not make it onto our plane and it was scheduled to arrive later on that evening. This of course caused some nervousness. I could probably replace just about anything if needed save a Black Widow SA II. After checking in at the Buskin River Inn and treating ourselves to an excellent prime rib supper, we were relieved to know our gear arrived and was ready for pick up.

The four-hour time difference makes for lousy sleeping and for the two weeks we spent in Alaska, I never seemed to get used to it. Even after a long flight, we rose early and snagged a rental car and drove into Kodiak City. We checked out some sporting goods stores, chatted with the owners about hunting Kodiak, bought licenses and stopped by the local office of the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to talk to one of their biologists regarding our prospects and advice on hunting Sitka Blacktails. We absorbed some more of the local color with a stop at Henry's Sports Bar and feasted on halibut sandwiches.

We stopped back by our rooms long enough to assemble our bows and drove out south of the hotel into the hills. We had a day and a half before we were scheduled to fly out and needed time to get a feel for the land. Two hours were spent climbing hills, stump shooting and simply enjoying this remarkable land. I saw my first brown bear track and the feeling is humbling indeed. Evidence that you are not anywhere close to the top of the food chain.

The next day was a true test of our conditioning. Paul had in mind to climb a mountain about 6 miles from the hotel. Out where the pavement ends. They have a sign that indicates that as well. The top of this mountain is almost 2000 ft. above sea level. No, its not a big deal for Westerners, but for a Florida Flatlander it might have well of been Mount Kilimanjaro. We carefully picked our way through the alders and approached the snow line. This is where things got a little tricky. Snow on shale is a recipe for broken bones. Paul is part mountain goat and made the final ascent first followed by Dave and myself. Tim wisely stayed on a lower shelf. As my boots slid from one slippery rock to another I had some unprintable dialog directed at Paul for convincing us into this predicament but when we got to the top, the view was simply astounding. We could see for miles and huge, azure lakes invisible from a lower altitude were plain to see from our vantage point. Eagles and ravens actually flew beneath our perch. From our vantage point our green rental car far below looked like a 7-Up can. The descent was as tedious as the climb but well worth the potential dangers after what we had been privileged to witness.

The weather turned into a tempest of wind and rain during the evening hours. It appeared to abate just after dawn and we readied for our floatplane trip. We made it all the way to the dock when the elements turned sour once again and we were placed on standby. That was fine with us. Better safe than stupid. Upon returning to the Buskin Inn we met Captain Dave DeBrosse who would be on board the Sourdough to assist Captain Roark. As the morning wore on, it was obvious that flying would not be an option. Back to Henry's for some grub and pick Dave's brain on deer and deer hunting. DeBrosse is a well-traveled adventurer with time spent everywhere from the Amazon to Antarctica. He also provides guided moose and brown bear hunts with a nearly 100% success rate.

Our breakfast of honey wheat hotcakes the following morning was cut short with the call to load up. The weather was travel brochure perfect and with five guys and gear in two floatplanes we were set for the hour-long flight to meet the Sourdough.

The trip down was everything you would expect. Ocean and inlets blended in hues of dark blues and greens, unlimited visibility in crystal skies and snow-frosted mountains.

As our plane made its circular approach Dave Drake and I spied a large Sitka buck with a doe standing on a hilltop. We wanted to leap from the plane right there, weapons in hand.

After deplaning and introductions were made, Roark gave us a brief recon and safety tips. Check in by two-way radio at noon and 5:00 pm daily. Don't fret too much about bears but remain aware. Be on the beach just after final check in. Weapons are not to be loaded until reaching the beach. Then Dave zipped us to the shoreline in a Zodiac where we split up with Tim and Drake heading into a valley and Paul and I heading up the nearest hillside.

In no time at all, Paul and I located several deer and played cat and mouse with them until the evening check in time. Earlier in the afternoon we heard a gun shot. We knew Drake who was hunting with his 30.06 had gotten a deer. If a deer is in range of his rifle, it's a sure thing he will take it home.

It was well after dark when Tim and Drake called for a ride. A 7-point buck had fallen to his rifle. The tough part was quartering a deer and walking out a couple miles, in the dark, in bear country. Alaska law requires removing all edible portions of a kill prior to carrying out horns or antlers. If you have the head, you better have the meat with you. And they aren't kidding. Disobedient hunters have had licenses and equipment impounded.

Each evening dinner is an event on the Sourdough. On the first evening Roark served crab dip for a starter, followed by a roasted turkey. Breakfast was also a major event. You don't go hungry on this vessel. Packed lunches were always a high piled Dagwood affair.

The following cloudy morning found us sitting on a bluff above the remnants of Drake's kill. He wanted to return and recover the leg bones of the deer that he uses for crafts. Magpies and a bald eagle were evidence the carcass was down in the bowl below. We surveyed the area extensively insuring that a bear was not in the area before descending. As we did so, a red fox slipped out of cover and darted toward the carcass. Big mistake. Drake wanted a fox pelt and he got one. I almost felt guilty for its demise as I was the one who spotted it. Fox, however, are considered a nuisance animal on Kodiak. Decades ago Kodiak was home to numerous fox farms and when the fur trade began to fall out of favor, the animals were released and now cause havoc among native species.

Drake decided to go back to the boat with his deer bones. Tim and Paul decided to stalk a ridgeline and I went down into a swale in the event they would kick a deer downhill where they appear to head when spooked. As I weaved in and amongst the alders I came upon a huge pile of boulders that formed two dark caves. It reminded me of an excerpt in "Man-eaters of Tsavo" when John Patterson came upon the alleged cave he thought the lions inhabited. He had already dispatched the killer pair by then but the sight of this cave was unnerving nonetheless. I felt a similar twinge peering into these caves and quickly left the area, looking over my shoulder as I did so. Later that evening I asked Roark if those were typical den areas for brown bears. The answer was no, they dig their own dens halfway up hillsides. On some hills you can see where bear after bear has been placing paws the size of dinner plates for years. These upward trails resemble stair steps from continued use over the ages.

I found an open, elevated spot with a decent field of vision and ate lunch while lamenting over the lack of deer sightings. We rendezvoused with Dave Debrosse mid-afternoon and were shuttled across the bay to a new area. The wind was beginning to gust heavily so we stayed off the hilltops and focused on lower areas following deer and bear trails through the brush. The blacktails remained elusive throughout the remainder of the day and we returned to the boat slightly discouraged but hopeful for the morrow.

The next day was the polar opposite of the previous. A clear, sun drenched day greeted us as we watched DeBrosse motor back to the Sourdough. We were facing a giant u-shaped valley surrounded by 1500 ft. high hills. Near the beach we found a beaver dam and watched as one of the aquatic rodents carried on the building process. The animal soon spotted us and disappeared with an annoyed slap of its tail.

We waded through waist high alders and began glassing. Immediately we saw several deer near the top. Paul charted a course that would bring him above the feeding deer. I was foiled by a doe in the bottom of the valley so I changed tactics and worked the hillside about half way up. I soon discovered a real bear den. It was three feet wide and six feet deep. How a simple hole in the dirt can look so ominous can only be underscored by what created it and sleeps in it.

I paused to glass again and locked onto a huge Sitka buck standing several hundred yards away in the low dip on the far side of the bowl. Being Eastern treestand hunters, this spot and stalk stuff was all so new to us. But I gave it my very best. I ran when I should have run. Belly crawled when I should have as well. And somehow blew it. Drake and Tim saw the whole stalk go down. I was within shooting distance and could not see the deer at all. Tim asked me later, "Why didn't you shoot?" "I couldn't see him!" I responded with frustration. I was simply shocked that I was so close to a big deer and had the whole endeavor go to pieces. However, they both complimented me on a fine stalk and then said, "Get over it!" when I continued to lament over my poor luck.

Paul almost had an opportunity at the deer on the downside of the bowl but the buck was 40 yards away and he did not feel comfortable with the distance with his recurve. Though an arrow was not loosed, he came over the side of the hill with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Paul indicated that the opportunity to stalk a deer of that caliber was the best hunting experience of his life. That's one of the reasons that we have been friends so long. He can take those incredible slices of time and make it personal magic.

It was a long hike down to the boat that night through some dangerous terrain the just screamed "bears live here!" When we met DeBrosse on the beach he told us he had seen seven deer feeding along the shore on eel weed. The animals were definitely moving everywhere this day taking advantage of the forgiving weather. Roark had also gone walkabout and saw a bear about two miles from where we were hunting.

The next several days went as the first. Good and bad weather. Game spotted and stalked with Tim swapping his compound for a shotgun and claiming a fat doe.

We grew to enjoy the cycle of sleep, eat and hunt. Twice we dined on fresh King and Dungeness crab. These deep-water arachnids possess some of the most mouthwatering flesh known to man. And once one feasts upon crab thirty minutes removed from the sea, Red Lobster is just not the same anymore.

Finally, the last day of the hunt was upon us. We would attempt a new area that was home to a deserted cannery on its beach. The weather was average Alaska, gray sky and a steady drizzle. Early on, Drake took a second deer that he and Tim packed back to the Sourdough. Paul was using a borrowed rifle in hopes of taking meat home. I was the lone holdout with a bow. I came to bowhunt only. Foolish? Maybe. Stubborn? Absolutely!

Whenever we dropped our packs, we would wrap them in a blaze orange vests for easier retrieval. Well, even with a seemingly foolproof method, Paul somehow misplaced his pack. In the process of locating it, a storm came up and assaulted us with nearly hurricane force winds. As we came round the side of the mountain the wind nearly blew us back. We had to walk into the blow at a forty-five degree angle until we could find a suitable way down to a lower and safer altitude, right into a thick fog that reduced visibility to fifty yards. The three-hour search concluded when I finally located the pack. Paul was one elated dude. His video camera and other valuables were inside it.

The evening was spent packing and enjoying surf and turf for dinner. Fly out day was greeted with a blend of eagerness to see loved ones and a sense of melancholy leaving this amazing wild ground. We bid our farewells to Roark and Dave and indicated our intent to come back one day.

So, by now you are asking yourself, "What does all this have to do with a rabbit?" Well, it's like this...

We had one day for "R & R" back in Kodiak City prior to fly out so we drove down to Cy's Sporting Goods and asked where to find some rabbits as we thought it would be a fun afternoon pursuing those big white hares that are indigenous to the area. Cy turned us onto a great spot and we spent several hours stalking rabbits through the alders and spruce forests. Paul and Tim shot gunned two hares and I missed a couple with my bow. We were just about to give up and head back to the Buskin when I decided to try one more spot. I saw a rabbit out in an open patch of ground and it quickly bounded towards an alder patch with me in pursuit. I found a small opening and sent a 2216 shaft behind its shoulder at 18 yds. Yeah, it was just a rabbit, but it was the last hour of the last day and it was the only bow kill of the trip. We whooped it up pretty good over my last minute retribution.

Epilogue:

In retrospect, yes, I came all the way from Florida, spent a lot of hard earned money and to some folks only came back with only a rabbit. No, not so. I returned with so much more. Following the birth of my sons, my marriage to wife Kelly and some unique accomplishments in my profession, this was the most profoundly incredible experience of my life. Some people think they have been to Alaska because they went on a cruise. Sorry, but no. When you have crawled down bear trails in the pouring rain you have been to Alaska. When you have crawled hand over hand to a mountaintop and watched eagles fly by you have been to Alaska. Add a hundred more moments like those and you may begin to comprehend the value of such a trip with or without taking a game animal.

I had often heard about guys having awesome hunts without harvesting an animal. I always said, "oh, yeah, right" in disbelief. Well, you know, they were correct. You don't buy an animal; you buy a hunt, a life experience. A kill should be the icing, not the cake. If you want a guaranteed kill, go to a game farm, not Alaska or any place else where you have to outwit free ranging animals in their natural habitat.

Do I wish I would have arrowed a Sitka blacktail? You bet. Will I go back and try again? Put your money on me!

Lessons from a greenhorn:

Binoculars: You need something small enough to tuck under a shirt when needed but powerful enough to find the game. I used Leica 10 x 25's.

Your choice of boots should have a good steel shank to handle the rocks and good ankle support also. You will be side hilling as much as up and down maneuvering.

Fletch dry products might work okay in a drizzle, not in an Alaska deluge.

If you take apart your takedown recurve when it gets wet like I do, take a one-piece bow for rain days. Bows aren't cheap and I want mine to last a long time.

Keep up your confidence level on stalks. You're better than you think you are.

Most rain gear is good, but not good enough and even the best is noisy when negotiating brush.

Take a tough pair of gloves. Devil's Club will shred the average glove in quick fashion. Paul raved about his Cabela's elk hide gloves like they were the best thing since night baseball.

Silk makes a great warming layer but is not good in wet weather. Poly Pro takes the moisture off your skin much better.

My wool boonie hat was fine on warmer days, but when the wind starts gusting, have a bomber hat for true warmth.

Use face paint. When watching Paul stalk a deer from a hundred yards away, the first thing I saw was his white face.

Back up gun: This is hotly debated. Some say a .44 magnum is sufficient. I carried one and it gave me some sense of confidence to know it was on my hip. Others have emptied that tried and true pistol into a charging bear with little effect. For a sidearm, the Casull .454 is said to be as close to a bear stopper as a pistol can come. Paul carried a short-barreled 12 gauge for security. Some say a good can of pepper spray is all you need. And there are hunters who balk at all of the above and simply use good sense to steer clear of potentially dangerous situations.

Bears are there. Get used to it, but don't dwell on it. As compared to the mainland, the frequency of bear encounters on Kodiak is surprisingly low.