I have never been much of a hunter but one day while in Alaska around spring time I was talked into going. When asked what we would be hunting I was not given a clear answer. Usually no one pays much attention to hunting seasons in Eskimo villages. Anything that did not fly, walk, swim, or run fast enough was considered eatable. The Gods were smiling on the indigenous wild life that day. We shot our guns a lot but got nothing.
We had driven our snow-go's out on the tundra which was just starting to become barren of snow but there was plenty none the less. Some places there was tundra grass which we had to skirt around and the numerous ponds dotting the landscape were only half frozen.
I was a passenger with my friend Oscar. He is a teacher's aide in the school and at was just a few credit hours short of completing his degree from the University of Alaska. My two other hunting companions were George and Jerry, fellow teachers.
Oscar took us about 12 miles as the crow fly's to a spot he said had a lot of geese and swan. It took us about an hour to get there because you could not go as the crow fly's. The tundra as you may recall is made up of gently rolling hills, very gently, with more ponds than you would wish or could count. The soil is very soft and bumpy and because of all the ponds and many interconnecting fingers of water you cannot go in a straight line anywhere except in the winter months. In the summer forget it. Even walking is a chore. But in the spring time it is manageable if you stay on the snow and choose when you cross a pond that looks somewhat frozen. Some what frozen is what makes crossing interesting.
You might have seen pictures or movies about people trying to drive their snow-go's over the ice and water and not making it. Well that is what we did but failure would have become more then just a fun thing. If you didn't make it up there you had problems the rest of the day, like freezing to death. Of course I did not know all this before I left on the great hunt.
It was just like you see in the movies. You pulled up to the edge of a pond, determined that there was not another way to get around it, you turned the snow-go around, drove back a few yards, turned back towards the pond, guned the snow-go and charge forward. You kept the throttle full gear and hoped you got to the other side. Sometimes you came upon a low spot that connected a pond with another and you didn't stop you just charged forward and hoped you were right in your judgement.
The passenger needed to be aware of when that was going to happen or he could tumble off the back and into the icy water. Oscar never considered telling me when he was going to do that, but a couple of near tumbles taught me to keep a sharp look out and then hold on when the time was right. One of the guys did not make it across one time but he was close enough to the edge that we could wade in and pull him out OK. Rubber boots helped up there.
We eventually made it to the spot where Oscar said the geese would be, but there were none. We fanned out across the tundra and I immediately stuck my foot in a heap of snow that was covering a moss like substance that was covering a finger of water, more like an arm of water, or a leg of water I guess because I went down to my knees along with the gun barrel pointed down. We were both wet and murky looking.
I left my hunting companions to hunt their fowl and went back to the snow-go. I took off my socks, shoes, and boots and let them dry out on the hood of the snow-go which was still warm from use. The sun was out and I was not worried about freezing to death or anything, in fact it was very relaxing and cozy just sitting there.
I started thinking about the shotgun and wondered if I had clogged the barrel. I did not want to look down the barrel for obvious reasons and when I tried to eject the shell I had a hard time. So I made an executive decision, if I wanted much longer the water would form ice and then I didn't know what might happen so I just pointed the gun in the air , pulled the trigger and cleared the barrel. It worked just fine. I did startle my hunting buddies.
After I dried out I went off to join my companions, being more careful where I stepped. We all congregated on a little Noll and sat there basking in the sun and thoroughly enjoying ourselves for a couple of hours. We did see some geese now and then fly over but they were to far away to shoot with a shotgun, some ptarmigan would land some distance away and we would try to hit them with a .22 but the aiming mechanism was off (it couldn't have been our aim) perhaps the site was not zeroed in and even given Kentucky windage was to no avail. Sea Gulls came by every once in a while as did a Raven or two, but they knew we would not shoot them because the natives don't eat them and I guess they had learned over the years not to be afraid of humans.
We eventually decided it was time to move on. We found a river that had no name on our map if in fact it was the same river, and followed it along the bank towards what Oscar said he thought the direction of the village.
On our way back Oscar pointed up ahead and started racing our snow-go in that direction. It was a fox, not white, not red, but sort of a brownish color. He kept speeding after it and it took off over the rough grass as did we at the same break neck speed. He throttled down a little because it became to rough for even Oscar. We watched as the fox scampered away over a small rise. I didn't know what Oscar thought we were going to do if we caught up with the Fox, our guns were not loaded. I guess he just wanted to chase one. He did tell me later we were going 70 mph in our pursuit.
The rest of the trip back was uneventful, not that what we just did was very eventful given the big picture of life and all, but being out on the tundra, miles from any where or any one, going along a river that had no name and not sure it was even on the map, was a an experience for us white guys. We were not exploring an unknown territory or anything because there were snow-go tracks all over the place. But the scenery was different than most of us had experienced: Bluffs of snow on one side, a frozen river, frozen marsh, and small mountains in the distance.
We stopped in a little valley to eat. Oscar's mother had sent along some dried fish and seal jerky. Yes, seal jerky I did not care for the taste of either. George had thought to bring some celery and peanut butter and that with one can of Coke we each brought sufficed.
As I entered the house later that evening, Paula had dinner ready. I asked her why she had prepared hamburgers and frys when I could have brought home a goose to cook. She just laughed and flipped a hamburger.
No comments:
Post a Comment