The Monarch of the..........Marsh?!.........

It was exactly one year ago, on this day, that three of the Russian Mission Horsemen converged in a meadow on the Yukon Delta, under a comedy of circumstance, and killed the "Monarch of the Meadow".  (See post of same name from last year)  This year, we reunited and made another try to send September 18th into infamy.  It would be the same crew of Forde, John, and myself, only this time Forde was to be a triggerman, and I would be carrying the bow and filming.

We did not attempt this in the same meadow, however.  It was nearby, but this location was a new one to me.  That said, when we beached the boat on the water's edge, there sure was an awful lot of moose sign around....We quickly got underway walking in on the trail, seeing more and more moose sign at every turn....We jumped a couple of spruce chickens that nearly gave me a heart attack, and made me regret not having  a judo tipped arrow in my quiver...and still, I had to wonder if the voodoo would carry itself...

As we got very near the meadow we were headed for, we discovered a few rubs that were extremely fresh.  After remarking about them (and thinking that maybe we WOULD see the voodoo re-enacted), I snapped this photo of John and Forde heading further up the trail, rubs and busted trees at right:


Onward we went, the excitement still rising...and then we got to the edge of the meadow and discovered....that the meadow - was currently, in fact, a marsh.  Normally mostly dry, it now appeared to be sporting enough water to warrant hip waders at the least...

Undeterred, we sent Forde in.  Armed with a stick meant to measure his boot height against the water he was wading into, John and I bravely offered our encouragement to go until...well, until he couldn't anymore...and then we heard it.  That first sound that fires some synapse somewhere in your brain that says..."THAT'S a sound you need to pay attention to"....   And we listened.  And heard nothing.  In the distance, an owl hooted.  Then nothing.  Then, as we whispered back and forth about our water problem, I heard it again.  And so did John. (Not sure about Forde, only because he looked to be concentrating heavily on keeping his socks dry at the time...)  I can't remember if John called or not at this point....but he might have...at any rate...I remember Forde saying "Should I go or not?..."  and then all I saw was a flurry of motion from John and heard the fateful whisper, "It's a Bull!", "There he is!"...and then all Hell broke loose.  John scrambled to get set up with his call and gun and shooting sticks, I set down the bow and pack and went for the video camera in a fumbling, uncoordinated mess....and Forde left the water like he had seen an alligator.  Only surprisingly quietly.  As I pulled out the camera and began rolling...John and Forde got set up and John began a set of calls.  The bull was in clear view...but at the start, so were we.  As my mind was saying "He's not too far off to shoot for these guys with guns"....The bull, who had almost instantly established himself as a shooter, began to change his direction, rake a few willows, and turn as if he were coming to introduce himself.  Oh, happy time.  Immediately I was thinking, "Here we go"...

The bull came toward us, and then after crossing the 'pond', grunting his disapproval at our presence, and getting out of our sight in the thick stuff way out in front, he seemingly disappeared.  For roughly 25 minutes, all we were left with was the hooting of the owl in the distance.  We crept closer to where we thought the bull went, inching our way along the meadow.  Setting up again, John continued calling.  As we were trying to figure out what we were going to do next, I heard a stick...no, rather, a TREE, like the thickness of my leg, break, just across the 'pond' out of sight.  Seconds later, a pair of cows busted from the brush and came right towards us as John continued calling.  My ears were in overdrive, straining.  More branches being raked in the distance.  That owl was STILL hooting.  And now, sloshing in the water of eight long, ungainly moose legs.  Coming right at us.  The cows closed to 80 yards.  Then 60.  Soon it was 35-40.  But still no bull.  Only the thrashing of the trees, just out of sight, every time John raked the call across the limbs.  And that owl.  For nearly half an hour, we waited, and called, and whispered, and laughed, as the cows tried to make us out, and we tried to make out the bull.  But it wasn't to be.

The bull on the far side of the meadow, whether it was the original one or not, never showed itself. The only thing we would shoot this night would be some video.  Here is a very much un-perfect video clip of what happened.  At times, there is a lot of moving around, and the auto focus really messes with all the brush in the way, but so it goes when you are on a hunt.



For those with slow internet connections (like us, out here), or without Flash player, etc., or otherwise don't want to take the time for a video to upload, here are some pics of the bull taken from the video:
 









Maybe next time.... 

Fall Kako Camping Trip 2012

The weather this fall hasn't been good for anything....camping included. In fact, we were way behind pace by last week as we hadn't been out on a single school trip yet. Finally, last week we got enough of a break from mother nature that we planned a bunch of outings for the week. My group would be going to Kako and would consist of around 15 kids, me, and the chaperones from the village.

I had a lot planned....archery, moose hunting, spruce chicken hunting, duck hunting, beaver trapping, fish traps, and so on... gotta keep 'em busy :) We left on Wednesday afternoon, and would be returning Friday afternoon.

Archery turned out to be a big hit, as just about everyone participated at one time or another, and many of the students were waiting in line for their turn more often than not.




Some were inspired to have more fun shooting the bow than others :)


The first night a small crew went out with me and set two beaver castor mound sets.






We had fun trying to swamp the canoe - ers on the way....


It was declared that this year Kako would be a gun-free camp - except, of course, for chaperones :) and so all our spruce chicken hunting was with bows.

Some of the students were getting pretty good at shooting at birds from a moving boat:




And of course there was 'chicken' hunting to be had in camp as well as on the Kako two-track.


Notice the birds ahead of the kids on the left side:


The 'dumb' Spruce grouse offer great targets for spot and stalk.

A 'chicken' roasting on the fire.....Mmmmmmmmm




The first night dropped below freezing and only a hardy few were up and out of bed, ready and willing to go check our beaver sets. But those that were were rewarded, as, of course, that generally goes...







Though the beaver was mighty small (more like a muskrat) :) , the kids had fun, which is what matters.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Where else can you take a group of kids out into the woods for a few days with guns, bows, axes, and chainsaws - and not have an issue or an irate parent? Heck, we even chop our firewood right next to the archery range.... :) And yes, it only looks like she's pointing at them..


Overall, we had a great time with many successes. Can't wait for the next outing.....

The First Bird Outing of Fall 2012....

With all the foul weather we've had lately, it has been ugly to even think of getting out in the boat and going much of anywhere. Hearing tales of blowing gale winds, three foot rollers and pounding whitecaps on the river tends to do that. But, there are only so many days in September...that extraordinary time of Fall here in the bush, and you better use 'em...

And so, because of that "time's wasting" mentality, when John asked if I was going bird hunting with him and Forde and I said no....I started reconsidering. And it wasn't long until I was pulling on raingear and giving John a call back. We would be going to Gathonajuk (spelling is guaranteed to be WRONG) island, up river about 20 miles. This was the scene of last year's crazy bird hunt, and so, needless to say, I was excited. The ride even turned out to be nicer than I thought it would be, considering what it looked like outside. So, before too long, we pulled the boat up on shore of the island and started down the trail. This time there wasn't the deafening roar of wings as hundreds of birds took off like last year, however. In fact, a lot was different from last year. We quickly found out that the trail wasn't much of a trail at all - it was now a pond. Although we could see healthy groups of birds swimming right where we wanted to be, it was unreachable without at least hip waders - maybe chesties. So we went to the right and set up on the next likely looking mud pocket.

John started setting up the spread of dekes while I began attaching weights to those who needed 'em.


The action was pretty good as far as seeing birds....unfortunately the ones we saw were usually going somewhere else to land :). We did get a few in close enough though...but the strong winds also took some of them away from us when they fell out too far for Monk to get to.

Forde got some steel in to more than a couple, on his first 'official' bird outing.


On one volley where the ducks came in nicely, John and Forde each took one as I held my fire. The result was Monk grabbing John's duck, and then running down the beach to get Forde's, that he had chased down and..uhm...'anchored'. This is the action shot of the retrieval of the pair:


Towards the end of the evening, Two mallards came in, locked up, and dropped down right in front of us. Both birds were quickly put to bed. Monk brought the second one in as John waited with the first:


A shot of me heading back to the boat with the night's bag of five ducks. (Our collective bag, not 'my' bag....)


And finally, a shot of Forde, holding up a gaggle of ducks, and grinning as a cold-blooded killer should.