By KEVIN SLAUGHTER
OF ANTLERS AND ANGLERS WORLDWIDE, LLC
(205)969-2065

This trip to the last great frontier, Alaska, came within days of being cancelled. My hunting partner, best friend, and wife, Corinna, was diagnosed with breast cancer just nine weeks before our long awaited six day caribou/black bear hunt. Our departure day was set for five weeks to the day after surgery. We couldn’t imagine that she would be able to make the long journey and survive the strenuous demands of the hunt. Just in case things worked out, Corinna recommended that I start two a day workouts at home so that I could carry her and her gear if necessary. Amazingly, just days before our departure, she decided we should attempt the trip even if it meant she would not be able to participate fully. Let me tell you, she ended up participating fully! But that’s a whole other story.

From the moment we arrived at base camp, the trip began to look like a typical trip to Alaska – don’t make any plans because your plans will change. A trip like this requires patience and flexibility, neither of which are strong traits of ours. As soon as we unloaded all our gear at the tundra plane for our flight out, a huge storm front blew in over the mountains that we were to fly over. We were grounded. Deflated, Corinna and I repacked and headed back to the camp house for a 24 hour wait for the weather to clear.
The next morning, I awoke with a horrible stomach virus and fever! The locals informed Corinna that it was a Norad virus which would last at least five days. Now it was time to pray and we needed a miracle. Our roles had reversed, she was the well one and I was the sick one. As the time to leave drew closer, I got sicker and sicker. We discussed the option of staying at the cabin an extra day. In Alaska, it is illegal to hunt and fly on the same day, so to delay another day really meant to lose two hunting days. We had already missed one day for weather. When the pilot walked in to pick us up, I asked him,“ If we get to the camp and I am too sick to hunt, will you come back and pick us up”, he said “Yes.” We had our answer!

We are a real pair now, Corinna couldn’t carry anything and I couldn’t keep anything in my stomach. What other obstacles would we face next? Our pilot dropped us off at the spike camp to meet our guide, Burr, who hours earlier had already set up camp and had a warm dinner waiting. Corinna ate and I crawled into our tent and went to sleep praying that I would be able to hunt the next morning.

Miraculously, I awoke well and ready to go. Our morning routine included a quick breakfast followed by glassing on one of the two hills near our camp. Hoping that we would spot a bull caribou in the distance and stalk to it for a shot with my bow! We would need to be within 55 yards for me to make the shot! As I looked over the tundra and mountains in front of me, I could not believe how sparse it was. There was very little cover for a bow hunter! Because of Corinna’s surgery, she would be shooting a scoped 41 mag. pistol. Her maximum distance with the pistol was 100 yards. We would need to be close to take our animals.

Glassing from the far hill, Burr spotted a big bull across the valley on the far mountain. Quickly, we decided this was a shooter and worth the hike across the river. Little did we know that the hike was a lot further and tougher than it looked. Backpacks on, bows, rifles and pistols in hand, we began our long stalk down the mountain, across the flats, through the alders, across the river, and up the steep mountain on the other side. By the time we arrived where the bull had been, he was gone and we were worn out! I was tired even though I had been doing two a day workouts at home.

Burr, with his 20 years of experience, decided we should climb the mountain further in hopes of cutting the bull off as he bedded down for the afternoon. He was right, the bull bedded down in front of some thick brush by the creek bed on the other side of the mountain. My big chance had arrived and I was going to stalk down the mountain alone and see just how close I could get to this big bull. Unfortunately, little cover existed between the bull and our vantage point.

All the cover was behind him and I had no way to get there. After a two hour stalk plagued by two other bulls watching my every move, the big bull got up and decided it was time for him to head to the highest mountain. When he ran off, I was about 125 yards. We spent the rest of the day climbing the high mountain but he and his buddies were nowhere to be found. Already exhausted, we made our way back down the mountain, across the river, through the alders, over the flats and back up the steep mountain to camp. The warm meal and bed were welcome refreshers.

The next two days were similar except we had no big bulls in sight. The herd that was usually in huge groups of hundreds and even thousands had split into small groups of 20-100. Instead of roaming through the valleys, they were spread across the mountaintops. No one hunting that week was having success. Our six day hunt was quickly vanishing and day five began with fog. My fear of going home empty handed began to creep into my mind. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I had never hunted this hard and we had been through so much to get here.

About 11:30 the heavy fog lifted and we could see hundreds of caribou across the river both in the valley and on the ridges. Though we couldn’t see any big bulls we decided to cross the river again in the same location as the first day. At this point we have now seen five big brown bear in the river where we cross. Needless to say we are a little more cautious and a lot noisier than the first time we made our way through the alders and across the river. After three days of 6-8 miles hikes our legs are like noodles but our determination has grown strong.

As soon as we made our way up the first ridge, Burr spotted a big bull bedded down on a ridge above us on the other side of the valley. We were surrounded by caribou and it was decision time. We only had a day and half left in our hunt and we desperately needed two caribou. The last thing that I wanted was for Corinna to go through all of this and go home empty handed. To get this bull would mean a very long stalk followed by a long rifle shot. Corinna was uncomfortable with any shot over 300 yards and she still was uncertain of using a high powered rifle after her surgery. After a quick conversation, we decided that our only hope of a successful trip for both of us was for me to try to take this bull. I decided it was better to give up my dream of taking the animal with my bow in order for both of us to succeed.

I set off for the long stalk across 1000 yards of open tundra to reach a small patch of alders. I was able to cover the distance quickly. As I surveyed the situation, I hoped to be able to stalk within 300 yards of the bull. By now I was several hundred yards below him and behind the alders. As I moved along the alders, they began to disappear and I was still much too far away for a shot. I crept along, moving lower and lower and the bull’s body began to disappear. His ledge was overtaking his body and soon I would not be able to see him at all. I pulled my range finder out of my pack and measured the ledge in front of him to be 500 yards. Since I could not move any closer, I decided that this would have to work. Without the benefit of a rangefinding scope, this would be a big challenge.

Every day for months, I had practiced with my bow never expecting to use my rifle. My new 300 ultra mag rifle had only been tested to 200 yards. I had not prepared for this distance and wasn’t sure what the ballistics would be for a shot of this distance. It was time to pray. I asked God to give me wisdom and the ability to make a shot this long in the wind and up a mountain with no good resting spot. I began to prepare. I pulled off my backpack and stood it up to try to get it high enough to shoot up to the other ridge. It was too Low. I began disassembling my pack, stacking seat cushions and my satellite phone pouch on top of my pack to get it higher but it was still too low. I then stacked all of it on my leg and it worked.

As I looked through my scope, I realized that I couldn’t see all of his body because of the ridge and that he was quartering to me, leaving an even tougher shot. It was time to start the process for the shot. As I settled in, I realized I couldn’t get rock steady and that I would have to keep the rifle close and tight. As I began to squeeze, I began to shake. I had run out of air. Fearing I was going to jerk the shot and miss, I backed away without releasing the pressure on the trigger and took a few breaths to relax again. As I caught my breath I continued to pray and decided I should raise the crosshairs another six inches. After 30 seconds, I settled back down to the shot knowing it would pop quickly.

Sure enough, it did. Holding 18-20 inches or so above his back the shot popped. The bull stood, took a few steps, and stopped. I quickly bolted and fired again. Not knowing if I had hit or missed, I fired a third shot. The bull began to stumble and as I bolted and prepared for the fourth shot, he dropped. Unbelievable!! After the toughest four hunting days of my life, another tough climb across the creek, a 1500 yard stalk and the longest shot of my life, I had finally taken my big bull.

We measured the shot at 550 yards in the wind!