Most memorable hunt…
- Thread starter ScottR
- Start date
I'll go, no question the most memorable was a hunt with my buddy Tom for Muskox.
We did a hunt on the Yukon River the year before for moose and while relaxing after a successful hunt at Toms place in Anchorage he asked me if wanted to apply for Muskox. Tom had already drawn 2 tags for Nunivak so we decided to apply for the Shishmaref tags...total of 6 tags IIRC, offered and we applied as a party.
The draw came out and sure enough we drew...as it would turn out, 2 of the last 6 tags ever issued for that hunt. Tom was pretty excited as he said that was the best ox tag in AK.
Hunt finally came and we got in touch with Clifford, a native of Shishmaref and a very neat guy. We decided on the best dates for the best hair. I met Tom in Anchorage and we flew up to Nome the next day. Took a taxi into town, and I kid you not, I think he'd been transporting goats in his "taxi" which was a beat up old van. Smelled like a rank billygoat in that taxi! We grabbed a quick pizza in town, which was actually pretty darn good.
We flew into Shish on an Era flight, and it was bleak country, essentially snow and ice with a few willows poking out of the snow. We landed safely and were greeted by a some folks from town that drove their snowmachine's out to pick us up. Before we left for town we helped them unload cargo out of the airplane, mostly dried goods as well as our hunting stuff.
We went to Clifford's house and the first think I noticed was the doors going into the house seemed pretty short, sort of stepped down into the house. Didn't think much of it, but later Clifford said he was probably going to have to jack the entire house up in the summer as it was slowly sinking into the permafrost! He said it was essentially built on blocks and they just add more blocks! I was also shocked to learn that heating his home cost him about $3k a month and he was constantly yelling at his son, probably in his early 40's, to close the door. After finding out what his heat bill was a month, I don't blame him.
Anyway, that first night some of the native ladies from town came over with some spotted seal skin hats, gloves, slippers, etc. for us to buy. I bought an awesome bomber hat but all the slippers they had were only big enough for about 7 year old kids. I asked if they had anything larger and they said no, but several days later when I returned they had put together a nice assortment of slippers and I bought a pair for my wife.
I also struck up a conversation with Clifford's son Johnny and before long he broke out some photos of their native hunting. Pictures of walrus, seals, moose, grizzlies, etc and I ended up not finally going to bed until way too late. The most fascinating was the way they hunt walrus and it also looked fairly dangerous. Hunters, no matter how they hunt, always have something in common and the story telling was the same. Interestingly enough Johnny was most interested in pronghorn hunting.
A few pics:
Nome:
Shishmaref:
Clifford and I at his place in Shish:, believe he was in his 70's and at this point his father was 93 years old.
We did a hunt on the Yukon River the year before for moose and while relaxing after a successful hunt at Toms place in Anchorage he asked me if wanted to apply for Muskox. Tom had already drawn 2 tags for Nunivak so we decided to apply for the Shishmaref tags...total of 6 tags IIRC, offered and we applied as a party.
The draw came out and sure enough we drew...as it would turn out, 2 of the last 6 tags ever issued for that hunt. Tom was pretty excited as he said that was the best ox tag in AK.
Hunt finally came and we got in touch with Clifford, a native of Shishmaref and a very neat guy. We decided on the best dates for the best hair. I met Tom in Anchorage and we flew up to Nome the next day. Took a taxi into town, and I kid you not, I think he'd been transporting goats in his "taxi" which was a beat up old van. Smelled like a rank billygoat in that taxi! We grabbed a quick pizza in town, which was actually pretty darn good.
We flew into Shish on an Era flight, and it was bleak country, essentially snow and ice with a few willows poking out of the snow. We landed safely and were greeted by a some folks from town that drove their snowmachine's out to pick us up. Before we left for town we helped them unload cargo out of the airplane, mostly dried goods as well as our hunting stuff.
We went to Clifford's house and the first think I noticed was the doors going into the house seemed pretty short, sort of stepped down into the house. Didn't think much of it, but later Clifford said he was probably going to have to jack the entire house up in the summer as it was slowly sinking into the permafrost! He said it was essentially built on blocks and they just add more blocks! I was also shocked to learn that heating his home cost him about $3k a month and he was constantly yelling at his son, probably in his early 40's, to close the door. After finding out what his heat bill was a month, I don't blame him.
Anyway, that first night some of the native ladies from town came over with some spotted seal skin hats, gloves, slippers, etc. for us to buy. I bought an awesome bomber hat but all the slippers they had were only big enough for about 7 year old kids. I asked if they had anything larger and they said no, but several days later when I returned they had put together a nice assortment of slippers and I bought a pair for my wife.
I also struck up a conversation with Clifford's son Johnny and before long he broke out some photos of their native hunting. Pictures of walrus, seals, moose, grizzlies, etc and I ended up not finally going to bed until way too late. The most fascinating was the way they hunt walrus and it also looked fairly dangerous. Hunters, no matter how they hunt, always have something in common and the story telling was the same. Interestingly enough Johnny was most interested in pronghorn hunting.
A few pics:
Nome:
Shishmaref:
Clifford and I at his place in Shish:, believe he was in his 70's and at this point his father was 93 years old.
The next day, mid-morning we struck out for "Arctic camp" which turned out to be about 60-70 miles on snowmachines. We saw a handful of caribou/reindeer and those animals were about the spookiest animals I've ever seen in my life. Just small dots barely visible with your naked eye and they would be hauling the mail. The ride was rough, across the "lagoon" with broken ice and everything out there looking the same. Finally after quite a while I saw a small dot way out in the distance that we seemed to be driving toward...the dot kept getting bigger and eventually proved to be 2 small buildings.
Arctic camp:
Considering the remoteness of the place it was actually pretty nice with the temperature inside being about 60 degrees. We were greeted by a native lady who was already out there that would be our cook. She was a great person and prepared muskox ribs, caribou stew, and things of that nature. We had some time to go for a quick hunt out toward the Bering Land Bridge National Preserve. Wasn't long and we came across a herd of ox with one very good bull. Tom offered me the first shot and I told him since it was late and the light not real good I'd rather he shoot this one as I wanted better photos with more light. So, Tom stalked the herd and when the bull cleared he shot it with my .338 (we only took one rifle).
That night when got back to camp, we learned that Cliffords 93 year old father had passed away (they could get in touch with town via a radio). Clifford said he was going to go back early the next morning to take care of his family. I was uneasy letting him go alone and told him so. He said not to worry and I asked him what he would do if his sled broke down, he said, he would walk. I made the decision that we wouldn't leave for hunting until we knew Clifford made it to town, which he did in pretty good time. After we knew all was well, we took off and starting looking for another herd. We drove the machines to a slightly high point and I glassed up a herd wayyyy out. We took the machines closer and then walked up to a place and looked them over. Found that there was one really good bull in the herd.
We moved in closer and after waiting for quite a while, the bull finally separated and I shot it with my .338. Turned out being another great bull:
We took everything off both ox but the spines, the meat is extraordinarily good and what we didn't want the natives in Shish wanted. I took half and gave half to them. Tom did the same, and we knew beforehand it was very good, but we felt compelled to give back to the folks in Shish.
Arctic camp:
Considering the remoteness of the place it was actually pretty nice with the temperature inside being about 60 degrees. We were greeted by a native lady who was already out there that would be our cook. She was a great person and prepared muskox ribs, caribou stew, and things of that nature. We had some time to go for a quick hunt out toward the Bering Land Bridge National Preserve. Wasn't long and we came across a herd of ox with one very good bull. Tom offered me the first shot and I told him since it was late and the light not real good I'd rather he shoot this one as I wanted better photos with more light. So, Tom stalked the herd and when the bull cleared he shot it with my .338 (we only took one rifle).
That night when got back to camp, we learned that Cliffords 93 year old father had passed away (they could get in touch with town via a radio). Clifford said he was going to go back early the next morning to take care of his family. I was uneasy letting him go alone and told him so. He said not to worry and I asked him what he would do if his sled broke down, he said, he would walk. I made the decision that we wouldn't leave for hunting until we knew Clifford made it to town, which he did in pretty good time. After we knew all was well, we took off and starting looking for another herd. We drove the machines to a slightly high point and I glassed up a herd wayyyy out. We took the machines closer and then walked up to a place and looked them over. Found that there was one really good bull in the herd.
We moved in closer and after waiting for quite a while, the bull finally separated and I shot it with my .338. Turned out being another great bull:
We took everything off both ox but the spines, the meat is extraordinarily good and what we didn't want the natives in Shish wanted. I took half and gave half to them. Tom did the same, and we knew beforehand it was very good, but we felt compelled to give back to the folks in Shish.
When we were headed back with my ox, another guy from town that went with us, Danny, all of sudden broke away from us on his snowmobile. A while later he comes back with 4-5 ptarmigan that he'd shot with a rusty old .22 magnum, I noticed all the ptarmigan were shot through the head.
We got back and he and the cook were excited to eat something other than ox and she started preparing the ptarmigan. We had oven roasted ox ribs and her and Danny ate the ptarmigan that she boiled in a pot of water. While were eating, my buddy Tom asked if he could have of the green beans in this bowl in the center of the table. Turns out they weren't green beans, but ptarmigan intestines with boiled water put on them! I swear, they looked just like green beans! Tom passed while Danny and the cook dined on boiled ptarmigan and ptarmigan intestines.
The next morning we woke up to a fantastic breakfast of sourdough pancakes that we had every other morning. The starter was supposedly 93 years old, the same age as Cliffords father. We took this photo in Arctic camp of both or our ox, which both made B&C, mine being 4 or so inches over minimum:
As per always on AK hunts, our flights got all jacked up once we flew out of Shish. We had to spend the night in Nome and figured while we were there we may as well hit the town. We decided to hit up all the bars in town for a drink at each one and since we had several hours to do so that's what we did. It was "interesting" to say the least. We struck up conversations with a bunch of locals and one bar we hit, it was the owners birthday. They had a complimentary taco bar on account of the owners birthday. We were there for the birthday song and they brought out about the biggest sheet cake I've ever seen. I'm not a huge cake fan, but they locals demanded we have a piece...I chit you not, that was the best cake I've ever had. It was a cream cheese sweet frost with white cake with a thick layer of raspberry compote. It was fantastic.
Between bars, we saw a couple guys and a large crowd outside where 2 of the locals were squaring off, cursing at each other, wanting to fight, each with a nice sized knife in their hands. That was broken up pretty quickly, before anyone got stabbed. The most interesting person we talked with was a young lady school teacher "vacationing" in Nome from her job in little Diomede. I had no idea where that was, but its an Island in the middle of the Bering Straight...I could see why Nome was a "vacation".
The hunt itself wasn't a big deal as far as the ox, but it was the most fascinating place and culture I've ever been around.
Its unfortunate that Tom and I were 2 of the last 6 people that will hunt that place for ox, I'll never forget that trip, people, culture and experience. Feel fortunate to have traveled and hunted there. Only thing I regret is not trying to fish for tomcod...dumb move, I'll likely never get another chance to do that.
Spotted seal skin slippers:
The only guy on my block with a hand sewn spotted seal skin bomber hat, that is too warm to wear 99% of the time in the winter in Wyoming:
We got back and he and the cook were excited to eat something other than ox and she started preparing the ptarmigan. We had oven roasted ox ribs and her and Danny ate the ptarmigan that she boiled in a pot of water. While were eating, my buddy Tom asked if he could have of the green beans in this bowl in the center of the table. Turns out they weren't green beans, but ptarmigan intestines with boiled water put on them! I swear, they looked just like green beans! Tom passed while Danny and the cook dined on boiled ptarmigan and ptarmigan intestines.
The next morning we woke up to a fantastic breakfast of sourdough pancakes that we had every other morning. The starter was supposedly 93 years old, the same age as Cliffords father. We took this photo in Arctic camp of both or our ox, which both made B&C, mine being 4 or so inches over minimum:
As per always on AK hunts, our flights got all jacked up once we flew out of Shish. We had to spend the night in Nome and figured while we were there we may as well hit the town. We decided to hit up all the bars in town for a drink at each one and since we had several hours to do so that's what we did. It was "interesting" to say the least. We struck up conversations with a bunch of locals and one bar we hit, it was the owners birthday. They had a complimentary taco bar on account of the owners birthday. We were there for the birthday song and they brought out about the biggest sheet cake I've ever seen. I'm not a huge cake fan, but they locals demanded we have a piece...I chit you not, that was the best cake I've ever had. It was a cream cheese sweet frost with white cake with a thick layer of raspberry compote. It was fantastic.
Between bars, we saw a couple guys and a large crowd outside where 2 of the locals were squaring off, cursing at each other, wanting to fight, each with a nice sized knife in their hands. That was broken up pretty quickly, before anyone got stabbed. The most interesting person we talked with was a young lady school teacher "vacationing" in Nome from her job in little Diomede. I had no idea where that was, but its an Island in the middle of the Bering Straight...I could see why Nome was a "vacation".
The hunt itself wasn't a big deal as far as the ox, but it was the most fascinating place and culture I've ever been around.
Its unfortunate that Tom and I were 2 of the last 6 people that will hunt that place for ox, I'll never forget that trip, people, culture and experience. Feel fortunate to have traveled and hunted there. Only thing I regret is not trying to fish for tomcod...dumb move, I'll likely never get another chance to do that.
Spotted seal skin slippers:
The only guy on my block with a hand sewn spotted seal skin bomber hat, that is too warm to wear 99% of the time in the winter in Wyoming:
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dang! I can't remember!!!!! 
truth is, I have been blessed with so many I cannot choose one.
first of any species come to mind. or it could be guiding a youth on their first. then there are all the miserable weather hunts where I suffered endlessly but overcame. even some of the hunts where I ended up with tag soup rate as my favorites.
could be the one where I rescued a foolish couple from freezing. or one with a couple buddies where anything that could possibly go wrong, did. yet we still all tagged out.
the bow hunt when I was swarmed by bees??
the hunt where a buddy slashed his hand open and almost bleed out like a stuck pig! where the boss rolled his four wheeler down a hill and had to wrap his severed neck with a knapsack?
maybe it was shooting lizards off the rockpiles of my youth with my old red rider? or the nookie with my first gal in the tree stand, truck ,on the four wheeler?
impossible to choose. last would for sure be in the running! even if it was more about taping than tagging
truth is, I have been blessed with so many I cannot choose one.
first of any species come to mind. or it could be guiding a youth on their first. then there are all the miserable weather hunts where I suffered endlessly but overcame. even some of the hunts where I ended up with tag soup rate as my favorites.
could be the one where I rescued a foolish couple from freezing. or one with a couple buddies where anything that could possibly go wrong, did. yet we still all tagged out.
the bow hunt when I was swarmed by bees??
the hunt where a buddy slashed his hand open and almost bleed out like a stuck pig! where the boss rolled his four wheeler down a hill and had to wrap his severed neck with a knapsack?
maybe it was shooting lizards off the rockpiles of my youth with my old red rider? or the nookie with my first gal in the tree stand, truck ,on the four wheeler?
impossible to choose. last would for sure be in the running! even if it was more about taping than tagging
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Muley bound
Active Member
JimP
Administrator
I couldn't even begin to list them after 55+ years of hunting.
Each and every one usually has that special moment or time with others that make them all special and memorable.
Each and every one usually has that special moment or time with others that make them all special and memorable.
Slugz
Veteran member
Any one with my son is cherished.
My favorite to date is this one. All by myself. Tagged out elk and mule deer. Passer by snapped the pic for me.
My favorite to date is this one. All by myself. Tagged out elk and mule deer. Passer by snapped the pic for me.
Colorado Cowboy
Super Moderator
Like lots of you have mentioned, too many hunts that were all fun. But one does have memories that still make my hall of fame.
My family (Grandfather, Dad , Uncle & Cousins) all hunt. My Grandfather started to hunt deer in the High Sierras of California in the 1920's. Over the years my Dad & Uncle joined him along with some friends on an annual deer hunting trip. They eventually zero'd in on a remote area above Fresno where they started back packing in. They saw horses and packers taking hunters into the same area and decided to do the same. Their first pack trip was in 1940. WWII derailed their trips as most of them went off to war. They started packing in again in 1946. (Some of my family and friends still pack into the same camp today, it is in the Ansel Adams Wilderness area.
I made my first trip in 1953 when I was 12. Over the years I have made at least 30 trips to "our" camp. I have taken a lot of bucks there, probably 25 or more (can't remember exactly). My Dad, Uncle and Grandpa are all gone now, but the kids still carry on the tradition.
The one buck that really stands out was not the biggest I have shot, but the first big one for me. I was a large 4x8 that was a stag. It was still in the velvet and it's antlers were really nontypical. It scored 177". I was only 20 back then and on my first hunt in 7 years. I played high school and college football and my falls were full of football, not hunting.
Unfortunately back then I didn't carry a camera as they were bulky and not really weatherproof. Most pictures were taken back at camp prior to skinning and quartering. I probably have over a 1000 35 mm slides. On my member page I have a collection of pictures of some of the bucks shot over the years, take a look and you will see some pretty good California bucks.
Deer have been my main quest over the years, they just do it for me. I have taken Mule, Whitetail and Blacktail deer, elk, moose, antelope, bear and wild hogs. I have hunted in California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana and Texas. I am 80 now and will keep hunting till I can't walk and shoot anymore.
My family (Grandfather, Dad , Uncle & Cousins) all hunt. My Grandfather started to hunt deer in the High Sierras of California in the 1920's. Over the years my Dad & Uncle joined him along with some friends on an annual deer hunting trip. They eventually zero'd in on a remote area above Fresno where they started back packing in. They saw horses and packers taking hunters into the same area and decided to do the same. Their first pack trip was in 1940. WWII derailed their trips as most of them went off to war. They started packing in again in 1946. (Some of my family and friends still pack into the same camp today, it is in the Ansel Adams Wilderness area.
I made my first trip in 1953 when I was 12. Over the years I have made at least 30 trips to "our" camp. I have taken a lot of bucks there, probably 25 or more (can't remember exactly). My Dad, Uncle and Grandpa are all gone now, but the kids still carry on the tradition.
The one buck that really stands out was not the biggest I have shot, but the first big one for me. I was a large 4x8 that was a stag. It was still in the velvet and it's antlers were really nontypical. It scored 177". I was only 20 back then and on my first hunt in 7 years. I played high school and college football and my falls were full of football, not hunting.
Unfortunately back then I didn't carry a camera as they were bulky and not really weatherproof. Most pictures were taken back at camp prior to skinning and quartering. I probably have over a 1000 35 mm slides. On my member page I have a collection of pictures of some of the bucks shot over the years, take a look and you will see some pretty good California bucks.
Deer have been my main quest over the years, they just do it for me. I have taken Mule, Whitetail and Blacktail deer, elk, moose, antelope, bear and wild hogs. I have hunted in California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana and Texas. I am 80 now and will keep hunting till I can't walk and shoot anymore.
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Timber Stalker
Active Member
- May 22, 2020
- 315
- 666
My most memorable was my Bighorn Sheep. It was a 14 day solo hunt that ended in with a 13 yard shot. It was 10 years ago and I still talk about it often. 
mallardsx2
Veteran member
- Jul 8, 2015
- 3,931
- 3,250
I have lots of hunting memories.
And while I cherish all of those memories, and while this may seem strange, the hunt that is most memorable is the day I killed this white crow. I was about 18 or 19 years old when I killed it. My buddy and I stood there for 20 minutes just looking at it. We both love to crow hunt and over the years we killed thousands of crows. Never got a white one until that day. We killed 55 that day and 33 of them were killed in 1 spot. I killed it in Butler County PA and it is my most treasured possession. The odds in me killing another is like hitting the mega-millions lottery. No amount of money, prefrence points, or skill can help you kill something this rare. They are just VERY VERY rare and truly are a once in 100 lifetimes kill. My friend and I dont see each other much anymore but when we see each other it always comes up.
I told my wife "If the house ever catches fire, grab the white crow on your way out the door if you can". Everything else can be replaced. That cant. lol
And while I cherish all of those memories, and while this may seem strange, the hunt that is most memorable is the day I killed this white crow. I was about 18 or 19 years old when I killed it. My buddy and I stood there for 20 minutes just looking at it. We both love to crow hunt and over the years we killed thousands of crows. Never got a white one until that day. We killed 55 that day and 33 of them were killed in 1 spot. I killed it in Butler County PA and it is my most treasured possession. The odds in me killing another is like hitting the mega-millions lottery. No amount of money, prefrence points, or skill can help you kill something this rare. They are just VERY VERY rare and truly are a once in 100 lifetimes kill. My friend and I dont see each other much anymore but when we see each other it always comes up.
I told my wife "If the house ever catches fire, grab the white crow on your way out the door if you can". Everything else can be replaced. That cant. lol
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