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To Kill a Bison…

What follows are my recent recollections, observations and images of one of the most incredible and exhilarating hunts I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of. It was far from the most difficult, but it was pure magic and I’d not do much different knowing a little more now than I did going in.

I traveled from Boston to Alaska to hunt what many rightly consider to be the classic and quintessential American big game animal, the American bison. Also known as buffalo, it’s an indigenous North American animal forever entwined in the history and mystique of America, her pioneers and the expansion of same into the North American interior.

The bison played no small part in the history and the cultures of many Native American plains Indians, as everyone knows. The once vast bison herds were at the forefront of some early Americans moving into the heart of the continent, and ultimately led in part to the ‘taming of the west’. Many Indians I suppose will decry this incursion of the white man as the trigger of the death knell for their cultures, but I’m not here to delve into that. I’m just aiming to tell my bison story with a little background. I’ve been enamored with this great beast since childhood. Hell, I’m old enough to remember feeling lucky upon receiving an occasional buffalo/Indian head nickel in change from candy stores in the 1970s. I still have a bunch of them.

The bison is living American history and a symbol of America. I’m quite sure some members here like Shrapnel are much better qualified to speak on bison history and the early American western pioneers, but I’ve been in awe of them and have often dreamt of them over the years. To actually have the opportunity to hunt one, a wild one, was until very recently been but dream fodder.

Perhaps five years ago, member Sitka Deer out of Anchorage suggested I start applying for some non-resident game tags in Alaska. At the time we’d been corresponding for a number of years on 24HCF and got to know each other via PMs, emails, phone calls and ultimately had us meeting in Florida. He told me long before then that if I hit any of the draw tags, he’d help make the hunt happen for me. Our talks were mostly about fishing, guns, hunting, travel, food and the like, and we came to form a friendship, one I’ve been glad for and happy to embrace.

The emperor goose, caribou and moose tags SD he had me applying for had reasonable odds for success and for a number of years I paid my money and took my chances. In five odd years of donations to AKDFG I’d had zero luck. Alaska is one of the states that require a big game license to apply for draw hunts, so coming away with no banana after a few years was a bit disappointing, but I kept at it, ever hopeful.

When I’d originally asked SD exactly which tags he thought I should be putting on in for, he opined that if I was the gambling sort, in addition to the emperor goose, moose and caribou, ones he thought I had decent odds of hitting within a few years, if I was feeling froggy, I’d maybe want to start putting in also for a coveted bison tag. Odds were decidedly poor for that one. I think 2000:1 were the approximate odds I read. Like picking a single marked ace of spades out of 35 decks of playing cards in one try or something. Despite the odds, I agreed with SD that *someone* had to win one of the few bison tags that AK offered every year. Fugg it, I'm in.

The call came sometime around noon. I was napping and when I looked at my phone was a little surprised to see it was SD, as our standard chat time was from about midnight to 4am, EST. Yes, I am a night owl. “Hey man. Weird time for you to call. Is everything OK?”, I asked.

“Sure, everything’s just fine here. What are you doing?”

“Napping, actually, but no worries. What’s up?”

“You haven’t seen it then, obviously” he says, somewhat cryptically.

“Seen what, exactly?” I asked, a bit confused and still dopey from my nap. SD started laughing quietly a bit and then explained that today was the one where the AK game tag lottery results were released online. I sat upright and immediately understood that I‘d won something in the AK hunt draw for 2022.

“Wait a sec… Oh man, wow, I hit a lottery tag, didn’t I?”

A bit more of snickering was followed by, “Why yes, you did, actually”

“Holy sheet! I got my emperor goose tag?”, I asked not a little excitedly.

He paused a bit, then said, “Uh, no. Try again.”

“Wait, oh man, I got a moose tag!”

“Negative”

“Huh. Then caribou! YES! Oh man, I can’t believe…”

“Wrong again.”

It took a couple of seconds being a bit confused, sitting on the edge of my bed and thinking about what I’d applied for it before it hit me. I blurted out, ‘you can’t be serious. I didn’t actually hit… the BISON tag, did I?”

“Why yes, actually you did, you unbelievably lucky SOB. I’ve been trying for that one for only about 40 years ”

Much hollering and carrying on followed. I was five years old on Christmas day once again.

Something tells me that this is fixing to be another great Kamo read and I dare say that some excellent photos will be included. 👍

I’m always glad when one of the good guys beats the odds and draws a coveted tag….jealous and pissed off to no end but happy. 😂

The hunt was many months off, but naturally I started daydreaming and planning immediately. I’d won a coveted any sex tag, which was very nice, since I’d have the option of taking either a cow or bull if I had the chance. Having the option of a crack at a cow, should that be my only opportunity, was still a big deal. I’m not what anyone would consider to be ‘trophy’ hunter. To me, the prize is always the hunt itself. That said, given the choice, I’ll kill a bull any day over a cow.

A plan developed, but slowly. SD advised me that due to amongst other considerations, not the least of which included winter weather concerns and hunts he does every year in September, his call would be for us to wait until the end of the season, likely in March, to hunt. October/November were options but he liked the early spring time frame. Deep winter temps with wind chill can reach -50F in DJ, not to mention the fact that the hours of daylight are slim then. Made sense to me. The bison season was long; about six months long, actually, opening in early September and ending March 31. And so that was the loose plan. Up until I received notice from the AKDFG that major changes had been made to the Delta Junction bison hunt…

Due to a brutal previous winter, one with incredible snowfall and the worst part, a mid-winter thaw and subsequent freeze that saw a thick sheet of ice develop, wreaked havoc on the bison herd --and about all other game populations. More than 200 bison of the Delta Junction herd starved to death last year. As a result, the AKDFG decided that the six-month season would now be comprised of five separate groups of 24 hunters each, with each group’s start date to coincide with the order of selection in the lottery.

The groups would have the collective kill capped at 12 bulls, and the formerly ~6-month long season would now be only 12 days long for each group, with a predetermined start date for every group. The kicker was that with each group, if and when 12 bulls were reported as killed, the AKDFG would inform the rest of the group that the season would close the next day at midnight. Also, all tags were now bull-only.

Not only were we up against the short season and bull only requirements, we were up against the other hunters. Kill one of the 12 bulls allotted, or go home. For non-residents, this is a once in a lifetime tag.

I mentioned to the gal at the DJ AKDFG that I’d have gladly put off hunting this year, as long as my tag would be honored and I’d be able to hunt them in the next year or three. She explained that she and many others had advocated for exactly that, but had been snubbed by the powers that be, citing requirements for public hearings, legislative action, etc. A lousy deal for the bison, but I wasn’t going to sit it out and forego my one chance to do my all to try to hunt up a wild, free-ranging buffalo. And with that, the planning began in earnest.

I’ll not bore folks with the planning and gear lists and arrangements that were developed in the intervening couple of months before the hunt start date of 10/18.

We're waiting.

My flight out of Boston’s Logan was at 5:45 am, bound for Seattle, which had me headed out of my place at around 3:30 am. I figured that things would be pretty quiet that early. Not so much, but no big deal.






I checked my bags through to Anchorage.

The flight to Seattle went off fine, and I passed the couple hours I had there until my next leg. Watching some of the locals in and just outside of the AP helped pass the time. All colors of the rainbow were represented in the hair--and sexual preferences-- of many under age 40. Bearded, manbun wearing effeminates in pajamas with backpacks with teddy bears hanging out the back paraded about. Plenty of fishing tackle clipped to faces. And of course, tattoos on just about all of them. I was glad to be only transiting the place, though many years ago I confess enjoying some fun times there.

Closing in on the AP, I glanced out the window. Nope, not on the east coast anymore.




SD picked me up at the AP in Anchorage. We loaded gear quickly and headed for his home base. As has become a tradition for me, I’d hauled some fresh north Atlantic seafood and a couple of bottles of spirits as small tokens of thanks for my host. SD had one of his lady friends over later, and we enjoyed some bugs and New England clam chowdah that evening. And yes, that is how it’s properly spelled.

The first night had us eating well, drinking a fair amount, poring over some maps and sharing contacts and info about the hunt area and whatnot. SD’s house had no shortage of interesting things to play with and gawk at. Dan in Alaska stopped by to say hello and shoot the breeze for a short time. Good dude who really helped me out and shared some wonderful stuff to bring home with me on the back end of the hunt.

We had some concerns over weather and we watched the AK 511 road conditions/weather website closely. With an approximate 350 mile trip from Anchorage to Delta Junction, including running some relatively steep and potentially dangerous mountain passes, it wasn’t something to ignore.



Our fears came to pass the next day. Conditions on our route were alternately marked as ‘difficult’, ‘very difficult’ and ‘hazardous’ in several of the areas we’d need to transit. If we were lucky, what would have been maybe a 7-8 hour drive in decent conditions could turn into a 12+ hour drive, if we could actually make it. We decided to abort for the day, and crossed fingers that the forecast for better weather predicted for the following day would allow us to make the run up to DJ in better conditions and in good time. And so, it was.

We spent the extra day around Anchorage running around making a few pitstops. I secured my required $900 NR locking bison tag and a state duck stamp (we’d hoped to get a chance to shoot harlequin and Barrow’s goldeneye for my bird collection after the bison hunt). We picked up a couple of last-minute odds and sods, and I saw some very impressive mounts and fish in live tanks at Cabela’s. The pho joint we ate at was quite good, and we ran up to a local vista for me to check out. Alaska has no shortage of beautiful views, even inside city limits.

No doubt!!!

Good start, KG. You’re a fine writer.

Later that night, I had the pleasure of meeting another ‘Fire member, CWH. His hospitality and dinner offerings were outstanding, and I enjoyed meeting him, his lovely young daughter and their neat, friendly little dog.



I happily devoured a fabulous moose steak CWH cooked and we all drank well and shared tales of past hunts and fishing exploits past.



I particularly enjoyed CWH’s telling of a wild and comical hand to tentacle battle he had on the deck of his boat with a size XL Pacific octopus he’d hooked one time on a fishing trip. Being a long-time saltwater fisherman who loves pulling weird creatures up from the deep, I particularly liked that one.

SD and I hit the road the next day, despite a few still ugly road reports in spots. The ride up to DJ was at times delightful, but also mildly terrifying. I’ve been driving in winter snow and ice for about 40 years here in New England. I know how to do it and understand what the dangers are. I know what not to do. One of the things not to do is run at speeds up to 90 mph on roads that have patches of shiny, sketchy looking black ice on the road in between sheets of obvious ice, slush and crunchy snow-covered highway. There were a few dry spots along the way, I’ll admit.

A few times we fishtailed on the road like an aged, drunken hooker on a slippery dance floor. Many places on those mountain passes have spots with no guard rails. Sliding over the edge in some of these places at speed meant probable death. The imaginary passenger side brakes got a workout on that ride. Not so fun at times but we never left the hardtop. How I’ll never know!

We did see a goodly number of vehicles later that wound up off the road in ditches and worse, including a U.S. Army vehicle in a convoy.



For good measure, on the ride up SD shared a tale of a guy who’d gone over the edge on his motorbike some years back. A friend of the missing chap wound up looking for him, figuring he’d gone over the edge somewhere and thought he could possibly find him where authorities hadn’t been able to. The friend finally did find him. His buddy had obviously survived the horrific ordeal of going over the edge and down into a hole in a rugged mountain twisty section but ended up dying of exposure out there. A comforting tale that one wasn’t, told as we hustled along the same road…

The views of the Alaska range were nothing short of spectacular, and SD was knowledgeable about the region and explained the views I often took in with an open-mouthed gaze and my head shaking. I took in scenes of the Chugach and Talkeetna mountains and asked to stop at a couple to take a few shots. Virtually all I saw was stunning and many supremely rugged mountains, with their many white, ragged peaks cutting a magnificent sight against the skyline had me in absolute awe. America? F8CK YEAH!





We were treated to seeing some moose, one ballsy ruffed grouse we left unmolested and some other small wildlife enroute.



After some eight plus hours on the road with reason and maybe some physics defied, we actually made it in one piece.

I’d made reservations at a local inn in ‘downtown’ DJ. Population in DJ hovers at around 1000. When we finally pulled in, we got checked in and got settled. There were two queen beds, a proper shower and a kitchenette with a two-burner range, ‘fridge/small freezer and coffee maker. All set there. Hot breakfasts were included in the cost, so that was nice. We certainly wouldn’t be roughing it on this hunt.

We touched base with Rost495, another 24HCF member who I’ve been friendly with and corresponded with off and on for years. He’d generously offered to assist in any way he could. A lifelong Texan, the man now makes part of his living guiding in AK for bear, moose and sheep, I believe, and he and his lovely wife have a place in DJ that they live in seasonally.

We spent the night before the hunt comparing notes with Rost495 and having a decidedly crappy dinner at a place called ‘The Cave’. They were generous with the name. ‘The Dump’ would’ve been more appropriate, where they pride themselves in their lousy, expensive food and horrible service. A couple of wildly overcooked burgers (we’d ordered them medium rare) and a few drinks only cost me about a hundred bucks. No matter. I wasn’t there for the fine dining and a night out on the town, after all. I was there to try to kill a bison.

A few words from the AKDFG website including the origins of the Delta Junction herd:

https://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=deltajunctionbison.main

“In 1928, 23 bison from the National Bison Range in Moiese, Montana were transplanted to their historic range along the Delta River. By 1947 the herd of plains bison had increased to 400 animals. Beginning in 1951, hunting was allowed and is currently used to limit the herd to a precalving population of 275–300 bison. The herd is maintained at this level to reduce the potential for damage to agricultural crops and to keep the herd within the carrying capacity of its summer range. 15,000–20,000 people apply each year for 80–120 permits to hunt Delta bison. Delta bison have been used to start three other herds in Alaska.

The Delta herd's summer range is along the Delta River, in the eastern interior of the state, southwest of Delta Junction. In the fall, bison migrate from the Delta River toward Delta Junction. Prior to agricultural development, the winter range included country east of Delta Junction between the Granite Mountains and Tanana Hills. With development of agriculture, bison began using farms extensively during the fall and winter.”

Due to our delay getting heading up to DJ, we had but one full day to scout public and private land and to try to obtain permission to trespass on a number of the privately owned pieces of land that allowed bison hunting. Between public areas legal to hunt and the private land potentially available, the Delta bison range encompasses about 200 square miles, I believe. Not exactly a small parcel of land. Figuring out where we could hunt was kind of tricky, as the map with corresponding units pictured were alternately labeled as ‘no hunting’, ‘hunting allowed with permission required’ and ‘hunting allowed with permission; fee required’. That was pretty straightforward, but many of the units listed had no contact information other than a name.

We made the best of the time we had, and between help from Rost495 and a few of SD’s local friends and connections, we got some good leads. VernAK and Rost495 really shined here in their devoted scouting for the team. All the lads were able to offer helpful info on where bison were being seen. As important as where people were seeing bison was people telling us where the bison *weren’t* being seen. A lot of the combined efforts came together to try to help make this fellow hunter’s dream come true. That generosity, time away from their lives and general good will shall never be forgotten, nor be unrecognized. It meant a great deal to me then, and always will.

The last day before our group’s start date, we put several miles on foot and dozens more behind wheels trying to locate herds with obvious bulls. We located several areas where bison had crossed the highway and led on and off an area called Panoramic Fields and back onto private land on the other side of the road, but other than the couple of places we actually laid eyes on bison, there were lots of question marks.

As an added unexpected bonus, SD and I spotted several birds in our travels between searching for bison, and I was able to kill three spruce grouse with three shells. Boy are they beautiful birds. The last one I killed was a big, mature male who took a single #8 pellet from SD’s 870 that I used. That one is destined to become part of the honored mismatched flock of birds I’ve taken over the last couple of decades.





We also took a few minutes of our day on the far side of the Gerstle river to make sure I was OK shooting SD’s model 700 in .375AI. I set up my newly bought shooting sticks and SD ranged a spot with a backstop 100 yards off, then set up a medium sized coffee cup with a rock in it as a target. I got situated and picked a spot about two thirds up from the base and center punched the cup. All set there. Set up the way SD has it, it shoots like a pussycat. Mild push. No pain, no drama.



We spent more time searching for fresh sign and animals in other places, and finally left the herd of around 25 bison we’d been watching off and on all day--and hoped to take a bull from-- sometime near dark. After SD and I called it a day, Rost495 stomped more miles on bison trails snooping. He was determined to ‘put the herd to bed’ if he could, wanting to know exactly where the herd we were watching earlier bedded down for the evening. He called later to say that never did put eyes on them again, but not for lack of trying. The man out of south Texas takes his hunting very seriously.

There were two obvious bulls we spotted glassing the Wrigley land during the day and assumed that’s where they were when we left them. We’d met with and spoken to the landowner and I happily and gratefully paid a small trespass fee to be able to hunt his family land. Likewise, I’d secured permission to hunt a couple thousand acres of the land across the road owned by the Robinson family. The three of us (SD, Rost495 and I) had agreed to meet at Wrigley’s land at 5:30am; sunrise was at 8:30. VernAK said that he’d be on the move early looking for us too. The plan was for us to get back early enough to try to make sure that we were first to ‘drive a stake’ at that property, so to speak. Hopefully other bison hunters would honor that we were there first. Wishful thinking, but that was the plan.

I think you’re staying at the same place I stay when I’m in Delta. L

The Roadhouse is my second home but it’s been several years since I’ve been there and I don’t know if Bill still owns it but in any case that place has character.

Great story so far…

While glassing in the darkness under clouds and little moonlight on opening day for us, the third group of bison hunters for 2022, I spotted a number of them, perhaps 30, a few hundred yards from the trucks. They were lumbering across the Wrigley land at around 6:30 am. It was still far too dark to sex any of them, and we watched their massive shapes wander across our flank and into the property. They were not acting alarmed but were soon out of sight. We were pretty excited, as we knew then that there were indeed bison where we planned hunting them.

About 20 minutes before sunrise, as we formulated a plan of attack, the first of the mechanized army arrived on scene. The first three trucks each pulled trailers, with each truck hauling either a four or six- wheeler; the lead vehicle had *both*. As we idly chatted with the three guys in the lead truck, SD’s phone rang. It was VernAK. He said something like this: “I’m a mile from you and I’m looking at around 50 bison 75 yards away from the nose of my truck around Circle field. Some of them are dancing around, not spooky at all. Killing a bull out of this bunch should be easy. Come kill yours. About couple minutes later, as we wondered if the guys who just passed us would see that bunch, VernAK called again. The same three truckloads who’d passed us at our perceived stake had driven by where VernAk had the herd in front of him and promptly stopped and parked.

Rather than quietly sliding out of their vehicles, hiking off through the wood a bit and picking off at least one bull, they got out of their trucks and proceeded to slam doors and fire up their noisy four and six wheelers, with the herd in plain sight. Needless to say, with all the racket, the herd headed away quickly, frightened. No shots were to be had.

We now had a quandary. Do we sit tight and hope the herd we’d seen cross onto the Wrigley land a couple hours earlier emerged, then try to put a stalk on a bull we’d ID as such and hoped to kill? The Wrigley landowner had explained that the herd we’d watched at length had been coming out to feed on the radishes and turnips that were planted there for several days and the herd was obviously fond of that food source. Alternately, do we make a move and head out on foot to try to track the ones we saw? Or do we give up our claim and see about trying to find another herd?

Following VernAK’s interaction with the mechanized army, he decided to hedge our bets and took off to see if he could locate the herd that we were pretty sure were still on Wrigley land, but nowhere in sight. He suggested we stay put and keep our eyes peeled and said that he’d sneak in on the back road and see if he could figure out where they were on the property. Sounded like a plan.

I was leaning hard towards staying our course and waiting them out. We knew they hadn’t been hunted in a week and that they didn’t want to leave those radish and turnip fields. We saw VernAK soon after, as he pulled up to us. He explained that he’d snuck in the back road, got out on foot and after some stomping about with his binocs, ultimately spotted the tops of a few brown humps in a swale in the distance in the snow. The herd was bedded down near the back side of the Wrigley place. We decided to leave our spot and retrace VernAK’s tracks and try to get on them...

After about an hour perhaps and a mile traveled on foot on crunchy snow into the back of Wrigley land, being as quiet and deliberate as possible, we hadn’t seen the herd. Rost495 split off from SD and I so as to try to get eyes on a larger section of land at the same time. As SD and I were on the binocs methodically scanning ahead and looking for fresh sign, we heard a single shot. No follow ups came. SD and I looked at each other and slowly shook our heads. Someone had come in from where we’d started our morning and left one of the trucks, and had killed their bull. Sometimes you get the bull, other times someone else gets their bull instead. Damn.

A little dejected but not overly so, the three of us reconnected and pulled out of there to grab the other truck. As we did, we saw a pair of successful hunters working on the bull they had down. It was less than a third of a mile from our original position at first light. At least our thinking was correct as far as where they would be. Now to figure out another plan.

We spent the rest of the day searching high and low for other herds. VernAk was still on the case, as was Rost495. We all split up, figuring it best to have at least three teams afield looking in different areas for herds to one mob checking over the same spots over and over.

Tag

I was holdin back

Then the barista pic


😱👍🤩😍😳

Are those steps ADA compliant?