My Alaskan .444 Part II
My Alaskan .444 Part II
This September 1 I flew down to Iliamna for another bear and caribou hunt. The last two years I’ve spent a week alone, then my partner Steve from Kansas has flown in for another 12-14 days. I’d been watching the weather at Iliamna, and they had been dry all summer. From ten days out the forecast now was for rain beginning on the day I was to arrive and continuing for another week at least. Sadly, the weather predictors were quite correct.
Over the three weeks we had only one day of sunshine and about 60-70% of the days were high winds and rain. Oh well, the tent was dry, and I had a Kindle with several hundred good books on it!
I had already bagged one brown bear of the two I was licensed for by the time my partner arrived, so my attitude was reasonably relaxed. The air taxi flew Steve out on the scheduled morning, and after stowing his gear, I suggested we hike down to the Koktuli River and do some fishing. Our favorite fishing hole was about half a mile away, so we began by rigging up some light spinning equipment. As we were loading my pack Eith our other gear, Steve asked, “Are you going to take the big gun?” (meaning my .378 Ruger #1). “Nah,” I said, “we won’t need it – we’ll just take the Marlin.” We both also carried titanium Smith & Wesson revolvers in center chest holsters, so were plenty well armed for defense. I just didn’t see much sense in dragging the big single shot along for the small chance I’d need it.
Since the area had seen little rain all summer, I knew the river would be low, with deeper holes filled with hungry fish. I was right. We had a strike or hooked a Dolly Varden trout or a grayling with each cast. After hooking and playing about 15 fish each, we kept a couple of big Dollies that Steve caught for a fish fry back at camp. I had caught a big Dolly a couple of years earlier but didn’t have a camera or my phone for a picture. I got a good picture of Steve with one and figured on moving to another hole to see if I couldn’t catch one myself.
The river cut along the north side of a wide, flat valley floor, with mountains on both sides. We’d dropped down about twenty feet from the valley’s level to the riverbank, sometimes walking through tall grass, pockets of water, and around some alders.
As we climbed up to the flat high ground, Steve hissed “There’s a bear!” Sure enough, about 400 yards south of us on the valley’s other side a big bear was busy eating blueberries as he wandered along. We quickly ducked back down out of sight and then carefully crawled back up to where we could observe him. Oh, to have the big .378 Ruger! There was no way we could get back to camp and retrieve it, so were limited to my .444. Even with an aperture rear sight, I knew its iron sights would limit my range. I decided we’d have to get within 125-130 yards, or I wouldn’t shoot. We couldn’t move closer to him, as a mouse would have been visible on that open ground. He’d have to come to us.
Prior experience led me to believe with the wind blowing as it was from the southeast, we had a decent chance of his moving toward the river. As we watched, sure enough, he began drifting in our direction, but heading for a point to our left. I was hopeful that his path would bring him close enough for a shot – maybe even very close! Unfortunately for us, fortunately for him, his angle required us to move to cut him off. Scrambling on the steep slope from valley floor to the river, we did our best to keep up. At one point I used my rangefinder to see how close he was, and it was 182 yards. Not close enough. Perfect range for the big .378, but outside my choice for the .444.
He began to pick up the pace, and I could see we’d not be in range at the point where he’d enter the river’s vegetation. We still weren’t out of the picture, because he would be upwind of us. It might be possible to catch up with us moving rapidly in the open terrain and see him again in the river below us. Not to be.
Just as he was about to drop down low enough where we could move, he caught wind of our camp. He spun around, jumped a few yards, and then took off back toward where he’d come from at his top speed! I’d estimated him as an 8.5’ to maybe 9’ bear (width of hide added to length and divided by two). Big guys like that don’t get big by ignoring their nose! The last we saw of him he was about 300 yards above and west of camp running into a mountainside of alders. He was definitely gone for the day and maybe the week!
I could have been upset that I didn’t take my .378, but I grinned and told Steve it just wasn’t meant to be. We’d had an hour of great fishing, probably a half hour or more of anticipation involving a big bear in the woods of Alaska, and could look forward to a fish fry at camp. Nothing wrong with the day!
