First Kill

Light was beginning to creep across the sky, though the sun still had an hour or so before it rose. Our party of three snowmobiles zipped down the frozen river toward the small village of Kwethluk. We came up off the river and passed through the village quickly to begin our southeast travel toward Three Step Mountain. The icy -5 degree F air - its power increased by the 30mph rate of travel- sought out any small piece of exposed skin. Yet for the most part, we were well bundled and warm. Several miles out of Kwethluk we came upon a large set of tracks crossing the river. The sun now peeked over the distant mountains creating a shimmer on the low lying ice fog. Turning to follow the tracks, we came up a small bluff and Ryan glassed the area with his binoculars. Several small herds - 20-40 animals each- dotted the horizon.

We took a break to drink some warm beverage and stretch a bit before beginning the pursuit. Leaving the well travelled trail meant a rougher, and therefore slower, ride. The tundra, frozen as it was, did not have a thick blanket of snow. The hummocks and shrubs then create a bumpy ride. After slowly riding toward our preselected herd we began to use the lower lying lakes and sloughs to creep closer and closer. The animals seemed unpeturbed by our machines noise, but they were aware of our movements. We decided to take turns, with one hunter out front and the other two trailing from a distance. Chris took the first animal down and after a brief meeting at his kill, I set off toward the herd with Ryan trailing.

The animals had run a bit, but not far. I dropped into a frozen lake bed and shot across it, popping up at a slight angle to the herd. They noticed me but didn't move much. Approaching obtusely, almost paralleling them, I got within 100-120 yards and turned off my machine. I held my breath as a gazed through the rifle scope. At this temperature the slightest moisture would ice up the glass. I could my heart's thumping excitement as I shot.............

Nothing. I looked through the scope from animal to animal. No one stumbled, no one fell. The animals walked away a bit, but then stopped again and resumed eating and resting. I watched for several minutes before convincing myself that nothing had been hit. This time I took more time, allowed myself to relax a bit. The 8x power of the scope brought the animals near as I scanned for a shot. Then a bull turned and simply stood - a perfect profile. The crack of the rifle and the fall of the animal seemed simultaneous. No jumping, no running - just a collapse. I waited and watched. The other animals moved away, startled but stopped shortly. Had the desire or need been there, I was still in range. After waiting to ensure the animal wasn't going to rise I slowly headed down. Now the rest of the herd headed off over the next hill.

As I approached I could see the animal was bleeding heavily from the neck. It lay on its side, unmoving. I got off my machine and approached on foot. I could see the heartbeat still thumping in its side - it was alive. I reached the barrel of the rifle toward its head and it tried to pull away, but its body could not respond. With a somewhat surreal sense, I stood a few feet away and fired a point blank shot to the head. Snow and dirt kicked up from the impact. There was no movement after that. I'm not sure exactly what I felt......Excitement, pride in my success, guilt for taking a life, and even some horror that I could fire that last shot. But it was done. My first kill - an Alaskan caribou.

All three of us got a caribou-all clean shots- and we decided to bring them all together to work. As I rode with my friend Ryan to help him pick up his animal we looked over toward Three Step Mountain. The ice fog still rolled near the base of the mountain and the clear sky and bright sun make the fog and frozen ground sparkle. Between us and mountain stood the herd of caribou and beyond all that an endless landscape of open tundra. It was a scene that you wish you could capture with a camera, even knowing a photo would never even approach the beauty of that moment.

The animals won't be wasted. As we were leaving, all that remained on the tundra were the gut piles and the hides. Cleaning the caribou for me was challenging but not particularly distasteful or troubling. The heads and hooves will go to a dog mushing team of my friend Angela. The quarters, rib cages and neck meat were taken and packed on to the sleds to be processed later. Many a delicious dinners await.

We turned and headed toward home just as light was fading from the sky. As we rounded the first bend, the herd of 30-40 caribou were still right there, watching us depart into the coming night.