Alaskan Hunt to Hell and Back

An Alaskan Trip / Hunt to Hell & Back

This all started about 1983 when a good friend, Bowen Delay who also ran a gunshop (his was in The Dalles OR) and I, hunted in Montana on his wife's uncles ranch near the eastern end of Fort Peck Reservoir for mule deer and antelope. The deal was he supplied the contacts for this hunt, and I would for a hunt later in Alaska, of which we would drive to on the Alcan Highway. He really wanted to bag a Grizzly bear. I wanted a Dahl Sheep and Caribou. At the time of this Alaskan hunt I was 50 years old and he was possibly 10+ more.

    We needed to plan this trip well in advance, which climaxed in 1985.   The plan was for me to build a pickup bed trailer that would later accommodate my 8' slide in camper. The frame and tongue was extended enough to house a "Dog House" in front that fit under the camper's overhang.   This dog house was made from a old scrapped aluminum full length canopy. It had a window in front and one on the RH side.   The entry door on the left side tipped up.   This could provide sleeping quarters OR storage. On top of the bed was a borrowed aluminum full length canopy. In the bed would be a 4' chest type deep freeze. However once things progressed, it was found that the canopy was to low it allow the deep freeze lid to be opened enough to access it.   So a 2/4" C type extension was made to go between the metal bed and the canopy, raising it 7". These 2x4s were screwed together by using 3" wood screws and then C clamps to attach all three together. On the rear door a extra piece of plywood was added to the bottom of the door and a large padlock hasp was installed for security.

   The old pickup rear axle was removed and a trailer house axle with electric brakes was installed (being shortened to match the width). Adapter plates were made to use Ford 8 hole wheels (which matched the towing pickup).   All this added more weight forward, so a travel trailer torsion equalizer hitch was also used.

   The pickup (a 1969 Ford F-250 4 wheel drive) would be the towing vehicle.   On it's bed was another 8' aluminum canopy. Inside, in front was one bunk crosswise on top of the bed. Under it was provisions for the other sleeping accommodations. At the rear on one side was a propane stove securely mounted. A 5 gallon propane tank was securely mounted outside the bed. Internal 12 volt lights were provided.

My son, had made up 2 custom rifles for a master guide in Anchorage Alaska. These were traded for my hunt. I was also taking two of my own, one as a backup. My main rifle was a Remington 760 in 35 Whelen caliber. The backup gun was a Savage model 2400 in 308 over 12 ga. Bowen was also taking 2 for himself, one coincidently the same 35 Whelen caliber that I was using. He was also taking two more that he was delivering to a friend in Anchorage.

We would both also packing Smith & Wesson model 29, 44 magnum pistols. Knowing we could not transport the pistols through Canada, we shipped both of these pistols UPS to a gunshop in Anchorage that I have been doing business with. When the owner of this shop found out we were driving, he made a deal with me to buy and transport over 3 tons of lead bird shot (in 25# bags) to him. This would offset my transportation cost to a major degree. The deal was for him to buy and sell lead shot, the only economical way to transport it was by barge, that only made the trip twice a year and he had not purchased enough on the last trip. So I would be restocking him.

I had made a deal with a wholesale distributor in Burlington WA to purchase the shot from him. The timing was critical as he was supposed to be getting a load by truck (from the plant in Nebraska). We had added a few extra days to make the trip just in case, and for possible sightseeing. We made the trip to the pickup point 3 days early, but the truck was delayed (repossessed) at as truck stop in California. The plant in Nebraska then made provisions for another truck to pick up the trailer and make the deliveries as it moved north on I-5.

We then had no option but to camp out nearby in my vehicle, waiting for the truck. I would check in often as to progress. The truck was getting closer. But one delay after another, then it had a flat tire on the freeway in Portland OR. Time was getting short for us. Finally when the truck got there, we pulled along side the trailer and offloaded these 25# bags of shot into my trailer. 3 1/2 tons of shot (280 bags). Obviously, there was more than one person involved here, so we would call out when each bag was loaded into my trailer. During this offloading process, a couple of bags did not get thrown far enough, some getting torn, and the final count was not totally sure as to the exact number.

We did not get finished until possibly after 6 PM. We left heading north and to cross the border at Sumas WA.

    My pickup had a magnetic sign on each door "Wisners Gun Shop" (BIG MISTAKE).   Initially when we hit the border, we were asked the reason for the trip, and if we had any firearms aboard. I was trying to add up that number in my head when Bowen spoke up (4). We were directed to a parking lot on the Canadian side with instructions to return to the office. There we were directed upstairs and an interview was conducted. He wanted to know the reason for the trip, wanted to know how much cash we had (just in case we had a mechanical failure to ensure we would not be stranded in Canada).

   OK, let's go outside to the truck for a inspection. As we were walking, he apparently asked if we had commercial goods on board.   The wind was blowing and with my hearing aids whistling, I probably did not completely understand the question. I said no.

   This inspector first went through the cab of the pickup, where he found a box of 44 Magnum pistol ammo.   He would not take our explanation that we had shipped the pistols to Alaska. AND he tore the whole pickup apart looking for the pistols. This involved everything being pulled out and laid out on the parking lot. No pistols. OK, next was the trailer.   What is in these bags? Lead bird shot. I produced the packing slip/invoice.   WOW -- Commercial Goods, you lied to me.

    He took all the guns (8) and inventoried each down to the case, scope, sling, and ammo. Then the extra 4 rifles that we had not identified were also considered Commercial Goods. He inventoried everything we had aboard, which took a LOOOONG time. Then he took the registration and keys for my pickup, and made me go across the border (10:30 PM now) to a bonding company where I had to purchase a one way bond for the value of the bird shot (Commercial Goods)   The bond was to

guarantee that I would not be selling them in Canada and if I did, I could be prosecuted. While there the agent asked questions, and then asked who I was dealing with? I described him, she said "Brad", he is a smart ass and has been overlooked numerous times, and now you have just given a promotion.

However I would have to stop at the border in Beaver Creek and have everything checked off the manifest he had prepared off all our possessions. In asking, I was told this is because you can't secure this load. But I could padlock the trailer's rear door. OK, they accepted that and put a metal seal in and alongside the padlock. Now they (the northern border crossing) would not have to re-inspect, just remove the seal and I would be on our way.

In the end, he told me that they realized I was not trying to be illegal, probably a misunderstanding, but to get my registration and keys back I would have to pay a fine of $2,200 cash. Sure, he already knew how much we had.

While he was doing all this paperwork, I walked around the office and noticed a lot of literature there. I asked another older employee (who was well aware of our plight) "Is there anything there that would have prepared us and warded off our situation"? He looked it over and said NO.

We pulled out of there about 11:00PM and drove a few miles where we stopped at a rest area, and sacked out for the night.

The trip north was EVENTFUL. However from this border experience, we seemed to be looking behind each road sign, wondering when a Mountie would be popping out and stopping us for some minor infraction. We stopped many places and viewed the scenery. Our mode of operations was to, along toward evening, we would find a abandoned highway gravel borrow pit, where we would spend the night. Occasionally if the sun was out bright during the day and we were traveling to where one side of the trailer's tires began to get warm (because of all the extra weight even though the tires were 10 ply) I would pull over and park so the sun was not shining on those tires, giving them a chance to cool down.

    By being eventful, we had pickup transmission problems. Apparently with that heavy load, and me possibly shifting down oftener on some hills, I could begin to hear noises coming from under the vehicle, and it kept getting worse. I pulled into small automobile garage/service station in Quenelle, and had him raise the pickup on his hoist while I tried to trace the noise from underneath. It was coming from the transmission.   The owner was also a hunter and we swapped lies. He told me to stop on the way back so he could see our horns. Bowen said he had a old guide friend who lived north of there in Prince George.   He called this friend, sure stop by and you can use my garage to do your repairs.

   We drove to his friends place early in the evening, he had cleaned his garage out enough to get my pickup backed in, ready to start tearing it apart the next morning, (which was Saturday). Got it apart and yes, a bad transmission input shaft bearing. I began cleaning things while Bowen and his friend went into town for a new bearing. However, the new bearing was the wrong one. They called the business, he had transposed a part number. He closed at noon, but since it was his fault, he would stay open until they got there for the exchange.

   OK, got the part in and ready to reinstall the transmission. However we ran into issues of it not wanting to do the final alignment to the flywheel housing.   After much frustration, we resorted to some longer bolts, trying to do a better alignment, but no success. Someone mentioned, "Why not pull the coil wire and hit the starter, maybe it would self-align".   NOPE, back to more frustration.   About that time the friend's wife came out and said supper is ready. After supper still trying, and this time it looked better, hit the starter again. However, someone had reinstalled the coil wire. It started immediately and all hell broke loose. We pulled things back apart, and found the clutch shifting fork was badly bent, some of the pressure plate arms were also bent. Now what to do?

The friend said his old master guide, who lived out in the BUSH had a Oxy/Acetylene torch. We made a trip out there, a reunion put us way late in getting back that night. The next morning, by using the cutting torch, I reshaped things back to as close to normal as possible with what we had. Then while apart, and using an angle head grinder, with the transmission in gear, and Bowen rotating it from the rear output shaft, I ground a slight bevel to the front of the pilot shaft stub.

Back to trying to reassemble, and this time with that bevel, we had success. OK, button her up and let's get on our journey heading north. The repair was not perfect and I could feel a vibration, but we were on our way.

We still had a couple of extra days, so decided to take the Cassiar Highway which is a 450 mile long road which provides an

alternate route to, or from the Yukon or Alaska. Originally this road was a combination of logging and mine haul roads. The highway had been improved, however, and for the most part has been realigned. To access it we took the road to Prince Rupert, turned right at Kitwanga and headed north with the destination at Watson Lake in the Yukon Territories. My pickup had dual fuel tanks and we figured that we would have no problems making this trip. In those days, there were no small towns anywhere along this road. However when we got to Dease Lake junction, WOW a gas station out in NOWHERE, we refueled.

We knew that on the way back home, it was going to be as quick as possible because we had hopes of filling the deep freeze with meat. So the return trip would be on the Alcan Highway, giving us different scenery and considerably better highway.

We did stop at Whitehorse to refuel again and did a very short tour of the town. Then headed north again. About 50 miles from the border, the road had a LARGE DEEP chuckhole near the RH fog-line, which I saw at the last second and slammed on the brakes HARD, but unintentionally hit with my RH front tire. It really jolted us, and I quickly pulled over, inspected what I could see, The tore was OK, and nothing visible wrong. So we continued on.

We pulled into the Beaver Creek border check station about 6:00PM. I got out taking the papers from the Sumas fiasco. When I walked behind the trailer, --- WOW --- the seal was missing. What had apparently happened was when I hit that chuck-hole, with all the extra weight, it sheared off numerous of those wood screws that held the 2X4" riser under the trailer's canopy, which then allowed the canopy to shift around, being secured by then only a few screws in front and on the rear by the padlock in the hasp (which the seal was a very close friend) all this movement wore and cut the seal off.

Once I got inside the building and explained the situation, I was told to back the vehicle into one of the large enclosed bays. The lady who was assigned to take care of us was a part Indian about 55 years old. Nice lady, but doing he job. She had us unload the pickup, and she would inspect and mark off the item that was on the previous manifest. Then when we moved to the trailer, she wanted to do the bird shot first. Secretly we were afraid that IF their count would be different than the invoice, and since we were not sure of the true count, that we may be in DEEP DO DO in Canada.

She tried to contact her supervisor, but it being late, she was not successful. We drug our feet and concentrated on the other stuff in the trailer. At the point where the bird shot was next, FINALLY a young good looking French Canadian lady of about 25 years old appeared. This was her supervisor, who had been out partying. They got away to the back of the room out of our earshot and held a conference. The older lady re-approached us, saying since everything she had went through was accounted for and with the extremity of going through that amount of bird shot, and the time (then fast approaching midnight), that they concluded that we were honest and let us go.

Bowen, being older than I and having noting to eat, was showing his weariness. Buy the time we put all our stuff that was strewn all over that dock back in the truck and trailer, we were tired, hungry, somewhat mad, but glad to be on our way into Alaska and the good old USA. By the way, there was stuff that during the remainder of this whole trip, we never found, simply because of the dual repacking.

We finally pulled out after midnight and drove into Alaska, finding a wide spot along the road where we pulled over, cooked a quick meal and hit the sack. The next morning when I started to leave, I had no brakes on the pickup.

What had also happened when I had hit that chuck-hole, I had slammed on my brakes VERY VERY HARD. The drivers side rear brake drum was cracked and brake fluid was really leaking out. Apparently the brake drum, becoming broken under this tremendous pressure, had expanded enough to let the brake wheel cylinder to spread out far enough to allow the inner piston to be pushed beyond it's ability to retain brake fluid.

OK, I unscrewed the brake line from the wheel's backing plate and using a pair of Vise Grip pliers, pinched the brake line to that wheel tight enough to pretty well seal it. I then using bailing wire, tied the plier to the rear axle. I now had brakes, but not as good as it should have been.

Upon further inspection, one of the dual mobile home axle springs was broken and the 3" round steel axle was bent.

We proceeded on to the Tok (the next town) I stopped at a automotive shop/garage bought some brake fluid to replenish what had leaked out. And I inquired as to getting a new spring. Yes, he could get one, but the price was EXPENSIVE (don't remember now) and it would take 2 weeks. We limped on into Anchorage and pulled into my friend's gunshop fenced in yard. This gunshop's other (main) business was supplying and maintaining generators for most of Alaska's "Bush people". So we had a secure place to leave the vehicle while we were out hunting.

My son was working on another rifle, that was not complete when we left. It was for a helicopter downed aircraft recovery pilot friend, who's brother now would be flying out in a couple of days to hunt with his brother, and would deliver the rifle. I made contact with him, got my wife to buy a new spring set that he put it in his baggage, and delivering it to the gunshop while we were out hunting.

We managed to get there one day ahead of time. I called the guide, who told us to be at the sea plane's dock within an hour. The plane had just flown in and was taking on a load of horse feed in preparation to fly us back out. This is because the weather had been stormy, (with more on it's way) but had broken up giving us a small window to fly out to the lodge at Rainey Pass. The deal was that the plane never flew out even partly empty, using horse feed to maximize the load. This lodge used horses for transportation for moose, caribou and bear hunting that were kept there (at this remote lodge) over the winter, so every last amount of space for each trip was utilized by taking bags of horse feed out to the lodge. The plane was a Cessna 185. The main guide used a Piper Cub plane for his mode of transportation, as they also had a land based airport next to the lodge.

This lodge was situated on a decent sized lake (Puntilla Lake) that was tucked up against the eastern edge of the Alaskan Mountain range. This lodge is also one of the check points of the Iditarod dogsled race.

    We scrambled to get our needed gear separated, leaving the non-essential stuff at the lodge, and again fly out over the mountain range (through a dangerous pass if the weather was bad) and into the watershed of the Yukon River drainage to a small lake (Sheep Lake) where we would spend the next week in a tent camp to Dahl sheep hunt. Here, if you were on foot, the hike northeast would be by trail to McGrath 40 some miles way.

    The issue there, if the weather is rainy which will also be fog in the higher elevations, socking in visibility enough that slipping through these narrow passes in the mountain range can become dangerous. You have to remember that this was before GPS, so flying over these passes was then by compass and visual sight. If the pilot picked the wrong canyon to fly up, things could be disastrous very fast. On some of the bad steep box canyons, (and here all terrain looked the same above brush line) some pilots would purchase gallons of old paint and during the summer when visibility was good, they would drop these buckets of paint on rocks low down enough to identify the bad (look alike) canyons. If a plane went down in situations like this, and was identified, numbers were painted on it to identify that it was a known downed plane.

    Here we were 2 hunters to one guide. Legally the guide had to be with the hunters all the time. We posed a slight problem to this situation since Bowen was older than I, and tired more easily in climbing these steep ridges. Our mode of operation was to hike up or down creeks into different watersheds, glassing up onto the hillsides for these white sheep.   Once we located some, then a plan of attack would be formulated.

    All summer long, before this trip, I had been riding a exercise bicycle. It did not take me long to realize that all these frequent stops we were making while climbing these steep ridges were not only for my benefit, but his also. At times if we were trying to get up into an area that we had seen sheep, the fog would move in, and we then lost any contact, where trying to go farther would have been useless.

    One day we were glassing a small band of sheep, but it was apparent that Bowen was becoming tired.   The guide told him to stay where we were (on a bench above the creek bed) until we returned. He and I took off, but the terrain was so bad that we finally had to give up.   We dropped down into the creek bottom, following a "moose" trail.   When we got to where we could see Bowen, we signaled him to join us, where we kept whistling so he had some guidance once he hit the brush in the creek bed. Soon he joined us and we proceeded to follow this trail downstream and heading back to camp. This creek bed was brushy and had tall grass along the trail. We came upon a leaning tree about 4" in diameter that was across the trail and about 4' above the trail. The trail went under it.   My thought was that has to be one tall moose. About then the guide (in the lead) chambered a cartridge in his rifle, turned to me and said if things happen, you take the right and I will take the left and shoot until it drops. He either sensed it or could smell Grizzly bear.   Bowen was hard of hearing, and he was behind me, but he totally and instantly understood what was going on. However nothing happened. The guide later said that we should not have taken the easy trail here, but should have stayed up to be above the creek bed, but in a lot harder travel conditions.

   Another day we went the other direction, which was not quite as bad. Climbing up the ridge we could look back at the camp, breaking over the top, the guide had hoped we would be able to see sheep on the next ridge. However none were there. Instead was the old wreckage of a seaplane. He asked if we wanted to investigate it.   Sure. He told us that a couple of years before he and two clients had came upon this wreckage that was still smoldering. They investigated, finding the pilot and two passengers deceased. He sent his clients back to the tent camp at the lake, and he took off on foot to McGrath 40 miles away.

On this wreck, the terrain was so steep that the military was called in to do the rescue. They later found out that the passengers in that plane were photographers. However when the widows asked what happened to their husband's equipment, guess what, the story was there was none there.

What had happened the pilot had picked the wrong canyon (one away from the right one over the lake). Being a seaplane and the STEEP hillside, by the time he decided it was wrong, he did not have enough power to pull UP, and any side ways movement would also have been fatal. The pontoons would have hit the hillside first flipping the body of the plane on end and into the rocky hillside. Here there is no vegetation, only moss. I did recover the emergency handheld radio transmitter and later gave it to a neighbor who was building a VW powered airplane.

The next day Bowen was so tired that he stayed in camp, the guide and I went into another canyon beyond the one with the wreckage. From the creek bottom we spotted one lone ram high on a steep rocky ridge. No way to even begin to get closer, so we went down and around that ridge, climbing up the back side to where we may be able to see over the top of it. As we approached to top it was apparent that a storm was moving in as it was windy up there.

    Breaking over the top, carefully, we spotted the sheep down that face pretty close to where we had originally seen him. There were two large jagged rock outcroppings and he was in view between them, down approximately 350 yards. He spotted us and stood up. Now or never. I had removed my backpack, dropped it on the crest and using it as a rest and fired a shot. I was shooting into the wind and at a steep downhill shot. I was sure I had hit him. This sheep moved behind the left outcropping.   The guide ran down and to the left where the sheep was then in view for him.   I was a few seconds behind him, but I grabbed my backpack, not wanting to have to climb back uphill. The guide said "you gut-shot him" and I could see blood on his rear lower body. He started to walk slowly along the trail he was on parallel to us and now a little closer now.   I shot again, and he went below another smaller rock outcropping that we could see the other side. We waited, but he never came out into a rock shale slide below that outcropping. Pretty soon we could hear rocks rolling, and by us then moving a bit more, saw this sheep roll into brush in the creek bottom that we had originally spotted him from.

    If he had moved the other direction, he would have been out of sight, however I suspect that direction was more of shear bluffs and the sheep knew it.

   Going downhill was a lot easier than going up, but this shale rock also had it's issues as we did not want to create/be in the middle of a rockslide. Our investigation revealed that my first shot has almost castrated him. My second was a bit far forward and hit him in the LH shoulder.   The guide later said that when he first saw the sheep when he had ran down, that the sheep was standing with one hind leg stretched out rearward, YES very understandable.

   That day I was again packing my Remington 760 pump rifle in 35 Whelen caliber. To this day I am sure that if I had been using a lighter cartridge that I would not have touched him on that first shot, as shooting into that wind would have blown a lighter bullet off compared to my 250 grain 35 caliber bullet.   And as it was I had almost missed him.

    That storm was moving in fast. The guide remove the sheep's head and cape, then started butchering it.   I had done a lot of field dressing of wild game in my lifetime, but the guide used a completely different method by not gutting, so I backed off and got out of his way. Making two packs on pack boards, with the head and cape, along with one front quarter made one pack. the other two hind quarters made another pack. We left the mangled other front quarter that I had shot into, with the thought that if the incoming storm would not be that bad, we would go back and retrieve it the next morning.   However the storm increased to the point that we laid in that basecamp for 3 more days, beyond the time the plane was scheduled to come in to take us back out. Our rations were getting thin as one day when we came back from hunting, we encountered a porcupine who had raided the tent, making a mess and ruining our bread and some other food.

   One day during this isolation, I was beginning to smell badly.   I grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and a bar of soap, headed for this lake which was close to our camp.   There was a flat rock just above the water level that was very convenient.   I stripped down and did a QUICK wash off. Yes, QUICK, as that water was COLD. Bowen said he was going to get a photo of me, but not a chance on this Speedy Gonzales that day.

   The next day the storm subsided enough for the plane to come and get us.

    This delay had cut our hunting days down, so the next morning we were on horseback heading into a slightly distant watershed that had not been hunted yet this year. On the way in the guide spotted a Grizzly on the opposite hillside, probably eating berries.   They evaluated it, Bowen said "Let's Go".   I stayed on the trail with the horses, and they took off to locate the bear at a closer distance. This location had more brush than they had anticipated.   I tried to use hand signals, but they could not locate the bear.   They returned and we proceeded farther up into that watershed looking for caribou. Getting up to where vegetation was only moss, we spotted 3 caribou on the very top of a ridge.   The guide said they are normally lower down, but this time of the year flies bother them, so these were up higher, near, or into snow patches.   We rode partly up that ridge, found a small bench and staked the horses. They took off making a somewhat steep climb up a small draw toward the top. I stayed with the horses.

    After about 1/2 hour I heard one shot above and over the top of this ridge.   From my vantage point with the horses, I spotted a lone bull caribou working his way down from the top of the ridge (it had probably been one that we had seen).   When it went into a small draw and out of sight, I worked my way toward it's location but higher, getting behind a small rock outcropping where I would have command view when this animal reappeared.

   There was a small rock slide that ran horizontally below me and maybe 200 yards away.   This animal was slowly working his way toward and below this outcropping, and toward me. I was just watching, and kind of drew an imaginary line in the middle below that rock slide, and when he crossed that line, I shot.   That day I was packing a Savage model 2400, (a Over/Under 12 ga./308) as there was a possibility that we would see some ptarmigan.

    I used the method of taking care of this animal using the same principal that the guide had used on my sheep. But I carried a lightweight painters drop cloth, that I laid out under this caribou to keep the meat clean.   I caped and cut the head off, took the front shoulders, hams, back-straps and neck meat off without gutting it.   Then I proceeded in carrying as much of a pack that I could manage on my back, as here we did not take pack boards. I got everything moved (making relay trips) to where the horses were, all but one neck meat strip when Bowen and the guide came into sight on top of the ridge.    Bowen told me that when they broke over the ridge, they saw what was left of the carcass and the guide asked what is that white thing there.   Bowen knew immediately what I had done, even though they had not heard my shot.

    When they got to the horses, I wanted to go and get the last piece of meat that I had left about 1/2 way to the horses.   No, we will get it tomorrow, we had a long way to go and through some muskeg swamps, which the guide did not want to do after dark.   We did load my meat on the guide's horse, which he walked, leading it, and brought my meat out, leaving the cape and horns.

The next day they took pack horses and headed back to bring in the rest. However somewhere my cape got lost, the guide rode back the next day, but could not find it, saying possible it fell into the muskeg along the trail, OR a bear had gotten it.

While they went back, no sense of me tagging along, so I borrowed a fishing rod and went to the lower end of the lake at the lodge. Sockeye salmon were thick and starting to spawn in the outlet creek of this lake. A few were tagged by spaghetti tags. I caught/snagged 3 or 4 of these, removing the tags and released the fish. I took the tags back to the lodge, where they told me they would get them to AF&G.

That evening, after supper, the guide went took at the horses again. He found the mare that I had been riding was limping and was foundering (hooves warm). What had happened was that she had a foal that she was still nursing. The other guides, (being helpfull) had fed her an extra ration of grain, that my guide had already done. With this much rich food, they can founder. Which can take time to recover from, and they could not allow this to happen as they needed her. This guide took her, pulled on his hip boots and led her into a shallow spot in the lake, where he kept her for an hour. This lake being that high was a lot cooler water than you would find in lower lakes. What he was trying to do was to cool her feet down enough so that her hooves would not be effected long term. IT WORKED.

This lodge was large enough that they had their own refrigeration and a walk in freezer, which all of our meat was partly frozen when we left.

The next day we flew out back to Anchorage, where we then had to repair the trailer using the new spring that had been flown in for us. While doing this we let the meat thaw enough so we could cut and grind it (I had taken my commercial meat grinder with us). We then wrapped it and put it in my freezer in the trailer, which was plugged in and cold. We stayed another day, letting the freezer do it's job on our meat. I had figured that once the meat was frozen, that we would have about 2 days without power before the meat started to thaw. I was right.

We left anchorage late that afternoon and found a gravel pit on the Glenallen Highway east of Palmer to stay the night. The next morning, my pickup had no brakes again. Upon inspecting, my wire holding the Vise Grip pliers had broken, letting the pliers fall off. I remembered seeing a gunshop in Glenallen which would be the next town. OK, I would limp on into there and see if I could borrow the use of his Oxy/Acetylene torch to do a more permanent repair on the brake line. When we got there, no he did not have one, but shared one with the auto mechanic next door. However this guy had worked late the night before and would possibly not be in soon. OK, I the borrowed his 1# propane torch and soldered that line closed. Then refilled the master cylinder, bled the brakes, and we were again on our way.

     When we hit the border, I had removed the gunshop signs off the pickup doors.   We had no problem going through the border crossing.   However we had to fill out a game transport slips, which had to stay with the meat and horns.

    Again we utilized abandoned gravel pits to stay the night in.   The next day we got to Fort St. John late in the day. I suggested that we stop at McDonalds and get something to eat, then drive until we found a place to stop, which would speed up our time. To my amazement Bowen had never been in a McDonalds establishment.

   The next day we knew we would have to find a place at night to recharge the freezer. We pulled into Laird River camp ground early in the evening, which was at a wide spot along the road> Right at the river bridge was a small campground, gas and a bar, with 24 hour electricity.    We took advantage of that. While Bowen was fixing supper, I did a little exploring at the bridge. This river was quite wide at that location. To my amazement there was a sign on the north eastern shore saying that major parts of this bridge came from what was left of "Galloping Gurty", the old Tacoma Narrows bridge.

    The next morning we pulled out early and headed south again.   About this time I began noticing that when I applied the brakes, the vehicle wanted to pull to the left. In doing more investigation, it was apparent that the right front wheel (4 wheel drive hub) was leaking grease onto the brake drum.   Apparently when I had repacked and replaced the seals on these front hubs, I had not gotten that seal in correctly.   So now we had brakes on 2 wheels and it pulling was to the left.   Bowen had offered to share the driving, but, I was hesitant under these conditions.

    That night just before dark we were back at Quennel. OK, that shop owner told us to stop on our way back, why not park next to his shop for the night. His parking lot was back to back to a large Safeway parking lot.   We wanted to leave early the next morning and of course he was not there yet (about 5:30 AM).   I walked over to his shop, wrote a note on a business card, slid it under a window and turning around here was a local police car parked near our vehicles.   The officer was talking to Bowen.   When I got there all he wanted was to look at our horns. Almost immediately, the shop owner showed up, he thinking that he had another break in (one the week before). From the street he came in on, his shop was across the one way street. He did not then recognize my vehicle and wanted to cut me off, (helping the officer).   This officer was going to write him a ticket for driving the 1/2 block going the wrong way.   HE WAS PISSED. I have never heard a citizen talk that way to an officer before or later. Apparently he (the shop owner) was not satisfied with their investigation of his previous break in and this officer was not well liked there. He won out by threatening to go to the city council, and the officer drove away.    We had a talk about our hunt and headed south again.

    I wanted to make this day a long one and to sleep in my own bed that night. A few miles from the border, and going up a slight hill, I heard a CLUNK, glanced in my mirror and saw something going down the center line.   Behind it was a small black car heading for the shoulder.   When I got clear, I stopped and again investigated. This time a chunk (slightly over 1/4 of that brake drum) had broken off and was missing.

    Going through the border crossing again at Sumas, was easy this time with all the papers we were now carrying.   However as we were driving out, I noticed a VW van, 2 hippies and all their gear scattered out on some benches and the ground.   I just smiled and kept driving.

    When we got to I-5, and better roads, I had a problem. That missing chunk of brake drum, now threw things out of balance, and my top speed was now about 45 MPH all the way home.

An update probably around 2012 -- Bowen had retired and shut down his business. His wife had came down with cancer. They had no health insurance, so he sold all of his guns to take care of her medical expenses. I lost track of him, but my son had a contact with a person in The Dalles who knew Bowen. He was in an assisted living facility there. I tracked him down and the wife and I visited him on the way back from a funeral of her uncle. We stayed in a motel there, and visited him the next morning. We were warned by staff that he was approaching advanced stages of Alzheimer's. I was not prepared for what we walked into. He did not recognize me, so I gave him one of my business cards. Looking at it, he said that name is somewhat familiar. I said it should be as both were gunsmiths and a longstanding relationship, along we had hunted in Montana and Alaska together. It was pretty obvious he had no recollection. I left there almost in tears, knowing the man that used to live in that body was fighting another battle.

Originated 11-04-2023, Last updated 11-25-2023
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