It was in Ketchikan's bay where I saw my first wild sea lions, feeding on herring which flashed when flanking the surface of the water. On that rare sunny day in southeast Alaska, Jeff and I continued along the seafront boardwalk to the harbor, where boats of all sizes – like the “Kenai Jane” – bobbed up and down. If boats could talk, (I do enjoy personification) I imagine the bobbing vessels would be eager nods to sailors, and a resounding “yes” to the question: “shall we head to open waters this fine day?”
The “Kenai Jane” is Jeff's friend's 36 ft. troller, which hosted the three of us on a four day hunting trip for Sitka black tail deer. It seems there are a lot of secrets involved with hunting matters, and location is one of these. But since you, my dear readers, will most likely not be out to tag a deer on or around Prince of Wales Island soon, I've got no qualms with telling you we were at Dunbar.
The entire time we were tromping around the tussocky tundra, actually, it felt like we were telling secrets. It was as if everything ambient had listening ears, and our hushed tones were absolutely necessary, so to not spook and scare off a good buck within range. Minus an accidental whistle tune with a momentary slip, I think I was able to follow this rule fairly well – though, as a side note, I do believe our walking six feet made enough noise to alert almost anything of our presence.
What initially struck me were the colors and textures I was seeing. The only comparison I can come up with is that it felt like I was scuba diving, with nacre, iridescent and incandescent hues, forming the spongy tundra that absorbed my Xtra Tuf boot each step. (I don't know why, but one of my greatest annoyances is a spelling altercation so to “specialize” a product.) My olfactory curiosity kicked in next, and I couldn't help my constant search for cedar sprigs to hold to my nose.
Our first day out I was the only one to spot a deer – well, the behind of one anyway as it disappeared into the spruce covered ridge. He saw us before we saw him, I guess. Day number two was promising with fantastic weather, but bamboozling in that we called in a sole doe in seven miles. Just the weekend prior, Jim said they'd seen around twenty deer in the exact same area.
On the last day we were still buck-less, and I opted to stay aboard “Kenai Jane” for rest and relaxation after a relatively sleepless night, due to incessant 40 mile per hour winds, with gusts reaching 50. I missed all of the action that day, but must contend, really enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, – veggie egg scramble – and series of yogic sun salutations on the back deck. By then the winds had calmed, rain stopped, and clouds lifted.
As the story was told to me, Jim caught sight of a decent buck in a clear cut area, and Jeff took aim with his 7mm. A single bullet sufficed, and the rack was supposedly far superior to the other two bucks seen thereafter. On the beach as well as on the boat I became the official photographer; I've noticed that many hunters like to take multiple pictures from different angles and positions, as well as with different people and backgrounds. Jeff follows suit with this statement, and I shared his enthusiasm.
One of the great ironies of our relationship is that Jeff is a passionate hunter, and I'm equally fervent about being a vegetarian. Somehow, though, we make it work, holding our own and coming to appreciate each other too. Many a time people have said, “opposites attract,” and I've wondered why this is. Perhaps we – all people – are consciously and even unconsciously looking for greater balance in life. This is Elise, signing out from freezing rain in Aleknagik, Alaska.
