6th Prize
Hunting Journal with Weatherby Logo (100 awarded)
Lewis Harper, Utah
“It seems like yesterday when I first witnessed the moose my cousin had just harvested in Utah. It was a once in a lifetime tag and I was very impressed by the size of the animal. Being a big kid (6 foot at 12 years old), I quickly took affection to large animals. My father had told me to write down my dreams in a notebook and read them at least once a week. Harvesting a moose was quickly entered in and pondered on daily. I would lie in bed and visualize the setting in the mountains with my gun, my dad, my brothers and friends.
I then saw a mount of an Alaskan moose in Cabela’s and changed my mind from a Shiras to an Alaskan/Yukon moose. ‘The bigger, the better’ soon became my mantra as I dreamed of a large, palmated, 60–inch spread weaving its way through the trees. My dream of an Alaskan moose filled my thoughts, anticipating the day that I could save enough money and make the trip north with my dad.
Upon researching the various guides, going to hunting trade shows and surfing the Internet, I soon discovered that Alaska has a lot of large animals. A caribou hunt was soon added to my dream book and almost filled my thoughts as much as the moose hunt did.
Then on one of my research projects, I learned that combination hunts were offered where you could harvest both a moose and a caribou on the same hunt. This became my obsession and has filled my thoughts ever since.
So here is what my dream looks like in my mind.
I see myself walking through the tundra and looking over the large herds of caribou on their annual migration. I am sitting with my guide and my father as we search for that special shooter that is somewhere in the abundant number of animals below. I see what I think would be my prize, but quickly the guide changes my mind. Off to the north, all alone, is a monster that would make the most experienced biggest game hunter drool. Dad quickly finds him in the spotting scope and we analyze our approach. We realize he is traveling on a trail that is about 600 yards below and make our plan to intercept him in his travels. Dad chooses to stay at the vantage point to make sure he doesn’t change course. My guide and I work our way down through the dead fall and rocks, and find a spot that offers us some cover about 80 yards from the game trail. Suddenly we see the tops of some antlers, still in velvet, making its way through the trees. The closer he gets the bigger he gets. He has two enormous back scratchers, double shovels and large palmated tops with at least nine points on each. My body starts to shake with anticipation as my guide says ‘don’t look at the antlers, we know he’s good one, just make sure of your shot.’ Taking deep breaths my heart starts to calm down...150, 130, 110 he just keeps getting closer and closer. With my gun on the shooting sticks, I point toward the game trail below. Slowly he steps into view and offers a perfect broadside shot. I swear he can hear my heart as he stops and looks right at us. I touch the trigger and the big animal lunges forward and falls into a pile just off the trail. I can hear the yells from my dad on the ridge above us before I realize he is down. He soon joins us and gives me one of the biggest hugs I have ever had in my life. We take numerous pictures and begin the process of packing out my trophy.
Sitting around the fire, telling the story over and over again, I see the excitement still bright in my father’s eyes. The guide comes up to us and informs us that we will be moving to moose camp in the morning so get a good rest.
I am still like a little kid on Christmas and find it difficult to sleep. Morning comes early and we load up the horses and move out of ‘Caribou Valley.’ Following an 8–hour ride, we come into a large open basin covered with pines, furs and various other trees. Down in the bottom there are marshes and streams everywhere. ‘If I were a moose this is where I would live,’ I say to myself. We quickly set up camp and find time to go and scout for the evening. My guide and I climb up to a large rock on the side of the mountain to have a look at the basin. Within minutes we see moose everywhere. We see cows and calves, little bulls and some nice bulls. My guide informs me that there is one bull out here that is just flat out huge. He hasn’t seen him yet, but he knows he is out there. It starts to get late and I am starting to get tired from the previous night’s restlessness.
Morning finds me at another vantage point with my guide. Dad has gone with another guide to see if they can find the ‘Big Boy.’ We look all morning but can only find the small bulls from here. We start to move and my dad’s voice comes over the radio. ‘Lew, I think we found him,’ he says. We quickly make our way to their location and find ‘Big Boy’ laying under some alder trees about 1,500 yards away. Once again we devise a plan to stalk up on the sleeping giant.
Following the ridge line, we slowly and painstakingly make our way down to his location. As we creep down into position, we soon realize that the bull has moved and is standing in the marsh below feeding on the plentiful grasses. With his noisy feeding, we are able to make the sneak up to 110 yards out. Cautiously I slide a bullet into the barrel and prepare for the shot. Finding my crosshairs tucked in behind his front shoulder I slowly squeeze the trigger and my bullet finds its mark. The bull slumps and expires in the middle of the marsh. My guide radios for help and we are soon joined by more men from the camp and my dad. I know this has been the greatest trip in my life and I am pretty sure my dad feels the same way.
This is my dream hunt and how I see it in my mind. But things have changed and I know that this specific dream will never happen. My dad has gotten older and his health has deteriorated. Mom died this year and he misses her greatly. He is slow to move, but still loves to hear about my adventures. Listening to my stories he still beams with as much pride today as he did when I took my first elk and deer. I still try to take him hunting with me when I can. In fact he was there in the woods with me this year when I took my first whitetail deer. Just like my proud father of the past, he hugged me and said ‘good job,’ but tears filled his eyes this year. I think he is starting to realize that this might be the last hunt he will be able to go on with me. I would love to come back from my dream hunt and let him relive it through my eyes and the stories of my successes in Alaska.”