The big day finally
arrived and on the 14th day of September, 9 days before
Mike's 53rd birthday, the incredible journey of "Killer
Keller" and "Giz" Deller commenced. Little puffs
of smoke appeared in the hazy dew as the boys dressed in coordinating
L.L. Bean cords and tweed traveling jackets carried their huge and
magnificent canvas bag to the truck that would carry them to the
Harrisburg airport. A pre-dawn arrival at the airport was de rigueurfor
their departure flight at noon. The golf green bags held pre-selected,
tried and true items of weaponry and clothing. These choice items
would provide maximum survival benefits to humans in the wilderness
and contribute to the non survival of their prey. We were headed
to McBride, British Columbia, to hunt with Bruce McKenzie of McKenzie
Brothers Outfitting.
"Bruce,"
Greggo muttered through a mouth full of Skoal, "looks like
our two hunters from Pennsylvania just pulled up in their rental
car."
"Hi,
fellas. This is your guide, Greggo Mutch, local trapper and debaucher,"
laughed Bruce.
"Well
boys!" Bruce called, we have a couple of hours before dinner.
Get your rifles and hunting clothes and we'll go down to the range
to see how well Northwest Airlines treated your rifles."
The
rifles checked out OK at the range. On the way back, Bruce spotted
a large Black Bear about 400 yards along the tree line of an oats
field. "Mike, I think we can ambush him from this logging
road. Grab your 270 and let's go! I didn't expect action this
quick."
Mike
was ready. We looped around, picked up the logging road and headed
towards him. The bear was now heading right towards us. About
200 yards around the bend, Bruce advised us to sit tight and wait
for him to reach us and then to harvest him.
"Harvest
him?" Mike thought. "Another one of those 20th Century
bullshit statements, this is a Browning rifle, not a John Deere
tractor."
As
predicted, the bear rounded the bend 75 yards away and Mike squeezed
the trigger, placing the bullet soundly between the right side
of the head and right shoulder. The bear started to crumble but
then leapt hard left into the trees and brush. "Nice shot!"
Bruce yelled. "He should be in here fairly close."
Sure
enough, about 40 yards away, there was the 400 pound cinnamon
colored Black Bear.
"Well,
let's get Roger and take this bear back and we'll skin her out
tomorrow. Greggo will be glad for the meat. I hope this is a good
omen for this hunt. You guys have only been here 3 hours and already
have a trophy cinnamon bear."
Monday
morning arrived with fog so dense you could not see 20 yards.
We would have to wait before we could go in to goat camp. We were
to pack our frame pack as light as we could, no more than 45 pounds.
Around
11 a.m. we decided to make our move. The first drop camp was about
35 miles away from base camp.
Bruce's
blue Suburban pulled a trailer with an ATV and a smaller trailer
on top of it. After 15 miles of bad road in the truck, we came
to the end of the line. We switched to the ATV for 12 more miles,
with Bruce driving, Greggo on the back, and Roger and I sharing
the small trailer. We finally went as far as we could go via ATV.
In order to prevent porcupines from eating the rubber tires of
the vehicles we were leaving behind, we wrapped them in chicken
wire and put a salt block out for the "porkies" as a
substitute for those salty rubber treats.
We
began a 3 hour walk with our packs and rifles heading into Kiwi
Valley. We tried to keep up with Bruce and Greggo as we trekked
into a beautiful valley about 3 miles wide with a serpentine river
flowing through the bottom swampland. Falling, stumbling, and
wading we finally arrived. Bruce went ahead and opened up the
barrel that had been dropped in. He set up the tent and when we
finally arrived right before dark, we started a fire and made
a quick meal of corned beef and potatoes. We had seen quite a
few Grizzlies while coming into camp, along with some moose and
Black bear.
Next
morning, we had an 8-hour climb from our 5,000-feet base camp
to 9,000-feet into Black Martin tributary. Roger kept asking me
what I had gotten him into? We saw some nice Billies on the way
up to 9,000 but unfortunately, this side of the mountain was a
goat santuary. The top was breathtaking, and presented us with
a snow bridge to cross. After backsliding for 20 minutes, we finally
crossed over the snow bridge. The view was spectacular since we
were on a glacier with a lake of green water. We snapped some
pictures before proceeding back down to the final destination.
At goat camp, we found two large 50 gallon barrels that had been
dropped in. Bruce had mentioned that this would be the "Cadillac
Camp" and indeed it was. We found a nice 6-man tent and all
the amenities - we could have stayed until November if necessary.
Next
morning, we set up our spotting scopes in an area where we could
get an overview. It wasn't long before we spotted 2 Billies, miles
away on the mountain facing us. Bruce sent Roger and Greggo packing
to glass the mountain below us. They were to call us on the walkie
talkie if they saw any goats. They left about 11 a.m. and called
us at 2:30 when they reached the summit on the other side. The
two goats we had seen were not huntable but there was a nice Billy
below them that they were going to stalk instead. They couldn't
see anything on our side of the valley from their vantage point
and set out to find the Billy.
We
heard from them again at 7p.m. and they said Roger had gotten
a 9-1/2" Billy at 30 yards. "We came right over top
of him and he never saw us." They weren't prepared to stay
at that site so they skinned him and packed him in. They were
going to have to leave him and return the next day since they
would have to push to get back to camp before dark. They arrived
back at camp around 9 p.m. Roger was exhausted and he could not
eat, but by this time the "Northern Lights" had come
out and the sky was dancing like pixies in the moonlight. I was
delighted to see this natural light show since it brought back
memories of my first caribou hunt many years ago, where I first
witnessed this spectacle.
We
awoke the next day covered with a total blanket of fog. Visibility
was not more than 25 yards. The weather was changing fast and
we felt like our days were limited up here. We needed to get the
second goat fast, recover the first, and get off the mountain
before too much snow fell. Bruce decided to go down to the lodge
since he had another hunter coming in for grizzly. There wasn't
much going on for the rest of the day. We sat in the tent waiting
for it to clear while Roger read stories of grizzly attacks and
Greggo caught up with his diary. About 2 p.m. it partially cleared
and we could glass again. We spotted a Billy (about 8-1/2")
with a ewe and a kid, and I decided to take it. We left camp at
2:30 to stalk the Billy. We would have to get lateral to it since
we could not get above him. We did not have a good wind; it was
quartering and we needed to keep our smell below the goats. At
about 300 yards we decided to move up to the next rock; slide
about 75 yards, and take a shot from there. The goats were laying
down and they were unaware of our presence. Suddenly the walkie-talkie
blasted out. It was Roger on the other end and Greggo had inadvertently
turned the volume up to max.
"Hey
Mike, I've got the frying pan on. Where's the meat?"
"Another
example of 20th century bullshit", Greggo and I lamented.
Now
we had to act fast! We ran the 75 yards and set up fast. The goats
were approaching approximately 500 yards by now. Greggo spotted
for me.
The
Billy was on the ledge turning himself around to make the next
ascent. I held the crosshairs about 1- 1/2 goats high and squeezed
the trigger. The blood flew from the goat's shoulder as he buckled
and fell off the ledge. A split second later you could hear the
"wap" as the 130 grain .270 bronze point made contact.
I could hear the bronze slam back into the lead base.
Greggo
gave me a high five and said, "Damn it, Mike! You two guys
are some hunters. Roger shoots his at slingshot range and you
shoot yours at anti-aircraft range."
Photo:
Guide Greggo Mutch with Trophy Billy in British Columbia
It
looked like the goat had fallen down into the ice field but the
clouds were now coming in fast and furious. Since it was now about
5 p.m., we started across the ice field to see where the goat
hit. We found the goat and saw that it was jammed between the
mountain and the ice flow. It was down about 15 feet and we could
see him but couldn't reach him. We decided to come back the next
day with some rope. For now, we had to move off the ice and the
only way to go was down.
On
September 20th, we awoke to 4" of snow. At about 9 a.m.,
Greggo and Roger left for Black Martin to retrieve Roger's goat.
Since it was going to take them the whole day, I was elected to
stay at camp and keep the fire burning. There were snow flurries,
fog and 15 degree temperatures. They finally returned at about
8:30 p.m. with Roger's goat. We got out the frying pans and ate
goat for an hour or more. It tasted like "Alberta Filet Mignon".
The
next morning brought more snow and fog. We took some cramptons
and a rope ladder back to the ice flow to retrieve my goat.
On
September 22nd, the weather was sunny and clear with
about 4" of snow on the ground. We decided to break camp
and get back while the getting was good.
"Let
me get a picture of you two," Greggo said, "it's all
down hill from here."
So
we took a picture congratulating ourselves for making it. Boy,
was that premature! Going down the other side of the mountain
with the snow on it proved to be the most dangerous part of the
whole trip. At 2 p.m. a snow squall blew in and we lost all visibility.
We had to virtually slide down the mountain on and off our packs.
We finally arrived at the base camp at 7:30 p.m., soaking wet,
and mentally and physically exhausted from concentrating on every
foot placement. My "Mendi" boots were lifesavers.
"More
goat meat for dinner, Mike," Roger yelled. "You know
the more we eat, the less we have to carry." I decided on
seconds for dinner and some for breakfast in the morning.
September
23rd - My 53rd birthday, and what a glorious
day! One more leg to go on the "Iron Man Goat Hunt"
before we're back at main camp.
Fax:
780-987-0106