Bowhunter -julkaisun August 2021 - Big Game -irtonumeron sisällysluettelo

IT MIGHT BE AKIN to choosing your favorite child, but the August/Big Game Special is possibly our favorite issue to produce, mostly because of the special adventures we feature. A good hunting story has value. We bowhunters often tend to focus so much on the how-to, the gear we use, and accomplishing specific goals, that we fail to deeply immerse ourselves in the adventure and wonder that comes with every hunt. When we surrender to the ambition of filling a tag, the romance of the hunt can get lost in the thick fog of pursuit. My feature, “Campfire Caribou,” on page 18, is an example. My first goal was to tag a barren ground caribou and complete my “caribou slam” — all five subspecies of that magnificent big game animal.…

After having a bunch of hunts cancelled during the past year, I couldn’t believe I was finally at the end of a road securing my bow to the outside of a fully loaded pack and getting ready to start climbing again. Typically, this is the moment when you feel the weight of your pack, you see the terrain in front of you, and you realize what you just got yourself into. It’s mid February, and with just a few weeks left in the season, we couldn’t delay our adventure any further. COVID and the amount of snow had already ruined our plans earlier this year, but this time, no matter the conditions, we agreed with Phillipe Simon, our guide, that we will go and give it a try. This time…

“HE HIT MY RUBBING POSTS AND THE MOCK SCRAPES twice yesterday,” said my Nebraska buddy and whitetail fanatic, Terron Bauer. “He came through on the north side of the river about an hour after sunup and then, at some point, crossed the river and came through the south-side funnel about 2 p.m. That makes two days in a row he’s done the same thing. I need to kill him before he finds a hot doe and locks her down.” When I hung up the phone, I was shaking. I was happy for my friend, of course, and felt confident he’d get the job done. What gave me the jitters were the photos of the deer from Terron’s cellular trail cameras, which I scrolled through on my iPhone while my buddy…

Sitting in my rental Jeep in the middle of the Colorado desert, I couldn't help but smile and laugh to myself. Here I was, out in the middle of nowhere, in a Jeep that would not start. To top that off, the sky above me had become increasingly dark, and now heavy rain was splattering down on the hood of the Jeep. My plan of a relaxing, rather easy, high-success bowhunt had changed quickly. As I sat there contemplating my next move, what came to mind was the article that my friend and Bowhunter Editor, Curt Wells, had asked me to write a few months earlier. Curt gave me an assignment to write about achieving my second archery Super Slam, and to rank the bowhunting difficulty of the North American…

SNOW AND ICE SLAPPED MY FACE AS I STRUGGLED TO MAINTAIN VIEW OF THE TWO BULL MOOSE THAT WERE FEEDING A COUPLE HUNDRED YARDS AWAY IN A FIELD OF WILLOWS. ONE OF THE BULLS WOULD EASILY EXCEED THE POPE AND YOUNG CLUB’S MINIMUM REQUIREMENT FOR SHIRAS MOOSE, AND IT MIGHT EVEN APPROACH THE MINIMUM SCORE FOR THE BOONE & CROCKETT CLUB’S RECORD BOOK. The bulls towered over the waist-high willows, giving them full view of their surroundings for several hundred yards. Except for the blowing snow and two lone spruce trees located between me and the bulls, I was completely exposed. This is a fool’s errand, I thought, fighting the 20-mph crosswind as I headed toward the bulls. I was able to keep the two spruce trees between me and…

I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE 35MM TRAIL CAMERAS WERE THE ticket when I started bowhunting 19 years ago. I vividly recall the huge anticipation each time I visited Walgreens and dropped off a roll of film to have photos developed. Today, those memories seem so quaint. Back then, if someone had told me I’d one day have a smartphone, and that scouting cameras would transmit images and even videos directly to my phone, I would’ve laughed. If they’d also told me I’d be able to manage camera settings through a phone app, I’d have laughed even louder. Early-model digital trail cameras were just hitting the market when I was 12, Wisconsin’s then-minimum hunting age. But their trigger speeds were molasses slow. I eventually got one that took five seconds to trigger…

QUESTION I have a burning desire to bowhunt caribou, but guided hunts have gotten so expensive I have to go DIY. I realize that limits me to Alaska. Got any advice? Kimberly B. via e-mail ANSWER I just returned from a DIY caribou hunt in Alaska (see page 18). First, research “transporters,” as they will fly you in by bush plane. These flight services tend to be busy, so book early. Make sure your transporter flies into areas conducive to bowhunting. Wide-open Alaskan tundra is no place for a bowhunter, but your pilot will know where the bowhunting areas are, and more importantly, where the caribou are. Be aware that as of this writing, the Biden Administration’s Federal Subsistence Board was deciding whether to close off two massive areas (GMUs…

The choice seemed simple — hypothermia or suffocation. To ward off the cold, my sleeping bag was cinched down tight. The only way I could maintain consciousness was to inhale and exhale through the “blowhole,” like a whale. Sleep came grudgingly as 40 mph winds raged and temperatures plummeted into the teens. The “kitchen” tarp outside was flapping like the wings of a dragon, and my tent shook like a river-soaked caribou. I’d packed my 20-degree bag instead of my 0-degree bag; a mistake that had me muttering bad words through chattering teeth. When my red tent mercifully began to absorb dawn’s glow, I reluctantly crawled out of my bag and got dressed. I hated that part. The tent was covered in frost, and water jugs and pump filters were…

MOST PEOPLE SPEND MID-DECEMBER huddled in front of the fireplace, making plans for the holidays. I am usually one of those people. That’s what made this past winter strange for me, because instead of being bundled up at home, I was sweating in a ground blind with the desert sun beating in through the small window of the blind. The reason: desert mule deer. Putting it lightly, this past year was a challenge. If anyone knew what 2020 was going to be like, we would have treated it like a Netflix show and hit the fast-forward button on our remotes until the next season. Due to the pandemic — and the fallout that resulted from it — the hunting year was flipped upside-down for tens of thousands of bowhunters. Travel…

WAIT UNTIL HIS LEG IS FORWARD . Over and over, I sent this mantra to my brain, as the giant bruin plodded his way up the river. The pressure was on. I had already used up my five-day allotment of hunting time on this salmon river grizzly hunt. The bears had been numerous, but picky shot selection for my longbow had significantly reduced my opportunities to kill a bear. By this time, I’d had 36 grizzly bear encounters. Although some had been the same bears, each event had been thrilling. My guide, Bruce, told me we could squeeze in a morning hunt, because outfitter Stan Parkerson would not be flying in until 1 p.m. I knew Stan had a reputation for quality grizzly hunts, but being a traditional archer and…