Al Hansen
Well-known member
This has to be the most bittersweet portion of time that I have ever experienced in my life. Here it is just 1 week from our duck opener—yes, just a mere 7 days and I don’t have a clue as to where I’ll be hunting because the Rio Grande is bone dry. I do realize that I only have to wait until November 1st to see some water there because that is when they close down the agricultural irrigating for the year, here in New Mexico, however it is frustrating.
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I remember just breaking through a very thick alder patch while hunting black bear in Alaska. It was a beautiful, cool, crisp, morning when I spotted a patch of white that just didn’t belong where it was. I grabbed my binoculars and found myself looking at what seemed to be a Dall sheep all sprawled out on this shale slide. Well, I am much too curious and couldn’t leave this event to pass by without some investigating.
Upon arriving at the scene it became quite evident as to what had happened. I was looking at a young Dall ram who happened to be in the wrong spot on the mountain when the avalanche started. This almost 2 year old got caught up in it and was hurled down the mountainside to his death. I just happened to have arrived at a moment in time when the snow had melted prior to the animals and bird scavengers doing what they do best in life. As I stared at him I began to wonder what he would have looked like had he been able to survive until the age of 10 or 12. It was sad to see this lifeless ram, however, once again I was shown by Mother Nature what life is all about.
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Writing the above clip about the ram made me think of one spring day in the beginning of May when Lee and I decided to go black bear hunting down by Seward, Alaska. We found a great spot to park the truck and headed up the valley. I was the only one that took a packing frame along. Since the truck was so close to where we were going, (maybe 3 or 4 miles) don’t ask me why, but we left our lunch and thermos in the truck. The first thing we encountered was a medium sized glacial stream that we had to cross. It wasn’t bad at all to cross and then we began our trek upward. Now the terrain was becoming quite steep as the sun began to peak over the ridge lines. We were hoping to spot a blackie on the side of this mountain that we were on. Well, first of all the snow was a lot deeper than we had anticipated but we struggled through it. Finally we got to a spot where I was fortunate enough to grab a hold of a small tree and hoist myself up. I heard Lee yell to me from behind and there he was spread eagled on this slope, slowly sliding back down. I quickly tossed him a rope that I always carried for “just in case” situations. He tied it around himself and I was able to haul him back up to where I was.
As we rested right there for a few minutes, I happened to spot a huge boar black bear walking across the snow above us. We both had to walk out onto the snow pack to get a clean shot at him. Well, it was quite evident when we fired off a volley of 7 shots that neither of us would win the Olympic shooting contests. The black bear put it into four-wheel drive and was gone. I guess I must have been cussing my luck because Lee was laughing when all of a sudden just across the valley from us, the sound of our shots must have triggered this huge avalanche. My gosh, that was the first time I had ever witnessed one so very close. Almost too close for comfort as we watched the snow slide down the mountainside. I guess it was the sound that almost became more frightening than the sight of it. We watched huge pine trees get snapped in two like they were toothpicks. The speed in which they slide is something to be reckoned with and it looked like that boiling snow was going to come right over towards us but it didn’t.
As quickly as it started, it was over, deathly silent, and then the two of us looked at where we were standing and without saying a word, backtracked out of the snow field on the side of this mountain to where there was some terra firma. Once there, we were able to work our way back to a safe zone which was free from avalanches.
We were both exhausted from this ordeal and starving. I checked my watch and found out that no wonder we were hungry because it was now after 1:00PM. No food because we forgot it in the truck. It was now becoming quite warm and I had taken off my down jacket. So we headed back for the truck. By the time we got to the glacial stream, which was an hour and half later, things had changed. The sun had warmed up the day and this small creek that we had crossed was now almost to the raging point. We totally had forgotten what takes place on these streams in the afternoons as they began to swell with melting snow. Well, Lee was 5' 10" and weighed about 145 pounds soaking wet. I, on the other hand am 6' 6" and weighed about 225 pounds back then. After searching for a few minutes, we found a spot to ford the creek, where the water was not yet up to my knees. That was important because once again my mind raced back to that old timer who was now telling me a story from his experiences in the 30's when he was out gold panning. “Hey, Cheechako, don’t ever try to get across a glacial river if the water is up over your knees because you’ll never make it.” As we began walking across the river, Lee was up stream from me which was good, I guess. About midway across, Lee said, “Hey, Al, I’m being swept off my feet.” I told him to grab a hold of my back pack, which he did, and then the craziest thing happened. He ended up being swept down stream from me and totally floating in the water. It was something else to look at him hanging on for dear life as I continued to trudge across. Thank goodness I had taken the time to cut a branch off a tree and use it as a walking stick because it made the difference of us getting across safely.
Lee and I were spent beyond our imaginations. We were extremely exhausted, no food had been eaten, just water consumed, and we were soaking wet. Upon arriving at Lee’s truck, we couldn’t get that heater to warm up fast enough. The sandwiches and coffee did the rest that our bodies were craving for. As we headed back to Anchorage all we could say was that it was just plain old “dumb luck”.
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When I had moved to Wausau, Wisconsin, back in 1974, I had the good fortune to meet a man by the name of Mel Kloth. By trade he was a painter and a damn good one. Since my wife and I had invested in a duplex that needed all kinds of help, it was then that I was directed by a friend, to Mel, because he also sold a line of great paints.
One evening while I was standing there as he was mixing some color combinations for me, he looked at me and said, “Did I ever tell you what I did during World War II?” He then told me that he had signed up and became a Seabee. After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and then the Aleutian Islands in Alaska, our military made a quick decision that a road to Alaska was paramount. “So what did you do, Mel?” I asked. He then went on to tell me that he was a bull dozer operator and he helped make the Alcan Highway. Well, I had driven that stretch of Alcan 6 different times and knew it quite well. Mel continued to talk while mixing the paint. When he was done, he looked at me and said, “I need to go get something for you to look at.”
When he came back he was holding a shoe box and he said, “Take a peek at this.” Inside it was a gigantic tooth that filled the entire box. It looked like a molar to me. I held it, inspected it and finally said, “I don’t have a clue as to what this is from, Mel.” He smiled as he explained about digging out a hillside one day on a new stretch of the Alcan when he noticed something round, curved, and quite long come out of the earth that he was pushing. He got off his dozer and then discovered that he had unearthed a Woolly Mammoth’s tusk. He shut his rig down and then with some help from his crew chief, they hauled the huge tusk out. They knew what it was and got out their shovels and found the other tusk, which quickly became the property of the next in command. Mel, looked at me and said, “Since I was so low on the totem pole, all I got to keep was this Mammoth’s molar when we finally got to his skull.”
The two tusks were put into a truck, Mel took his molar and it was right then that his boss told him to get back on the dozer and start making the road. He was also told to keep his mouth shut. They evidently knew not to get palaeontologists involved. That would have delayed the road and during times of war, it was a no brainer. Still makes you wonder what lies beneath that section of blacktop now------
Al
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