Al Hansen
Well-known member
I have often wondered why certain things that have taken place in my life are remembered and others quickly forgotten. Now at the age of 71, I do try to understand about life and the whys and why nots.
For example, while I lived in Alaska, the Dall sheep family was one that attracted me beyond your wildest dreams. I almost always thought about them. I studied them for weeks on end in the summer months and ended up knowing this particular specie of North American sheep fairly well. I liked being prepared prior to hunting them. By doing this you would think that foremost in my mind filled with unending memories would be those special moments of pulling the trigger on my 7mm mag and watching my trophy collapse on the mountainside. On the contrary, these moments of the rams that I shot, were not very high on my priority list of memories.
Here are some of the memories that have been etched forever in my mind:
1. While walking in on one of my solo hunts, I saw a bull moose that had a rack so large that whenever he turned to look to the right or left, his antlers seemed to scratch his butt. This moment was special and since I needed a rest, I quickly took out my 15 to 60 power spotting scope and small tripod and set it up. All I could do is gasp for air when I saw him. First of all, I knew I could never shoot him because it was impossible for me to take out the meat, cape, and antlers on my back. Secondly, I was only after sheep but this trophy bull was of interest to me. I looked at him carefully, knew that he was huge and then I finally took a calculated guess that he had a 78 inch spread with massive palms. I found out later that an outfitter had a client take him and he was measured at 76 1/2 inches. Just think of a 6'4" guy who could stretch out inside that massive expanse.
2. On my solo sheep hunt in 1972, there were three things that have stayed with me since that time. A. One was seeing my footprints in a sandbar along the creek that I had walked to get to my spike camp. I was now heading out with a ram on my back. As I followed them a short distance I came upon a grizzly foot print that covered my size 13 boot track with ease. I remember seeing those long claw marks in the sand and wincing. That was exhilarating beyond belief. Sightings like that always make one think of the eyes that are upon you but you don’t know where they are. B. On that same hunt, that 14 air mile hike brought me into such a pristine area that the rams that I saw—over 50 of them, made no rush to leave when they spotted me. All they did was move out of the way or meander off, not far, and then proceed to graze on mountain grasses once again. That made me think of Muir, Audubon, and Sheldon, three naturalists, who roamed about North America. Many a time I thought about the old timer that I had met in Alaska that looked at me and said, “Cheechako, you should have been here back in the 30s and 40s when there were game animals all over the place. They are all gone now.” Here it was 1972 and I was witnessing what they said was not possible anymore. Guess that made me a lucky guy. C. When I had walked back with my ram and was waiting for my pilot to pick me up, one early morning while I was sipping on a cup of hot coffee right after breakfast, I had the extreme pleasure of watching a large Alaskan grey wolf walking along the far side of the Dry Tok river bed. He was magnificent! I’ll bet that I got a good 5 minutes to observe him and I enjoyed every second of it.
3. Probably foremost in my mind while hunting/fishing/camping in Alaska were those special moments of total silence and darkness. For me, those times are almost sacred and when I think back upon them now it is with reverence. I can remember one summer in June when I was studying a group of Dall rams. I had located this band, then followed them on their daily excursions, writing notes about each as I observed them and their habits. By the time those two weeks had gone by I had a name for each of the 7 rams and knew who the leader was and why. It was at night time that I cherished so much, when I would be there in my sleeping bag looking up at the stars that seemed to leap out at you because they were so bright. I was now in a place in North America where there were no city lights illuminating the countryside and no jets streaking across the sky leaving their distant roaring sounds to fill the environment. It was totally pitch black and almost ghostly quiet. As I continued this trend in my life I found that I preferred to hunt more and more by myself, and I learned why. I yearned for those special moments of “solitude”, those things that can only be given to you by Mother Nature. When I think about it now, I realize how fortunate I have been to have experienced this first hand.
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While working for the department of Fish and Game one summer on Kodiak Island, my partner and I had some unique experiences. One day while we were back in Kodiak (the city) replenishing our food supply for an upcoming outing, our boss rushed in and said, “Hurry up fellas, we will just have time to catch the tides so that we can drop you off over in Larsen Bay area. It was our job to watch for illegal fishing operations that might be taking place. We operated like a sneak team and were not supposed to let any one see us.
Well, we grabbed what we could, got our duffle bags jammed into the back end of the 63 Ford station wagon and headed for the dock where the Widgeon was tied up. This was one that Grumman had built for use in World War II. Our pilot was a fantastic guy who had stories on top of stories and I was welling to listen to them all. Anyway, we took off heading for Larson Bay.
If you have never had the chance, Kodiak is a must for an adventurer’s bucket list. This island has scenery that will blitz your mind. While flying we could look across the Shelikof Strait and see Katmai National Park on the mainland. Once we were there, Jim banked his pet (the Widgeon) to the left to look at his landing area and then put her down like a pro that he was. Our boss kept on telling us to hurry up, which he always seemed to do, and we hustled out of the plane. My partner, Steve and I, grabbed all our gear and literally ran to find a spot to conceal our camp. Sounds crazy to run but when the biting insects are hot on your tail, a guy will do anything to avoid that.
I went through the duffle bags and then asked, “Steve, where did you put the tent?” Of course he said, “Al, I thought you brought it.” We each put on our head nets, used rubberbands and or string to tie our pants legs so the insects couldn’t crawl in and bite you. Same thing was done to our shirt sleeves, however, who would have ever thought that one would need gloves when it was in the summertime? Well, the mosquitoes, chiggers, flies, and no-see-ums, took their toll on us. While Steve and I hustled to build a lean-to, they bit the hell out of us. By the time we were done I had no definable wrist because that part of my anatomy was so swollen. From the back of my hand to my arm seemed to be a straight line. When we had the job completed and with a small fire to help smoke out any desperate flying blood suckers left looking for a meal, we started to laugh just because of what had taken place. I remember laying in my sleeping bag that night and wondering what the next week would be like while living in a lean-to. By the way, it wasn’t half bad. Thank goodness, that time we didn’t run into any brownies!
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Carl and I were scanning the mountainside with our binoculars. It was late in October and with the lack of termination dust, we decided to look for a blackie who might be searching for his last meal prior to denning up. While looking about, Carl said, “Hey, there are 4 moose in that small meadow about half way up. There are 3 cows and a mulligan bull.” The term mulligan was one we used for a small bull maybe two or three years old. These guys normally had antlers not much longer than their ears. This guy was far enough back from the highway, that it would only make your body hurt to think of packing him out.
Anyway, they were in full rut and this young bull was hot on the trail of one of the cows. It was quite evident that she wanted nothing to do with him. Finally she stood still for just a fleeting moment and that is when the bull attempted to mount her. As he did this, she made an abrupt turn and headed straight up the mountain. The bull then lost his balance, fell off the cow and began rolling down the steep mountain side. With his long legs flying all over the place it was almost comical. He ended up rolling over three times before he finally was able to right himself. “Hey, Carl, did you see that?” I asked. My hunting partner then said, “Well, I guess it’s true. It seems that every young male experiences an embarrassing moment or two with sexual encounters!” We then watched the battered and somewhat bruised mulligan bull, get up, and limp away.
Al
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