Caribou tag yields success

Perseverance, hunting skills pay off for three women

Aug. 23, 2005

KATE KELLY\Frontiersman reporter

Six years she'd waited for the thrill of the chase and the taste of sweet tenderloin surrendered up by a Nelchina caribou.

Every year since 1999 she had applied for a Tier II permit, only to be denied one of the 2,000 tags issued for Unit 13 around Eureka and the Denali Highway - until this year, when the Alaska Department of Fish and Game decided the herd had increased enough to double the amount of subsistence permits drawn.

"We got permits! We finally got permits!" Meadow Lakes resident Annette Winjum, 45, declared ecstatically last month after seeing her name, her mother's name, and another one of her hunting partner's name on the list posted online. "It's about damn time!"

So began their journey this year for making sure they didn't let this season pass without getting caribou meat in their freezers.

Annette and her Wasilla friends Becky Graham and Jill Reeves have been hunting caribou and moose together for the past 15 years — many times without the assistance of men, especially since Annette's father passed away from lung cancer more than two years ago.

"He taught me a lot about hunting from the time I was growing up in Wisconsin and served as the retriever because we didn't have a dog," Annette said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I think the greatest lesson he taught was to respect the animal and to hunt hard and close to camp."

Hunting memories shared

Annette, a Sweet Adelines barbershop singer who has worked in the sporting goods department of an Anchorage wholesale distributor for more than 20 years, reminisced about the first time she shot a caribou in January of 1991 as the women planned this year's hunt around her mother's kitchen table in Palmer on July 30.

"While Fish and Game was asking to see our hunting license, the herd started running away," she said of the Eureka hunt, rolling her eyes.

Then there was the time in the mid-'90s when Annette and Becky, of Haida heritage, nearly got hypothermia after chasing caribou in the blowing rain for 12 hours without having food or water in the field. They didn't even have watches on and had lost track of time.

"By the time we got back to camp, I was a wreck," Annette said. "That was a perfect example of not being very well prepared."

One of Becky's favorite memories involved shooting a caribou from 450 yards in below zero temperatures and hiking through waste-deep snow to get to it.

"It was such a long shot that ravens were already on its eyes by the time I got there," laughed the 39-year-old, who also commutes to Anchorage to work as a buyer for a hospital supply company.

Anticipation boosts adrenaline

With warm McMuffins clenched in their hands and a four-wheeler hitched to one of their trucks, the three women set out at 5 a.m. Aug. 12, heading to the Tangle Lakes area about six hours from the Valley.

The closer they got, the thicker was the smoky haze from the wildfires near Eagle. But when they arrived at their destination on the Denali Highway, they could at least see across the rolling tundra to the first set of hills where they'd seen caribou carousing before.

Becky's uncle and aunt, Gerald and Sherry Graham, had been out there for four days and said they had seen a handful of caribou in the area, one of which was shot by hunters in the next camp down the road.

That was all the three women had to hear. Before they'd even set up their tents, their eyes were glued to their binoculars.

Becky and Jill, 38, couldn't stand still any longer and set out across the spongy tundra on foot, stopping to roost on a blueberry-covered ridge surrounded by lakes about a mile away. They managed to stay out there for a few hours before thirst got the best of them and they ended up hitching a ride back on the uncle's ATV.

After dinner, it was time to hit the sack so they could rise at the break of dawn the next morning.

Then it was back to the same ridge on their ATV, while Annette stayed back at camp with the aunt and uncle, carefully scanning the entire area surrounding them.

The waiting was over

Suddenly, Uncle Gerald said he spotted a large bull in the field near where Becky and Jill were sitting and it was heading their way. Unfortunately, Becky was the only one out there with a permit. Jill did not get so lucky this year.

"It's going straight toward them!" Aunt Sherry screamed. "C'mon, Becky! Get it, Becky!"

A few minutes later, from the other side of the ridge, four shots rang out from Becky's 30-06 Savage rifle. But the caribou was still in motion.

"Looks like she wounded it," Uncle Gerald said before he and his wife hopped on their four-wheeler to get closer to the action.

Annette, too, decided to head out there, but on foot. Ever since getting her father's four-wheeler stuck in the mud in almost the exact spot where they were hunting this time, she has sworn off ATVs.

The hunters in the next camp let her look through their powerful spotting scope. She thought she saw the caribou fall down, with Becky hot on its heels.

By the time Annette had reached Becky's location by following orange flagging tape tied on the "ankle-grabber" bushes about 30 minutes later, she was sure she would find Becky standing over her dead prey. Instead, Becky and Jill were busy trying to figure out where the animal had limped off to by studying its bloody tracks.

"There it is!" Annette yelled when the caribou suddenly appeared in front of her on the edge of the brush, just a few yards away.

Although Annette was tempted to take a shot herself with her 7 mm Remington magnum, she knew that it was not only illegal for two hunters to shoot the same animal, but there was a danger of shooting her hunting partner, as well, who was standing directly on the other side of the bull, about 20 yards away.

Just then, the bull turned around and began slowly limping back in the other direction, its dark, velvet-covered antlers bobbing up and down between the tops of the bushes. Annette, Jill and Becky's relatives cheered the huntress on as she stumbled through the uneven turf, trying to keep from losing her prey this time.

One more shot was all that was needed to finally put the stubborn bull out of its misery. But before the women got busy gutting him and packing all 250 pounds out to their ATV, they thanked him for helping them fill their freezers.

"I don't ever not thank the animal," Annette said. "It's just the right thing to do."

Satisfaction realized

Uncle Gerald said he was impressed with the skill and speed with which the women eviscerated the carcass, saving the heart, liver and tongue for Becky's grandmother. It only took them about an hour from start to finish.

"We try to use as much of the animal as possible," Becky explained, adding that this kill was probably her worst in terms of how many shots it took to take it down. They found four bullet holes from its leg, stomach, shoulders, and face.

When they got back to camp, they were still energized by the excitement of the event and looked forward to their next planned hunt in that area during Labor Day weekend. Annette's mother and sister would be with them then.

"We've got two more tags to punch," Annette said with a smile as she and the others used tiny wet wipes to try to get some of the caribou's blood off their weary limbs.

"I really want mom to get one this year. This will be her first hunt since dad died, and I think it'd be good for her."

Two nights later, after the women had skipped out of work to process the meat in a timely fashion, Annette savored the tender, pan-fried morsels that shared a plate with fresh broccoli and zucchini from her garden.

"There's nothing like eating a meal you've either killed or grown yourself," she said, surrounded by the mounts of three successful caribou hunts on her living-room wall. "It's so much better for you than store-bought food."