Kodiak Island Sitka Blacktail Hunting: Feast or Famine

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A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed what my heart didn’t want to believe: The last thirty minutes of crawling, climbing and pushing my way through the brush had barely made a dent in the overall journey. But I wouldn’t let that negativity invade my thoughts. I turned to the brush and kept picking my way through with an ear-to-ear grin. After all, I was surrounded by good friends, had a deer tag in my pocket and was on Kodiak Island in search of an epic adventure.

Flying to Alaska always spikes my nerves. I never know why; maybe it’s excitement for the ensuing adventure, the fear of heading into the unknown and dangerous environment or maybe it’s just a mixture of it all. Regardless, it’s an addicting high that, hopefully, I’ll never be able to shake.

As my flight descended into Anchorage that high was strong. I was going to a completely new environment that I’d only ever heard tales about: Kodiak Island.

On the Rock

Kodiak is different than other places I’ve been to in Alaska. The Rock, as the Island is known, rises from the sea in a majestic fashion that is inviting but not for the faint of heart. At sea level, the ground is flat and covered in dense forest and brush. This quickly gives way to steep mountains and high peaks, still covered in brush until you reach the alpine, where the ground brush gives way to the grasses and muskeg. It’s lush and beautiful, and the deer love it, but the problem is, you must get there—and that’s no easy feat.

The deer inhabit all levels of the island from sea to summit, and often you’ll find them close to the beach when conditions are right. For us, the conditions were wrong; little snow had fallen so the brush was still thick and tall with the alders covered in leaves. This made it tough to see the subtle outlines of the little deer that call Kodiak home and it didn’t help that the rut was late. An airstrip conversation with the group in camp before us proved we had our work cut out for us if we wanted to come home with tags punched.

The two most popular ways to hunt the island are both unguided. Boat-based hunts are the most popular. The other option, the one we went with, is a lodge-based hunt. Our camp consisted of Adam Weatherby, J.D. Ponciano, Tyler Grethen and Koby Owens from Weatherby, along with Brian Call and Brad Hunt.

A Staggering Climb

The first morning, that high was still holding strong as I stepped on the boat with my team—Ponciano, Grethen and Owens. Our transporter, Nolan Cook, inched into the shallows being pushed by the winds towards the beach, the bow-ramp motor whined as it lowered to the water.

“Alright, go ahead,” said Cook.

With a deep breath, I departed the boat, feeling like I was a part of a military landing party heading out for a mission. I knew he’d be back for exfil that evening, but there was a lot of unknown in the coming hours.

Ponciano was the ace in our sleeve, he’d hunted this area many times before and his confidence was reassuring. Several hours passed before we reached our first glassing point. I’d like to say it was because we were methodically still hunting through the lowlands ensuring we didn’t blow any easy opportunities on a buck, but that wasn’t it. The entangled maze of brush made for slow moving and we were all being extra cautious about bears in the early morning light.

First Glassing Session

At the edge of an open meadow, our glass made its debut. A couple of does flicked their tails and fed at the base of the mountain. The sighting confirmed the need to keep climbing.

Muscles quickly felt the sting of the steep ascent and grabbing brush, but one foot after the other, we kept climbing. With each foot of elevation gained, more and more deer were becoming known. Sign was becoming more abundant and brief sightings of far-off animals were more constant, but fleeting, nonetheless.

The deer, like ghosts, were there and gone in a matter of seconds. Bucks chasing does would appear at a break in the alders only to vanish back into the thick. Any shot opportunities would have to be capitalized upon quickly.

As we glassed deer both above and below our position, Ponciano spotted a mature buck working across the hillside above us and sounded off with, “shoot that deer!” 

Foot Pursuit

The ensuing scramble wasn’t quick enough for a shot, and he quickly disappeared into the maze of brush. Luckily, he didn’t act spooked. We decided to follow.

Rounding the sidehill, we spotted the heavy-racked buck all alone. Grethen, with no time to spare, got on the rifle and squeezed the trigger. The Mark V, chambered in .300 Wby., put the buck down hard, and our first tag of the trip was punched.

Blowing With The Wind

The weather is the greatest unknown on any Alaskan expedition. This trip was no different. In the following days, our teams played the same cat-and-mouse games with the elusive animals. But the weather had changed; winds battered the island.

In the alpine, the wind was chilling, so strong at times, it forced a retreat from our path forcing another plan. Whiteouts blew in dropping visibility to near zero and disappeared just as soon as they arrived. But hey, that’s all part of the allure of Kodiak, and it didn’t keep us from hunting.

Adam Weatherby was able to take a fine buck despite the wind using the 6.5 Wby. RPM. And Ponciano followed suit with beautifully heavy buck high in the alpine with a .240 Wby.—all the while we were battered by a relentless mixture of wind, snow and rain.

While field processing those deer, moving was all we could do to stay warm.

Rut Action

As the days came and went the hunting only got better. The weather, although it made things harder on us, kicked the rutting activity up and deer movement was increasing every minute. Even with odds increasing and renewed excitement with the success of our team, my body was tiring quickly, each day taking its toll. And the successful members of the team were heading out sea duck hunting, which sounded much better than hiking to me, too.

In the Footsteps of Giants

Two days isn’t much time to kill a deer, pack it out, process it and package it for the journey home. But that’s what it came down to.

Adam Weatherby offered to accompany me on what we decided was the last day of deer hunting. The morning started the same as any other, we were dropped in the field by the transporter with a light covering of snow making the ground shimmer in the darkness. Mere moments into our hike, brown bear tracks stood out like a sore thumb in the powder. Fresh, hot, new—however you want to describe them—they were all of that.

The bear was close, and the winds were blowing relentlessly. “Scared” isn’t the right term, maybe “nervous” or “cautious” are better. Regardless, I was uneasy with following in its footsteps when we couldn’t see and couldn’t hear—more importantly, the bear couldn’t hear us either. Adam and I had a nice loud conversation for a while—I’m not sure what was said, and it doesn’t matter.

Our path broke from the bear’s to head up mountain, subsiding the nerves, but with each step, my muscles ached. I forced a smile and kept moving upward. Luckily, deer were moving that morning, providing a consolation prize for tackling the climb yet again.

Snow is Here

Snow moved in and out quickly making visibility tough. Waiting out the squalls with backs turned to the wind, it was hard to keep warm. Each time the wind pushed the snow out, we spotted deer, a couple of them shooter bucks, but the snow never stayed at bay long.

A break in the weather came, and a buck stood majestically in an opening overlooking the bottom of the draw where we had seen most of the deer. It was now or never.

Some creative positioning with my pack and the Spartan Javelin Bipod yielded a comfortable shooting position, which was a prerequisite for squeezing the trigger. The shot offered wasn’t easy: distance was 372 yards; wind was roughly ¾ value and holding steady. The buck was also quartering-to heavily, leaving little room for error. Not impossible by any means, but it presented a small target indeed.

The Weatherby 307 Range XP in 6.5 Wby. RPM had the capabilities and the Leupold VX-5 HD was dialed for an exact hold at that distance. The only unknown was the wind hold. As we all know, reading wind in the mountains is an art—and I don’t consider myself an artist.

Setting Up For The Shot

Looking carefully over the information that the environment offered, we concluded that most of the drift would take place in the first third of the shot distance as the deer were positioned mostly out of the wind. I found my hold and added a little extra per Weatherby’s recommendation based on his shot data.

I was solid, had the information needed to make the shot and knew that if there was error in my calculations, I should miss clean rather than wound because of the deer’s position. I was confident with the opportunity.

The trigger broke clean and the report was followed with the resounding thwap of impact. The deer kicked hard and went out of sight.

“Good hit,” said Weatherby, followed by a pause. “I think.” 

Optimism

My heart sank a little at the latter comment, but I was confident with the outcome of the shot. I knew if there was impact it had to be a lethal shot. But not knowing is tough, and the snow moved right back in adding to the uncertainty. With the off chance of the deer being wounded, we went the long way round, taking an approach that kept us in position to see the draw he was in and any potential escape routes. Moving in close to where he was standing at the shot, we glassed into the bottom.

“That’s a dead deer,” said Weatherby. Even covered in snow, Adam picked up the outline of the buck piled up not 20 yards from where he had stood. Nerves turned to excitement, and solemn talk turned to cheers and high fives.

Every piece of the delectable meat was picked clean from the carcass, and we made our way off the mountain. Loud conversation was had again to make our presence known to the bears, this time, though, we had something meaningful to talk about.

Successful, happy and tired, we rolled into the lodge in the early afternoon to start processing the deer for the trip home. The best part; we still had the whole next day to partake in a sea duck hunt, but that’s a story for another time.

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