We start the day in a rather subdued mood.
Including today, I have four hunting days left. It might well be enough if we can find some shootable game waiting for us in a convenient place. But we haven't seen anything.
The weather is fine, but cold. I am finding it increasingly difficult to leave my warm sleeping bag.
Today John is going to move his lookout place a couple of hundred feet, and keep searching for moose. I wil remain where I am, watching for grizzly. Apart from Balambér I haven't seen another living creature.
Around 10.00am John comes back with the news that he has seen a moose. It has disappeared into a bank of fog, about a mile away. If what he says is only half-true, it's antlers must be at least double the size of the current world record. This is typical. Széchenyi, and other hunters, have also written about about these strange, mythical, royal-sized animals, which always manage to turn up when the hunter is somewhere completely different. And by the time he gets there, these
"phantoms" will always have vanished! If a hunt is a failure - and this one certainly is - the guides often try to maintain morale with similar tales.
All this probably suggests that I am getting impatient.
Well, that's true.
Hunting is hunting. There’s never a guarantee of success. But in my hunting package the black bear, which I shot yesterday, and which I am still as happy with now as I was when I shot it, is only a minor part. The three main game species I want are: moose, grizzly and caribou. I also have a permit for a wolverine, but I'm not even thinking about that right now; so far, I've only ever seen a wolverine in a picture book. The caribou season has been suddenly curtailed by the authorities. They cannot be touched. We just have to take a deep breath and accept it.
There are four game animals left.
And one is already outside my tent.
Before I left Hungary, I was given a leaflet containing some valuable advice for globe-trotting hunters. One of the suggestions is that, if, during a hunt, you become discontented with something, or you have a problem, you should tell your guide. There's no point in bringing it up at the end of the hunt, when it's too late to do anything about it. Now that John is here I take this adviced and express my dissatisfaction.
I always hate it when I read an account of some hunt, written by a knowledgeable organizer, who never understands his clients impatience. In order to put an end to the usual disfunctional
Chapter VI.: Return to Alaska
Page 33
communication between client an organizer, I can reveal that the client is not being impatient because he's an idiot and knows nothing about hunting. He is being impatient because - unlike the organizer - he has paid a lot of money to be allowed to hunt in a particular territory, and he won't get a penny back, even if the hunt is a total failure. He wants to get some return for his money.
Like a chance to shoot something.
It's one thing that success can never be guaranteed. But the flip side is that, so far, I have only been offered one black bear to shoot, during one of the most expensive hunting packages on sale in America. If there are not enough bears available in an area, then they should not take so many hunters there. And they shouldn't take everyone's money.
It's that simple!
There are no moose or grizzly available here.
It's a matter of fact.
We do the same circuit every day. Balambér is too far away to get to. The bears in the val ey can all smell us because of the Curse of the Valley. John's argument that we have seen a lot of bears just doesn't wash! I don't want to watch bears, I want to hunt them. If I feel like watching bears I can buy a $10 ticket to Anchorage Zoo - although I might even get in for free, as I have adopted Nicolai - and look at them from morning till night. The methods used so far have not produced results. To constantly hope for new outcomes from the same old actions is possibly a definition of madness.
If we were staying here for weeks, and had a lot of luck, we might manage to get one of the coveted animals on my list. But this is only a ten- day hunt, and it wasn't me who chose these ten days, but Bob Adams, the famous outfitter and organizer. It is he who has received enough money from me to buy himself a really cool car. So, excluding today, I have three days hunting left to find two more game animals, one of which - the moose - I haven't even seen yet, and the other only from a distance of 1-1.5mi.
This is, slightly edited, more or less what I say to John, hoping that the result will be that every uncomprehending organizer will now finally understand what makes his client impatient. What I really don't get is, why are we hanging around a place where there is obviously no prospect of finding anything? Bob should have quickly moved us to another area yesterday. He might do it today, but with time being so tight, a single day really matters. I can tell that the desperation of the situation has made John quite tense, so I try to stay calm. However, I do ask that, during his next radio conversation with Bob, he will pass on my remarks as clearly as he can, and, at the
Chapter VI.: Return to Alaska
Page 34
same time, ask that Bob, should his busy schedule permit it, pays us, and our modest little camp, a visit.
There are still three days left!
I'm not going to complain about John.
He is perhaps the most motivated guide I've had since I've been in America. He keeps the binoculars glued to his eyes for 10hrs. a day, and I mean that literally. None of this is his fault, but he doesn't have a magic wand. He doesn't speak the bears' language, so he can't call them to us.
(They probably wouldn't be able to hear him anyway, as they're so far away) The current situation is probably more upsetting for him than it is for me. He's a professional - he can see what's going on.
At noon it starts to rain.
It is hard to tell which is colder: the wind or the rain. But, combined, they are just too much. The rain is so heavy that it even makes using the binoculars difficult. We should be able to see for several miles, but the curtain of rain makes it impossible.
Our camp, with its bedraggled tents, is starting to look quite miserable. And as if this blessing from heaven isn't enough, I make my own contribution. One of my water bottles seems to have sprung a leak, so my tent is now wet both inside and out. I bail it out with my mug. So at least I'm able to wash out the dried cocoa in it. The hole in my tent is getting larger; I haven't had time to repair it. I don't need to worry about my electrical equipment as it's all safe in the waterproof Peli case. In the tent I hang my ear-defenders up with a piece of string; at least they'll be dry there.
The area beneath my bed has managed to stay dry, so I put my gun there. If the camp bed collapses again, I'll land on top of it. Which will mean I have to test it again. Right now my only concern is to stop my sleeping bag from getting wet.
Montana! The endless prairie! Sunshine! Blue sky!
Babsie Bishop's good humor!
Chapter VI.: Return to Alaska
Page 35