I slept awkwardly on that damned bed last night and now I can hardly move my thigh. It is not good news just before a mountain hunt.
At 8.30am, after a very poor breakfast, I am waiting in the foyer. I'm not alone; there will be two of us on this hunt. My companion is an elderly gentleman from Texas, with a Santa Claus beard. His name is R. Smith, but we don't say much to each other after introducing ourselves.
The door opens and someone comes in... Greg Jennen!
Yes, it is the legendary Alaskan mountain guide himself, with whom I shot the Dall sheep a while back in Brooks Range. My expedition started with that hunt and once again I am returning to the wilds of Alaska with Greg.
We plan to hunt mountain goat and black bear.
The name American Mountain Goat (Oreamnos americanus) is slightly misleading. This animal is not in fact a real goat. It belongs to the goral family, which are more ancient creatures than ordinary goats. Luckily this does not affect the way it looks: I think it is the most beautiful animal in the world. Mountain goats originally arrived here from Asia, crossing the frozen Bering Sea about 600,000 years ago, which means that it is now indigenous to North America. They are
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about 40ins. high and weigh up to 220lbs., so we shall be dealing with a plucky, muscular animal.
Its fur is usually white but variations of a vanilla hue do occur. It has large hooves and their tough soles make them ideal for clambering over rocky surfaces. Both male and female have short horns. They are of similar length in both sexes, but those of the female are straighter. During a fight males wisely try to avoid head contact as the skin on their muzzles is rather thin, and their skulls are not strong. Instead they push against each other's legs with their sharp horns, occasionally stabbing an opponent's abdomen. Such injuries are often fatal. Females only use their horns when defending their position within the group.
The mountain goat is an exceptionally strong and tough animal, which has adapted well to the harsh conditions of its habitat. It moves confidently over the rocks and can swim so well that even big lakes don't give it any problems. Its sight is unbeatably acute: it can spot small movements from great distances. Its senses of smell and hearing are adequate, but not as keen as its sight. It usually feeds at night and is most active in the early morning and at dusk: these are the best times to hunt it. It is found mainly in the southern territories of Alaska though it has also been introduced in other places, such as the famous Kodiak Island. When assessing a trophy, it is the horns' length and diameter at the base that are measured. The world record was shot in British Columbia in November 1991.
Hunting for mountain goat is a real treat. Its eyes are at least as good as any mountain sheep's, but hunters must also cope with a more difficult terrain when stalking it. Interestingly, local hunters have found that there's a better chance of shooting it from above as the mountain goat tends to pay less attention to that direction. We'll see.
The hunt will start off by boat. When I was in Brooks Range I questioned Greg about this boat, whereupon he became a little indignant and corrected me, saying "It's not a boat, it's a yacht."
Well, I'm not so sure.
When I hear the word "yacht", I immediately think of something glistening and highly polished, anchored off Monte Carlo, equipped with a bar, jacuzzi and helipad. Greg's boat, sorry, I mean yacht, is far from this. It is almost certainly older than I am; the question is, how much? It has three cabins; the first is for Greg and Randy (I shot my first caribou with him) and the remaining two for Russel and me. My cabin could not be any smaller. I can't even stretch out my legs, I'm always bumping into some sloping cupboard. Its only decor is a small photograph of a Bald Eagle. I put my bags on the lower bunk while trying to work out how two people could possibly fit into such a small space. But I don't want to sound as if I'm complaining because there really isn't any reason to do so. My accomodation is dry and, hopefully the rain won't come in - the old
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rubber insulation around the skylight has completely perished - but there are no draughts or bad smells. There is no need for anything more. There is also a toilet and shower on board which I'm relieved to hear. The largest space on board is over the cabins and functions as kitchen and dining room, communal room and bridge. I spend most of my time here as there's always someone to talk with. A huge map is glued to the tabletop and we are shown exactly where we are. We are given some sheets of paper telling how to determine the sex of a mountain goat.
They remind me a little of the magazines from my distant childhood. They had drawings like this, where you had to try and spot the differences between the two pictures. I've been studying the drawings for 10mins. and I think that anyone who can tell which is the male must be a genius.
We all stand in a line behind Greg's captain's chair and commence doing what is the basis of every hunt: endless scanning through binoculars. It is not the same in Hungary where just a couple of minutes is usually enough time to find and assess the game - even without binoculars.
Here you must watch the mountains, sometimes for hours, if you want to find a goat.
The essence of our tactics is to spot some game from the boat. Then we will get into two special dinghies - we are towing them at the moment - and make our way to the foot of the mountain, which runs right down to the seashore. After mooring we will climb the mountain, I will shoot the goat, and then we'll return to the yacht. Often you must spend one or two nights on the mountain because the goats live in such inaccessible places that a single day is hardly ever enough. The worst surprise is the unexpected appearance of fog, as then you will have to spend yet another day on the mountain. But once we've left we are not going to come back without a goat.
One of the most beautiful parts of Alaska, and one of its greatest attractions, is Prince William Sound. It is in the vast Gulf of Alaska, to the north of the Kenai Peninsula, criss-crossed by the busy sea lanes leading out of Valdez Bay. This where we are sailing at present. The coastline is deeply indented with fjords and there are many islands in the coastal waters, big and small, and mostly uninhabited.
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There is some confusion as to how the sound got its name.
Captain Cook, the famous navigator and explorer, was sailing in these waters in 1778 and named it Sandwich Bay, after Lord Sandwich. This lord became the father of all sandwiches after asking his servant, one day while out hunting, to place the meat between two pieces of bread to make it easier to handle. This was the world's first sandwich, a Great Invention; no-one really questioned why we'd had to wait so many centuries for it to be thought up. But now this snack will immortalize the name of Lord Sandwich throughout the world until the end of time.
ut apparently Cook's cartographer rebelled against his captain's order, arbitrarily decided that he would not put Sandwich's name on the map, and instead put Prince William's, for whom he had greater respect. And that is how the bay came to be called Prince William Sound. The prince justified the honor by becoming king on 26th June 1830, and thus part of Great Britain's history as William IV.
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It was this bay that was so devastated by the Exxon Valdez disaster. We pass the site of the tragedy, though now there are no traces of it.
Just then an enormous tanker, the Alaskan Legend, approaches us. On its superstructure, in letters over one storey high, is a sign saying "No Smoking": an indication that it certainly isn't carrying potatoes!