The main job today is to find the goat I shot yesterday.
We are discussing it over breakfast when Greg makes an unwelcome announcement: I can't go with them, I have to stay on the yacht!
I must stay here while the guides do all the hard work! Just like some novice! What's going on here? Is this some canned hunt in Africa, or are we still in Alaska? What do they think I am?
Some over-sensitive boy, who they don't dare take back into the wilderness? It is very good of them not to offer to shoot my bear for me on their way back. Then I wouldn't need to leave the boat at all! My boots need never get dirty again!
Chapter VII.: Hard times in Alaska
Page 30
I give them my opinion. Randy is on my side, but Greg is adamant. He remains obstinate: I must stay here, and that's it. Seeing how disappointed I am, he explains his decision.
I don't have any more dry clothes, while they have lots. Boots are a particular problem as there are only two drying racks, and their boots have been on them all night. The goat fell into a place where even he has never been. They have hunted bear in the area, but have not been in that chasm. They will be faster on their own, and I must accept it. Even though I love the mountains, I can't compete with their mountaineering skills. If I go, there will be a risk that we will have to spend the night there. Greg wouldn't mind, but thinks the terrain could be unsafe. He's sure the route to it is definitely dangerous, even though he's only seen it from where I fired the shot, and the place where the goat fell. He's also led several expeditions in the area; I haven't been there once. My mountain goat hunt is not the time to start exploring, especially as I have other hunts coming up for which I must be in top physical condition.
It was this latter argument that finally convinced me. There's always a chance of broken bone when you're up in the mountains. Particularly in a place considered to be dangerous. And that would be just what I need.
So, a little sadly, at 11.00am I watch them retrace our route in the motorboat. I return to my cabin for a nap.
By 4.00pm the weather has brightened up.
Just my luck! If we went hunting tomorrow I could probably go in short sleeves and sunbathe on the mountain afterwards. We could have some target practice up there too. I'd get a suntan and my clothes would stay dry. I would scold myself for only bringing rainwear instead of my shorts.
And sun-lotion.
But then the hunt would not have been as memorable as it is. Even though I haven't yet seen the trophy, I know it will certainly be, to me, my most valuable. I already know who I'm going to give it to (A.T.). I've kept the cartridge case as well, and will glue it to the mount.
In Alaska good weather should always be taken advantage of, because it never lasts for long. I collect my clothes from my cabin and lay them out on deck to dry. No matter how warm it is in the cabin, they'll never dry there. The cabin's volume is so tiny that there is nowhere for the water to evaporate. I open the cabin skylight and, like some tank commander, I survey the wide world. The fresh air drives out the smell of drying socks.
Chapter VII.: Hard times in Alaska
Page 31
I have been very lucky with Greg and Randy. That I owe my goat to them, there is no doubt.
Yesterday morning, when I stepped out my tent in that hell-hole, I couldn't believe that I'd ever shoot a goat here. And while we were working our way towards the peak I was sure that the climb was merely to prove to me, the client, that they, the guides, were doing all that they could. Which is why I felt that the whole climb was a waste of time. My chance of success looked about zero.
But here, in my diary, I am able to apologize for my lack of faith.
The bottom line is that they are the most accomplished guides I have met on this trip.
They don't leave a thing to chance. Anyone who goes hunting with them but fails to bag anything can return home secure in the knowledge that the reason was that there was nothing to bag.
Because if there is only a 1% chance of a bag, then these two will find it. Also, there is only one other outfitter who, like Greg, has a permit to shoot in this goat paradise; it means he's almost guaranteed a 100% success rate for his clients.
Chapter VII.: Hard times in Alaska
Page 32
I'm pleased with my Blaser. The night it spent out in the pouring rain was almost equivalent to it lying for the same period at the bottom of a lake. It is exactly the right sort of gun to have here, not some fancy, engraved work of art. I must also praise my Zeiss sight. The complicated, sensitive electronics have worked perfectly, and no water at all got into it.
During my free time I give the gun a clean. To be honest, that night outside has left some traces.
The bolt head and the gun chamber are covered in a light layer of rust, but it comes off very easily, even with a finger. The barrel also has some corrosion. I can see tiny pin-heads of rust. I remove the barrel, dismantle the zárdugattyú and oil it. It wil get a more thorough examination and a complete service when I'm back home.
I'm in such a good mood - maybe it's the sunshine, maybe it's the goat - that I even look at R. in a different light. When we talk here on the ship, in civilised conditions, I see a pleasant, educated man opposite me. I would be delighted to meet him anytime. On this hunting trip he took on too much, and I think he knows that as well. But he might be a very pleasant companion on an African safari. He is a patient man, as was proved by his restraint when I flooded the tent.