I grew up in Ohio, not exactly a place that most people think of when they think deer hunting. Frankly, I never gave it much thought either. Aside from an occasional rabbit or quail hunt in the fall, hunting wasn't my first passion. I didn't even own a rifle suitable for bringing down a deer; however, when I moved to Alaska, that all changed.
     I live in Hoonah, Alaska- a Tlingit native village located about forty miles southwest of the state capital, Juneau, in the Southeastern Panhandle. When I moved here in the summer of 1976, I had no idea how important deer hunting would be for my very survival. I moved my family to Game Creek-- a private, religious community located about four miles south of town. We lived primarily on whatever we could grow, catch or kill.
     The waters here in Southeast teem with five varieties of salmon as well as halibut and lesser fish like Pacific cod, flounder and several kinds of trout. There are also clams, shrimp and crab available in various seasons. The abundance of sea life attracts all manner of seafood lovers- otters, seals, sea lions, humpback whales, killer whales and, of course, brown bears.
     When we first moved here, the land was virtually untouched with vast stretches of virgin Sitka Spruce and Western Hemlock trees making up the Tongass National Forest (left photo) that surrounds the area.  The only road was a narrow, graveled, one lane affair that resembled a bombed runway and stretched several miles from the Icy Straits cannery to the Hoonah airport. The rest of this vast wilderness appeared much as it has since the retreat of the glaciers. At the time, the only way to get to Game Creek was either a ride in a small, open skiff or hike through thick woods interspersed with soggy muskegs and long stretches of sticky, putrid mudflats.

A shot looking out towards Icy Straits from inside the woods. The area where this was taken was heavily traveled by deer.

    The lush vegetation and old growth forest provide a prime habitat for the abundance of Sitka black tail deer that inhabit the woods (right photo- Deer frequently travel along side these ravines). At the time, every Alaskan resident who held a valid license was issued four deer tags. The hunting season stretched from August 1 to December 31. It was almost impossible to go into the woods without at least sighting a deer, or so I thought. I've since discovered that you can be right in the midst of the largest deer population in the world and still not have a successful hunt.

     After I'd been in the state for a year and established residency, I figured I'd join the rest of the inhabitants and get a license and tags. Like I said, I'd never hunted deer before, but with so many around, how hard could it be? There were a number of men at the camp where I lived who had made a regular habit of deer hunting every season back in their home states- Vermont, Massachusetts, and Alabama. They were having very good luck here. I grilled several of them on the art of the hunt and, once satisfied that I had what I needed to know to be successful, I bought a rifle. It was a Remington Model 700 in .270 caliber—beautiful gun.

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     It just so happened that I found myself in town for some reason one November day and, as luck would have it, I had my rifle with me. I marched the several miles of road to the Hoonah Airport. The airport was built on large tidal flat in a valley with heavily wooded mountains on either side. On extreme tides, the flats are covered with saltwater and large flocks of Canadian geese as well as Mallards, Green Wing Teal and assorted fish ducks flock to the area. Garteeni Creek flows beside the runway, and there are several different species of salmon that spawn in the creek there. It's not unusual to see brown bears fishing in late summer or early fall as you catch a flight in or out of town.

Just inside the woods by the beach. Lots of deer traffic here.

     On this particular day, I decided to go hunting for deer. I'd never actually hunted for deer before, so I'm sure that going by myself probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. However, I had no one to go with and, since we always needed meat at camp, I thought, why not give it a try.

A shot of Ears Mountain and the area surrounding Hoonah. Again, lots of clear cuts. Surprisingly, the deer like the clearcuts for the first few years for feeding.

     The previous day had dumped several inches of wet snow on the ground so tracking  a deer would be incredibly easy, assuming of course that one knew what he was doing. I covered the quarter mile of flats, crossed the creek, and soon I was in the alder trees that ringed the airport. I worked my way up a hill and into the forest. The silence of the woods was frequently interrupted by the heavy, wet snow as it fell from the drooping branches of the evergreens overhead. The blueberry shrub was thick throughout extensive areas of the woods. I eventually came across a well-worn deer trail that led around the perimeter of the airport. There was only one set of tracks on the trail, but they were fresh so I started following them, hoping to sight their maker. I should point out here that, though I knew the tracks were fresh, I didn't have an inkling as to which way the deer was traveling.  It wasn't until I had covered perhaps a mile of trail that it dawned on me that I might be going the wrong direction. I stooped down and took a closer look at the tracks I had been pursuing. It made sense that the narrow part of the hoof would point in the direction that the deer was moving. Cursing my stupidity, I changed course, backtracked, and finally passed the area where I had entered the woods.

These are all the deer tracks along the beach. The snow is less deep here and they can travel more easily while being close to the protection of the forest.

     I was following the deer tracks down to the edge of the alder trees to where they break out upon the flats when I heard a noise and saw a flash of brown. A sizable buck charged up the hill and stopped on a ledge to peer at me through the thicket. My heart was racing uncontrollably. I raised the rifle to my shoulder and gazed through the scope. Nothing. My scope was fogged so bad by my untamed panting that I couldn't see a thing. I lowered the rifle and looked. The buck was still there. I wiped the scope and raised the rifle searching for the deer. Still nothing. I couldn't believe it. By now, my knees were threatening to buckle under me. When I checked again, the deer hadn't moved. Fearing that my first deer would tire of waiting and just walk away in disgust, I finally raised the rifle and shot where I knew the buck had to be. I heard it drop. I went over and, there on the ground lay my first deer, dead as a hammer with a shot through the spine. Dropping to my knees, I set my rifle against a stump and ran my hand over his still warm fur. It wasn't a trophy as bucks go, but it was my first deer. I couldn't have been more pleased. I only wished I'd had a companion to share the moment with, but as it was, the only company I had were the ravens who had been drawn to the sound of the rifle and who now squawked their displeasure with me, waiting for the gut pile they knew would be coming.

     As every hunter knows, the fun stops after you pull the trigger. The deer had to be dressed, and there was no around to do it but me.  Fortunately, the good folks at Field and Stream had run an article on how to field dress a deer, complete with pictures. I had cut out the article and kept it in my wallet in anticipation of this day. Pulling it out, I set it on the ground and followed the instructions, all the while trying to keep the paper from wicking up the moisture from the snow and blood. After dressing the deer, I dragged it on the road, covered it with snow to keep the eagles and ravens from dismantling it and went to get a vehicle to haul it back.

An immature bald eagle feeding on a deer carcass on the beach. We've had a large amount of snow this year and the deer frequently go to the beach to feed on kelp. I think it bloats them and some die if they eat too much.

     It's been thirty some years since I shot that first deer. A lot of changes have taken place. You can't hunt the area around the airport anymore. The city of Hoonah now has paved streets and thousands of acres of the forest nearby have been logged. (Right photo- A shot looking out across Port Frederick. You can see the clear cut areas. That area was all heavily wooded when I first arrived in 1976) There are several hundred miles of roads criss-crossing the Tongass and dozens of cruise ships land at the cannery every summer discharging untold numbers of tourists. Nonetheless, there is still an abundance of Blacktails in the surrounding area and, when the first snows cap the neighboring mountains, I expect I'll be off in the woods searching for the next buck.

My son, Ben, with a nice blacktail that he called in from a muskeg last year.