Mine was about four years ago caribou hunting in the Baird Mountains. We were way up above the Artic Circle and way up high in the mountains. The stupid air taxi dropped us off at the tail end of the migration route with three camps ahead of us. The only way to get to the caribou was to hike four miles up and then down a mountain covered with tussocks. My hunting partners had no desire to do this, so I wound up winging it. I killed two bulls over in that valley and it took me four trips to get them all out. I carried two hindquarters, two backstraps, and two tenderloins in one trip. Then the front quarters, neck meat, rib meat, rack and capes in th second pack. Each pack weighed about 90 lbs or a little more. I packed them all out in a day and a half and wound up doing about 20 miles in 36 hours. The weather was brutal, snow on the tents every morning, boots frozen, ice storms, windier than Hell. No firewood for a fire, just dehydrated meals, cold jerky and frozen snickers bars.

On the brigher side, the hunt was exhilarting and we saw thousands of caribou, saw some Dall Sheep, a couple of grizz and had a cow moose walk through camp, the hiking was physically challenging, the Northern Lights put on quite a show every night, and there just is not much better than sitting around eating your crappy ass Mountain House with a couple of buddies (even if they were too wimpy to make the hike) watching seven monster bulls sparring on the next ridge over.