Pronghorn at sunset

The learning curve in hunting as an archer is steep.  Many seasons of spot and stalk techniques have left me close but empty handed. After years of hard work and persistence, I was fortunate enough to harvest my first Pronghorn Antelope with archery equipment.  This short video documents my first two weeks of the season – from stalk to harvest. Enjoy!

Sockeye Salmon on Lake Creek

21 years ago in April, while my mother was in labor with me, my dad was out fly fishing the Missouri River. Perhaps I was born to fish. When I turned 21, I held my dad to a ten year 21st birthday promise – we’d go to Alaska for a fishing trip.

Fairweather Range near Juneau from 36,000 ft cruising altitude

Growing up, my hunting and fishing buddies were my Dad, Paul, and my Dad’s two friends, Phil and Denny. Every summer Phil, Denny, and my Dad, would go on a fly fishing trip into Yellowstone Park. I was never invited. They said that when I turned 21 I’d be of age to join them on such a trip.

Recently, in the first week of August, I found myself along with Phil, Denny and my Dad, in Alaska in pursuit of big fish and an unforgettable experience.

We started our trip in the small town of Hope, on the Resurrection River, catching Humpies on fly rods. Humpy is the nickname for a pink salmon. The Humpies were running hard. We had no problem hooking and inadvertently snagging dozens of these fish with our fly rods. Male pink salmon have enormous hump backs, hence the name. Their humps make them very susceptible to being snagged on the drift.

Phil landing a Humpy on the Resurrection River near Hope, Alaska

After a successful day in Hope we drove down to Seward where we’d spend the next three nights. Our first day in Seward started at 5:30 in the morning.  I dropped the guys off at the marina for an all day halibut and salmon deep sea fishing trip with Captain Larry. I was more than happy not to join them in the ocean due to a traumatic deep sea fishing charter out of Homer, about 10 years ago. The charter with Captain Larry ended up being a bust. The seas were too rough to get out into the open ocean where the halibut were. The guys caught rock fish and ling cod in the bay – none of which they could keep. The additional coolers we had packed became excess baggage.

Over the next two days, the rain in Seward permeated my rain coat. It was time to ditch the coast and move inland. We spent the next two days on the Russian and Kenai rivers fishing for Sockeyes. Here I learned the slap, jerk and pull method of fishing. This involves slapping the water with your split shot weighted line, drifting the line down stream near the fishes mouth, and pulling hard hoping to snag one in the mouth. Sockeye salmon, when they are moving up the rivers to spawn are in their last stages of life and don’t have eating on their mind. To catch and legally keep one of these fish you have to snag them in the mouth – literally!

My dad, Paul, drifting an egg pattern on the Russian River

The fly fishing I have grown accustom to is very aesthetic and pure. Snagging fish, at first glance, seems like a cheap and lame way to fish. After attempting to snag sockeyes in the mouth for two days straight, I realized that it takes a lot of talent – which I lacked. There were about 100 people fishing the confluence of the Russian and Kenai River, and distinguishing a local from an out-of-state fisherman was easy. Locals had their three fish limit – which were all snagged in the mouth – in less than an hour. In the two days we were there I only snagged two fish in the mouth. I have a new found respect for this kind of fishing.

Phil attempting to land a big Sockeye after forgetting to set his drag

Next stop on the trip was the largest float plane sea base in the world, Lake Hood. From there, we took a Dehavilland DHC-2 Beaver 80 miles northwest of Anchorage and into Black Eagle Lodge on Bulchitna Lake. We spent the next three days, from 6am to 10pm, fly fishing nearby Lake Creek.

Mystery Ranch proto on the shore of Lake Creek

As predicted, a large wave of Humpies was moving up the river. Sockeyes, Kings, Rainbows, Grayling, Chum, and Silvers were also in the river. Our goal of filling coolers with sockeyes and silvers was nearly impossible with the amount of pinks. Every time we hooked a pink we’d intentionally try to lose the fish. I eventually gave in. Why fight it?

Denny with a Pink Salmon on Lake Creek

Between the four of us, we caught eight different species of fish on Lake Creek: pinks, kings, silvers, sockeyes, chums, dolly varden, rainbows, and grayling. Oddly enough, I snagged my first ever grayling – a five incher!

Rainbow Trout on Lake Creek

A poisionous Fly Agaric mushroom over the Russian River

Denny said, “Sitting on the deck hanging out with you guys.” My dad said, “Bonding with my son and the freshly caught sockeye we had for dinner in Seward.” I said, well, I can’t say, because certain memories are meant to stay in Alaska. As the saying goes, “What happens on the trip stays on the trip.”

Certain aspects of Alaska were different than I had expected and prepared for. The two spray bottles of Deet never left their packaging and the only mosquito that stuck me was in the Old Seward Cemetery. He must have been excited to see “live” meat.

Daisy in the Old Seward Cemetery

The .44 lever action never left its case.

Tracks of a sow with three cubs

The most productive fly was a bright red hook – the pinks hit it like it was bacon.

Phil with a Sockeye Salmon

Further, Phil caught fish with berries on a hook that had come from a brown bears intestinal tract. I wonder what we could call that fly pattern?

Wild cranberry bear scat

On our last day, as Denny was leaving the hotel for an early flight his parting remarks to me, or “Pearls of Wisdom” as he would put it, were this: Steve, when you’re our age I hope you have two great friends, like your Dad and Phil, to share these kinds of memories with.

Three stooges sniffing mushrooms, which really did smell like licorice

In large part, this trip wasn’t about the fishing. It was about bonding and sharing what is now a memory with three other people that have helped to shape my life.  I shot my first big game animal with help from Denny. I’ve learned from Phil that size doesn’t matter as he can drop goose after goose with his 28 gauge shot gun. As for my dad, in addition to what I’ve learned, I’ve been able to share and experience so many great things with him. Whether it be hunting pheasants, aiding a drunk woman on the Missouri who locked her keys in the car during a winter storm, or looking into his wide eyes while a cow elk came trotting down the trail on which he was lying – my dad has been there for it all. Fly fishing Alaska, for my 21st, was yet another adventure to add to the memory books.

Author, Steven Drake, arcing big GS turns down the Gardner Headwall

“We are having way more fun than they are,” said Jake. He wasn’t kidding!

On the 4th of July weekend, I found myself perusing through Yellowstone Park en-route to my family’s cabin just east of Cooke City. I had no expectations for the weekend and expected nothing more than a lackadaisical few days, all while enjoy the beautiful scenery that the Beartooths have to offer.

Pilot and Index Sunset

With that said, you’d be a fool to drive into the Beartooths not toting ski gear. I’m no fool! On the morning of the 4th I drove up to the Beartooth Plateau in search of snow. Things were looking grim at the Wyoming summit. After descending the last switchback before the Gardner Lake pull out, I turned around and was treated to a pleasurable sight. Gardner Headwall’s north and south lines were very skiable!

Gardner Headwall from Gardner Lake

With my gear on in minutes, I hitched a ride back up the switchbacks to the summit and then anxiously trekked across the plateau to the top of the southern aspect of the headwall. The line hadn’t been skied for at least a week – I was more than happy to track it up with some big GS turns. Smooth, steep, corn laden turns funneled into a tight dog leg; followed by big turns down to Gardner Lake.

At the shore of the lake were two guys who had just descended the north line. While sharing our enthusiasm I realized that one of the guys was none other than Paul Gleason, a Mystery Ranch pack designer. Paul was there skiing the headwall with his friend, Jake. We were all wearing Mystery Ranch packs. After a steep climb out from Gardner Lake we piled into a truck and hitched a ride back to the Wyoming summit. A smooth shot between a set of switchback, followed by a second descent of the headwall, awaited us.

Paul Gleason Skiing the Beartooth Plateau

At the top of the headwall, while preparing for our second descent, Jake looked across the drainage to the onlookers and said, “We are having way more fun than they are.” It was a very fitting comment. It was mid morning on the 4th of July, the sun was shining, the snow was perfect, and we were about to drop into one of the most aesthetic lines on the Beartooth Plateau.

Author, Steven Drake, navigating the dog leg on the south line of Gardner Headwall

Big grins were plastered across our faces.

Jake full of smiles after run #2 on Gardner Headwall

After a great day of skiing I headed down to Cooke City for the fireworks. The Cooke City Fire Department, while parading down Main Street on 4-wheelers and retro fire trucks, sure know how to entertain!

Cooke City fireworks over the 1988 Yellowstone Park burn area

The steep canyon walls that surround Cooke, made for an incredible light show. It is the loudest 4th you’ll ever experience.

Author with Elk Sheds at Sunset

As March came to a close, one of my favorite past times came into full swing – shed hunting! This was the year of the deer antler. Between my dad and I, we found fifteen deer sheds and two elk sheds.

Come April 10th, shed hunting turned into turkey hunting. Archery hunting for spring gobblers proved to be just as difficult as last year. I inadvertently found myself in bow range of far more elk than gobblers.

After four weeks of turkey hunting, winter came back with vengeance! The mountains around Bozeman got nearly fifty inches of snow in three days. I quickly steered some of my study time for college finals to the mountains. You can ask anyone who skied that storm and they’ll agree that it was the best snow of the year. As for finals – I passed.

Spring Black Bear hunting was next on the list. As a relatively novice bear hunter, the only sightings I’ve ever had were flukes. This spring, with the help of a friend, I turned my occasional bear sightings into multiples. Every day for about two weeks, I left work right at five o’clock to archery hunt a nearby mountain range with Phillip Larson from Black Gold Bowsights. We saw a handful of bears and after a few nights had a beautiful blond boar pegged. We put a great stalk on him the next night, but had an ATV spook the bear from the hillside.

Days later, I took my grandpa’s rifle out on a solo hunt. I immediately spotted a bear through the spotting scope on a hill side a mile away. Ten minutes of watching the bear had me convinced that it was in no hurry to leave the area. I packed up my gear and began closing the gap. One mile through the scope equaled at least two on the ground. Forty minutes later I was perched on top of a big cliff upwind of where I had last seen the bear. I glassed for thirty minutes with no luck. About when my impatience was going to get the best of me, I looked straight down to the base of the cliff and there was the bear! I got my gun set up and then grabbed the camera. I had to put my camera on a tripod to take photos; I was so excited I couldn’t take a clear picture! I watched the bear for twenty minutes to try and determine its size, but more importantly, make sure it had no cubs. After an anxious, but necessary, wait I steadied my rifle, took the shot, and harvested my very first black bear – a gorgeous mature chocolate phased female.

Before the shot

I was one happy hunter! Few things could compare to the experience. After making sure the bear was down, I made two quick phone calls, one to Phill and one to Mark Seacat. They were pretty excited for me. I was glad to have been able to share the moment even if it was via phone.

After the shot - looking down at my bear

Putting my hands on a creature I have only seen a dozen or so times was as strange as it was exciting. I pondered at the scene for a longtime.

As with any and every hunt, the work was just beginning. I removed the internal organs and then partially skinned the bear to allow the meat to cool. Next step was loading my Crewcab. With the entire bear in the pack, I cranked my waistbelt as tight as I could get it, rolled onto my stomach and then stood up. Thirty minutes later I had made it just 200 yards. It was 10 p.m., there was no moon, and I was battling a steep ravine with a raging creek in the bottom. After falling down, while attempting to climb out of the ravine, I was feeling pretty hopeless. My only option was to wade down the creek. As if someone from above felt my struggle, I cut a jeep trail in minutes. I went from cursing god to thanking god.

110 pounds of black bear in my Crewcab at the trail head

Three hours later, I made it back to Bozeman. Two days later, I had recouped from the hunt and was back in the mountains exploring new country with Phill, while he pursued bears with his bow. On Memorial Day weekend the stars aligned for Phill, as he took his first archery black bear. What a feat!

Sow and cub napping

Montana is an outdoorsman’s paradise. I feel pretty lucky to have been raised in such a place. My next few months will revolve around fly fishing and preparing for this falls hunting season. It’s hard to believe that we are just two and a half months out from archery hunting speed goats, and three months from bugling bulls. Oh the anticipation!

As luck would have it, I tagged out on a beautiful bull elk on the fourth week of this year’s archery season.  With eight more weeks of hunting, I had the opportunity to broaden my horizons and focus hard on finding myself and two others some wall hanging bucks.

October 25^th, opening morning of the Montana rifle season, friend and co-worker, Kyle Christenson and I trudged through knee deep snow and headed into high country.  At first shooting light we were surrounded by mule deer.  We saw eight bucks that morning but never took a shot.  Two weeks later, we went back to the same vicinity and Kyle took a gorgeous whitetail.  It was his first big game animal, one he’ll have a hard time topping.

The next week, friend and roommate, Sean Schroff and I went in search of mule deer. Frigid temps and inclement weather pushed some of the larger bucks down into the lower elevations offering us some great opportunities.  Sean was able to reach out and touch his first mule deer.

With seven days left in the season it was my turn to give it a go.  I went to an area that I had run into some good deer during archery season.  At first light I saw two decent bucks under a cliff band a half mile above me.  Off to my left on a steep hillside were four does. With them was a worthy looking buck.  His head was down and neck was thick.  This boy was rutting hard!

In an attempt to close the gap on this buck I jumped a doe which then spooked the buck.  He bounded up the steep hillside and went out of sight.  I hiked as fast as I could up the hill hoping to spot him on the other side.  The buck was gone.  I sat down, pulled out the binos and glassed some neighboring hillsides.  I spotted a small buck a half mile out.  He was moving my direction.

The buck managed to close the distance between him and I to about 300 yards before abruptly stopping.  He fixed his eyes on something above him and then began raking a tree.  Higher up, running down the hill was a dominant buck.  The two greeted each other violently!  Antlers clashed!  As the fight ensued, I ran up to a small knob, un-noticed, and dropped to the ground to get ready for a shot. The smaller buck was quickly defeated.  The winner stood tall and was swollen with pride.  I rested my crosshairs slightly above his back and squeezed off a shot, making a quick clean kill.

2 hours after the shot I had the head plate removed and the quarters, loins, and back straps in game bags ready to be hauled out in my Crew Cab.

With the meat and antlers secured, I strapped on my rifle and got ready for the big haul.

After a good struggle I stood up with the pack, cinched down my waist belt and was on my way.  At 135 pounds, the 150 pound load was surprisingly comfortable.

Two hours later I capped off my 2009 hunting season by flopping my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab, laden with an entire mule deer, onto my Ford Ranger’s tail gate.

Steven Drake hopes to fill his crew cab on opening weekend of Antelope season.

After three weeks of countless spot and stalks on Montana speed goats my patience and motivation was wearing thin.  It was my last evening of hunting before college started and the pressure was on.  In a last ditch effort I snuck down a coulee on a barren piece of public land.  I failed to spot any goats before I headed in.  Regardless, my hopes were high.

Two large snake skins and a musky smelling puddle of urine had me on full alert as I crawled my way down the coulee.  A half mile into the section I poked my head out to take a look at the surroundings.  I spotted a mature buck bedded on a hillside about two-hundred yards away.  It was time to try my luck at flagging.  I ducked back into the coulee, pulled out a white tee shirt from my pack, and held the shirt in the air as to get the buck’s attention and hopefully spark his interest.  Sure enough, he zeroed in on the white shirt and began running right towards me.  Right then, adrenaline started pumping through my veins, my heart rate spiked, and my breathing became rapid and somewhat uncontrollable.  The buck came to a screeching halt one-hundred yards out.

Look close to see the speed goat at 11:00

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted two alert does walking right at me.  In all the excitement of having the buck run in, I failed to nock an arrow.  With the two does closing the distance fast, I shoved a sleeve of the flagging shirt in my mouth, nocked an arrow, and put the rangefinder on the does.  As steady as I could, I drew my bow.  The lead doe took four more steps and turned broadside.  She was well within my effective range.  With the shirt still dangling from my mouth, I settled my pin right on the kill zone. Instinct took over.  My trembling hands steadied.  I touched the trigger on my release and sent an arrow towards its final destination.

I was confident I had bagged a speed goat before the arrow had even reached its target.  A split second before the arrow found its place the doe ducked down and jumped back.  My arrow flew right over her back and stuck in the dirt.  She “jumped the string!”

Experiences like this are what archery hunting is all about.  It’s an extremely challenging, yet thrilling, sport.  If and when the day comes that I do harvest an antelope with my bow, the sense of accomplishment will be out of this world.  The 2009 archery season is young, anticipation and excitement is high, there are five arrows in my quiver eagerly waiting for a chance at a trophy.  Any animal taken with a stick and string is a trophy.