My buddy Kevin and I went to Prince of Wales to hunt early last month, and it was a failure on levels not previously known. It failed with such vigor that we ended up microwaving a pizza and a Banquet brand five-piece chicken meal from the freezer at a convenience store in Coffman Cove. How does that happen? Well, the weather was horrible, so all Kevin’s visions of scoring his first career buck on an island filthy with them (so he thought), were nuked.
Kevin and I probably shouldn’t hunt together.
Zack and I started our hunting friendship staring at a tall-racked fork almost close enough to touch, but too close to town to shoot. It was awesomely awful. Had circumstances been different, it would have been Zack’s first buck. But circumstances weren’t different and I failed as a guide again. Since then we have seen exactly one doe.
Zack and I probably shouldn’t hunt together.
But a negative times a negative equals a positive, right? I learned that in Calculus or something. The three of us would be an elk hunting dream team. Zero elk between us and I’m the point man, but it would add up to an epic trip and hundreds of pounds of meat. I didn’t see how anything could go wrong, because if a substitute for experience exists (it doesn’t), it’s enthusiasm and a positive attitude.
In terms of quality of hiking and camping and sweat-drenched shirts per hour, the trip to Etolin Island to use my elk permit was a success.
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