(SitNews) Ketchikan, Alaska - Reputations, like stereotypes, are based on some sort of truth or at least repeated observations.

I didn’t want to believe that deer hunting on Prince of Wales was so much better than Revilla and Gravina though that seems to be the popular opinion.

My buddy Zack and I decided to see for ourselves, but after seven hours of hiking, walking and driving we ended up meeting his fiancee Raquelle at a restaurant for dinner. There was talk about enlisting the help of a spy drone to assist us locate deer. This was of course dismissed on moral, legal and ethical principles.

We’d picked two spots and hit them hard. One right at sunrise, and the other as the sun was setting. Lunch happened on the run between the two. It was a solid plan, but we didn’t see a single deer.

The next day I went solo to a new spot. I was excited and motivated to work it like it had never been worked before. This hunt was going to epitomize the fearless, industrious make-it-work attitude which made our country great. Like those who refuse to allow daunting circumstances or insurmountable odds from getting to them, I would persevere. This would be a metaphor of sticking it to the reputation — sticking it to the common thinking.

Dawn came and went quietly except for the soft sound of my boots on muskeg. Mid-morning came and went just as silently.

I sat on the edge of a muskeg. It seemed more September than November. Some birds chirped friendly words while other seemed to swear at me. The wind picked up and I realized the warmth came more from my fleece-lined pants and long sleeved thermal than the air.

Exuberance had left me. I was dizzied by the repetitive scale of the muskegs I’d trekked. I was somewhere. It was one of those times which if someone were to ask where the truck is, you’d stand, stretch an arm like a wind vane, then adjust 15 to 20 degrees to increase the chances of being correct. If someone were to ask what time it is, you’d be two hours off. If someone were to ask where the deer were there would be no masking the truth. You see tracks but since they aren’t standing in them they do no good. Simple put, you don’t know where you are and you sure don’t know where they are. Otherwise you’d be elbow-deep in the chest cavity, hoping to get it hollowed out and dragged back to the truck before dark.

This is what starts the temporary loss of focus. It’s the haggard, almost desperate stage when you notice quiet steps have increased in volume as has the volume of total steps. It feels like 6 or 7 p.m. but it’s not even noon. You haven’t seen a deer. It’s too quiet. Send in the drones!!! You yell to yourself, ignoring the Thought Police. If this were a Snickers commercial your buddy would hand you one. Since it’s not and you’re hunting solo, you take a deep breath and get back to mental equilibrium, sip some water and get all poetic again about the spongy terrain and innocuous clouds garnishing an otherwise bright blue sky.

I stuck it out until the sun was about to set. My headlamp was about out of juice, and being alone, I spent the last bit of daylight in close proximity to my truck incase a miracle (suicidal) deer found made a wrong turn. Of course that didn’t happen.

I still know there are plenty of deer around and refuse to fully submit to reputation, but maybe I should have gone to Prince of Wales.

Jeff Lund ©2014

Jeff Lund is a Teacher, Freelance Writer, living in Ketchikan, Alaska
Follow him on Twitter and Instagram @alaskalund
Contact Jeff at Email – aklund21@gmail.com

http://www.jlundoutdoors.com

SitNews ©2014
Stories In The News
Ketchikan, Alaska

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