Column Mountain

I preferred hunting on the south side of Yakobi Island on a mountain we nicknamed Meat Mountain, because of the dozens of deer that were harvested off of it.  The grass covered ridges and valleys that made up the central bowl of the mountain were the perfect place for the Sitka black tail deer to thrive.  The abundant food and remote location gave the deer population the conditions to also reach large sizes unheard of in other parts.  My brothers, friends and I took so many deer off this mountain over the years that we started to pride ourselves as game managers of sorts.  If we saw any indication that the deer were suffering in numbers by our hunting efforts, we would hunt elsewhere to give them time to replenish.  I did the same thing when I trapped in the winter months.  I would only trap in an area for a few weeks before moving on.  In this way the animals were never in any danger of being over harvested and could easily repopulate the area.  In fact, fish and game departments around the world have found that by removing the cycle of either too large or too small of a population of fish and game, they are sustained at a higher and healthier number than if they are left alone.  Many popular studies suggest that we should leave wildlife alone in order that the cycles of life return to their natural state, but I have observed the opposite results.  When we manage and harvest both fish and game in a healthy active role, the populations of those species are sustained at historical highs.  Having made several hunts up Meat Mountain in recent weeks, it was decided that we would hunt somewhere else.

A few days later, in a cove of rocks facing Cross Sound and the open ocean, I paddled toward shore upon a glassy sea.  With an early start, I was anticipating a day of hunting for deer on Column Point.  The kelp beds moved lazily to and thro to the beat of the swell and as I neared shore, I could make out the mouth of the small stream I was about to enter.  Timing my entry I paddled hard on a swell to ride it up into the creek and jumped out of the dingy as it came in contact with the gravel bottom.  Grabbing a rope tied to the dingy, I pulled it farther up the creek to a place where I could tie the rope to an alder bush.  Pulling my backpack and rifle from the small row boat I turned and entered into the forest.  Moments before on the beach I could see in the dim morning light, but the forest did not yield its darkness easily.  I walked slowing up a trail away from the beach, making my way around fallen moss covered trees and random exposed rock.  The trail was wide and deep indicating that it was used frequently by many kinds of animals.  I broke out from beneath the old growth trees and onto a table top of muskeg 20 minutes later, where I could now see clearly for a hundred yards up the trail.  Stopping and looking up at the sky, I could not see any clouds and the last few stars were quickly fading away.  “Alright” I softly said as I looked across the clearing toward the steep mountain looming above, “It is going to be a nice day.”

Column Mountain lived up to its name, rising up out of the ocean to reach over 2300 feet, less than half a mile from the beach.  The trails from the beach started out wide and easy, but soon deteriorated into narrow difficult tracks that most often faded away.  It had taken me a couple hikes up this mountain to learn the easiest way up and believe me, nothing was easy about it.  I was soon climbing using my hands to pull myself up on a section of trail that went vertical for several hundred feet.  I could understand a goat using this trail, but by all the fresh sign it was clearly a deer trail.  Making my way past the last of the steep section of trail, I entered into a brush covered tunnel that was used by brown bear.  I paused and listened as I did not want to surprise or be surprised by any of the giants that might be near. Stepping through and out into the sun filled clearing I surveyed the beauty of a mountain meadow spread out before me and I stood on the mountain looking down from where I had come. The peaks and the valleys that once looked impossible now became insignificant.

     My gaze upon the majestic land and sea was interrupted by movement registering out of the corner of my eye.  Standing still and turning my head slowly to the right, I was shocked with the sight of a large buck not 10 feet away.  It had its back to me with its head buried in a bush feeding on the tender leaves and its large antlers framed the opening.  I had picked up on its black and brown tail flickering and now realized just how close I was.  I reached for my knife, for my first thought was to jump on it. Remembering stories about what a buck can do to you with its horns, I thought better of it and slowly backed away.  When I had retreated 5 yards, I raised my rifle and whistled softly.  The deer jumped several feet in the air and took off across the meadow.  When it was far enough away that I could see something larger than an eyeball in the scope, I shot it. 

     Many times over the years I have thought about what would have happened if I had jumped on it.  When Wisdom came calling in my youth, I seldom listened to her, but in this case we most likely agreed with my choice.