Sharatin Bay Hunt

Loading up in Anton Larson Bay's calm waters

In an effort to augment our winter cache of salmon and halibut Meghan sent me over to Kodiak to hunt for deer. I made plans with Patrick, an avid backcountry hunter and camping fanatic, to kayak to Sharatin Bay on the north end of Kodiak Island. We planned to camp and try our hand at a late fall hunt. Although my interest in hunting had been piqued by last month’s successful ptarmigan hunt and I was looking forward to learning more about pursuing larger game, I found the kayak leg of this brief expedition most appealing. Our paddle began in Anton Larson Bay after a drive over a mountain pass with the same name. As we crested the pass and glanced toward Pyramid Mountain’s white slopes we felt a bit confused, as if we should be preparing for a ski tour rather than a kayak camping trip.

Arriving in Sharatin Bay, rifle on the bow and Elbow Mountain dead ahead

Reaching our intended hunting spot demanded eight solid miles of paddling, most of it unprotected. As we paddled out of Anton Larson Bay and into open water Brother Wind threw down the first gauntlet. Strong northwest winds churned up a confused sea that sent waves in every direction. Our large double-hatch kayaks, however, felt stable in the unsettled seas. Once we found the “rhythm” to the arrhythmic waters we were able to enjoy, as much as possible, the sea life floating and flying all around us. Curious seals and sea otters looked to Patrick’s boat then mine, then back again and dove out of sight. Cormorants and gulls passed overhead perhaps looking for a free scrap of food tossed overboard. Our hands gripped the paddles tight though, the swirling seas allowed no time for eating or even snapping a quick photo. In the distance a pod of whales spouted and breached, enjoying the mid-November sun, while a bald eagle perched on the edge of a tall grassy island surveilling the scene.

Patrick on the hunt

After two hours of sustained paddling we reached our intended destination a bit cold, but prepared to hunt. We decided to set camp first and after clearing the snow away from our tent site we began our foray into the hills above. We climbed steep slopes and bushwhacked through dried alder and salmonberry thickets to reach the top of a long ridge. On several occasions we spotted deer in pairs, all well out of range. We continued to hike through dry snow, looking down at the occasional deer, rabbit and brown bear track and looking up at the sun sitting poised to drop behind Kodiak’s craggy peaks. Then Patrick suddenly raised his binoculars and in one determined motion dropped his pack shouldered his rifle and lined up a shot. In a brief second he fired one shot and downed a doe on a lower ridge. We then decided to split up – Patrick would claim his quarry and I would trace a larger arc across the valley to look for another deer. As I continued climbing up the ridge I soon heard another shot, Patrick had scared up a second doe and dispatched it from about 100 yards. We reunited at the second animal and decided to bring the two deer together to clean and load onto our packs while keeping an eye out for any nearby predators. We soon realized that we had precious little daylight left and the timing of the two kills was impeccable – another 30 minutes and we would be harvesting our quarry in the cold, dark Alaskan night. We bushwhacked our way back to camp in the fading light and loaded the quarry into the front hatch of our boats – just as planned – and settled in for the night.

After a very cold 16 degree moonless night we quickly packed up camp and dragged our boats down to the water’s edge, taking several more steps than when we arrived at high tide. Brother Wind blew down the bay and we paddled hard, perhaps somehow knowing that we would need to be in the right spot at the right time during our return paddle to make it home safely. As we exited Sharatin Bay and returned to the open water we soon realized that we were dealing with a different animal than the confused sea during our earlier paddle. A strong wind whipped waves into a frenzy, many of the larger whitecaps broke over the deck of our boats and coated the entire topside of the kayaks in ice. Our adrenaline surged as we tried to both enjoy the spectacular show of sunrise on white peaks across the larger bay and keeping our fully loaded kayaks upright. Patrick and I paddled in parallel, tacking to face the large waves and riding away from the smaller ones. Once I looked over to see Patrick with a look of surprise. He pointed in my direction and said “Look!” I assumed he was making reference to the increasing size of the waves. I shook my head in agreement as a whitecap broke over the hatch where I was sitting. Relieved to be upright, I glanced back to Patrick and realized what he actually meant by his exclamation. A fin whale, second only in size to the blue whale, surfaced 100 yards to my left. I now had to focus on paddling in tormented seas and avoiding a curious 60 foot whale. Then, in the most exhilarating moment of the entire trip, the whale reappeared this time at half the distance it surfaced before – its back seemed to roll forever out of the water. I tried to stay as calm as possible and focus on the deep blue water breaking all around me.

The last straw, breaking the ice

Eventually we rounded the last exposed point of our journey and slipped into the protection of Anton Larson Bay, sheltered from the wind. The adrenaline that had propelled us through the turbulent open water soon wore off and we had to dig deep to paddle the last section of the bay. As we made our final turn toward our launch point we were shocked to see that the water had frozen solid overnight. Although a skiff had broken a small path through the brackish ice, we were forced to scrape and crash our way through the icy bay. With the little strength we had left Patrick cleared a path and I followed, nearly exhausted. We found our way to shore and dragged the boats to the truck, not quite sure how lucky we really were to be on dry land.