OldCombatEngr
AH senior member
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2025
- Messages
- 51
- Reaction score
- 89
- Location
- Indiana
- Member of
- Wildcat Valley Rifle & Pistol Club
- Hunted
- USA
After decades of anticipating a Kodiak bear hunt in Alaska, it finally happened. While heading to Alaska at age 73, nearly 45 years after first getting the bug, might not seem ideal (it wasn’t), the adventure was well worth waiting for, and I was thankful to get the chance. A medical concern last fall—fortunately a false alarm—and mindfulness of the small stroke in 2019 compelled family to advocate for it: “You’re not getting any younger.”
As if I need to be reminded.
I contacted Michael Horstman, master guide and one of the stars of the Mountain Men cable series, in October 2025 to contract with him guiding for a bear hunt in October-November 2026, if I were among the few applicants drawing a tag. But when Michael informed me that I had not been selected, he also offered me a chance to hunt with him for the May season at his camp on Bristol Bay. I could not agree faster. With family and volunteering constraints precluding my hunting more, I planned to fly to Anchorage on May 19, to Sand Point on May 20, and to the hunting camp the next day. Weather on May 21 and 22 prevented VFR flying by bush pilots, so I arrived in camp on May 23—leaving nine days to harvest a large, old male bear before the season expired on May 31. The hunting keeps the bear population younger and healthier and pays for their management. It is serious business. A state ranger spotted Michael near the hunting shack, and he set his plane down to check our papers in detail. The ranger did not realize he was on Michael’s private property.
After a quick telephone exchange with Michael last fall, I chose a Winchester Model 1895 lever action in .405 Winchester. It is often known as Theodore Roosevelt’s “lion medicine,” which he carried to Africa and South America after his presidency. More than 120 years after the Model 95 was first chambered for the big .405 cartridge, it remains a fine rifle for large, dangerous, soft-skinned game at closer ranges. The .40-caliber slug hits hard and offers ample penetration to assure a humane kill into the vitals of a large animal from almost any angle, if on target. Four rounds in the magazine give confidence that, if follow-up shots are needed, they can be quickly delivered. Usually mounting traditional open iron sights, the rifle and its medium-range cartridge are well-matched to shots on game at up to 200-yards and, maybe, a bit further under the right conditions.
Sighted 2.6-inches high at 100-yards, the Hornady 300-grain bullet strikes point-of-aim at 160-yards, 4-inches below that at 200-yards, and 2-feet below aim at 300-yards. Shooting at greater distances would be distinctly unsporting for the vast majority of hunters, certainly for me. Michael and I agreed to no shooting with the Winchester beyond 200-yards. If a wounded bear ran beyond that, I would grab Michael’s scope-sighted Czech .375 H&H bolt action to put the bear down as quickly as possible. The bolt gun and its 250-grain bullets would extend sporting range maybe to 350-yards. With either rifle, we assumed we would use shooting sticks for a more stable shot. The idea was to call the bear as close as possible before shooting, as he had done for an earlier client. Moving to the animal instead of quietly awaiting its arrival, especially if the wind was not right, could have hurt more than helped.
My Winchester M95 replica was manufactured by Miroku before 2006. Winchester stopped producing the original M95 about the time of WW2, and Miroku picked it up for Browing in 1985 and Winchester in 2001. Despite adding the rebounding hammer and tang safety to comply with modern liability needs, the rifle would be highly familiar to Teddy Roosevelt. The historicity of the implement was a fun aspect to the hunt. But mine needed work to improve practicality for hunting. Joshua Bailey of JMB Gunsmithing in Greensburg, Indiana, fitted a recoil pad to the stock and cut length-of-pull to 13.25-inches, saving my titanium shoulder from the punch of the steel butt plate and allowing a bit more room for cold weather clothing. (To quote gun writer Craig Boddington, “The Winchester 1895 is a marvelous piece of machinery. . . It's heavy, but, despite its weight, its slender, straight-grip stock with narrow butt and plenty of drop still makes it kick like a fiend.”) The 300-grain slug of the .405 moves out at about the same velocity as the 170-grain bullet of the .30/30 Winchester, so in rifles of equal mass, the .405 recoil is over three times as energetic as that of the smaller round. I bought a traditional “climbin’ Lyman” receiver sight to replace the factory barrel-mounted rear sight for quicker and more certain aim, and Joshua mounted that beautifully. The other improvement was adding barrel band and buttstock sling studs. So, with a quick-adjustable and detachable nylon sling, all modifications were functional improvements well worth their cost.
The rifle, wrapped in a plastic rust preventive bag, was transported in a hard Pelican case also holding a Boyt canvas rifle case and two 9-round “ammo wallets.” The big hard case does not fly to camp from Sand Point—hence, the smaller and lighter Boyt case. Besides bringing the rifle, I stuffed my gear into an Army surplus medium “ALICE” pack and frame as a carry-on, plus an Army duffle bag. This was more than enough luggage for the trip. The gun case and duffle bag carried OTAGs, which reliably revealed their location at any time.
A major feature of the hunt was the seclusion of Michael’s hunting shack in territory that had yielded bears. Unplanned lack of communication with anyone else, except for a few fleeting messages finally getting through by satellite after a week of quiet, kept us focused on the game field before us. The solar charging devices died in the heavily overcast skies, which convinced Michael he must get a wind power generator. After the weather broke enough for the outfitter-bush pilot to drop me on the low tide shore near Michael’s camp on May 23, he could not return till May 30 to check on us. The pilot set down a third and fourth time to ferry us back to Sand Point late on June 2. I cannot think of a time in my life where I was that long with just one other person to whom to speak. Talk of guns, shooting, hunting, dogs, and family—hardly anything of politics—filled the 12-ft x 12-ft shack. Hunters know there would also be many hours of quiet contemplation while scanning for animal movement. Michael was a wonderful companion for the intense observation and stillness, and I hope he might think the same of me. I found he was just like the person depicted in the Mountain Men series. Michael lives rustically on Kodiak Island, as he is portrayed, the real deal with more than 40 years hunting and guiding all over Alaska, as well as hunting other lands. He had lost his great friend of 13 years, his dog, Adele, a few years earlier, but he was to soon head to Georgia to get a wire-haired dachshund.
While much observation was by unaided eye, scanning was aided by various field glasses. Most noteworthy were the SIG-Sauer Zulu-6 HDX Image Stabilized Electro-Optic 12x42 glasses. They eliminated image wobble as one scanned, and that was easier than bracing other kinds of glasses against firm surfaces to stop the vibration. Of course, their cost is nearly thrice that of my Vortex Diamondback 15x56 glasses, which worked fine.
The outfitters and guides working from Sand Point know each other well and conduct business by handshakes and cash. Michael requested I pay my fee in $5,000 cash, the remainder in personal or cashier’s check. They seem to truly enjoy each other’s company. For any success in that environment, one must say what they mean and mean what they say, then follow through without quibbling. Michael and I had a written contract in November 2025 for a fall 2026 hunt. After the drawing fell through, that contract was voided, and agreement by only phone discussion in February lined up the May hunt. All essential actions for the deal fell into line by our word to each other.
Hunting remote Alaska is not for prima donnas. Michael’s small wooden hunting shack was preferable to a tent in the cold, blowing, wet, overcast weather, but it was basic. A small window let us scan the prime territory where we expected bear activity, and the window and an open door allowed light to enter during the 17-hours from sunup to sundown. It was only the last day-and-one-half that the sky offered unblocked sunlight. In late May EENT extends to about 0100 and BMNT is near 0400. We slept on wood frame bunks with an air mattress and sleeping bag cushioning from the plywood bed. A small radiant heater fueled by propane was welcome, but there was not fuel enough to run it constantly. Body heat and the propane burner for cooking otherwise warmed the shack. Michael cooked coffee, tea, Spam, rice, blueberry pancakes, corned beef hash, and a variety of dehydrated meals to feed us twice daily—beverages more often--which was ample for our activity level.
I found myself wearing insulated hunting boots, plus the Army surplus woolen trousers, shirt, and cap I donned nearly half a century earlier while on REFORGER exercises in Germany. They remained fine for the cold, wet conditions. While I brought long johns—always a good idea--I did not wear them.
There was no fancy-schmancy privy, but we had the grand luxury of two sturdy wooden 4x4 posts with a 2x6 stretched between them. Getting bare parts blasted by sleet while availing oneself of the facilities in the middle of the night could make some folks ask, “Why am I doing this?” But I quickly reminded myself that I had waited decades and finally got the opportunity, so that kept spirits up. And it was much better than how we were treated in RANGER School or during many field training exercises with the 101st (“Travel light; freeze at night”), so no harm done.
Despite the minimal light, Michael and I managed to read and discuss Hemingway on Hunting. (In turn, that has led to me reading or re-reading other Hemingway works, like Green Hills of Africa and Big Two-Hearted River. Easy to see how the author drew Pulitzer and Nobel prizes and provoked movies from his books.)
The last day became exciting, and we remained optimistic till the end. Bears began to move as the weather cleared. We spotted a sow with three new frolicking cubs nearly a mile away on the side of a mountain, as well as a modest-sized boar equally distant on another mountain. Nothing was closer. But at 2130, with about two hours remaining to hunt that season, a huge boar with full hide, not rubbed during hibernation, appeared on the tundra before us at 680 yards, slowly lumbering away. And we were downwind! The bruin was about 500 yards too far to shoot. Michael blew his call, which bellows the sound of a distressed caribou calf. We practically held our breath, since the bear froze and turned its head 180 degrees to look over its rump directly at us for a few minutes. Maybe in the last hours of the season we would be successful!? With the shooting sticks and the 120 rounds of practice I had devoted, I was very confident that within 200 yards we would get a quick, humane kill with the .405. Come on, come on! But the bear had its own ideas, and he again ambled away from us. Kodiak bears do what they decide to do, and there is not a lot humans can do to change the minds of the biggest carnivores on earth. As a Native American guide explained, “If you do not get a bear, that is because your bear is elsewhere.” Not much can be done about that. No guarantees, it is the nature of the sport. Suck it up. Thus ended the season.
Overall, the experience left me confident that if I had moved to Alaska after company command in the 101st, which I seriously contemplated before meeting my wife, I would have “fit in,” especially as a 20-40-something. Even in my 50s, seeing what one needed to do confirmed for me that I would have been as well able as almost anybody else living in remote Alaska. Not so in my medically challenged 70s, not if I am honest.
Would I do it again? Maybe. I don’t want to leave my wife destitute and burn the kids’ modest inheritances, while I foolishly stroke my ego with senior flings. But East Africa—especially a large Cape Buffalo—seems to call. . . if I can swing it. Costs are commonly less than Alaska, and the chance of getting a fair shot at game is better. And unlike the spongy Alaska tundra, the relatively firm ground surface of the grasslands and savannas of Africa makes walking a tad easier for somebody whose sense of balance is messed up. So, maybe the light, scoped Ruger No. 1 in .450/.400 Nitro (Ouch!) will take some game before I put it away the final time? If it is meant to be. . .
I contacted Michael Horstman, master guide and one of the stars of the Mountain Men cable series, in October 2025 to contract with him guiding for a bear hunt in October-November 2026, if I were among the few applicants drawing a tag. But when Michael informed me that I had not been selected, he also offered me a chance to hunt with him for the May season at his camp on Bristol Bay. I could not agree faster. With family and volunteering constraints precluding my hunting more, I planned to fly to Anchorage on May 19, to Sand Point on May 20, and to the hunting camp the next day. Weather on May 21 and 22 prevented VFR flying by bush pilots, so I arrived in camp on May 23—leaving nine days to harvest a large, old male bear before the season expired on May 31. The hunting keeps the bear population younger and healthier and pays for their management. It is serious business. A state ranger spotted Michael near the hunting shack, and he set his plane down to check our papers in detail. The ranger did not realize he was on Michael’s private property.
After a quick telephone exchange with Michael last fall, I chose a Winchester Model 1895 lever action in .405 Winchester. It is often known as Theodore Roosevelt’s “lion medicine,” which he carried to Africa and South America after his presidency. More than 120 years after the Model 95 was first chambered for the big .405 cartridge, it remains a fine rifle for large, dangerous, soft-skinned game at closer ranges. The .40-caliber slug hits hard and offers ample penetration to assure a humane kill into the vitals of a large animal from almost any angle, if on target. Four rounds in the magazine give confidence that, if follow-up shots are needed, they can be quickly delivered. Usually mounting traditional open iron sights, the rifle and its medium-range cartridge are well-matched to shots on game at up to 200-yards and, maybe, a bit further under the right conditions.
Sighted 2.6-inches high at 100-yards, the Hornady 300-grain bullet strikes point-of-aim at 160-yards, 4-inches below that at 200-yards, and 2-feet below aim at 300-yards. Shooting at greater distances would be distinctly unsporting for the vast majority of hunters, certainly for me. Michael and I agreed to no shooting with the Winchester beyond 200-yards. If a wounded bear ran beyond that, I would grab Michael’s scope-sighted Czech .375 H&H bolt action to put the bear down as quickly as possible. The bolt gun and its 250-grain bullets would extend sporting range maybe to 350-yards. With either rifle, we assumed we would use shooting sticks for a more stable shot. The idea was to call the bear as close as possible before shooting, as he had done for an earlier client. Moving to the animal instead of quietly awaiting its arrival, especially if the wind was not right, could have hurt more than helped.
My Winchester M95 replica was manufactured by Miroku before 2006. Winchester stopped producing the original M95 about the time of WW2, and Miroku picked it up for Browing in 1985 and Winchester in 2001. Despite adding the rebounding hammer and tang safety to comply with modern liability needs, the rifle would be highly familiar to Teddy Roosevelt. The historicity of the implement was a fun aspect to the hunt. But mine needed work to improve practicality for hunting. Joshua Bailey of JMB Gunsmithing in Greensburg, Indiana, fitted a recoil pad to the stock and cut length-of-pull to 13.25-inches, saving my titanium shoulder from the punch of the steel butt plate and allowing a bit more room for cold weather clothing. (To quote gun writer Craig Boddington, “The Winchester 1895 is a marvelous piece of machinery. . . It's heavy, but, despite its weight, its slender, straight-grip stock with narrow butt and plenty of drop still makes it kick like a fiend.”) The 300-grain slug of the .405 moves out at about the same velocity as the 170-grain bullet of the .30/30 Winchester, so in rifles of equal mass, the .405 recoil is over three times as energetic as that of the smaller round. I bought a traditional “climbin’ Lyman” receiver sight to replace the factory barrel-mounted rear sight for quicker and more certain aim, and Joshua mounted that beautifully. The other improvement was adding barrel band and buttstock sling studs. So, with a quick-adjustable and detachable nylon sling, all modifications were functional improvements well worth their cost.
The rifle, wrapped in a plastic rust preventive bag, was transported in a hard Pelican case also holding a Boyt canvas rifle case and two 9-round “ammo wallets.” The big hard case does not fly to camp from Sand Point—hence, the smaller and lighter Boyt case. Besides bringing the rifle, I stuffed my gear into an Army surplus medium “ALICE” pack and frame as a carry-on, plus an Army duffle bag. This was more than enough luggage for the trip. The gun case and duffle bag carried OTAGs, which reliably revealed their location at any time.
A major feature of the hunt was the seclusion of Michael’s hunting shack in territory that had yielded bears. Unplanned lack of communication with anyone else, except for a few fleeting messages finally getting through by satellite after a week of quiet, kept us focused on the game field before us. The solar charging devices died in the heavily overcast skies, which convinced Michael he must get a wind power generator. After the weather broke enough for the outfitter-bush pilot to drop me on the low tide shore near Michael’s camp on May 23, he could not return till May 30 to check on us. The pilot set down a third and fourth time to ferry us back to Sand Point late on June 2. I cannot think of a time in my life where I was that long with just one other person to whom to speak. Talk of guns, shooting, hunting, dogs, and family—hardly anything of politics—filled the 12-ft x 12-ft shack. Hunters know there would also be many hours of quiet contemplation while scanning for animal movement. Michael was a wonderful companion for the intense observation and stillness, and I hope he might think the same of me. I found he was just like the person depicted in the Mountain Men series. Michael lives rustically on Kodiak Island, as he is portrayed, the real deal with more than 40 years hunting and guiding all over Alaska, as well as hunting other lands. He had lost his great friend of 13 years, his dog, Adele, a few years earlier, but he was to soon head to Georgia to get a wire-haired dachshund.
While much observation was by unaided eye, scanning was aided by various field glasses. Most noteworthy were the SIG-Sauer Zulu-6 HDX Image Stabilized Electro-Optic 12x42 glasses. They eliminated image wobble as one scanned, and that was easier than bracing other kinds of glasses against firm surfaces to stop the vibration. Of course, their cost is nearly thrice that of my Vortex Diamondback 15x56 glasses, which worked fine.
The outfitters and guides working from Sand Point know each other well and conduct business by handshakes and cash. Michael requested I pay my fee in $5,000 cash, the remainder in personal or cashier’s check. They seem to truly enjoy each other’s company. For any success in that environment, one must say what they mean and mean what they say, then follow through without quibbling. Michael and I had a written contract in November 2025 for a fall 2026 hunt. After the drawing fell through, that contract was voided, and agreement by only phone discussion in February lined up the May hunt. All essential actions for the deal fell into line by our word to each other.
Hunting remote Alaska is not for prima donnas. Michael’s small wooden hunting shack was preferable to a tent in the cold, blowing, wet, overcast weather, but it was basic. A small window let us scan the prime territory where we expected bear activity, and the window and an open door allowed light to enter during the 17-hours from sunup to sundown. It was only the last day-and-one-half that the sky offered unblocked sunlight. In late May EENT extends to about 0100 and BMNT is near 0400. We slept on wood frame bunks with an air mattress and sleeping bag cushioning from the plywood bed. A small radiant heater fueled by propane was welcome, but there was not fuel enough to run it constantly. Body heat and the propane burner for cooking otherwise warmed the shack. Michael cooked coffee, tea, Spam, rice, blueberry pancakes, corned beef hash, and a variety of dehydrated meals to feed us twice daily—beverages more often--which was ample for our activity level.
I found myself wearing insulated hunting boots, plus the Army surplus woolen trousers, shirt, and cap I donned nearly half a century earlier while on REFORGER exercises in Germany. They remained fine for the cold, wet conditions. While I brought long johns—always a good idea--I did not wear them.
There was no fancy-schmancy privy, but we had the grand luxury of two sturdy wooden 4x4 posts with a 2x6 stretched between them. Getting bare parts blasted by sleet while availing oneself of the facilities in the middle of the night could make some folks ask, “Why am I doing this?” But I quickly reminded myself that I had waited decades and finally got the opportunity, so that kept spirits up. And it was much better than how we were treated in RANGER School or during many field training exercises with the 101st (“Travel light; freeze at night”), so no harm done.
Despite the minimal light, Michael and I managed to read and discuss Hemingway on Hunting. (In turn, that has led to me reading or re-reading other Hemingway works, like Green Hills of Africa and Big Two-Hearted River. Easy to see how the author drew Pulitzer and Nobel prizes and provoked movies from his books.)
The last day became exciting, and we remained optimistic till the end. Bears began to move as the weather cleared. We spotted a sow with three new frolicking cubs nearly a mile away on the side of a mountain, as well as a modest-sized boar equally distant on another mountain. Nothing was closer. But at 2130, with about two hours remaining to hunt that season, a huge boar with full hide, not rubbed during hibernation, appeared on the tundra before us at 680 yards, slowly lumbering away. And we were downwind! The bruin was about 500 yards too far to shoot. Michael blew his call, which bellows the sound of a distressed caribou calf. We practically held our breath, since the bear froze and turned its head 180 degrees to look over its rump directly at us for a few minutes. Maybe in the last hours of the season we would be successful!? With the shooting sticks and the 120 rounds of practice I had devoted, I was very confident that within 200 yards we would get a quick, humane kill with the .405. Come on, come on! But the bear had its own ideas, and he again ambled away from us. Kodiak bears do what they decide to do, and there is not a lot humans can do to change the minds of the biggest carnivores on earth. As a Native American guide explained, “If you do not get a bear, that is because your bear is elsewhere.” Not much can be done about that. No guarantees, it is the nature of the sport. Suck it up. Thus ended the season.
Overall, the experience left me confident that if I had moved to Alaska after company command in the 101st, which I seriously contemplated before meeting my wife, I would have “fit in,” especially as a 20-40-something. Even in my 50s, seeing what one needed to do confirmed for me that I would have been as well able as almost anybody else living in remote Alaska. Not so in my medically challenged 70s, not if I am honest.
Would I do it again? Maybe. I don’t want to leave my wife destitute and burn the kids’ modest inheritances, while I foolishly stroke my ego with senior flings. But East Africa—especially a large Cape Buffalo—seems to call. . . if I can swing it. Costs are commonly less than Alaska, and the chance of getting a fair shot at game is better. And unlike the spongy Alaska tundra, the relatively firm ground surface of the grasslands and savannas of Africa makes walking a tad easier for somebody whose sense of balance is messed up. So, maybe the light, scoped Ruger No. 1 in .450/.400 Nitro (Ouch!) will take some game before I put it away the final time? If it is meant to be. . .
