THE FOG ROLLS UP THE MOUNTAIN, hiding the old-growth forest below us and smothering any hopes we might have had of spotting a blacktail buck. We knew we wouldn't see, let alone shoot, a deer today, but a little walk helps us escape the claustrophobia of our two-man tent.
Before handheld GPS became reliable and popular, wandering around in the mountains of Southeast Alaska on an intensely foggy afternoon was a good way to get lost—for good. But even with GPS marking our way through the gray, it’s obvious that the only thing to do is keep waiting for the haze to lift.
“Nietzsche wrote about mountain climbing and never left his room,” says Bjorn Dihle as we stare into the nothingness. “I always think about that when the mountain is socked in.”
I don’t know who Nietzsche is or what the hell Bjorn is talking about, so I just nod in agreement. I actually don’t know Bjorn that well at all. We met when I was on another assignment and he invited me to go deer hunting with him—and he also offered to put me in touch with one of his buddies who is a mountain goat hunting guide. I took him up on both.
But I’ve since learned a few things about my new hunting partner. He’s an understated wilderness badass. He’s skied across the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and guides months-long bear trips for the BBC. He and his two brothers are known around the town of Juneau as hardcore hunters, chasing everything from deer to goats to moose. Bjorn pushes through the thickest patches of Tongass National Forest bellowing, ‘Heyyyy, bear’ with almost the exact low, welcoming tone that one of my old rancher friends uses to warn his cows not to crowd their fence.
On the third day of our hunt, the fog clears, and I shoot a velvet buck on the back