Fern Rose has Takin' to Hunting

Greetings to all, and welcome to the Fern Rose page!  It's created under duress, as in "Dad, just when are you going to have my hunting pictures on the web for everyone to see?" 

I'm doing it right now, Fern, I'm doing it right now. ☺

Well, if you live in a cave, never read your mail, and your phone is disconnected, you may not know that Fern has gotten the hunting bug.  Well, not exactly a bug, rather a full blown infection, complete with fever, one track mind goose bumps and a growing collection of hunting hardware.

She tells me that:  "..at night I lay looking at the ridge pole in my bedroom and, daddy, all I see are caribou and rifles!".   And  "Oh daddy, I look up and see my rifle and I can only think of how good it feels when its pressed on my cheek and how good it feels when it slaps me when I shoot."     Give her a call and you better be ready to talk about rifles, biathlon practice, target shooting and her new 7mm-08 that's kicking her black and blue.

Enough chatting (i.e.: dad might be bragging a little bit), let Fern tell you about it...

Well, first there were three weeks of practice before I could go hunting.  That meant 3 weeks of learning to load and unload my rifle, and how to clean it, and what the parts were called, and how to use the safety, how to shoot, spot and stalk, and never ever ever point the muzzle at anyone or anything you don't want to shoot!  Dad made me learn everything about the rifle and at first it was pretty confusing!  We had to fit pads to the rifle stock so it fit my face, and shorten the stock to fit my arms. At first we shot only at cans from the porch with a .22 and I got pretty good! Then dad made me learn to lay down and hold a rifle on the kitchen floor, its called prone shooting. When I started shooting prone I got to use a scope and I like that best, its faster.  We went out on the river and dad pointed out rocks and sticks for me to shoot at. I had to hurry and shoot from bumps and rocks real fast when dad pointed them out.  You have to shoot fast at caribou because they walk fast and sometimes run. I was kind of slow though because the rifle is heavy and its real loud and pushes me when I shoot it...except when I'm shooting a caribou then I didn't even hear it and it doesn't push at all!

Some times I thought I would never get to go hunting.  I would ask dad every day.

 "When do I get to shoot my caribou?"    And he would say..  "When you are a good enough shot."  and  "When you can spot caribou all by yourself and tell me if they are a good one or not." ...  and stuff like that. So we would go out on the river and glass for caribou and shoot some more rocks.

Finally we were packing down hunting camp to go home because almost all the clients had gone home... and I still did not have a caribou!  I never let dad work, I just kept asking when we were going to go hunt MY caribou?  Sometimes, when your parents are busy they say "Later" if you ask only once, so you have to try and ask a thousand times. It only took about 20 times before dad finally said, "Tomorrow we will go out and find you a little bull." I gave him the old "laaazy eye" and told him right away.. "Dad!  It's not supposed to be LITTLE!  You know what you told me, you can't make an animal into a trophy by pulling the trigger, I'm going to look hard and shoot a BIG one!"   

He told me. "Ok Fern, tomorrow we go out and see if you can shoot good enough to get a BIG caribou and you have to pick it out!" (dads note:  I was almost blinded by the sun flashing off of the big smile that I got back in response to that challenge.)

(Now Dads back to telling the story...)   Tomorrow arrived, and Chris Loomis (one of our guides) spotted a big band of caribou to the south of camp. Chris had a client with him that day (Bob Bloomquist), so the four of us headed off at a trot to eat up a mile or so of river gravel while the caribou fed in the morning mist. It was an enjoyable stalk up the river and through the brush.  Fern had to wade a river channel that was up to her waist.  She had her rain pants duct-taped to her boots to keep the water mostly out, not that it would have mattered much, she was way beyond caring about a little water.  Finally the brush played out and she ended up crawling the last few hundred yards through the tundra on her tummy. 

<  Here Fern points out the bull she's selected. The range-finders tell us its 322 yds. away. Can she do it? Dad was not so sure, she was.

"Ok, its all up to you Fern"  Dad whispers. Just let Robert shoot first, then take any of those big bulls you want."

That's all it took.  Fern was down in the prone position, snuggling into that stock she loves to feel on her cheek.  I was crawling around taking photographs and  .... "Get down, dad, you are going to scare my caribou!"

I tell her..."OK, ok... don't get excited, take a deep breath and ease...."   and Fern chimes in  "...ease back on the trigger.  I know dad, you taught me, just be quiet and watch for my shot."   

I know good advise when I hear it.  I tended to the spotting scope and got ready to call her shot...  Robert "popped a cap" and the first bull stumbled, he fired again and the bull went down...but what was that? It sounded like Bob shot twice! Then I realized Fern had recognized her cue and wasn't wasting a second. She had fired on her bull as soon as Bob's trophy started to fall.   "Fern....The first shot was a little low and a yard in front" I told her.   ker-chunk went a second round into the chamber.  ker-chink went the bolt... "Wham" went the little .223  and with a "Whap" the little bullet reported back to us that it had arrived at the address she had put on it. Down went Fern's BIG bull caribou in a pile on the arctic tundra. It didn't walk two steps, it just went down.  Dad, Chris and Bob erupted into high-fives, hoots and hollering....but not Fern.  Ker-chunk went another round into the chamber, ker-chink went the bolt slamming it into place. No silly business here... "We will celebrate when we are sure the work is done and the trophy is secure, and not a moment sooner." was the clear message being sent to all.

"Fern, YOU GOT YOUR BIG CARIBOU!" I whooped.

She looked up at me and said   "I did it just like you taught me dad, didn't I?"  Yes you did Fern, and Dad could not be prouder.

Well, you would think that was enough, that the excitement would wear off when the work started, but no sir, there was skinning to be done.  Fern stayed with the job to the very end. She even stripped the velvet off of the antlers so they would be ready to mount.

Fern, Dad's really proud of you!  When are we going again?  I promise to be quiet and not crawl around taking pictures while you are shooting.

Fern says she wants to add few other photos for friends and family.... she says she needs to do some bragging too!

Here I am holding up the paw of a 10' brown bear. I didn't shoot it.....dad says I have to be 12. It was two years ago down in the Aleutian islands. The weather is really terrible there and it rains all the time.    

The pictures with the ice are of my sister and I on the arctic ice pack north of Barrow, Alaska. This was two years ago too. We went up to watch the Eskimos hunt whales. We walked for miles out onto the ice pack to visit a whaling camp and see the skin boats.  See dad making us pull all the equipment.  He thinks we are huskies.      

Next week I will show you some pictures of my climbing wall and maybe my new rifle, but its being worked on right now.  Dad is having the stock made shorter and a muzzle break put on it so it does not hurt so much. Sometimes it makes my arm black and blue.

I love you Grandma Ferne, Grandma Rose and Grandpa Gene and Grandma Carol, Daniel, Uncle Mark and Andrew, Aunt Leslie, Uncle Mike/Aunt Kenda and Craig, Aunt Lisa/Uncle Bill, Kelly and Chris, Andrew and James, Becca and Lanae . "Oops.. dad..who did I forget?"

Fern Rose