Discovering wildlife galore in big-city Anchorage

Finished with the day's work, my tie came off and I unbuttoned my shirt as my co-workers and I headed back to the motel. It was early September, the smell of fall had penetrated the city streets. Hunting season was on. A quick change into outdoor gear at the motel and a short drive to the trailhead at the base of a mountain valley, and I was on my way.

The hike in was gradual, the sun out of the southwest warm enough to be comfortable without overheating. An hour later, standing on a ridgeline above the willow-choked creek bottom at the valley's head, the big bull appeared out of a stand of juniper on the opposite side of the stream, perhaps 500 yards away.

Crossing the valley, what appeared to be an easy wind through willow scrub turned into a struggle through boot-sucking mountain bog and head-high brush. Negotiating the cold rushing stream cooled my feet that were shod in waterproof boots that don't mean much when the depth of the water is over the top of the boots.

Keeping an eye on the bull during the crossing, he had walked back into the trees and disappeared. The wind was in my face and he had moved with the casual stride of a contented animal, giving no sign of alarm. Twenty minutes after first spotting him I crept up over the top of a misplaced swell in the blueberry-covered landscape. About that time, he stepped out into the open less than 50 yards away. Experience told me the pounding in my chest was only heard by me, but there was still nagging doubt as I thought through the final approach.

Stir crazy?

Big cities have been a nemesis my entire life. The traffic and the rush of crowded inhabitants unnerves me. Driving into a big city, my head begins to throb at the first busy freeway intersection. So when a year ago I came out of retirement for a part-time position that took me back, in a limited way, to the field I had left, it was with a bit of trepidation. I would have to spend a week of each month in Anchorage.

City night life isn't appealing, the last movie I went to was sometime in the 1980s. I worried that I might go stir crazy if I had to sit around in a motel every night. How was I going to make up for the time I would miss roaming outdoors near my home in rural Kenai?

After looking at various "things to do in Anchorage" brochures, I found quite a variety of access to the mountains surrounding the city. Numerous trails from Turnagain Arm to Eagle River invited exploration of the high country, and time in the high country has to be worth twice as much as time anywhere else.

So off I went, the first venture up a trail along Turnagain Arm. The trail climbed up out of the brush line, which made it easy to bail off trail and climb. Within an hour, I was sitting on a rocky slope, watching a ewe Dall sheep with two lambs play amongst the rocks. My jaw clenched every time they would make a heart-stopping jump from one outcrop to another, where a misstep would result in a fall. Even knowing how sure footed they are, my anxiety level fretting for the adorable little buggers was high.

Night after night throughout the spring and summer, the mountains would call. Exploring the numerous mountain valleys began to paint a picture that surprised me. The abundance of wildlife available to see in the terrain surrounding Anchorage is remarkable — the kind of abundance one might imagine from the early days of recorded Alaska history.

One night, my travels took me deep into a valley where in the span of a few hours I saw mountain goats, ptarmigan, ground squirrels, several moose, a black bear and hundreds of songbirds, many I had never seen before. It added up to a veritable paradise for folks who love wildlife — all within minutes of downtown Anchorage. Who would have thought? (I do suspect this may be a bit blasé for Anchorage residents already aware of what the city has to offer and, as a matter of course, must avoid the moose and Canada geese that roam the city streets and parking lots.)

Some nights I didn't have enough time to get into the mountains, but a quick drive to Potter Marsh and a walk along the boardwalk provided a different kind of wildlife experience. Ducks and geese milling around the area provide a constant aerial show. After the spring hatch, there are ducklings and goslings swimming under the boardwalk or sitting on near banks and who doesn't like to watch their frolicking? Eagles fly overhead; shorebirds burrow their long snouts into the muddy banks in search of protein and muskrats prowl the maze of tidal canals.

Sensing safety

The big bull I'd been tracking ducked back into the trees allowing a quick scramble to a small spruce standing in a clearing, where I nestled among the lower branches to wait. The wait was brief, and he appeared 20 yards in front of my position. Making an adjustment, I settled into a steady position and took the shot. His big ears perked up at the sound of the shutter release on the DSLR hanging from my neck. Now he was looking right at me with little interest, and after a moment he went back to feeding.

I sat still and watched for 20 minutes as he moseyed along, stripping the occasional willow branch and periodically looked towards me. Easing myself out from under the tree, I sat down in the open and continued to watch. A few minutes later he abruptly turned his big butt towards me in dismissal, took a couple of steps, laid down and went to sleep.

A lifetime spent with animals has often shown me that they sense when harm is intended and when it isn't. The difference between the photographer and the hunter often seems evident to them.

No doubt, this moose had experience with people. But I've experienced this same sort of thing with animals far from civilization when making the proper approach and using patience. Hunting season was open, just not in that area, where there is a minimal amount of hunting opportunity for a variety of reasons.

My evening "hunt" had all of the excitement associated with hunting and while it didn't completely take the place of normal hunting, (no meat to pack) those moments were no less rewarding. It seems for many hunters, as they advance in years, and have less pressure to provide meat; just being out there is enough.

For those who enjoy being around abundant wildlife, Anchorage may have no peer among big cities. The city, with its wildlife culture, has done what I would have thought impossible a year ago. I no longer dread my monthly stays in Anchorage; in fact, I've come to look forward to them.

Steve Meyer of Soldotna is lifetime Alaskan and an avid shooter. He writes every other week about guns and Alaska hunting. Contact Steve at oldduckhunter@outlook.com