Chasing a Childhood Dream: My Caribou Hunt in Alaska

There are certain hunts that you dream about long before you ever have the opportunity to chase them. For me, a caribou hunt in Alaska was one of those dreams.

From the time I was a kid, Alaska represented something bigger than just another hunting destination. It was wild, remote, unpredictable, and almost impossible to fully comprehend from a map or a television screen. A caribou hunt in Alaska had always been one of my biggest goals in hunting, and when the opportunity finally came, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Preparing for Alaska

Preparing for an Alaska hunt is intimidating.

The weather alone is enough to make you question everything you've packed. You can spend weeks trying to prepare for every possible condition, but the truth is that Alaska doesn't care about your plans. Weather can change quickly, temperatures can swing, and conditions can turn a beautiful day into a miserable one in a matter of hours.

Then there is the gear.

On a hunt like this, good gear isn't a luxury. It's essential. Every piece of equipment has a purpose, and every ounce matters. You have to think through what you're carrying, what you might need, and what you absolutely cannot afford to be without. You are preparing for conditions that you can't always predict, in a place where there isn't a convenient store or truck waiting nearby if something goes wrong.

And then there is the walking.

I have hunted a lot of different terrain, but I have never experienced walking like Alaska's tundra. It is hard to describe until you've done it yourself. What looks manageable from a distance can become exhausting almost immediately. Every step is different. The ground gives, shifts, sinks, and moves underneath you. You're constantly working for every mile.

The terrain and the tundra make every step miserable, and it felt like we were constantly pushing our bodies to the limit just to keep moving.

It was, without a doubt, some of the most difficult walking I have ever done.

Hunting with GETHUSHIN

One of the biggest parts of this experience was who I got to share it with.

I had the opportunity to go with the guys at GETHUSHIN, and I couldn't have asked for a better group to experience Alaska with. They are some of the most genuine and authentic people in the hunting space, and that mattered.

There is something special about spending days in a place this wild with people who truly love hunting and the outdoors. There is no pretending out there. No shortcuts. No easy way around the challenges. You work, you struggle, you laugh, you keep moving, and you experience it all together.

That's what made this hunt so memorable.

Three Days of Nothing... Then Everything Changed

For three days, it felt like we were seeing everything except caribou.

We saw grizzlies. We saw wolves. We covered country and glassed , but the caribou seemed almost nonexistent.

Then everything changed.

We finally spotted a herd moving fast, almost eight miles away. They were covering ground quickly, and we knew immediately that this was going to be a race.

We moved to a gravel ridge go glass them up again. By the time we got set up, the herd had already crossed a river and covered another four miles.

There wasn't going to be an easy way to catch them.

If we wanted an opportunity, we had to move.

And we moved as fast as we could through some of the worst terrain I've ever walked.

The tundra was absolutely miserable. Every step felt like work. We were pushing through the terrain as hard as our bodies would allow, trying to close the distance before the herd disappeared.

Eventually, we made it to the back of the herd, but the caribou had already become uneasy. They were moving and spooking, and we couldn't get a clean shot at the bull we wanted.

We had pushed our bodies that hard just to get there, only to have the opportunity disappear.

We started heading back.

Then, out of nowhere, another herd appeared.

It happened so quickly that it felt like Alaska had flipped a switch. After three days of almost nothing, suddenly there were caribou in front of us again.

We worked our way to the side of the herd and waited.

As the caribou moved closer, I got ready.

Closer.

And closer.

Finally, the larger caribou cleared, and he turned into a position where he was quartering toward me.

I took one quick shot.

He was down.

The next thing I remember, I was immediately handing the rifle to Matt. Within seconds, we had a double on the tundra.

After three days of searching, racing across the country, and wondering if we'd even get an opportunity, it had finally happened.

We were successful.

The Adrenaline Wore Off

The adrenaline was incredible, but it didn't last forever.

Once the excitement of the double started to settle, our bodies reminded us exactly what we had just put them through.

We were spent.

We had raced miles across the tundra, and our bodies were cramping constantly. At times we were literally collapsing under the exhaustion. Every muscle seemed to be telling us to stop.

But the excitement outweighed the pain.

We had come to Alaska chasing a childhood dream, and now two caribou were lying on the tundra in front of us.

Then the real work began.

We quartered both caribou and started the long trip back.

Because we were completely exhausted, we made the decision to leave the heads and some of the meat and come back the following day to finish the job. It wasn't an easy decision, but we knew we needed to get what we had already packed back to camp and take care of the rest the next day.

By the time we finally made it back, it was 4:00 in the morning.

We were absolutely exhausted.

But we were also grateful.

The next day, we got up and headed back into that same desolate landscape to retrieve the rest of the meat.

One of the biggest concerns was whether we'd come back to find grizzlies had gotten to it.

Fortunately, they hadn't.

Our meat was still there, and we were able to finish hauling everything back.

More Than a Caribou

Looking back, this hunt was about much more than taking a caribou.

It was about chasing something I had dreamed about since I was a kid. It was about pushing myself physically and mentally in a place that demanded everything from me. It was about learning that preparation matters, but also understanding that you can never fully prepare for what Alaska is going to throw at you.

It was about the people I shared it with.

It was about walking across some of the most difficult terrain I have ever experienced, dealing with relentless mosquitoes, watching bears and wolves move through the country around us, and waiting through long stretches when it seemed like there wasn't a caribou anywhere.

And then, when the opportunity finally came, being ready for it.

That is what hunting is supposed to be.

The challenge. The uncertainty. The preparation. The people. The memories.

Alaska didn't make this dream easy, and I'm grateful for that.

Because when you spend your childhood dreaming about a hunt and finally get the chance to live it, you realize the destination was never really the whole dream.

The dream was becoming the person capable of getting there.

And Alaska reminded me exactly why I love hunting.