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A big Sitka blacktail watches the author from high on a mountain on Admiralty Island.

“This is the last time I’m climbing a mountain with you guys,” he growled as Ed and I hurried ahead to get in an evening hunt. Ed and I crested the top of the mountain and glassed a valley. To our surprise, a deer placidly grazed on deer lettuce and blueberry leaves below. With pounding hearts, we stalked as close as cover allowed.

“Too far!” I whispered as Ed and I looked at an unsuspecting buck less than a hundred yards away. “Do you think you could hit it?”

“No, too far!” Ed agreed. The buck’s antlers splayed out beyond his ears. We cursed under our breath and tried to figure out how to sneak closer. We belly crawled a few yards more before the deer snorted and disappeared into the brush.

The sun was sinking toward the summit of Nun Mountain when we stumbled upon a large, blond, hairy beast snoring beneath a jack pine. The creature groaned, roared, and shook itself. For a second, I nearly readied my rifle before Jesse rose to his full height, eyeing us malevolently. After a brief conference, Ed grabbed the other rifle and strolled off toward where we had last seen the buck. Jesse and I snuck over to the edge of a bowl and glassed the grassy stretches.

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