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In April, Tim Page asked my Dad and I if we wanted to go to his cabin in the Poconos for the Jr. Spring Gobbler hunt, but my Dad could not make it so Tim took me out to hunt.

We got up at 5:00 a.m., but did not get out in the woods until late.  First, Tim gave a call and one responded.  Then, he did it again and there were 2 more responses.  Next, all these hens started to call.  The gobbler was called in by the hen.

We waited for a half hour and then we saw a big gobbler; he was slowly coming in.  When Tim tapped my leg, I could shoot.  It was 10 minutes until he hit my leg and I took my safety off; it made a big click.  The turkey looked right at me; I shot and it dropped right there. 

Tim was so happy and so was I!  It ended up having a 10 inch beard and weighed 23 pounds. 

I had a lot of fun with Tim that day; I would do that again any time.

 

                                                                                                            Luke Talley, PA

                                                                                                            Age 10                                      




Once again I found myself several thousand feet high into the alpine mountain ranges overlooking vast expanses of frozen, arid, unforgiving and unyielding  tundra in search of animals that only God himself would have considered placing here if he had a tremendous sense of humor.  Here once again I find myself questioning my sanity of what I am doing here and why I come to these places and what drives men to place life and limb in question and leave their loved ones and secure abode to forage into the deep boundaries of nothingness in a quest of pleasures that can't be measured or explained.

 

At this moment now sitting behind a massive boulder with rifle at the ready perching atop my pack frame waiting for the MT Goat that we have spotted from thousands of yards away and now closed to within a easy shot range to either make a decisive move to his right or left which would bring him out of the crevice that shielded his body from view and place him directly into the crisp clean sight picture of my optic lens and hopefully guide a Sierra Boat Tail bullet to a quick and clean placement which would end this cat and mouse game.

 

This voyage took place in the city of Valdez Alaska.  I was now sitting and conversing with Otto Klum,  owner and outfitter of Pacific Mountain Guide service.  When I walked off the plane in Valdez, bewildered by the shear vertical cliffs that surround the area, I was greeted by Otto's mountainous smile and appearance. After traveling alone for several monotonous hours and with only perfect strangers to engage in casual conversation it was great to see a familiar face and finally breath a sigh of relief to arrive at a final destination with luggage in hand.  This trip had it beginnings from Otto's unflagging and generous desire to help support wildlife management by contributing his time and money by donating his services to the local chapter of Safari Club International in Lehigh Valley Pennsylvania for their annual fundraiser event.  Otto's donated MT Goat hunt while on the auction block brought considerable interest by many in attendance that evening, but perseverance and determination made the donated hunt mine.  After several phone conversations and expressing my desire for a well furred specimen we determined a late September date to start our hunt.  We put together a plan and as if it was carved in the same stone of the area we were to hunt it all came to fruition like a expensive Swiss timepiece.

 

  Otto saw to it that nothing was to be left to chance and everything was checked and rechecked to avoid any possibilities of default while in the field. Packs were made ready, gear was lightened and listed in order of necessity. Well rounded Mountain House gourmet rations were procured. Walking poles and crampons made the list of must haves.  Otto's visual examination concluded; two flashlights, no good! one is enough. A book to read, who would have the time. Leave it.  If one person had it, one is enough.  Don't think in pounds, think in ounces.  They will feel like pounds when you start climbing.  All systems seem to be a go. We were off on the "BOLD EAGLE" cabin cruiser to survey the mountain passages and to traverse the ebbs and tides that brought the ill fated Exxon Valdez to its knees.  The sound and music of Gilligan's Island kept playing through my head.  "Just a three hour cruise, a three hour cruise"

 

After striking a cove we anchored the Bold Eagle and manned the Zodiac to fetch and retrieve the gear and bodies to be brought to shore.  Once there the general consensus was to head up.  You can take some lefts and rights but in actuality there is only one direction that takes precedence.  Up.  In other words its still UP.  You can look and plan and try as you might to come up with some form of logical reason why it should either wait till morning or an excuse to fabricate a lie of getting a text from a long lost loved one that just came down from whereverville and needs a place to stay so you have to go because you have the only open bedroom available.  Stop it.  Just wind up the internal rubber bands and point yourself into the right direction and start climbing.  That's right, start.  Just put one foot in front of the other and then do it again.  That's all it takes.  One step, then one yard, then the length of a football field.  Keep adding them together and before you know it you can see the place where you started out from disappear from view.  Getting there is 1/2 physical and 1/2 mental.  The physical part helps you if you have the time and desire to wake up several hours early before the start of your day and head out chasing car bumpers with sandbags strapped to your back.  The mental part helps if you got kicked in the head by a mule when you were young or dropped considerably on the head as a child.

 

When you are about to see the animal you seek step out from his rock crevice the last thing you think about is how you got there, what hurts or even when I get one, how do I get down from here.  Its all gone now.  Just pure and unadulterated pleasure awaits.  Relax, take the shot, put it in the right place and then get your camera ready.  This feeling only comes by once in a blue moon.  Like the first time you looked into the eyes of your wife while she held your child in her arms for the first time.  The feeling when you got your first new car.  Your first romantic kiss.  We will never forget them.  We can't replace them, and don't want to but we are constantly guided to seek out new ventures that will bring us as close to that feeling as possible.  Goat hunting satisfies our passion.  It quenches our thirst. It gives us some of the answers that we repeatedly asked ourselves while up in the mountains.  We all await for some almighty being to answer the questions but come to realize that only we can put the right answers where they belong.

 

Alas, everything worked out great.  I did get the MT Goat to ascend to his right and fully expose his chest after several bleats on a dying rabbit predator call.  Otto agreed that it was the first time, as far as he knew, that a hunter called a MT Goat with a rabbit call.  I guess the goats curiosity got the best of him.  He came out to full view to determine what it was that made that awful sound.  So now it was up to me to place my cross hairs over his beautify and illustrious chest main guard hairs and slowly squeeze the trigger.  The shot rang out and the goat was mine.  Accolades were given by Otto and Mike, our extraordinary and super human packer, and then a volley of photos that would have embarrassed a fashion model took place.  One more night in the alpine and then we would sleep in a warm comfortable bed.  Not so fast.  Getting off the mountain is sometimes more treacherous and demanding than ascending.  This was to be a true feat of endurance.  Opting to go a different route that first appeared to be easier than the route we took in, we battled driving rain and slippery foliage for the next several hours.  The view of the Zodiac anchored to the shore was truly a sight for sore eyes and especially sore legs and feet.  Even though high tide was hours away that didn't stop us from making our way to the Bold Eagle.  The boat ride back toValdezwas full of smiles and laughter.  Now that its over lets see what else we can plan.  Amazing how the body forgets so fast.

 

I would like to thank my good friend Tim Page from Page Guide Service for the original introduction to Otto Klum.  Without his recommendation and first hand knowledge of quality outfitters this trip never would have been so successful.

 

Tony Arpaia

 



This is my story about when Tim Page asked my Dad and I to come up to his cabin for turkey hunting.

 

In the morning, we all woke up at about 5:00 am and then we went out.  We got out there about 5:30 am.  We waited about 3 hours, then we heard a gobble.  My Dad tried to call it in, then here it came running down a trail.  My Dad told me I could shoot when it came out from behind the tree.  As soon as it came out, I shot it and it went down.

 

We waited a couple minutes, then we went and got it.  It had about a 9 inch beard.  It was very fun and exciting! 

 

I thank Tim Page for letting us stay at his place; it was very fun.

 

 

                                                                                                Mario Scavicchio

                                                                                                        Age 12




Growing up in Southeastern Pennsylvania, I was raised in a family of hunters; father, uncles, cousins.  But, being a female, I never had the opportunity to go hunting although I longed to do so.

 

I began working as an office manager for Tim Page who also is an avid hunter and the vice president of Eastern Chapter FNAWS.  After many years had gone by, I asked if he would teach me how to shoot and take me hunting.

 

After practicing for three  weeks at the range with the 7mm08 that Tim chose for me, I felt ready.

 

I found myself for the first time on Canadian soil to hunt for whitetails with Buck Stop Guiding & Outfitting in an area we were told was known for monster buck.

 

After using the first day for scouting, the second day found me in a ground blind well before first light.  It was a typically cold Alberta morning and although there was no snow, I was slowly freezing to death, despite my 6 layers of clothing.  I patiently waited out the day looking for a buck that never showed.

 

The following day, I was taken to a different area where Tim had been the day before.  Here, on the edge of a cut line, he had seen several deer in the 140 to 150 class range and even got footage on the video camera, but he was waiting on the granddaddy of those bucks. 

 

Again, I was in a ground blind long before light; only this time, I was accompanied by Tim.  I felt bad for interrupting his hunting, but it was his idea.

 

This morning was quite cold and very foggy.  We sat for a couple of hours, but what seemed like days when we decided to switch seats in the blind.  Getting settled, I look out and saw a deer looking straight at us about 140 yards away.

 

I whispered to Tim “We got a deer.”  He looked through the binoculars and said “It’s a nice buck.”  I told him to go ahead and shoot it, but he  insited for me to get over into position and take the shot.  I was shaking so badly and breathing so heavily, I couldn’t even find the deer in the scope.  Tim whispered to me to just relax and I remembered to breathe like I had practiced at the range and Tim actually held me to steady me.

 

After doing so, I was able to get the cross hairs right on the deer’s chest.  After a deep exhale, I fired.  When looking after the shot, the deer was gone and I immediately thought I had missed, but Tim said he thought I had hit him; he said he crouched and made it into the thick brush.

 

My heart was racing.  As we went out to see what we could find, I started getting nervous.  The farther we walked, the more I thought we had passed the spot where the buck had been and that I definitely had missed.

 

Finally, I saw a little blood and followed it about 30 feet into the bush where the 10-point, 270 pound deer lay.

 

The deer was probably the most impressive I have ever seen.  He had a 22 inch neck just behind his head and green scored 148.  I was hooting & hollering in the middle of the woods when Tim told me to be quiet; he said he still had hunting to do!  Needless to say, I continued my jig in the middle of the Canadian bush.

 

Apparently, the deer I harvested is only an average deer in Alberta, but for me and my 1st buck, he was the biggest deer in Canada!

 

My thanks goes out to Buck Stop Guiding & Outfitting and my coach, Tim Page for what was definitely more than tagging along for the travel experience!

 

Tina Myers