Webster's dictionary defines Adventure: 1.a risky undertaking2.a remarkable and exciting experience.Now I'm not sure if Mr. Webster was an outdoorsman, but his definition couldn't have been more accurate in describing my adventure floating Alaska's Iditarod River in pursuit of Alaska-Yukon Moose.

Alaska has long been considered the last wild frontier and has captured my imagination for years.I have interrupted countless daydreams of stalking brown bears, glassing high-country sheep, and packing out moose quarters with a heavy sigh and thoughts of “someday”.As I progressed in my quest for the Grand Slam I held tight to thoughts of someday reaching Alaska, until I had the opportunity to be the guest speaker at a wild game dinner.As I shared my message about hunting with friends and loved ones and creating memories while you are able, I realized my dreams about Alaska had been on hold far too long.The following morning I called Rick and Lori Townsend of Aniak Air Guides and booked a 10-day unguided float hunt for Alaskan Moose.I then called my dad and before I finished outlining my plans he responded with “when do we leave”; we were finally going to Alaska.

As the details of our trip started taking shape, I realized our memorable adventure was actually “a risky undertaking”.We would be flown in and dropped off completely isolated in the remote Alaskan wilderness with no means of communication for nearly two weeks.We would each be limited to 100 pounds of food, clothing and gear to survive in the unpredictable Alaskan weather.We were hunting animals that can weigh in excess of 1,500 pounds, and if successful, would have to contend with wolves and grizzly bears looking for an easy meal. Just the sort of adventure we were looking for!

Our Alaskan Adventure began with eleven hours of airline travel and a very short night in Anchorage. The following morning we boarded a twelve-passenger turbo-prop headed for the remote fishing village of Aniak.As we flew west the weather grew angry. A strong weather front brought heavy rain, high winds, and very low clouds making our chances of flying further in a bush plane very slim.When we landed in Aniak our outfitter, Rick, welcomed us with the question, “Have either of you been air sick before?”Both dad and I shook our heads, but Rick just laughed and stated, “You will today!”Undaunted by the foul weather, Rick stuffed our gear and us into his small float plane, taxied out onto the river and roared off toward our final destination, the Iditarod River.For the next hour I struggled to keep from losing my lunch as we bounced and tossed about on the brutal air currents until Rick skidded the floats down on a narrow strait in the winding river. He quickly beached the plane and began tossing our gear onto the bank.As the last bag hit the pile Rick said “see you in ten days”.He then pointed the plane into the wind and in seconds disappeared into the menacing sky.It's hard to describe the feelings in your gut when your connection to civilization fades into the distance, but without uttering a word both dad and I started inflating the raft and stowing gear for our journey down the Iditarod.

After situating our gear we pushed off the bank and began our silent float downstream.Grinning ear-to-ear we paddled leisurely around each bend taken by the awe-inspiring scenery.After a short float we agreed on a good spot to set up our first camp.We quickly found that the rugged riverbanks were not ideal for tents, however positioned our home on a small knob overlooking the river.Because Alaska law prohibits hunting before 3:00am the day after you fly, we spent a few minutes looking at the map deciding on a plan for the morning hunt and then turned-in early.Not too long after dark my dad woke me with an urgent “LISTEN!”Coming from behind our camp you could hear “crack” and seconds later “snap”.Suddenly, the unmistakable UGHFÂ&UGHF of a bull moose beckoning a partner came within fifty yards of our camp and then traveled off downstream.Awesome!We should be able to call him back at sunriseÂ&what a great first day to our adventure!

The alarm on my wristwatch found me already awake on our first hunting day, not due to the excitement from the moose encounter, rather from pounding wind and rain.Dad and I, both anxious to pursue the rutting bull, suited up and headed off into the gray morning rain.After hunting only a couple of hours we were both soaked so we headed back to camp and the shelter of our tent.We spent the remainder of the day and on into the night hoping for a break in the weather.At approximately 5:00am we got our wishÂ&the rain slowed to a sprinkle, but something sounded strange.I opened the zipper to peek out and was shocked to see the river only inches from our tent; the torrential rains had raised the river over 5-feet!We jumped from our sleeping bags and hastily began tearing down camp.We loaded the soaking heavy gear into the raft and rather than calling moose started an early morning search for higher ground.Not far down the swollen river we noticed a high bank adjacent to a huge grass meadow both overlooked by a small mountain, Swivel Dome.We quickly decided we'd be safe from the rising water and set up camp.After a hearty freeze-dried meal we headed up Swivel Dome to gain a better vantage of the river bottom and glass for moose.The view was breathtaking.The dark river ribboned its way through lush willow thickets and alders golden with fall color.The white clouds contrasted the brilliant blue sky framed by snowcapped peaks and bordered by bleak mossy tundra.Post card scenery but after two days and no moose, we decided to break camp before daylight the following morning and hunt our way further downstream.

A heavy frost blanketed everything as we dismantled camp and loaded for the morning hunt.It was perfectÂ&cold, clear and quiet.I took my lookout on the front of the raft as we set off down river with only dad's occasional paddle stroke breaking the silence.As we snuck down the quiet river we rounded a bend when my abrupt whisper cut the silence.“BULL!!!”Approaching the river to my right was a huge bull moose.I cautiously slid from the gunnel onto my knees and rested my rifle across my backpack.As I put the scope on the giant who was now facing me at approximately 60 yards, dad kept whispering “Is he legal? Make sure he's got four brow tines!”I quickly started counting: one, two, threeÂ&other side, one, two, three, four.“Yeah, he's legal!”I kept the scope centered on the giant's chest as he began to turn toward the bush.As soon as I saw his shoulder in the cross hairs I hammered the trigger.The 180-grain Hornady Heavy Magnum bullet folded the giant onto the bank as I worked the action and readied for another shot.“Hit him again” dad exclaimed as the bull thrashed his way toward the water.I put another round high in the monster's shoulder hoping to keep him on the bank.As we floated past where the bull lay, we paddled furiously to reach the riverbank.We anchored the raft on some willows and snuck back up-river toward the moose.As we approached, the huge bull reared up and with one last push fell backwards into the river.I hurried another shot from my .300 Win Mag and the giant fell motionless.We scrambled to keep him from the swift current by tying his huge antlers and feet to the willows on the bank and then took several minutes to catch our wits.It took us over an hour to pull and heave on ropes and antlers to get him into a position where we could get pictures.As we snapped shot after shot I couldn't get over the immense size of the creature.His chocolate colored antlers spanned 55 inches with 22 heavy points and we guessed his weight to exceed 1,200 pounds.I had never seen, not to mention harvested, an animal of this proportion.Once the photo session and handshakes were complete, we began the arduous task of dressing and quartering the huge beast that still laid half in the water.Some 9 hours later, after 3 cut fingers, 2 sore backs and a tumble into the river, we had the huge moose quartered and in meat bags ready to transport.We pulled the raft back upstream and loaded it to the brim with meat bags and antlers.We again took off down river in search of a safe and dry campsite; after a 15-hour day we were finally setting camp.After unloading camp gear I cut a pole, which we lashed into a tree a short distance from camp.We toted each bag hanging them as high as possible to avoid bear encounters.As the moon shown overhead we finally crawled into our sleeping bags when dad shared, “that was exciting, but I'm not sure I'd want to shoot another one.” It was exciting beyond words and twice as much work.

The next several days we hunted the surrounding area with only one more long-distance encounter.Dad had spotted a big bull over five hundred yards away, but trying to make sure of the legal status, didn't feel comfortable taking the shot as the bull trotted off through the bush.While we didn't take two moose on this trip we did experience Alaska and its many treasures.We spent the remainder of our adventure floating the wild river, moving camp-to-camp, meat pole-to-meat pole, seeing more country that one can imagine.We ate freeze-dried delicacies, and played cribbage by the lantern's glow.We saw otter, beaver, bald eagles, and even had a Jaybird land on my hat as we floated silently downstream. In short, we had the adventure of a lifetime.

As I reflect on our Alaskan Moose hunt, I think that Mr. Webster had to be an outdoorsman.Alaska was truly a risky venture but moreover, it was a remarkable and exciting experience, and for someone to define a word with such precision, he must have had a similar experience to my Adventure on the Iditarod River.