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Judy Ferguson's first book, Parallel Destinies sells for $19.95 and can be purchased through Judy Ferguson at 907-895-4101 or outpost@wildak.net.  It is also for sale at Diehls', Granite View, Kelly's Country Inn, Tanana Trading Post and other stores.  It can be purchased on-line from Outdoors Alaska.

Interested in fishing while you are in Alaska?  Take a look at the selection of fishing books on our partner site OutdoorsDirectory.com  Click on the image for more information.

Grand coincidence eclipses 'grand slam'

By JUDY FERGUSON

John Shulz almost lost his life on a 1966 goat hunt, when he and his buddies were stranded in a storm at Galena Bay with no gas for their boat. Miraculously, the fuel they needed happened to wash up on shore in sealed cans. Last year, 33 years later in his "charmed" life, the trapper-hunter-musher who linked Delta's pioneer history with today, fell asleep, never to awake. 

DELTA JUNCTION--John began life in Delta's "Hansen Holler," the Never Never Land for men tired of mainstream society, in 1952. Russ Trastek, a diesel mechanic, grubstaked John, stocking their mutual trapline with supplies. Earl Miller, affectionately called "Jake the Snake," spent a spring working on a cabin and with John and Russ taught Reb Ferguson, a young man who had just come up the highway, the basics of Alaska trapping. For a year the four men planned their autumn, Alaska "grand slam" hunt: moose, caribou, bear, sheep and the elusive mountain goat. 

In September, Russ bagged a bear and three of the men took dall sheep trophies. Moose and caribou were slowly aging in the holler. 

Shulz fixed up a wrecked, round-bottomed riverboat, potentially more seaworthy than any of his other craft. By October, he had it fiberglassed and ready for a mountain goat hunt near Galena Bay. 

Damp, salty tidewater weighted the air in Valdez, as the four pulled up where only two years before the Good Friday earthquake had destroyed the harbor. They packed enough fuel and food for a quick trip, then shoved their 24-foot boat into Prince William Sound. 

Ignoring the stares of those in high-sided, ocean-going boats, they began scanning the slopes for goats. Spotting some after they went deep into Galena Bay, they beached. Jake and Russ set up camp while the other two started after the sheep. 

The climbing wasn't bad at first, but soon Reb and John were feeling for their next toehold in the slippery moss. When cliffs blocked their way, they scrambled up trees growing parallel to the mountain. Reb's hip boots chafed while his rifle banged into his back. He groaned, "Will this ever end...?" Finally glimpses of snowy spires against the blue sky began to appear above them. Leveling onto a grassy amphitheater, they saw goats lying down, basking in the sun. 

"I don't know how we'll get 'em down," Reb whispered to John. 

"Heck, I don't know how we'll get down," John muttered. 

After they easily shot and gutted two goats, the early winter dark began moving in. They cached Shulz' goat under some brush and hid Reb's in a snowbank. The climb down wasn't too strenuous, but visibility was shrinking. Underestimating when they would reach a place called Silver Lake, Reb felt his foot suddenly slide into the water's edge. 

The lake was hedged by walls, which forced them to wade through the water. Exhausted, they climbed up the mountainside, and just above a waterfall they found a 4-foot-wide cliff. Taking turns guarding a smudge fire all night, they shivered every time the wind blew water spray on them and doused their fire. 

When the sun rose, the panoramic display revealed where they were. In the immense amphitheater, John and Reb were two bugs hugging a cliff, wondering how in the heck they got there. 

Digging their hands and toes in along a goat trail, they eventually made it back to to camp. After a good night's sleep, their partners convinced them that they should all go back after the meat. 

By 2 p.m., they were back on the mountain top. However, heavy, dark clouds pushed by a fierce north wind ripped their clothes and they discovered John's goat was gone. They quartered Reb's goat, packed it and then turned into the driving wind. Ice pellets stung their bare hands and snow burned their exposed faces. 

Once off the icy summit, they slid down, slipping on the snowy rocks. In the early winter dark, Jake lost his pack and watched it streak down a ravine. They gathered some twigs to hastily build a fire as they crouched on a ledge. 

The night of roasting their faces while freezing their backs was a memory the next afternoon as they hiked to the bay, loaded their few remaining rations and hopped into their boat to get across the bay. 

As soon as they hit the open water they saw towering waves engulfing other boats in their troughs. With hestitating, they turned against the waves, sucking up the last of their gas as they pushed back for shore. 

The next two days they slept on shore, living on goat meat, waiting for the wind to break. When the cigarettes ran out, followed by the food, tempers began to flare. As two of them got into a wrestling match on the beach, the other two walked the shore. The beachcombers happened on 5 gallons of mixed gas, still sealed tightly in cans in the sand. 

By the fifth day, the waves were a little smaller and the group decided to chance an escape. Covering their outboard with rain pants, they set out. Almost immediately, they began to take on water and were nearly forced to turn back, but they kept bailing and eventually arrived safely within the Valdez Narrows. 

That winter, John was tinkering on snowmachines, Russ was working on the North Slope, Jake had gone to Homer and Reb was out trapping. With long winter evenings to reflect, it wasn't the "grand slam" that was recalled but the memory of five gallons of mixed gas sitting in the surf for four Alaskan renegades. 

Judy Ferguson is a free-lance writer who lives in Delta Junction. 

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