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I’d just strapped knee-high gaiters over my boots in the bunk-lined forecastle when a rifle shot rang out from the bow deck directly above my head. After settling my heart rate I climbed into the F/V Kylia’s tophouse to hear what happened. It was 9:00 a.m., but the pale pink late November sunrise had only begun to define Kodiak’s colossal mountains and beachheads. Just enough light in fact, for Kris to spot a three-point Sitka blacktail wandering...