Quiet company: Dunleavy joins Wounded Warriors for an under-the-radar deer hunt on Afognak Island

Every November, as most officials prepare for Veterans Day ceremonies and speeches, Alaska Gov. Mike Dunleavy boards a plane bound for a place where there are no microphones, no cameras, and no public schedules. His destination is Kodiak Island, and from there, Afognak Island, where he spends three days alongside some of America’s most grievously wounded combat veterans, helping them do something many thought they would never do again: hunt.

This past Veterans Day marked at least his sixth year making the trip. It is a tradition he has never publicized and is reluctant to discuss, except to emphasize that countless Alaskans quietly do similar work for wounded warriors and veterans without recognition. But in the Native village of Ouzinkie, where this effort has deep roots, people now expect him. He arrives without fanfare, blends in, and gets to work.

The effort began years ago with John Sturgeon, a Navy veteran and highly regarded hunter who knows Ouzinkie well. The village of about 200 residents, many of Russian-Aleut ancestry, has a long history of military service.

Sturgeon saw an opportunity to bring wounded warriors to hunt deer on Afognak Island. These are men who either missed the chance to hunt after catastrophic injuries or had never hunted but longed to experience Alaska’s wilderness. Each year, just before Veterans Day, Sturgeon works with the Wounded Warriors Project to identify veterans interested in coming north. Some are lifelong hunters; others have never handled a rifle. All live with injuries that permanently changed their lives.

This year’s group included a triple amputee, a double amputee, and a veteran paralyzed on his left side after being shot in the head during combat. The others were victims of IED blasts. They fly into Anchorage, where volunteers, many from Ouzinkie, greet them. Most Alaskans have no idea this part even happens. None of the volunteers seek attention for it.

Because the veterans often cannot safely get in and out of small planes, the journey from Kodiak to Afognak happens by fishing boat. From there, the group travels to a logging camp by pickup trucks, which will also take them along the island’s network of logging roads. The trucks make it possible for every veteran, regardless of injury, to participate in the hunt. Over three days, the group of volunteers rotates among the vehicles, giving each man time to spot wildlife, take in the scenery, and experience Alaska in a way that is impossible to describe but unforgettable to witness.

They see bears, elk, and deer. They swap stories over lunches packed into the trucks. They hold a friendly contest for the largest antlered buck. This year, two of the men harvested deer, and the governor, Sturgeon, and other volunteers helped pack the meat back to the trucks.

The camaraderie is what moves them most. Watching triple and double amputees insist on doing as much as they can on their own is something those present never forget. These men do not believe they are owed anything. They do not complain. Even in constant pain, they carry themselves with quiet dignity and deep gratitude — to serve, to survive, and to be in Alaska.

Dunleavy spends his days walking and talking with them. There are no speeches, no entourage. He said later that when he asked each man whether, knowing everything that happened to them, they would serve again, every one of them said yes. Their sense of duty remains untouched by the injuries that will follow them forever.

After the hunts, the group gathers at the logging camp cookhouse for dinner prepared by local residents and businesses affiliated with the Afognak logging community. These hosts ask for nothing in return. On Veterans Day, the men travel by boat to Ouzinkie for a community lunch where village residents, many of them veterans themselves, welcome the wounded warriors warmly. They talk, they listen, and they honor each other in a way that feels more authentic than any formal ceremony.

When it is time to head back to Kodiak, and then on home, the men say the same thing they say every year: they are grateful. Some stay in touch with the people they met on Afognak and in Ouzinkie.

Dunleavy insists he is not the story, and that he is only one of many Alaskans who quietly lift up wounded veterans. He points to other efforts around the state, like Franklin Graham’s Operation Heal Our Patriots at Lake Clark, which supports wounded veterans and their spouses. But among those who know about the Afognak hunt, his consistency is noteworthy.

But to anyone’s knowledge, he is the only sitting governor in the country who spends Veterans Day helping wounded warriors hunt.

The moral of the story is simple: There is good happening in Alaska that no one talks about because the people doing it are not interested in credit. Every year, a group of Alaskans boards boats, drives trucks, cooks meals, and opens their village to men who have borne the weight of war. They do it so those men can experience something joyful, peaceful, and profoundly normal.

And in a season built around gratitude, it is worth remembering that some of the most meaningful service happens far from the spotlight. It happens on the dirt logging roads of Afognak Island, where wounded warriors find camaraderie, confidence, and a little healing, and the governor of Alaska quietly shows up to help pack out the meat.