Alaskan native fishing guide Brandon Ware remarked, “Our sea lions out here have a pretty infamous history.” When asked about the harbor in Petersburg, Alaska, he recalled a particularly notorious sea lion.
“When I was a kid, there was one problem sea lion that ended up getting taken care of,” he said. The massive animal, weighing as much as a bull moose, attacked a man on the public dock. According to Ware, the victim required 77 stitches and suffered a severe hip injury.
By December 2024, history was repeating itself. A dominant male sea lion had climbed the hierarchy and earned the title of beachmaster. “A beachmaster outcompetes every other sea lion in the area, which allows them to create big harems,” Ware explained, effectively making them the alpha of the region.
This particular sea lion, emboldened and aggressive, had become a danger to the community. “It was lunging at people, trying to grab dogs and kids off the dock,” Ware said.
The Petersburg Police Department initially tried deterrents. Rubber slugs fired from a shotgun bounced off its thick blubber. When that failed, they attempted to tase it. One prong deflected off, while the other lodged into its hide but did little to deter the animal. With passive methods exhausted, lethal action became the only viable option.
Under federal law, only coastal natives can take sea lions in Alaska. Ware, fitting the description, heard about the situation through the grapevine. Assuming the animal was slated for death, he reached out to the Petersburg Police Department, hoping to salvage the whiskers and hide. The Chief of Police responded quickly, asking if Ware would be willing to take the animal himself.
“Yeah, let me clear my schedule.”
With the proper permits in hand, Ware and his brother set out the next morning on their skiff. They scoured the harbor but saw only a few females near the entrance. Ware’s phone rang hours later—the police chief had spotted the bull near the docks.
Wasting no time, Ware turned the skiff around. They secured their boat and set off on foot.
“Before we knew it, he popped up and found us,” Ware said.
The sea lion surfaced between two boats, exposing its head for a clean shot, but the brothers held fire to avoid ricochet damage. They waited as the bull meandered into open water. When the moment came, Ware fired a well-placed shot. But the bull didn’t go down. Instead, enraged, it began ramming nearby boats. Ware’s brother jumped onto a docked commercial fishing vessel and fired a follow-up shot. This time, it finished the job.
“We hit him square in the skull twice with a .45-70,” Ware recounted. “Their ability to absorb energy is incredible. That was a 405-grain bullet from about 30 feet away,” claimed Ware.
The next challenge with the sea lion down was moving its massive carcass. Their original plan was to thread a large halibut hook through its cheek and tow it to the crane dock. But the skin was too tough—the hook wouldn’t pierce. Instead, they sliced the cheek meat with a knife and fed a line through the skin.
They secured the line to a cleat and put the motor in gear, but the skiff wouldn’t budge. The sheer dead weight made it impossible to tow. Realizing they needed more power, Ware called the harbor master, who reached out to a police officer. The officer arrived with the harbor security skiff, which had a stronger motor. With this extra power, they finally managed to drag the carcass to the crane dock.
As they slowly hoisted the 2,000-pound animal from the water, the line suddenly snapped, and the sea lion plunged back into the water, sinking 20 feet to the harbor floor. Out of reach, the carcass needed to be retrieved. With permission from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Ware searched for a diver—a task that proved difficult.
Divers in Petersburg have good reason to be wary of sea lions—one learned that the hard way in the winter of 2023, when a sea lion slammed him into the seafloor, breaking his ribs and holding him underwater for nearly half an hour.
Ware searched for a diver, but his first two calls were rejected. As sunset loomed, he reached out to the very diver who’d been attacked the previous winter.
Ironically, the diver was thrilled to hear the sea lion was no longer a threat and agreed to help immediately. As darkness fell, he suited up and plunged into the frigid Pacific with a flashlight. After nearly two hours, the carcass was secured with multiple straps. Ware fired up the crane and lowered the animal into the bed of an F-250.
The next morning, a crowd gathered to witness the spectacle. “I came back out and got to work,” Ware said. “It took me about four hours to skin it out. The hide alone weighed about 450 pounds.”
At NOAA’s request, Ware performed a necropsy on the skull to check for abnormalities.
“That skull was bigger than any brown bear skull I’ve ever seen,” he marveled. “It was huge!”
Ware plans to send a handful of sea otters along with the sea lion hide to a tannery, which he’ll later turn into clothing. As for the meat, he grimaced. “It was so covered in parasites, and the meat was so rancid, I wasn’t going to try that sea lion.” Though, he’s planning on trying sea lion meat down the line.
Through this experience, Ware has earned the informal title of Petersburg’s sea lion hunter. As a dog lover, he takes pride in making the harbor safer for the community.
Images via Caitlyn Ware.