DREAM HUNT

I had always imagined that the tundra would be a land as flat as the prairies and covered by moss. In reality, the landscape is quite diverse with ridges that rise up from the horizon and lowlands that are covered by low brush and dwarf spruce trees. There is an abundance of water everywhere especially in low-lying areas. In September, the tundra meadows are alive with vibrant hues of brown, orange, yellow and red. The drier areas are covered with a variety of wild berries such as the blackberry, cranberry and blueberry. If you happen to sit just about anywhere it is dry, you’re clothing will surely be stained from the plentiful berries that are everywhere. This vegetation is no more than six inches high and is soft to walk upon. Rocks and small boulders are strewn about everywhere. Walking among them is always a challenge and it surprised me how easily the caribou made it look as they meander among them. The rivers and numerous nameless lakes are crystal clear and safe to drink from something that is unheard of in this day and age. I did witness the glorious Northern Lights on a few occasions and was awed by the diversity of each showing. The panorama of this landscape is forever etched into my memory. Caribou are not nocturnal so in other words, they keep the same office hours as we do! This in itself makes hunting them so enjoyable. No need for getting to a stand location before first light or staying until last light. The caribou move all day and bed down at night so this makes this hunt unique and very relaxing. No alarm clocks are needed on a caribou hunt! Enjoying that second or third cup of coffee in the morning while lounging and watching a few caribou stroll by camp was heaven. No rushing and no stress. Ron always reminded us to “get out of Whitetail mode”. “Don’t chase them; let them come to you”. Could it get any easier? I guess this is the reason more hunters are bringing muzzleloaders and archery equipment on their caribou hunts. DREAM HUNT My first “hunt of a lifetime” started on the morning of Tuesday September 2nd, 2003. The actual caribou hunt would only commence on Thursday September 4th, 2003 and last until Tuesday September 9th, 2003. I wanted to assure that I would make the 8 1/2 hour drive from Winnipeg to Thompson, Manitoba with an extra day for insurance barring anything went wrong on the long road trip. All went smoothly and my arrival to Thompson was timely. Now, time seemed to stand still with the anticipation of the impending hunt as Thursday morning seemed to take forever to arrive. Up at 5AM, I was off to the Thompson Airport to catch the first of two planes that would take five other hunters and me to the heart of caribou country. Our final destination was an outcamp operated by Blue Sky Outfitters on the Roberts River, at the mouth of Glover Lake, a mere 8 miles from the Nunavut border. Our first plane ride was aboard a wheeled Cessna Caravan single prop airplane. This plane landed on a very bumpy landing carved out from the diminishing tree line at Munroe Lake. From there, we transferred all our gear to an Otter floatplane and in short order, we were off again. Upon circling our “new home”, for the next 5 days, we got our first peek at some caribou making their way on the north shore of the Roberts River. Over the tremendous noise of the Otter’s 1000 horsepower engine I could actually hear excited comments from my fellow passengers as the caribou were spotted from the tiny windows of the plane. Unloading the floatplane seemed to take forever as we battled high winds and low water conditions. It was difficult holding the plane away from the dangerous rocks poking up everywhere. A small wooden barge was used to unload passengers and equipment as the floatplane had to moor a fair distance from shore. A group of hunters waiting to go home were there to greet us. While helping unload then reload the plane, talk centred around the weather and the caribou migration. We all took a long look at their caribou trophies waiting to be loaded unto the plane. Our host, Ron Kessler, owner of Blue Sky Outfitters provided a quick camp orientation. Thereafter, everyone headed off in different directions to quickly organize their gear, claim a bunk, get changed for hunting and load their firearms., Two Zodiacs were provided for crossing the river. Of course, I jumped into the first one that was heading North where we spotted caribou from the plane and from the big hill behind camp. Ron informed us that we could see for 10 miles in all directions from the top of that hill. It was from there, during orientation, that I got my first sense on how large this unspoilt wilderness actually was. I could see caribou everywhere I looked! Once the three of us in the Zodiac reached the opposite shore, we donned our daypacks, checked our guns and headed separate ways in a northerly direction. I’m sure only 15 minutes had passed when the first caribou had been tagged. At this point, I hadn’t even crossed the first ridge! Caribou hunting involves lots of glassing with binoculars as the migrating caribou make there way south. They leave the far north starting in late August and head for the tree line where they shall find shelter and food during the long harsh winter. I found myself a good vantage point amongst a small stand of stunted spruce. The local Inuits call this area “the land of the little sticks” as the trees never reach any higher then 12 feet in height. I was in awe as caribou could be seen in any direction from my vantage point. I was also torn in deciding where to set up for the best ambush site. There was no “perfect” place as the wave of grey and white coats seemed to pass everywhere. Sitting there watching all these caribou made me realize for the first time that the north wind was howling and that black storm filled the late afternoon sky. The weather conditions can change dramatically but I was prepared as the outfitter had warned us to dress for the worst conditions. Well, the “worst” only lasted a few hours and the next 4 days were perfect albeit a bit too warm for the caribou. Parkas were left in camp and replaced by t-shirts and light vests. On the first day, as the sun settled on the horizon, it was time to head back to camp. It had been a very long day for all involved and after dinner the whole camp was shutdown by 10 PM! We all anticipated another eventful day on the tundra and some of the hunters fell asleep quickly while others laid awake thinking about the day’s events. The very loud snoring coming from the nearby bunks would surely keep the bears and wolves away along with Mr. Sandman for this tired hunter. “Where are those earplugs I packed? ”. Day 2 started off with a hearty breakfast prepared by the early rising hunters. Quite possibly the ones responsible for all the gawd awful snoring ALL night were the same early risers!!!! I never did get much sleep that night but I witnessed a beautiful Northern Light show when I ventured outdoors during the night. After a long leisurely breakfast, I boarded a Zodiac and crossed the river. I headed straight for my selected ambush site in the middle of a tundra meadow about a mile from camp. Using a stunted spruce tree as my backdrop, I settled in for the caribou parade. Caribou hunting is done primarily using binoculars. While glassing 360 degrees, you’re continually judging all the potential shooters. The big ones are very noticeable from a long distance. Judging them becomes easier once you have learned the basics on scoring them. Getting the caribou to turn slightly to afford a better view of shovels or bez points is a different story! As a herd of about 30 caribou meandered on my left, 3 decent bulls emerged from the brush. I glassed forever trying to decide which one I would attempt to take. I picked out the tallest rack with a decent shovel but impressive bez points. It was time to put down the binos and pick up my rifle. As I adjusted my shooting sticks, the bull that I had selected continued advancing to my left. At a distance of about 150 yards, the whole herd turned and headed away from me in a South-West direction. Realizing that the course they were now taking would increase the distance between us, I quickly picked a spot just behind the shoulder once the huge bull had turned broadside to me. The sound of impact and seeing my bull fall to the ground convinced me that I had made a good shot. There would be no need for a follow-up. As the rest of the herd dispersed, my bull took a last look around then rested his head on the crimson coloured vegetation. As I stood up to gather my daypack, I couldn’t help but notice how the migration carried on all around me. In the Whitetail woods, once you fire a gun, all the wildlife seem to disappear. The caribou kept coming and coming. It is a sight to behold. By using a self timer camera with a mini tripod, I was able to capture a few “Kodak” moments. Hunting alone, I knew that a lot of work laid ahead of me. It is difficult to concentrate on the task at hand when caribou are continually walking past you as you’re hunched over quartering your animal. It took me 3 trips to carry, on a sturdy pack board, the meat, cape, head and antlers to the boat launch. I managed to get it all done by mid-afternoon. I returned to camp to have lunch, hang my meat in cheesecloth bags and then take a relaxing break. Later, I bagged my caribou cape and buried it to keep it cool as the temperature rose above normal. The blowflies didn’t take long to find the scent of caribou blood in camp. Camp was quiet as all the other hunters were out somewhere on the tundra. By the end of the second day, 5 or 6 caribou had already been tagged. We all had purchased a second tag so there was lots of hunting left to do. Day 3 started the same way but the temperature was already too hot. I noticed a dramatic decline in the numbers of caribou moving this day. The blackflies came out in droves and my headnet was donned for the first time. I was glad it was inside my daypack. Layer after layer of clothing was removed as the mercury rose above 20 degrees Celsius. Decision time, do I remove my last layer, being my longjohns, and face the onslaught of the black flies? With sweat now dripping down my back the decision was made to strip down to my shorts, dry myself off and put on my light and dry clothes back on. What a sight I must have been to all those caribou passing me by as I hobbled from one foot to another trying to get undressed while swatting biting insects! Now feeling comfortably cooler, I could get back to glassing the horizon for incoming caribou. Fearing getting dehydrated, I reached into my daypack for my water bottle and was horrified to find it missing. In my hurry that morning to catch a boat ride across the river, I had left it on the floor of the bunkhouse behind my daypack. The bugs were relentless. By 2PM, my thirst got the best of me so I headed back to camp. A refreshing outdoor shower back at camp, lots of fluids and a good lunch was all it took to get me back to normal. With a glass of lemonade in hand, I lounged around camp hoping that the temperatures would cool off a bit. Around 4PM, I decided it was time to head out hunting. I did not come all this way just to sit in camp. This time, I packed very light and headed back to my favourite tree. Upon reaching the peak of the first ridge across from camp, I noticed that the slight breeze found there was keeping the blackflies away. When I stepped down from that ridge, I got swarmed by the nasty biting bugs. With lots of daylight left, I decided to wait it out on top of that ridge until it got a little cooler. As I sat there perfectly skylined, I noticed a steady stream of caribou moving just north of my tree which was at least 500 yards away from where I sat. The herds were travelling South-East so I made the decision to ignore the bugs in order to get closer to the action. Three very large bulls were part of that first herd. They were all heading directly to my tree! One bull was in full velvet, one was partially rubbed and the other bull was freshly rubbed completely off. His rack was stained blood red. Watching them through the binoculars, I was amazed how they all sauntered over to my spruce tree in the middle of that meadow and proceeded to take turns rubbing their massive antlers. Admiring them in awe, I came to the conclusion, after much internal debate, that the bull in full velvet would be my candidate for my last tag. As I got myself into a shooting position, I noticed that this group of 3 bulls had turned and were now heading in a northerly direction. Guestimating the distance to be in excess of 300 yards, I compensated for bullet drop and made the longest shot of my life on an animal. The bull staggered when the 175 grain 7mm Rem. Mag. Sierra Gameking finally reached him. The air was so still that I distinctly heard the bullet make that resounding “wallop” sound upon connecting with flesh and bone. The huge bull regained his footing and attempted to rejoin the others who were now moving away from him. I decided to close the distance to a more manageable 200 yard follow-up shot. Trotting my way across the wet spongy terrain, I realized that this magnificent specimen was making better headway then I was. It was time to set up the shooting sticks to help steady my second shot. Huffing and puffing, I managed to centre the crosshairs on him again. This time the infamous “zing” of a clear miss was heard. Realizing that something had just wizzed by his ears, the velvet bull decided to turn around. From a broadside position, he gave the perfect opportunity to make another good hit. He staggered again and I was beginning to wonder what it was going to take to keep this bull off his feet. Fearing I might have to trek cross-country to find this bull, I decided to run towards him. I was finally able to gain on him. Obviously hurting, he slowed up quite a bit. I managed to gain about 50 yards on him and took another shot only to find air again. Running at full speed across soft mushy tundra was surely affecting my marksmanship. Could I be misjudging the distance? How I longed for the rangefinder I left at home due to weight restrictions on the planes. Using my favourite tree as a distance marker, I estimated the bull to be at least 100 yards past it. I raised the crosshairs to the top of his back and this time controlled my breathing and gently squeezed off the final round which put him down for good. After struggling to get him out of a big depression, I quickly field-dressed him and headed back to camp. It was well past 5PM by the time I made it back to camp. I was prepared to leave the bull out on the tundra overnight as others had done. Ron convinced me that we still had time to retrieve him if we used the ATV to recover him. That was music to my ears as I recalled the previous day’s work. Ron helped me quarter my trophy after taking numerous field photos. The meat was loaded on the 3 wheeler and the rack was strapped onto my pack board. More photos were made at the river crossing and it was there that it finally hit me. My dream had come true. I took a long look around and absorbed the moment as the sun was dropping under the horizon and the river was as smooth as glass. This was a scene out of a storybook.. I had accomplished what I had planned for months and I had done it solo. The decisions I made during this hunt were mine alone and not influenced by others. This was different. This was peaceful. That moment in time stood still for me. Back in camp, I celebrated with a huge dinner and the company of new-found friends that had gathered there to share the same dream. That night, I’m sure I was finally the first one to fall asleep before all the “chainsaws” started cutting wood! The next 2 days were a repeat of the first 2 except the hunting was replaced by fishing. A few good Northerns and Lake Trout were caught but most were released involuntarily at the boat because we didn’t have a landing net. A little tip on fishing: if you ever go up there, bring lots of large “5 of Diamond” spoons and a landing net! The only tip you need for caribou hunting is just show up in time for the migration. It’s that simple! It was a true Northern adventure. All aspects of this trip were memorable so I guess that’s what qualifies it as a trip of a lifetime for me. If you have a chance to go on a caribou hunt don’t pass it up. It is something all hunters should experience at least once in their lives. EPILOGUE I heard of a report about a bear problem at a nearby caribou camp. The story, as told to me, goes like this, “I thought you would enjoy hearing a tale I just heard about from my uncle who works with Ron Kessler and did he have a story... A week and a half after we left there were two Polar Bears at the camp that was four miles from ours. The guys were across the river hunting for Caribou and the bears appeared but just kept getting closer and closer. They fired a couple of warning shots but the bears never ran away. The guys got back into their boat and went back to camp. Shortly after they were back the bears appeared at camp and were getting extremely close. There were four guys in camp and one of the two bears stood up and started to charge. The four all shot at the bear. It took seven hits to bring it down. The other bear just walked away. They called the CO’s which came in right after. The paw of the shot bear was bigger then your hand spread wide. The CO’s told the guys in camp not to go out in groups of less then three any more and to have your guns close during the night as the other bear that walked away may come back to find the other or finish off what they were after. From what I hear no one slept the last three days of that trip. The other bear never did show up. Really makes you think... if I go again I think I will bring a bigger gun to be safe. Well I am not sure of how much is fact or how much has been added but this is the way I heard it. Thought it may be a great tale to add to your memories of our trip.” Many times I wandered around the tundra without a second thought to my personal safety. Thinking back of a time I hiked through some dense underbrush to get to a better fishing spot on a shoreline made me realize how foolish this had been especially now after hearing about the bear encounter. Don’t let your guard down no matter how peaceful things seem in the great outdoors. It’s a great place to be but it’s unpredictable.

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