In the beginning of this trip the Indians, weather and the Caribou were very uncooperative. The Indians who control the town of Sheffervill Que. shut down the pontoon plane port a few days before we arrived. There has been a long standing fued between the outfitters and one tribe of natives. It boiled over. We had delays of hours to days on every flight because all the outfitters in Shefferville had to move their operations to Loc Poe. The weather was bad...as it has been every time I've been Bou huntin. If you ever plan to Caribou hunt You have to have the best rain gear and rubber boots in addition to your normal cold weather hunting gear. It's wet...every where...all the time. If you value your shootin' iron bring gun oil and rags. All the water you drink will be out of the lake, if you have a problem with that, bring a water purifier. Some extra cash is also important, because if you get stranded in base camp the food is not free. In fact it's quite expensive.

{Float plane port/base camp}

When the outfitter got us a flight out to the bush he told us he was sending us to a camp that was just opened two days ago. He also was honest with us and told us he had six hunters there for two days and the camp was dry. He would move us in two days if the Caribou didn't hit. It's better to sit in a dry camp than sit in base camp with the grounded float plains. So we arrived at Wendell Lake.

{The "Ritz"}

The camp was as he said it was... no Caribou. The camps are plywood shacks with bunk beds, wood heat, and gas lanterns. By no means the "RITZ" but they are warm and dry in this wet climate. The first day we all headed out optimistically. After a day of hunting and scouting There was no sign of bou. Pete did a spot and stalk a Bear...but could not close in on him before dark. I had the chance to hear two wolf packs call to each other and come together to form a hunting party. They grouped up and headed out to the North West. They knew where the Bou was, without air support. It was a sound and experience I'll never forget. The chance to hunt the same wild place with the wolf brought me closer to hunting. I never caught sight of them but did find their tracks. I wanted to drop my gun and run with the wolf pack. I got a good chance to scout out a big chunck of the hunting grounds for the next day. The next day it rained and the wind blew all day. Only Pete and I ventured out and got nothing but real wet. The next day it snowed horizontally all day and I was the only one to hunt that day...all I got was really wet. I did to get to see some ptarmigan grouse up close and personal.

{It's about to snow horizontally}

{The wolf...they sang me their song...and left me some tracks}

Hanging out in the cabin feeding wood into the stove and swapping hunting stories is only entertaining for so long. We got bored. So we found ways to entertain ourselves. We had two taxidermy guys with us...so we found a dead brookie on the lake shore and had lessons. Pete and Jason showed us how...with a chunk of broad head target, butter knife, pliers, flower and a needle and thread to mount a fish...lol. We presented our guide Brian with a gift. These two taxidermy men are good. I gotta say I never saw a critter mounted in a remote hunting camp. You got to see what they can do with the right tools in their own shops.

{Brook Trout}

It got so bad I built a Caribou Goddess an when she melted away... we flew away to the bou.

{BOU Godess}

Finally the next day we moved out to a camp fifty miles north that had tagged out.

{Taxi}

Things started to improve at Lake Marilyn. I saw my first Caribou of the trip {cow} and Brian shot two nice bulls. I saw many bou tracks and you could just smell bou on the wind. This camp had deep, wide, and ancient caribou trails criss crossing every where. The country side was as raw and wild as it was beautiful.

{Raw}

{Wild}

{Beautiful}

But...unfortunatlly some of Dads gear was lost on flights...only the bag with his clothes,the extra bullets for the .270 and the black powder for his shootin iron. We had one rifle between us so we shared the Browning .270 short mag and ten bullets.

{My Dad...76 years young and still hunting with me and my son...He's my hero.}

The next and last day of our hunt...a Bou hunters dreams came true. Our camp was hit by a mass migration. It was like nothing else I've ever seen. Three thousand bou's passed before our eyes that day. The mountains seemed to move with bou...trains of endless bou swam the lakes...we were surrounded by Caribou.

{when the bou}

{come thru}

{It's all you can do}

{Too keep your kool}

It happened so fast...me and Dad shared the .270 short mag and an experiance....thats hard to explain with words. It's like an out of body experiance...kinda surreal...kinda dream like. They were every where. Dad picked out nice Bull and put him down.

Then it was my turn.


Once the adrenaline and testosterone settled down a little...Dad and I checked out our bulls. We settled in and tried to pick out a better one than we had. We made a hard treck through the woods around the lake to get the wind in our favor. Now we had em'. I glassed a good one for Dad. He was a fine old bull that was almost the whitest big belled bull I ever saw and he put him down.

Then it was my turn. I saw one in full velvet that I just had to have.


I wanna tell ya boys...in four hours we had twenty two bulls down on the ground. What a day....but as they say...when the bull drops the fun stops. Once my head cleared and I stood there with four bulls at my feet, reality set in. I realized I had four bulls to quarter, bone out and carry back to camp and I had some work to do, but I Got-R-Done. I even helped Bernie pack out three other hunter's Caribou out of the bush before dark. It was just another great adventure for me. I got to spend some one on one time with a world class guide. On the hike back to the boat, Bernie told and showed me things about this wild place I had missed. I didn't even notice I had a Caribou on my back.

{Our huntin' party. It was pure pleasure to hunt with these good ol boys}

Now about the people that work hard so you can hunt hard. I'm talking about the two most important people in camp. The guide and the cook. These boys know Caribou and the land they hunt. They busted their asses to make sure we had a succesful and enjoyable hunt. These girls know how to cook. They whip up delicious, hot and filling meals under some tough conditions. There is nothing better than a hot breakfast before you head out to the cold and wet. Except maby a hot filling supper after you get back in.

{Brian and Cindy} .......................................................................... {Bernie and Josie}

The flight outta the bush was as eventful as the rest of the trip. I got to ride shotgun on the otter. We flew out and half way back to the next flight we ran into a white out blizzard. The pilot was skimming trees and hugging hills to get us back. I don't know what these krazy some beaches git payed...but I can tell you it ain't enough.

{Captain Canada and his turbo otter. One hell of a pilot.}

Last but not least is the outfitter. This Is the guy who pulls it all together. There is alot of hard work to keep hunters going in and out of the bush. Everything has to fly in or out, hunters, food, fuel, everything. Then he has to have enough camps scattered around with a guide and a cook, so when the caribou come thru he can move you to where they are. Rick does a great job at all these things. I'd recommend his outfitting to anyone.

{Rick}


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