The prognosis was bleak, but we were still optimistic. The weather had warmed up over the past couple of weeks and the caribou were becoming increasingly difficult to find. The group that was leaving Camp Min gave us some pointed advice – “hunt hard!”
Not the most encouraging words but both Bill and I were looking for a hunt, not a slaughter – so we prepared ourselves mentally to stalk, and hump it for miles if necessary.
One of the camp managers, named Lorne, brought us to a crossing for our first morning. The crossing was simply a mud pit from thousands of caribou that had crossed here some time ago. There were a few fresh tracks, but most looked a few days old.
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The trails were obvious - the caribou had been through here in large numbers - but not today |
I had shot a Quebec-Lab caribou before, and two nice Central Barren Ground Caribou three weeks ago, so I wanted Bill to get the first bou. Bill and I scouted out the area a bit before settling in to an area at the convergence of a dozen trails. It was a superb setup, especially for video.
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Bill's blind was positioned well - all we needed was a bull to walk by it. |
So with great anticipation we sat, glassed, and waited for the caribou to arrive. As the hours clicked by, it was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever caribou had been in this area had already moved through. Sitting a crossing did not appear to be the best option considering the lack of sightings, but we stuck it out until 4:45 at which time we decided to abandon our ambush spot and climb a high ridge to glass.
It took us 20 minutes to reach the pinnacle but 5 minutes after reaching it I spotted a lone bull bedded on the hillside ¾ mile from us. Lorne was scheduled to pick us up any minute but the bull was a nice one and giving up a stalk on a nice shooter bull would have been foolish. So Bill and I discussed the stalk and took off after the bull.
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The bull was a good one - we were only 75 yards from him at this point - and moving closer. |
We covered the distance to the bull quickly. It was mostly downhill and there was excellent cover. Before long we were just 75 yards from the bull and cautiously moving to within bow distance. He was feeding at the edge of the timber and to get the wind just right, we needed to move through the timber. That turned out to be the problem. The going was tough, and noisy. If it was windy, it would have been easier. But it was dead calm - no wind and absolutely silent. We moved in as quiet as possible but the bull spooked and ran to the ridgeline. That stalk was fun, and it erased the frustration we felt from the first 10 hours of the day.
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The bull would live to get even bigger - the stalk fell apart at 50 yards.. |
When we met up with Lorne, we also learned that Jeff and Rex, two rifle hunters from New Hampshire, had tagged a bull each. This was a good sign. And when we arrived back at the camp, we got some further good news. There was a fishing camp 20 miles away that was seeing hundreds of caribou. That’s where we were going first thing in the morning.
