His head was up, and he was standing still as a statue. I picked out a good-sized bull standing broadside to me at the very back of the group. They couldn’t catch a whiff of me the wind was out of the north, off the sea ice. The mature cows mostly kept their heads up, watching for danger. Some of the yearlings seized the opportunity to prance and play. The last thing you want is for an animal to suffer and die far away in the brush.Ībreast of me, fewer than two hundred yards away, the caribou stopped to graze. The barrel of my rifle lay in a slot on the rock where it would remain dead still at the moment of truth.Īs the caribou drew closer I heard the clicking of their foot tendons.
At four hundred yards, shielded by a knee-high boulder, I waited on my belly. The rest were yearlings and two-year-olds, including some good-sized bulls. Nearly half were mature cows, some with antlers and some without. Forty or so were dropping down a snowbank onto the greening tundra. What I saw through Jonah’s high-powered binoculars wasn’t a river of caribou, not even a stream, just a trickle. My second day out I finally had some luck. There might be caribou over the next rise. The treeless land up here in the Arctic is vast and seemingly empty.
Just about everything we hunt is harder to come by. At fifteen, I was raised in the new normal. A good flow of caribou used to come fairly close to Aklavik on their way to the calving grounds, but that was before my time. OL24288393W Page_number_confidence 90.35 Pages 230 Partner Innodata Pdf_module_version 0.0.14 Ppi 360 Rcs_key 24143 Republisher_date 20210527200801 Republisher_operator Republisher_time 332 Scandate 20210525232126 Scanner Scanningcenter cebu Scribe3_search_catalog isbn Scribe3_search_id 9780061708800 Tts_version 4.The first weekend in May I was out on the tundra trying to get a caribou for my grampa Jonah. Access-restricted-item true Addeddate 15:01:12 Boxid IA40124215 Camera USB PTP Class Camera Collection_set printdisabled External-identifier
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