A Different Approach

                              A Different Approach.....

     Slowly, I moved the bow forward over the tundra.  Belly crawling around tussucks, and hiding behind low lying scrub brush is a precarious affair indeed but I was in-the-zone.  Just beyond my gaze, was the object of my desire sitting still, resting.  It was a large bull caribou. It was the one we’d been watching for the last few days.  The wind was just right.  He was laying down on a barely discernable knoll.  The bushes on the knoll were just a little taller than the ones surrounding the entire area including my approach.  Although his antlers were tall and proud, his head was mostly hidden below the dark green bush.

     

 So you’re saying there’s a chance...

     Truth be told, I was laser-focused on the movement of his giant rack; I could tell where he was looking.  I only moved when he was still and his head hung low.  Occasionally he would raise his head and look around.  This was my cue to flatten out entirely, and remain completely still.  I had rules.

     The camo bug jacket I was wearing would turn out to be among the most important of all the gear I’d brought.  It was a decent piece of camo for sure, and the bug mitigation was key. 

     Nonetheless,  I was soon overcome with the relentless pesterment of the biting midges known not-so-affectionately as  “No-see-ums”.  I inhaled one into my lungs.  I struggled to suppress my urge to cough and puke.  Luckily the slight breeze had my cover as I quietly hacked-up the tiny bastard and tried to refocus.  “Jesus!”, I thought.

      All seven hundred of them buzzed and bombed all around me.  Some had infiltrated the bottom flap of the facemask.  Their favorite targets seem to be, (in no particular order) my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.  The bull remained still. I wondered how many bugs were congregating in his face. 

     The forward progress continued for almost an hour.  Belly crawling, leapfrogging my bow, and no-see-um struggles were standard-operating procedure.  I couldn’t believe how close I was getting to this caribou.  Periodically, I would check my range finder;  58 yards, 46 yards, 32 yards, I was getting close.  

     Finally, at about 20 yards, I decided to press the issue.  I quietly nocked my arrow and slowly drew back as I stood.  The bull was still laying down and I continued my approach fully drawn. Baby steps...baby steps. I was able to advance to within ten yards!  

      Suddenly his head turned at me, and he quickly stood up.  I was fully drawn and ready.  His first step thereafter would be among his last. Thwack!

     Brian had watched the whole thing through binocs from a nearby ridge.  He joined me soon thereafter and there was much rejoicing.  “Congratulations!”,  he said. He knew it was my first bow kill. Brian had invited me on the trip and even gave me his old bow to get me started.  He was my inspiration for getting my bow hunters certification and was a great coach. He gave me a big hug and we reveled in the moment. 

     “Did you find the arrow?”, he asked.  “Oh look it’s right there.”  He reached down and grabbed it.  The arrow had passed completely through both lungs and lay to rest on top of the tundra bloodied but no worse for wear. 

     That night in camp we prepared caribou tenderloin medallions seasoned with Caribbean jerk seasoning. The sizzling pan of butter would be their home for only a minute or two before we ate them.  So juicy and tender.

It was a trip we will not soon forget.  Later on that night would be the first of our conversations involving the planning of next year’s hunt.  Our hearts were full.

First bow kill

Skull soaking in the Sagavanirktok River below camp.

Tenderloin medallions fried in butter

Grayling were plentiful