This story, “Yukon Stalk,” first appeared within the March 1959 subject. Charlie Elliott was a legendary author and editor for Outside Life. He retired because the Southern area editor in 1972, however continued to freelance for the journal.
I HAD ALWAYS thought-about “bone weary” as two mismatched phrases that some one carelessly tossed collectively. Now I knew higher. I used to be drained all the way in which to my marrow.
Climbing this almost-vertical canyon was about like attempting to go up a 1,000-foot ladder on slippery, damaged rungs. I may nonetheless raise my heavy toes, however placing them down solidly was one other matter. The rocks had been both unfastened, sharp sufficient to jab holes by means of my boots, or slick as greased rawhide.
Someplace on the hill to my proper, past the canyon wall, an enormous bull caribou grazed unsuspectingly. Possibly he’d preserve his nostril buried within the reindeer moss till I may stalk close to sufficient to ship a deadly dose of lead.
Twice up to now half hour, I’d scaled this canyon wall to see if he was nonetheless there. After every climb, I dangled myself inch by inch again to the canyon ground, to proceed the hazardous stalk.
I stored reminding myself that, on this land which lies underneath the midnight solar, caribou bulls don’t come too arduous, particularly whenever you’re on the primary migration route of the great herds. On this northern Yukon Territory the place we had been searching — a few hundred miles from the closest street (see the primary story on this sequence, “A Traditional Dall Sheep Hunt”) — any hunter may be certain of a trophy head, except he will get goofed up the way in which Louis Brown and I had been all day. Lou was my clothing store and information, and top-of-the-line mountain hunters I’ve identified. And in 1 / 4 of a century, his battered .30/06 has most likely killed a large herd of caribou for each trophies and meat.
We’d come 20 miles from camp, throughout as powerful and tough a stretch of terrain as mortal man may plant a searching boot on.
Now it was late afternoon, a snowstorm smothered the mountains on the head of the valley, and there have been different sturdy indications that my likelihood of including caribou rack to our checklist of trophies was slipping away. We’d come 20 miles from camp, throughout as powerful and tough a stretch of terrain as mortal man may plant a searching boot on. And all day the wind had been at our backs pouring up the primary creek valley, and branching out into every canyon to unfold our scent forward. Bulls fled in panic earlier than we may get inside rifle vary. One big-antlered male topped the skyline as if a pack of wolves was on his path.
“Boy,” Lou grinned, “we’re actually perfuming the place.”
After these irritating hours, we’d noticed these 4 bulls excessive on the mountainside, foraging unconcerned as if they hadn’t caught our scent. I used to be laboring up the 45-degree canyon with all of the steam I had left, attempting to get above them earlier than they smelled me. I virtually made it.
As I finished to gulp in sufficient treasured oxygen to maintain going, I heard a snort virtually instantly above me. I whirled, and noticed three massive bulls sprinting alongside the skyline. Someway, a kind of vagrant, obstinate air currents had tipped my hand. The bull operating final carried a powerful rack, and he was hauling it quick.
I didn’t have a lot time. It was virtually with foreboding that I clicked off the protection and swung my scope according to the rib case of the massive caribou.
I hated to confess it, however my confidence was shaking like a match of the ague. I’d missed one bull already that day.
FOUR OR FIVE miles down the valley, we’d noticed a herd with two good heads in it. Once we glassed them from a mile away, they’d our wind and stood with their heads up, working the air for the unusual scent. Usually, a migrating herd isn’t too involved on the sight of horses, however that bunch hadn’t obtained the phrase. Although we rode towards them slowly, they appeared to suspect that we had deadly intentions. As we approached, they turned again up the valley, pausing to look over their shoulders. Lou wagged his head in exasperation.
“Issues have come to a reasonably go,” he muttered, “when you’ll be able to’t get shut sufficient to kill a cow-boo.”
They had been retreating up round a hillside contour, so Lou swung his horse down towards the creek.
“In the event that they suppose we’re going round them,” Lou defined, “they may stand till we get instantly under and shut sufficient for a shot.”
However the herd outguessed us and trotted alongside the slope. About 600 yards away, they turned downhill.
We modified course once more, heading up the steep mountainside as if we supposed to bypass the animals excessive up. However they refused to be duped; they crossed the stream and climbed the slope past, nonetheless going away.
“That bunch is loopy,” Lou mentioned.
But it surely was the type of craziness that stored them out of rifle vary. Again within the creek backside for our third attempt, Lou put his horse into a quick trot over a rocky caribou path. I bounced alongside behind, hoping my horse wouldn’t stumble and pile us each into the jumble of boulders. The caribou had been so interested by this sudden burst of velocity that they lastly stopped to look at, and we pulled even with them about 250 yards away.
“Appears to be like to me,” mentioned the information, “like that is as shut as we’ll get.”
Taking my time, I held as regular as if I had been sighting at a bullseye again on the house vary. On the second blast, the herd broke right into a trot.
I slid out of the saddle, unsheathing my .300 Kennon Magnum. Capturing from that time can be easy — or so I believed. One of many two bulls carried a tall, swish rack with a broad snow shovel. It was as massive a trophy as we’d seen on the journey. He stood broadside and gave me loads of time to take a seat with my again towards a rock and take cautious goal. I squeezed off a shot, and the bull didn’t even quiver. I glanced at Lou sheepishly.
“The place’d it hit?”
“Couldn’t inform,” he replied. “The slope’s too rocky.”
Taking my time, I held as regular as if I had been sighting at a bullseye again on the house vary. On the second blast, the herd broke right into a trot. Foolishly, I flung a few desperation photographs which did no injury. Lou was watching me and at that second I felt so small that he may have hidden me in nook of a saddle pocket.
“One rifle on the market low cost,” I attempted to quip.
“Have to be these sights,” he said. “You’ve been saying one thing about them.”
I do know my face should be burning, as a result of I used to be as responsible as essentially the most inexperienced tyro. I attempted to consider an excuse for taking an opportunity on one thing that may have price me rather more than a trophy. I couldn’t. Lou grinned as I berated myself with some alternative phrases.
“Higher see how’s she taking pictures,” he mentioned. “We’d meet up with a grizzly and I’m too drained to run.”
THAT MISSED CARIBOU really was the results of a freak accident that had occurred a few days earlier than. Information Paul Germain and I had been struggling by means of a canyon that was so tough we needed to get off and lead our horses. Paul led the way in which, zigzagging alongside to seek out locations the place we and the horses may stroll with out sliding off the bluff.
My information was taking the tough, alder-choked canyons in stride till we got here to 1 the place I needed to swing on the branches to remain on my toes. His mount, by a show of sheer power, lunged into the rocky canyon and out the opposite aspect. When he was safely out of the way in which I adopted, main Pat, my horse.
I scrambled up the far rim, however my horse didn’t make it. His hind toes slipped off a moss-coated boulder, and he lunged ahead, attempting to catch himself on his entrance toes. No go. I attempted to carry my horse’s head up, however he went finish over finish, slapping me towards a spruce tree as he skidded into the canyon, lastly piling up towards a mass of rocks that stored him from going all the way in which to the creek.
My information got here again on the run. Pat was on his again, his head downhill. His hind toes had been tangled in a willow clump, and his place was so awkward that he couldn’t jerk free. Ignoring a potential kick within the abdomen, Paul and I tugged his toes unfastened. He half rolled, stumbled upright, and stood trembling, whereas we examined him for damaged bones.
Then I checked out my rifle, Pat had rolled over it twice, and had knocked my removable scope utterly off within the saddle scabbard. However each scope and mounts had been sturdy, and regarded O.Ok. I clicked the scope again into place.
“Glad I wasn’t in that saddle,” I mentioned.
“May need torn your shirt,” he commented wryly.
WE WERE IN nation filled with grizzly and caribou signal, and I didn’t wish to spook the sport by taking pictures to sight in my rifle once more. Once we reached less-rugged terrain above the canyon, nonetheless, I bore-sighted the gun, and it gave the impression to be in alignment with the scope’s crosshairs.
We returned to camp late that evening, and moved the outfit to a brand new website the following day. Someway I simply didn’t get round to checking the rifle with reside ammunition. Now I paid for that oversight by lacking the straightforward shot at bull caribou.
“Earlier than we go any farther,” Lou steered, “let’s see how a lot that factor is off.”
I hung my paper lunch sack on a bush, stepped off 300 toes, and took a tough bench relaxation over an enormous boulder. At 100 yards, my chunk of lead hit eight inches low. I adjusted the scope till I used to be taking pictures an inch excessive on the similar distance. I used to be so disgusted with myself that I’d have give up searching, however Lou wouldn’t pay attention.
I scrambled up the far rim, however my horse didn’t make it. His hind toes slipped off a moss-coated boulder, and he lunged ahead, attempting to catch himself on his entrance toes.
“We haven’t obtained however one other day or two to discover a good head,” he mentioned, “and we’d higher burn as a lot daylight as we will.”
On this huge, wild area of Canada’s higher Yukon Territory, the searching space assigned to Lou Brown by the sport director covers roughly 12,000 sq. miles alongside the Wind and Bonnet Plume Rivers. These circulation northward into the Mackenzie River and on to the Beaufort Sea, an arm of the Arctic Ocean. Nobody besides Louis and his events is allowed to hunt these bleak slopes on the arctic aspect of the Mackenzie Mountains, which separate the Yukon and Mackenzie watersheds.
For the primary three weeks of August, earlier than the snow began flying across the mountaintops, we’d spent all our daytime on sheep and moose, ready for the annual caribou migration.
This migration is likely one of the spectacular spectacles of nature. Nobody may give me even a tough estimate of the scale of the Yukon herd. The Alaska herd, which spills over into the northwestern part of Yukon Territory, is adopted by planes, canine groups, and a corps of biologists. However the Yukon herd is kind of an unknown amount. The guesses run from tens to a whole bunch of 1000’s of animals.
Lou Brown informed me that they summer season out on the grim flats which slope off towards the rim of the Arctic Ocean. On that huge expanse of treeless tundra, the ice doesn’t break up till center or late June. Calves are born there, and develop into the gangling stage. Then, when the primary August frosts start to nip at their heels, the herd strikes southward—first by twos and threes and dozens, then in a mass that sweeps by means of the great valleys and over the excessive ridges in white-rumped waves. The caribou observe the creeks and swim the icy rivers; they climb by means of the mountain ranges separating the 2 mighty watersheds. Lastly they winter within the forests and valleys on the headwaters of the Yukon River and its tributaries.
Amongst biologists and mountain males, there’s a lot dialogue about caribou species. The books declare greater than a dozen species and subspecies. Some youthful specialists say they’re all virtually the identical animal, and merely reside elsewhere. Just a few outdated heads at guiding and outfitting within the Yukon declare that that is the true Osborne caribou; others state that the migrating mass is made up of Barren Floor reindeer, American selection, and that there’s a distinction between this animal and the mountain department of the household that lives farther south.
No matter their household tree, these animals gave our hunt in north Yukon an arctic taste. We encountered an incredible a lot of them after the center of August, and my tent mates John Harness, Invoice Boone, and Paul Sloan — high sportsmen who’re enterprise males and ranchers from California — informed me of herds they noticed numbering within the a whole bunch after they hunted this similar nation a month later within the season, some years again.
We discovered the vanguards of the migrating plenty extra cagey than I’d anticipated. We jumped our first bull out of the large Bourbon Creek canyon, and peeled off our horses to look him over. His rack was in velvet, however its unfold was sizable and John Harness determined to take him. John squatted, watching the bull trot out throughout a gravel bar.
“Don’t shoot him within the hams,” I begged.
John grunted, contemplating my suggestion an insult. He’s been a member of California’s rifle staff fifteen instances on the nationwide rifle matches. The bull swung broadside; when John’s .300 Weatherby Magnum barked, the animal sank to its stomach with its toes underneath it. At greater than 100 yards, John had shot out one eye, and his bullet had gone on by means of, simply lacking the opposite eye.
WE DRESSED OUT his bull, moved on up the valley, and ate lunch the place the creek forked. Then John, Lou Brown, Paul Sloan, one other of our searching companions, and Bob Martin — Paul’s information — rode up one valley and left the opposite to my information, Paul Germain, and me. We had been hardly out of sight of the spot the place we’d wolfed our sandwiches when my information reined in and waited for me.
“Let’s cease now,” he mentioned, “to construct a hearth and make tea.”
“We simply completed lunch,” I protested. “Let’s hunt.”
“O.Ok.”
We pushed by means of the comb one other quarter of a mile, crossing the stream a few instances and flushing a small caribou bull out of a willow clump. The animal trotted sedately out and stood on the hillside, trying again. I attempted taking an image.
“Construct a hearth?” my information steered, earlier than I obtained again within the saddle. “And make tea?”
“We hunt,” I said.
“O.Ok.”
We stopped to take a look at contemporary bear signal, indicating that the animal was minutes forward of us, and for some time I used to be extra involved with expecting motion within the brush forward than in scanning the hillsides. However Paul didn’t miss a trick. All of the sudden he swung out of the saddle.
“Look! On the hill!”
The grizzly had been shut, all proper. It was operating by means of the blueberries alongside a contour of the mountain, no more than 300 yards away. Throughout the shoulders it wore that satiny golden saddle Lou Brown had been telling us about. With one foot on the bottom, I used to be pulling my rifle earlier than I noticed a small bundle of fur bouncing alongside on the massive bear’s heels. I sheathed the gun and watched the outdated feminine and her cub out of sight.
“Let’s make tea now,” Paul mentioned.
“Nicely — all proper,” I mentioned. “However let’s wait until we get to the following fork of the canyon so I can glass the slopes when you brew that infernal pot of tea.”
“O.Ok. I’ll make tea.”
The following fork of the valley was about two miles away. I slid out of the saddle, pulled on my jacket towards the nippiness of the wind, watching whereas my information rapidly made a blaze, introduced water from the stream, and hung it over the flames in a sooty tin can he carried in his saddlebag. Then he returned to his saddlebag and pulled out a piece of contemporary caribou ribs he’d reduce from John’s bull. For the primary time I understood why he’d been so anxious to make “tea.” The luncheon sandwich hadn’t been heavy sufficient to stay to his insides.
For an hour, whereas the meat was broiling, I glassed the hillsides and tops, and walked alongside the creek finding out the bear and wolf tracks. Then I joined Paul within the first of many such pleasant rib-chewings. We sat, gnawing bones like a few wolves, and I’ll take an oath that caribou ribs broiled this manner can spoil a person for some other sort of consuming.
From that second, till we moved into our final camp on the banks of the Bonnet Plume, we noticed possibly 100 caribou on our hunts for sheep, moose, and bear. Most had been cows and calves, or younger bulls. I didn’t get a take a look at one other rack as massive because the one John took on Bourbon Creek.
IT WAS DURING the previous few days of the journey, when Lou Brown, John Harness, and I had been scouting for grizzlies, that we stumbled onto one of many most important migration routes of the caribou herds. Trails had been reduce deep within the moss, displaying that bands of the southbound animals had already handed. John and Lou, reducing for check in one of many excessive valleys, stumbled right into a herd of massive antlered bulls.
“I glassed one good rack,” Lou confided to me, “along with your title on it.”
Once we returned to camp late that evening, we discovered that Invoice Boone, a California rancher in our social gathering, had ridden in solely minutes earlier than. Invoice introduced an enormous set of antlers from a caribou that he and Doc Johnny, his information, had jumped on a mountain up river from camp. That made me much more anxious than ever so as to add a caribou to my trophy checklist.
All these ideas had been wheeling by means of my head, together with the slight misgiving that continued in regards to the rifle’s accuracy. I clicked off the protection and swung with the operating bull.
So, with only some days to go earlier than the tip of this dream project for Outside Life, I went with Lou Brown to seek out caribou. And that’s after I obtained off on the improper foot by lacking the caribou standing broadside at little greater than 250 yards. However after getting my scope sight again into alignment, I now had this second — and maybe remaining — likelihood.
IT’S FUNNY HOW many ideas shoot by means of a man’s head when he has solely seconds to make up his thoughts. From the valley Lou and I had studied the massive bull I used to be stalking. I remembered its rack nicely sufficient to be happy he wasn’t on this trio on the forehead of the mountain. Whether or not the bull I used to be after had been spooked together with these three, I had no thought. The most important of the three carried a trophy not less than pretty much as good, possibly a shade higher, as any I’d seen. He sported a protracted shovel, and large, slick, velvet-free antlers. However he was making tracks quick, and in seconds he’d be gone throughout the towering hill.
All these ideas had been wheeling by means of my head, together with the slight misgiving that continued in regards to the rifle’s accuracy. I clicked off the protection and swung with the operating bull. He was not less than 150 yards away and I didn’t dare attempt for a operating neck shot.
I threw the crosshairs behind his shoulder, and touched off. He went down as if he’d stumbled over a barbed-wire fence, rolled a dozen yards downslope, and was jerked to a halt when his massive rack jammed into the rocky floor. His two companions shifted into one other gear and disappeared behind the skyline. I leaned towards the canyon wall, wiping salt off my forehead.
Twenty minutes later, after I panted as much as the place the bull lay, Lou appeared on the decrease slope with our horses. He tied them on the first sharp break of the mountain, and climbed to the place I sat beside the bull. That storm on the head of the canyon was blowing instantly towards us. The information pushed again his hat.
“I used to be watching the bull you began out to stalk,” he mentioned, “and after I heard the shot, I believed you’d missed once more.”
“Wouldn’t have shocked me any,” I admitted, “But it surely certain would have made that experience again to camp quite a bit longer than it’s gonna be.”
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Lou checked out his watch: 6:15. We had been not less than 20 rugged mountain miles from cook dinner Frenchy’s eating desk at base camp. However even that didn’t matter.
We obtained busy with our knives. And with the regular zip, zip, zip of sharp metal on tissue, I obtained to pondering that that is one trophy that’ll certain make my muscle tissues sag each time I take a look at it on the den wall.
This textual content has been minimally edited to satisfy modern requirements.
