king' s outdoor world - Index

king' s outdoor world - Hunting Illustrated - October/November 2007 - Index

36
G hostly
whiffs of movement
through the stunted pines did
little to betray the animals'
presence. However, the occasional
yips and yaps of wolf pack
communication did. Suddenly,
I realized that I was not the only
predator stalking the herd of
caribou bedded down on the barren,
wind-scoured ridge above. Just as
suddenly, I switched my intended
quarry from herbivores to carnivores.
I strained my eyes to glimpse one
of the fleeting, smoky apparitions.
I knew this particular ridge from a
decade of previous hunts in the area;
I quickened my pace and remained on
my pre-chosen course.
Lagging behind my intended
target, I hurried toward the treeline
which ended about 300 meters from
the top of the ridge. I carefully made
my way through the stunted pines and
spruce - ragged and torn shapes twisted
into hideous forms by extreme arctic
weather systems over the centuries.
These trees, perhaps three meters tall,
would easily have growth rings of a
couple hundred years or more, yet
they were barely large enough to make
suitable Christmas trees. My newly
formulated plan was to reach the edge
of these trees and perhaps ambush one
of the wolves who were now out in
the open skulking around the treeline
edge. The fresh snow was deep,
soft and quiet and acted as a sponge
to absorb the sound of my footfalls.
Between the quiet conditions and the
gusting north winds, I managed to
get among the preoccupied wolf pack
undetected, easily within shooting
range. It became increasingly difficult
to cover that last few hundred meters
HUNTING ILLUSTRATED.com
as the trees became smaller and more
sparse as I approached the treeline. I
finally ascended to the last of the scruffy
trees and held up within the cover of a
small thicket of spruce. I immediately
spotted my original target bedded down
and enveloped by the rocky, cornicerimmed
basin some 300 meters up the
slope. The tips of the bull's 360-class
rack were the only visible hint of his
location. Glassing the ground which lay
between us, I noticed that the wolf pack
had split ranks. Tracks indicated that
they had circled around the ridge top in
an attempt to get behind the dozing and
unsuspecting caribou. One set of tracks
angled up toward the basin refuge of the
caribou herd of thirty-odd head.
I suppose that I felt it as much
as I saw it. The huge, bluish-grey wolf
moved with the speed of a lightning flash
and was instantly among the astonished,
scrambling caribou. When last I saw the
wolf, he was hot on the tail of some poor
of the
5NORTH BORDER5
W.P. Williamson
NORTH OF THE BORDER
Bulls of The Barren Grounds
Withstanding the elements for
a trophy caribou.
yearling caribou calf, as the entire
herd bailed over the ridge top and
down the other side. The unsuspecting
herd had no idea that their escape
route would lead them headlong into
the main pack of wolves which had
circled around behind the ridge. By
the time I reached the summit, the
hunt had already unfolded. I spotted
the caribou herd as it single-filed over
the next ridge top across the small
valley. I heard the howling of the
wolves below as they sang of their
successful hunt. I sat and took it all
in, smiling at the turn of events and
my good fortune to have been witness
to them. These two most ancient of
enemies playing out the timeless life
and death ritual as repeated countless
times over the eons. I sat resting, tired
by my climb, and allowed my soul to
devour and savor the moment...this
time...this place.
The solitude allowed me