My First Caribou Hunt 2011

Knowing just enough about these Wily animals I have so nicknamed the Ghosts of the Tundra, we decided to head north towards my second home Prudhoe Bay Alaska to hunt them on the Arctic tundra.

So let me start from day one as we begin our long journey up the James W. Dalton Hwy or more affectionately known as the Haul Road.

Our first stop on the four hundred mile or so journey actually starts eighty or so miles north of Fairbanks which is the start of the haul road which we did a touristy thing and took our photo underneath the sign. My hunting group consisted of (left to Right) Tim R., Dave F. and myself.

Most people believe the ice road is actually all gravel in the summer which is not true. It is actually partially paved asphalt. Normally this would be a blessing after driving a hundred miles on a bumpy, pot-holed gravel road. It is worse when you hit the pavement. The pavement is lifted by frost heaves and blows many a tire on these sections. We were blessed as to only blow one tire on this road and that was after we reached Prudhoe Bay to refuel.

Our second stop was just across the Yukon River to grab an over priced soda and to refuel. It's funny how we complain about paying a dollar more for a cold beverage but when fuel is a buck more a gallon and you are heading out for Caribou you hardly notice.

From the Yukon River we continued our journey north until we reached the Arctic circle. This was my third time up the haul road and every time I stop at the sign because someone I am with has never been there before. I really don't mind as I have nearly traveled around the world east to west and am working on the north and south thing. It seems to me I keep heading farther north every time.

The next stop is a quaint little truck stop known as Coldfoot Alaska. Once again we refueled and then head out on the dusty trail north. This is a very beautiful area with streams as clear as anything I have every seen. The water in the streams had began to freeze and to no surprise to anyone who knows me, I shoved my hand in to see how long I could hold it. I lasted all of thirty seconds before it became numb and I was unable to move it.

This area slightly north of Coldfoot is also known as Grizzly country. As you can see by all the mountains and Spruce trees it does seem like it would be bear heaven. It is also home to Dahl sheep, Mountain goats, Moose and Wolves.

Once you get through Atigun pass, you come to the last Spruce tree on the Dalton Highway. The question was asked "How do they know it is the last tree?" and a simple answer sufficed "Do you see another?" As I said before, there are a few touristy things you have to do and see and this was one of the last ones if you don't include the Arctic tundra or Prudhoe Bay. From this point on, the terrain changes pretty dramatically. All of the mountains fade away and you began to see the real frozen tundra, not the Green Bay Packers football field.

You really cannot get lost as there is only one road in the area and the pipeline guides you north.

So as you can see the snow flies early here. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to tell how cold it is outside. Just step out of your tent or camp trailer and take a nice deep breath... your lungs begin to burn at 15 degrees in the early morning dawn in September on the North Slope.

The wildlife is plentiful in this extreme environment from the small rodents to the Grizzly bear. Each able to survive in it's own special way. One of my favorites is the mountain goat. High on the mountain tops of Atigun Pass these animals have the best view and few predators other than man.

Our first morning brought hopes of taking a Caribou with a bow as the animals grazed a half mile or so off the haul road. Since there are no trees here, you have to use the limited elevation and leafless willows along frozen creek beds for cover. The three of us spread out along the road and headed towards our prey.

Walking onto the frozen tundra for the first time, I realized that just moving a short distance was instantly tiring. The ground has small mounds of frozen grass that resemble bowling balls wearing a toupe. I first tried to walk between them and realized that the effort was futile and changed tactics quickly.

I found it was easier to walk on the clumps of grass and take my time which was less strenuous, but slower and allowing the Caribou that were grazing to pass with out me noticing. I looked down on the GPS and had realized I was a mile off the road. Normally this would not be an issue, but since the animals had left the area it was a long walk back without seeing a Caribou at least within a hundred yards.

We drove along the haul road continually moving north with our eyes looking into the distant horizon for the movement of animals or horns protruding from the hillsides like small cellular towers indicating the bulls had beded down for the early morning.

Our second stalk would produce exactly the opprotunity I was looking for an up close and personnal view of the "Bou". Tim & Dave walked in from the south and I headed up the haul road about one mile and headed onto the tundra once more.

I picked a hillside that produced easier walking as it was strewn with rocky outcrops. I headed up the hillside taking it nice and slow as I found tasty Bluberries still on the vine. I picked a handfull and ate them before once again moving up the hillside. Almost to the top I could see the antlers sticking up and I dropped down onto the ground and began to low crawl towards the Bou.

I could barly see the ears flicking and I stopped moving in order to view the animals through my binoculars. I was still outside of a hundred yards from them as they beded down, but the wind was in my favor. I slowly crawled forward about five yards at a time and then stop to make sure the wind was still blowing into my face and then hit the one visible Caribou with my range finder.

As I cleared the top of the hillside I realized these were not the goofey animals I witnessed in the summer galavanting on the roads. They act like Elk and have the cows pulling sentry guards for the bulls. I stopped moving and waited for the animals to put their heads down before I moved again.

I could see my partners hiding to the south of me and they were signaling for me to look to the north. Before I could react, I had a her of fifty Bou moving towards the herd that was currently beded down about two hundred yards away. I had crawled as far as I could and knew that I had two options; either sneak forward until I was within shooting range which was at best fifty yards or slip back down the hill for cover and wait for the animals to pass or bed down.

I chose the latter and slid down the hill until I realized there were now animals below me as well. I got up on my knees and ranged the small bull behind me at seventy yards. I was caught between the merging herds and all at once my cover was blown and the animals began to run in all directions.

We use to have a saying in the Army... "We practice chaos because war is chaos." I have now applied this to Caribou hunting as well. Animals ran in every direction and I was left with no shot, but it was amazing to watch the animals bolt in every direction. It is incredible how quick these animals really are on this uneven ground. When you scare them they head west farther from the road and once they feel safe stop, look back and I swear one of them was laughing at me.

This was a regular routine for my hunting party. We would get close enough to count the tines on their horns but something would happen such as the wind would change or they would just move further away from us.

The only opprotunity for a shot came by trying a different tactic spot, stalk & talk. Tim went in and I quided him by walkie talkie. It was actually by chance that the herd turned and headed towards him. A bull was chasing a cow into the creek bed and produced one opprotunity at sixty yards which Tim missed low and to the right.

After four days of chasing the Caribou we decided to take a break and fish the Sag River. We walked along the clear waters locating the deep pools and quickly discovered that the Arctic Grayling were hungry and ready to eat whatever we casted in front of their faces. After a couple hours of catching these beautiful fish we drove back to camp and built a fire and sipped whiskey until it was time to retire for the evening.

Although the Caribou escaped my freezer this year, I did manage to learn a great deal about these animals and the terrain they live on. I could have walked five miles outside of the restricted corridor and shot one with the rifle, but It was all or nothing with my bow.

I will be back up there next year doing the same thing and am hoping I have the pleasure of my father joining me to live out his life long dream of hunting Caribou on the North Slope with his recurve bow.

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