I made my way through the green willows that towered above my head, pulling my ankles from the low brush that grabbed at me the entire way. Dad was using the walkie to guide me to where we saw the bull fall. “Head left…now straight.” I’d disappear from sight every 50 yards or so just due to the topography of the area. “OK, walk straight. He should be just through that big patch of willows in front of you.”
I can remember spotting the white on his nose first. “Dad, I got him,” is all I was able to relay. I sat and admired him for the time it took my dad to make his way to me. I slid my pack off and took a few sips of water before trying to move him around. A big, wide frame with long tops, he was everything I could have hoped for in a caribou and then some.
“Cameron, what have you done?” My dad said as he pushed through the blockade of willows this bull had placed around him. We walked around him just taking turns lifting his head off the tundra-covered ground for a few minutes before we were able to get him propped up for photos and videos. “He’s way up here,” is all I could say as my dad got video of what we’d managed to accomplish. We got as many pictures/videos as we could because we know all too well that you can never have too many. That’s when the reality set in that we were a good ways from camp through some of the not most forgiving terrain. We got started working up the bull, taking all the meat off one side before flipping him to get started on the other side, caping out the head last.
I started shuttling the meat to a small pine tree on a ridgetop about halfway between camp and the bull while Dad was working on the head. I got all the meat to our halfway point before we decided it was late in the day and the meat would be better hanging in this tree than it would be sitting on the ground around camp. Not to mention if a bear found it, I’d rather them find it 800 yards away versus 8 yards away from my tent. We had already had a run-in with a young grizzly on the third day and did not want a repeat.
We crawled into our tents either too exhausted or too relieved to eat. It had taken us seven days to find a bull worth shooting and we were both beginning to lose hope, but sometimes all it takes is one “Let’s go glass that mountainside one more time.” We’ve had so many of those “zero to hero” moments that I’ve lost count, but I would definitely add this one to that list.
The next day, I woke up so dehydrated that I could feel every muscle in my body cramping. I chugged as many electrolytes as I could, knowing we had to go get the meat before the sun got too high and it would no longer be in the shade. We got to the tree and loaded our packs up before heading back down to camp, hoping to do the last remaining load in just one more trip. With bad weather moving in and just one more day of hunting for Dad, we opted to go ahead and start our journey back home. Our pilot, Cole, flew me out first with all the meat to a much larger airstrip about 15 minutes away before going back for Dad and all of our gear. We both loaded up on the larger strip and away we went, both thankful to be headed home safe after a trip neither one of us will forget.
Hunting is nothing without the highs and lows of each adventure, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. From staring down a grizzly at 20 yards to four days with no game spotted to finding the biggest bull we’d seen just feeding in the perfect spot to put a stalk on and make a shot, a lot can happen in nine days’ time. It’s a reminder to not let the present dictate your future because all it takes is one moment to completely change the situation.
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