2004 Newfoundland Trip

THE GIFT

For 25 years, my passion has been archery hunting elk and deer. However during that time I've always had a fascination with caribou and dreamt about one day hunting them. My dream became a reality when my kids surprised me with a guided hunt for my 50Th birthday.

My research for a spot and stalk hunt led me to the province of Newfoundland, Canada. Kelly and I scheduled our hunt for the second week of October and the peak of the rut.
Knowing that I had to be in top physical condition, I exercised and shot my bow every other day for the entire year. Fear of failure was my motivation. I focused on game-like practice, shooting winter video leagues and summer 3D tournaments.

Our journey began when we flew out of Salt Lake City, Six flights, one slightly strained groin from sprinting through Chicago's O'Hare, and 15 hours later, Kelly and I arrived in Gander, Newfoundland where Sipujij Bowhunting camp manager Gerard Joe welcomed us. We settled in for the float plane ride to the lodge, at which time we flew over the most amazing country that I had ever seen. There were barrens, strips of spruce forest, and lakes as far as the eye could see. Groups of caribou dotted the landscape. We were pumped.

Our camp was on a timbered ridge overlooking Dolland's pond, and to our relief, our bows, which had been missing amid all the flights and connections, were flown into camp that evening. After a few practice shots, we were ready.

Newfoundland is nicknamed "The Rock", but don't let that fool you. The land is covered with an eight-inch sponge of Forbes, lichen, and brush that would grab your ankle and cover knee breaking bog holes. Every step was an adventure. Seemingly, the only safe place to walk was in camp.

Our hunt was located in one of the last true wilderness areas, perfect for spot and stalk hunting. Each day we would get up before dawn to a huge breakfast. A typical day would consist of hiking from high point to high point glassing for caribou stags, and either executing a stalk or hiking to the next vantage point.

Nasty weather made it tough on us for the first three days. The rain and fog didn't seem to faze our guide Andy Joe though. He had been walking eight to ten miles every day for the previous two weeks. Andy Joe was short and stout and seemed like he could hike forever. I considered putting an arrow in his leg to slow him down, but figured it would just tick him off. Kidding aside, he has a reputation as one of the best archery guides in Newfoundland. The man could hunt, and always seemed to know what the roaming caribou were going to do, putting us in range on several stags.

The first two days were filled with thrilling stalks on small bands of caribou. I think Andy thought that we could use the practice. Even though the area hadn't been rifle hunted for fifteen years, the caribou were afraid of us, but at the same time curious. It is amazing how calm animals can be when they haven't been rifle hunted. I told Andy that my goal was to put my tag on a Pope and Young stag. He said that if I could shoot straight, it shouldn't be a problem.

The third day of the hunt, we woke to overcast skies, and more rain and fog. Andy said that we would push deeper into the area where he had spotted a trophy stag the previous week. After hiking several miles, we spotted a doe and a large stag in the distance. Andy wanted a closer look, so we closed the gap to under 400 yards. As soon as I put the glasses on him I knew he was the one. Andy smiled and said "let's go get him, eh." Woodland caribou are wanderers. I'm not sure if they even know where the are going most of the time. We switched into sneak mode as we took advantage of the terrain and made a big circle to get ahead of them for an ambush.

As they crossed through a brushy draw at 40 yards, the stag, sensing something was wrong, acted nervous. I knocked an arrow and drew on him, but passed on the walking shot. they faded into the fog, as they disappeared over the ridge. Andy, sensing my disappointment said,"Be patient, we have all day." We trailed from a distance; the pair would vanish then reappear in the mist. Finally, they started to settle down and we closed the gap to 100 yards. Andy whispered, This time we will get him, eh?" The stag was a magnificent animal with a long white mane and double shovels that went almost to his nose. He had exceptional bez length, and matching back scratchers. His top were a little sparse, which is typical of woodland caribou.

After years of anticipation, the moment of truth was finally here. Two hours of stalking and trudging through ankle grabbing bogs brought me to crunch time. With the wind in our face, we crawled on our hands knees the last 20 yards. I ranged the stag at 60 yards an whispered to Andy, "Too far." We were well hidden behind a stunted spruce. Andy whispered to me, "Get ready." He held his ax, which he carried everywhere, horizontal above his head and rocked it back and forth and started to snort. The stag spun around by the challenge, and started walking stiff legged toward us, snorting and grunting as he closed the gap to under 50 yards. Tension filled the air as he stopped and glared in our direction, and then glanced back at his doe. As he started to turn back, Andy hissed, "Take him."

I drew my bow and centered the 40-yard pin on his vitals as Andy let out one last grunt. The angry stag froze in his tracks as the arrow zipped through the air and hit home with a smack. When he spun and ran, he carried my arrow centered in his lungs. I grabbed Andy and lifted him off the ground. "I got him, eh?" I couldn't resist teasing his Canadian accent.

I later stood over the stag and marveled at the magnificent animal. There is something special about spot and stalk archery hunting. More skill. More risk. More challenge. More reward. The hunting conditions had physically and mentally put us to the test. The old saying, "That which will not kill you will only make you stronger" is true. This hunt taught me humility and Patience as no other hunt had before.

Andy made short work of the field dressing. We loaded our backpacks with boneless meat and were back in camp by mid-afternoon. We had spotted a group of caribou with a good stag on our way back to camp. Kelly wanted to give him a closer look, and after a short rest, I grabbed the video camera and we headed out. The stag and his harem of does were bedded on the crest of a ridge in a perfect spot for a stalk. He was a keeper, so we circled around, and with a good cross wind, topped the ridge behind an outcrop of rock in prefect position. The stag was up and I ranged him at 52 yards. As Kelly came to full draw, I turned the video camera on and the stag came into focus just as he released the lethal shot. It was a memory I will never forget.

Upon our return to the cabin, I reflected on the hunt. In our window, a dream catcher that hung for good luck caught my eye. My dream was now a reality.

The thrill of the hunt led us to the "Rock" on the hunt of a life time. As the float plane lifted off the lake, I couldn't seem to get the smile from my face. The sun was finally shining, and our pilot flew us low over the tundra. Kelly and I had one last look at the caribou trails weaving through the landscape. This was tough country, tough people, a place locked in time.

This story is dedicated to my kids who made it all possible.