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Hunting is not only about killing animals, it's also about adventure, travel and being an active participant in a world our ancestors knew well, but to which many of us have lost touch. All animals are either hunters or prey; some humans have chosen to be the former.

Our friends Roy Keefer and his wife, Shelby, are true hunters. They travel the land, have witnessed God's creation and live a life our parents knew well. In this adventure they travel a trail I also know well, and describe the thrill, frustration, luck and skill all hunters have experienced since time immemorial.

GILLIGAN'S ISLAND CARIBOU

By Roy K. Keefer

This story is about a caribou that we have come to call "Gilligan."

My first trip to the Northwest Territories for caribou was a phenomenal experience.

Shortly after we arrived, the annual migration of the caribou from the far north to the lower part of the province began. It was one of the most unusual things I have ever experienced. Daily we would see 1,000-1,500 caribou constantly moving over the tundra in their southward trek. You have to see it to believe it.

The experience had moved me so much I wanted to return the next year with my wife, Shelby, so she could see this phenomenon of nature.

The following September we flew to Minneapolis, then on to Edmonton, and finally to Yellowknife in the Northwest Territory.

We overnighted there and flew the next day into caribou camp. So far, so good.

Then we got the bad news: the migration had not started and caribou were scarce. We later found that to be an understatement.

But, there we were 150 miles from civilization and with nothing better to do, so we committed to do our best to make the most of the situation. As they say, you can't kill them if you stay in camp.

Our camp was north of Yellowknife and only 150 miles from the Arctic Circle. It consisted of plywood cabins which contained beds, kitchen fixtures and a propane stove.

The bathroom and showers were located in another building. They had also constructed a separate dining hall and a lounge.

It was nothing fancy, but really pretty impressive when you consider that all of the material for the buildings had all been brought in by truck on a frozen lake in the winter, and then constructed during the summer months.

It was situated on a large lake which measured over 100 miles in length. The lake was long but not very wide, maybe two miles at its widest. The tundra has little vegetation over two feet tall, so the wind howls over it without much resistance.

Consequently when the wind picks up, you know it. Besides creating bone-chilling cold, it creates havoc on the lake. Walking on the flat tundra is similar to walking up stairs; it's not flat.

The frozen ground had heaved up and folded back over thousands of years of harsh weather, and the end result is a washboard of tangled brush-covered knolls. After walking on it for a day you know you have paid some of your dues for any game you harvest.

We planned to cruise the lake until we found a spot to hunt, or better yet, see caribou and give chase. Your ability to hunt is contingent on being able to go out on the lake.

When the wind maintained a steady 20 miles per hour, the outfitter would not permit hunters to go out on the lake. This was a safety precaution and a good policy.

Caribou are well equipped for the Arctic. Their wide hooves provide them with stability in the soft uneven soil. They trudge through it without exerting much effort. It seems they never stop walking, although they do occasionally stop to feed and rest.

But, usually they are on the move, eating as they go, seldom stopping for any length of time. Although their gait seems to be slow and lazy, it is virtually impossible to catch up with them once they have passed you. The best thing to do is to try to pick ambush spots where you can get a shot as they pass by.

The first morning we awoke before daylight and looked out on the lake.

It was nasty.

The wind was blowing, whitecaps covered the lake, and the ground was covered by a light skiff of snow. No boats were going out that day. The first day was a waste as we waited for the lake to calm down.

The next day was better and we loaded our 16 foot v-bottom boat and headed out.

The forecast about the lack of game had been correct. The only caribou we saw were either cows or bulls being pursued by other hunters. Things didn't look good.

The following day was no better; by then we also realized our guide didn't want to work to get our game. He was content to sit in the boat and cruise around all day. At the end of the second day we had begun to think of ways to ditch him on some deserted spot, take the boat and do our own hunting. Of course, good sense won out; we dropped that idea and hoped something good would happen.

On the fourth day we set out for an area that would require a 2  1/2 hour boat ride. This was not a leisurely cruise as the lake was covered with a two-foot chop which made the ride very uncomfortable. Nonetheless, we continued on hoping the new area would bring us some success.

After about two hours in the boat, we spotted a lone caribou bull on a peninsula sticking out into the lake. We decided to check it out. As we got closer we realized the land was actually an island measuring a quarter of a mile wide and perhaps three-quarters of a mile long.

It was about 200 yards offshore from the nearby tundra. We figured the best thing to do was for Shelby and me to go ashore and see if we could stalk the bull while the guide stayed in the boat offshore.

Stalking proved to be difficult. The island was nearly barren of cover to allow for a stalk and so we moved cautiously and slowly. Shelby moved to one end of the island with her video camera in hand and slowly made her way toward the bull.

We hoped she would push the bull to me for a shot. The plan worked and he swiftly walked by in bow range. His movement and the wind made for a tough shot, but I got lucky and the arrow connected. Unfortunately, it was a little far back from my intended target. I took a follow up shot and he was mine.

Our persistence had paid off and I had a nice bull. Although he was not as big as other caribou I have shot, he had unique characteristics. Besides having a double shovel, he also had a double bez (the second point from the base).

This is very unusual; in fact, the outfitter said he had only seen four or five of them in twenty years of outfitting.

And now you know how Gilligan got his name.

Update

If you have a story to tell, or a comment, give me a call at 727-9777, or e-mail me at dansimmons@ usa net.

Recipe of week

As we all know, when hunting, adventuring, or traveling it's always necessary to be prepared. This is even more important when traveling in remote regions.

This recipe is not one to be used frequently, but one never knows when one such as this may come in handy.

Carina's Canadian Caribou Kebabs

Ingredients: One large caribou with horns, hide, and hoofs removed, cut into 16-inch cubes. For marinade: 25 gallons tomato paste; 2 quarts Tabasco sauce; 10 pounds ground ginger root; 5 quarts Dijon mustard; 3 quarts vinegar; 5 gallons honey; pinch salt.

Preparation: Combine marinade ingredients in large cattle trough; stir until well mixed. Add caribou cubes and let stand for 72 hours in bear-proof enclosure.

Cooking: Place caribou cubes on ten-foot metal skewers and place over open bonfire, turning constantly. It is recommended that two strong men with heavy mitts handle each skewer.

Cook until tender. Serve immediately with garnish of fresh parsley and grated Parmesan around each plate.