destination&adventure

42 American Hunter ■  September 2009

By Bryce M. Towsley, Field Editor

I suppose I am dating myself here, but I remember reading True magazine. My mother wouldn’t let me have it because she thought it was too racy, but I would sneak

my grandfather’s copies and spend hours hiding in some forgotten room of his sprawling house reading about being a man. Described by Newsweek as “a man’s magazine with a class all its own,” True existed in a time when men were still allowed to act like men. To a pre-adolescent male it was the textbook to the world I would soon enter.

It featured exciting stories about hunting adventures and other important “man” topics like the

Caribou

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The author harbors dreams of a “grand slam,” though not for sheep.

Will Do

Phot

os: A

utho

r

Regardless of the caribou subspecies you choose to hunt, plan to venture into some of the wildest country in North America. Be-ing there is more than half the experience.

44 American Hunter ■  September 2009

search for the perfect beer. But an article that ran well before I was born was significant. The April 1948 edition ran a story by Grancel Fitz titled “Grand Slam in Rams,” a tale about a Dall sheep hunt in the Yukon. It’s a classic hunting story from that era—long, written in first-person and full of adventure—but the significance was in the title, as it’s thought that this was the first time the term “grand slam” was used in print to define taking all four species of North American sheep.

Today the “grand slam of sheep” is considered the pinnacle of North American hunting. That may be true, but only if hunting is the sport of kings. A sheep-hunting grand slam is so finan-cially out of reach for the average, or even above-average, hunter today that most of us might as well wish to rule the world. Which leads a lot of hunters

to say, “If I can’t have a grand slam, I’ll try for a ham slam,” loosely defined as all the world’s wild pigs. But that’s a joke, not a goal. My own personal goal, one that will be difficult, but not impossible, is a grand slam of caribou.

Traditionally, a grand slam of anything is four. But the caribou slam adds a bonus because it consists of five sub-species: the Quebec/Labrador, mountain, woodland, barren ground and central barren ground caribou. I suppose that some would include a sixth and even a seventh—the isolated Peary (which isn’t hunted) and the Arctic island (a hybrid of the Peary and barren ground). Perhaps I’ll hunt them one day, but for now I am concentrating on the five primary sub-species of caribou in North America.

It’s also personal, as caribou hunting has been significant in my life. My first

hunting trip out of the country and the first ever for anything other than New England whitetails was for caribou. It was that trip to Quebec’s Ungava Peninsula that made me believe it was possible to break out of the small-town, Yankee-work-ethic, factory-bound mold that defined my world. Since then the path has been long and crooked, but it has led me through a couple of decades of making a living in the hunting business. For that I owe the caribou a debt of reverence.

Caribou are magnificent animals, sporting the largest antlers in propor-tion to body weight of any North American deer. They are engineered for the Arctic. They not only survive, but thrive in hostile environments where

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winter wind chills are south of the abil-ity of most thermometers to record and deep snows hide their food supply much of the year. It’s this environment that is the primary attraction in caribou hunt-ing. The best single-word description of the land is “untamed.” The tundra of the North is raw, wild and uncivilized, which is why I love it so.

While I have seen them during hunts for other species, mountain caribou were the only one of the five I had not actively hunted. So when the opportu-nity arose to hunt mountain caribou in the Spatsizi Reserve in northern British Columbia, I didn’t hesitate.

British Columbia is perhaps the most diverse region in North America when it comes to the game available, and most will agree the Spatsizi Reserve is perhaps the most exquisite location in the province. (“Spatsizi” means

“red goat” in the Tahltan First Nation language; mountain goats in parts of the area roll in the iron oxide-rich dirt and stain their white coats red.) To see the region in fall when the foliage is bright

is a special experience any hunter who enjoys the wilderness will treasure.

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North Country hunts are a test of your ability to keep a positive attitude and cheery demeanor (two things I am not noted for) because you must go with the flow. This trip was no exception, as we were stuck in town for days because the bush planes were grounded even though the weather in town was blue-skies-and-sunshine. The problem was compounded when we reached camp days later and everything else was backed up, which meant it was several

more days before we finally headed into caribou country.

“You are going to love it up on the plateau,” said Ray Collingwood as I pre-pared my gear. “It’s true caribou country and much different than here at camp.”

It would have to be, as this camp

North Country adventures are a test of one’s ability to keep a cheery demean-or—tough to do when sleeping quarters are tight and horse wrangling takes up much of your time during the hunt.

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46 American Hunter ■  September 2009

situated on the bank of Laslui Lake was surrounded with thickly wooded moose country; in fact, we would hunt moose later (see sidebar: “.370 Sako: Perfect for Moose”), and we tried to find one while waiting for horses to arrive that would tote us to caribou camp. I saw a few cows, but bulls were scarce. Mostly that was because of the freakish fall weather. While I expected snow and cold and packed accordingly, I sweated to near dehydration in my wool clothing. The days were hitting close to 80 degrees and the moose spent them under shade trees, the rut abandoned whenever the sun was up. By default, moose hunting was done during the first and last hour of daylight. We did spot a grizzly sow and her nearly grown cubs as the three of them foraged for berries on the slope above the lake. All this was wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I wanted caribou, not bears or nocturnal moose.

Finally, the horses arrived. Once the horse’s were saddled, my guide, Jason LaBonte, and the wrangler, Robert

Hofsink, took the string down to the far end of the lake several miles away. I followed with the gear in a boat to save the horses from carrying all our stuff more than necessary.

From there a long ride took us from the willows and aspens along the lake up through an evergreen forest and eventually to the open tundra on top of the mountains. Ray didn’t lie—the plateau was unlike anything else in the area. The higher elevation turned the land into isolated tundra that was in every way classic caribou country filled with rolling hills, small mountains and sweeping valleys that created enough terrain to allow stalking unseen. I remember my first thoughts were about how perfect it was for hunting caribou.

We camped just on the edge of this

OpticsCaribou hunting is optics-intensive—you will spend a lot of time behind your binocular.

I used a Nitrex 10x42 binocular (800-635-7656; www.nitrexoptics.com). These moderately priced, imported bin-oculars provide a tremendous value for the dollars spent with phase-correction coating on the roof-prisms, fully multi-coated lenses and rubber armoring.

My rifle was equipped with a Weaver 4.5X-14X-40mm Grand Slam scope in Weaver mounts (800-635-7656; www.weaveroptics.com). This adjustable-objective scope is perfect for long-range work. The optics are clear and sharp and it’s rugged enough to stand up to a lot of .300 Win. Mag. recoil as well as a tough horseback hunt.

Collingwood Brothers Guides and OutfittersCollingwood Brothers is the same outfitter I used in 2007 for my mountain goat hunt. They have been in the business almost 40 years and enjoy a good reputa-tion with hunters and other outfitters. (P.O. Box 3070, Smithers, B. C. Can. VOJ 2NO; 250-847-9692; hunt@collingwoodbros.com; www.collingwoodbros.com)

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transition, back in the trees and out of the wind but where we could see the start of the open land. I stayed in a small cabin with four bunks, a woodstove and a small cooking area all crowded with a genius of efficiency into a building the size of a walk-in closet. Robert and Jason slept in an outfitter’s tent 30 feet away and still complained about my snoring.

That first day we had enough time for a short hunt. A half-mile out we spotted caribou along the side of a mountain that rose out of the tundra, and we planted ourselves and started working the binoculars and spotting scope. There was at least one decent bull in the herd, but they were too far away and there was too much open land between us for any hope

of a stalk. We watched until the light faded, then headed back to camp with a good feeling about the next day.

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By the time the sun was up, we were in the saddle and several miles from camp. By mid-morning I had my rifle pointed at a decent bull that was sound asleep and unaware I occupied the same planet. We had belly-crawled within 150 yards and he was a “dead bull walking” (well, actually,

“dead bull sleeping”). I was tempted, but it was early in the hunt and he just didn’t rev me up enough to pull the trigger. Still, the stalk was exciting, and crawling within shooting range of a dozen caribou without any eyes picking us out made me feel like I was finally hunting.

The game plan was to ride to a new location, park the horses, climb to the height of the land and glass—then repeat. We never went long without seeing caribou, but most were cows, calves and small bulls.

The author killed his caribou bull in the mountains of the Spatsizi Reserve in northern British Columbia, a unique and game-rich region. Afterwards, he hunted moose around Laslui Lake.

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The Lightweight High-Speed Thing

My ammo was Federal Premium loaded with the Barnes Tipped Tri-

ple-Shock X (TSX). The concept for this new load is a light-for-caliber bullet with ultra-fast muzzle velocity, an approach I usually don’t embrace because I prefer bullets slightly heavy for caliber when hunting big game. However, I knew the only ethical way I could form an honest opinion based on fact was to try them. I am glad I didn’t say much beforehand, as the words would have tasted bitter when I was forced to eat them.

I was shooting a .300 Win. Mag. loaded with 130-grain bullets. Federal (www.federalpremium.com) advertises them at 3500 fps from a 24-inch test bar-rel, but the 26-inch barrel on my Kimber Montana bumped up the speed to 3575 fps on my chronograph. (The same bullet is also offered in .300 WSM at the same velocity. Federal also loads a 110-grain bullet in .270 Winchester to 3400 fps and

the .270 WSM to 3500 fps.)I have a lot of experience with Barnes

bullets (www.barnesbullets.com), and I knew that if anything could pull off this lightweight, high-speed thing it would be the TSX. It’s no secret that they penetrate like a heavier bullet, and it’s often said that you can drop down one bullet weight and expect the same performance. But as I often use 200-grain bullets in my .300 magnums, this was a very big step down in bullet weight.

The first bullet hit the caribou bull a little high. It took out 6 inches of spine and turned the top of his lungs to jelly before exiting. The second, and unnecessary, shot is the one that proved important because it stayed in the bull and let me see what this ammo could do. The front-on shot penetrated the length of the bull and I found the

expanded bullet under the hide on his butt. Mountain caribou are big critters, and the little 130-grain bullet penetrated almost the entire length of this bull. That impressed me. Weight retention was nearly 100 per-cent, but I expected that.

This ultra-light, high-velocity Federal ammo has really gotten my attention. I think maybe it’s the perfect long-range load for deer, antelope and other critters of similar size. For example, this 130-grain, .300 Winchester load with a 300-yard zero is 2.48 inches high at 100 yards, 3.2 inches high at 200 yards, dead on at 300 and only 7.93 inches low at 400. Which means I can hold on a caribou or a deer out to 400 yards and hit the kill zone. At 400 yards it’s still carrying 1,747 ft.-lbs. of energy, more than enough for caribou or anything smaller.

Accuracy is extremely important for any long-range shooting, and I will admit that my confidence was boosted a bit while testing this ammo at the range when the last couple three-shot groups measured .3 inch and .5 inch—not bad from a rifle with a pencil-thin barrel.

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We looked at a couple hundred caribou that day. Late in the afternoon, we spotted what looked like a good bull a couple miles away, and we watched it a long time before trying a stalk. We rode as close as we dared, then hobbled the horses and started walking, then again hit our bellies as we topped the last of the ridges separating us. But when we peeked over we found an empty valley. Sometime while we were en route, the caribou had

.370 Sako: Perfect for MooseThe weather turned a little cooler after the caribou hunt when we returned to the lake and focused again on moose hunting. I also switched rifles and cartridges. Both Drew Goodlin and I shot our moose with the new Federal Premium .370 Sako. This big cartridge has been kicking around Europe for a while as the 9.3x66. Federal and Sako simply brought it to the States and made it mainstream with a non-metric name and “American” style bullets.

The .370 Sako shoots a .366-inch bul-let weighing 286 grains. Federal loads it with the Barnes Triple-Shock (the bullet we used), the Nosler Partition and a Barnes Banded Solid (for dangerous game in Africa).

The advertised muzzle velocity for the 286-grain bullets is 2550 fps. From my Sako 85 the Nosler load averaged 2486 fps, the Banded Solid 2500 fps and the Triple-Shock 2409 fps. The rifle shot the Nosler ammo best, averaging 1.21 inches for five, five-shot groups at 100 yards. The TSX averaged 1.53 inches. Three-shot

groups were often less than MOA.

The .370 Sako is not an ultra-long-range cartridge,

but it can handle shots out to 300 yards. Due to conditions, I

shot my moose a bit farther—I was on an island and he was on the shore, so I couldn’t get closer. We had to follow up and shoot him again; poor bullet placement was the problem, not a lack of cartridge. In fact, this big cartridge is probably why he didn’t go far and we were able to find him and finish the job.

The .370 Sako is a bludgeon and may well be the perfect moose, elk or bear cartridge. It fires the big .366-inch bullet at moderate velocity to hammer big game. It’s a brute, a beast, a heavy-weight thumper. I like that.

I might note that Jason and I packed out my moose on our backs in three trips. It was almost a mile from the moose to the boat through a jungle of willows, swamp, mud holes and hills, ending with a decent distance down a steep, willow-choked, glacial slope to the lake. My best advice about moose hunting is to drop them close to the boat. ▶

fed over the top and out of sight.It was already late because we were

stalking caribou when we should have been riding for camp. We knew we would ride a couple of hours in the dark to get back to our sleeping bags as it was, so we were hitting it hard in the remaining daylight and pushing the willing horses to make up time when Jason spotted two bulls on the skyline. Even at 800 yards, we could see one was worth a closer look. It wasn’t huge,

but a good representative adult bull; its long top tines caught my attention, and I decided to take it if I could.

We held a group meeting. The way I figured it, what else did we have to do right then? I don’t mind riding in the dark, and if we turned away and headed for camp the only thing certain was we would not shoot one of these bulls this day. On the other hand, if we tried to hunt them, the worst that could happen would be a late supper.

That argument prevailed, and we cut the gap in half by riding at an angle to the bulls. We stopped, planning to go on foot from there. One guy could not handle five horses alone, and they had

Moose in the willow-brush bottoms and caribou on the plateaus made this area of British Columbia a hunter’s paradise.

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to be tied. But we were hunting well above the treeline with nothing to tie them to, so the only way to make sure the horses would wait for us was to hobble them and then tie two at a time, head-to-tail, to form a “circle of horses.” Robert is a good hand and did it as fast as anybody I have seen, but it still took too long and the bulls took off down the mountain.

So the three of us mounted up and rode on, only to spot an antler on the horizon in front of us 10 minutes later. Nobody ever said caribou were rocket scientists; these two had “escaped” by running down the mountain on a diagonal that put them right in front of us. Again we hobbled and tied the horses and struck out on foot. Robert is 6-foot-4, 22 years old and guides sheep hunters for a living; Jason is a physical-fitness nut who works out every day and had just finished a two-week-long backpacking trip for sheep—keeping up with them was not an option. That was okay because the bulls spotted Robert and decided to run back up the mountain, which put them in sight and in range for me. I dropped to a sitting position, opened my shooting sticks and tried to slow my breathing and heart rate. But with both in overdrive and the caribou decidedly ready to get out of Dodge there was not enough time. So I abandoned that idea and just tried to shoot between gasps.

The bull dropped before the sound of the bullet impact came back to us. He started to get up and while it probably was not necessary, I put another in the center of his chest as he faced me.

By the time we finished with photos and had the bull quartered and loaded on the horses, the batteries in our flashlights were getting low. But I didn’t care. There is something magical about riding through the dark when you are hours late, dead-tired and worn to a stub because the day has been a success.

On soft tundra, horse hooves become almost silent, so we all rode quietly, lost in our own thoughts. Mine were bittersweet. This bull took me one step closer to my grand slam goal, but it also meant this part of the journey was over. That alone turned my mood to sadness as I already missed what was not yet finished. ah