On my sixth stalk, I finally found one of the proverbial dumb bulls and collected this "broomstick" bull.

ON AUGUST 20, a stiff wind was blowing, and Charlie, Mark, and I stopped frequently to put on and remove our raingear as squalls came and went. When we saw five bulls in the distance, we quickly agreed that Mark and I would hide in a saddle while Charlie would circle and push the bulls our way. The plan seemed to be working perfectly as the bulls milled within 30 yards of us. But suddenly they realized they'd been trapped and sprinted away before I could shoot. Now, that was easy.

Shortly afterward we saw another group of bulls feeding along a distant ridge. They seemed to be taking their time, and we were confident we could get in front of them as we jogged across a flat and up the ridge. But when we reached our anticipated ambush spot, the caribou were already a half-mile past us. How did they get so far ahead of us? I mused. They're dumb -- and fast!

An hour later we spotted a couple of bulls bedded below a rim. Again, Charlie gave hand signals as Mark and I stalked. One of the bulls had long, broomstick antlers that projected like, well, broomsticks, from behind a big rock. We homed in on those antlers, and when we'd crawled within 20 yards we settled in to wait, figuring the bull eventually would stand and present a clear shot.

Well, he finally did stand, but his body was still hidden behind the rock. Then, as if he knew we were there, he turned and walked straight away downhill. Still no shot. Dumb caribou!

Unfortunately for him, he didn't walk out quite far enough to get out of my range. When he fed into the open and turned broadside, he gave me a chance, and I wasn't about to pass it up. Planting my 40-yard sight pin on his chest, I launched an arrow. As we photographed and butchered the bull in a cloud of black flies, I couldn't help but think how easy that was. It had taken only six stalks.

WITH A BULL IN THE BAG, I traded my bow for a video camera and followed my pal Larry D. Jones the next day. Early in the morning we saw a grizzly bear and some caribou in the distance, but none we could catch up with.

Then, about noon, we located a group of three big bulls that looked very huntable. One was standing with his head down, apparently asleep, while the other two fed around him. When old sleepy woke up, they all meandered toward a brushy valley. Larry and I made a mad dash to ambush them there, but we could not get into position fast enough and suddenly found ourselves pinned down in the open as the bulls fed within 50 yards and bedded.

Larry and I scooted down into a couple of depressions out of sight, and for an hour we hunkered in our foxholes, unable to get a clear shot at the bedded bulls, unable to move without being seen. When one of the bulls finally rose and fed within 30 yards, Larry rolled to his knees and took the shot.

His arrow fell short and the bulls sprinted a short distance. Then they settled down, and as they returned to feeding we got on their trail. Three times we had good chances to close within bow range, but, again, it was as if the bulls knew we were there and simply kept a safe distance. Blind? Dumb? Yeah. But not the caribou!

ON SUNDAY, AUGUST 22, Charlie, Mark, and I headed to the far eastern end of the lake. No one had yet hunted there, and we were hoping to find some fresh bulls -- dumb bulls -- that would make mistakes.

As soon as we'd parked the boat on a calm bay and climbed the first hill, we spotted three good bulls bedded near an upland pond. To make a long story short, we stalked, crawled, ran, and set ambushes most of the day to get within bow range of those bulls -- and failed. When it seemed we finally had them in our grasp as they fed peacefully in a brushy valley, we walked into a spike bull we had not seen, and he ran straight through our group of bulls. Thus ended five hours of effort. Oh, so easy!

Bowhunter Magazine TV Producer Larry D. Jones produced with his bow as well as his camera.

Continued -- click on page link below.