Lucky No. 29: An Archery Super Slam Finale

As we sat huddled in the small Zodiac-style inflatable raft that was beached on the shore of the Colville River, we watched the big bull caribou walk down the opposite shore, getting farther and farther away from us. Finally, the bull stopped and turned to look at us. Even though he was about 400 yards away, he knew we were there.

The beach was wide open. There was no cover between us. The river was too wide and deep at this location to walk across. If we started the outboard motor to get across the river, we were concerned the bull would bolt down the beach and enter the wall of thick alders that bordered the beach and never present a shot.

I was hunting caribou in northern Alaska, about 100 miles south of the Beaufort Sea. This was my fourth trip for barren ground caribou. On one of my prior hunts in a different part of Alaska, I never saw a caribou in 10 days of hunting. On another hunt, I never saw a bull caribou. On a third hunt, I got a shot at a bull that was at the far end of my effective range, and I missed.

My successful harvest of a barren ground caribou would complete my more than 20-year quest to finish the archery Super Slam — the taking of all 29 big-game animals in North America with a bow and arrow. Part of the Super Slam requires a bowhunter to take five species of caribou, and the Barren Ground Caribou that can be hunted in Alaska and the Yukon was the last caribou I needed.

I had taken my Woodland Caribou stag on the first day of the hunt. It took me three hunts to put my tag on a Quebec-Labrador bull. I shot my Central Canada bull on the third day of the hunt, and my Mountain Caribou was shot on the last day of a 10-day hunt. This pursuit of a barren ground bull would be different from my three prior hunts for this species though — my son Brad was along on this hunt for good luck.

Persistence Vs. Luck

Luck is a fickle thing. I have generally conducted my life with the belief that you make your own luck, both good and bad. No doubt, my stubborn persistence helped me get to this point in completing the Super Slam. Thinking back on several of these hunts, there was often a time during a hunt that I needed just a smidgen of good luck to be successful. For example, during my hunt for a woodland caribou, I had done everything right to get into easy bow range. However, to get a shot, I needed the stag to turn and come past the large rock I was huddled behind.

If the stag turned and went in the opposite direction, back into his herd of cows, I would not get a shot. If he caught the swirling winds as he slowly approached my position, he would likely have bolted and given me no shot. The wind did not swirl, and he did not turn and go back to his cows. I shot him at four yards as he passed my rock. Call it what you want; I think some good luck was involved in the outcome.

On other hunts, Murphy’s Law seemed to prevail. For example, after several days hunting for a Stone’s sheep, my guide and I spotted a dandy ram. We had already spent half of the hunt looking at several rams that were just short of the minimum requirements set by the British Columbia government.

To be legal, a ram had to be at least 8 years old or have at least one horn tip that extends past the bridge of the nose when viewed from the side. This ram was at least 10 years old and sported heavy, long horns. He was bedded at the top of a far mountain that would require us to hike several hours to get into bow range. My guide jammed the spotting scope into his pack and said, “Let’s go!” After several hours of hiking, we found ourselves about 400 yards away from the unsuspecting ram.

All we had to do was to map out a route that would allow us to stalk into bow range of the bedded sheep. Then, we heard the rifle shots. We watched in horror as the ram jumped up out of its bed and started running. Two more shots followed, and the ram started to tumble down the mountain. Two hunters then materialized on the horizon.

“Resident hunters,” my guide surmised. Call it what you may, but I call it bad luck.

At this stage in my fourth barren ground caribou hunt, I would argue that I needed something stronger than luck to get an opportunity at this bull. This was the first bull of this caliber that I had seen after a combined 32 days of hunting, and he was rapidly walking out of my life.

Defining Moments

Merriam-Webster defines luck as “a force that brings good fortune or adversity; the events or circumstances that work for or against an individual.” Miracle is defined as “an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing or accomplishment.” As the barren ground bull got farther and farther away from us across the river, I was sure we needed an extremely outstanding or unusual event to occur to keep us in the game.

We sat motionless in the raft for more than an hour, watching the caribou bull. We initially planned to wait until the animal rounded a turn in the beach, which would take us out of his view, and then we’d motor the boat across the river and hustle down the beach after him. However, once the bull got several hundred yards away from us, we started the outboard and headed across the river.

As our guide, George, started the motor, we kept our eyes glued on the bull to see where he would go. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the raft slowly approached the far shore. As the front of the raft skidded onto the rocky beach, the unthinkable happened. The bull stopped, turned and started walking directly toward our raft. The three of us watched in utter amazement.

Five-hundred yards, 400 yards, 300 yards. He was getting closer and closer. I nocked an arrow and didn’t move. As he got to the outside edge of my comfortable shooting range, he started skirting around the raft. It was clear he was not going to get any closer.

Brad whispered the range, and I adjusted my movable sight to that yardage. I came to full draw, settled the pin on the bull’s vitals and ran through my shot sequence in my mind. The shot broke and the arrow smacked the rocks under the bull’s vitals. The bull was unsure what had happened and started to slowly walk up the beach. Another arrow was on its way, and it too fell short of the caribou.

I had practiced shooting at this distance all summer. It certainly was not a “gimme” distance, but it was a shot I should make. However, I had not practiced shooting from a cramped position, seated in a raft. The bull was still within my effective range, and I nocked yet another arrow. As I started to settle the pin, the caribou started walking and I rushed the shot. At this point, Brad noticed my lower cam was hitting the side of the raft as I released the arrow. We think this is what may have caused my prior arrows to fall short. Bad luck or poor preparation on my part — you decide.

The bull had enough of the circus and started running back down the beach. Brad and I jumped out of the raft and started jogging in the direction that the animal had gone, while George motored the raft down the river to see where it was headed.

Brad and I were hugging the wall of thick alders that bordered the beach as we ran. We had gone about 300 yards when I got a glimpse of a velvet-covered antler heading along the alders toward us, about 30 yards away and closing. The confused bull had turned around and was headed directly at us.

Brad and I tucked ourselves into the edge of the alders and I nocked an arrow. I saw the bull about the same time he spotted me. He was about 12 yards away. I started to draw and noticed my movable sight was still set on the longer yardage. I stopped and repositioned the sight. That gave the bull time to react, and he started to jog past us. As I came to full draw, Brad and I bleated, blatted, hollered and whistled in an effort to get the bull to stop. While he slowed his gait to look at us, he did not stop, and my arrow struck him further back than planned.

The 2-inch, expandable broadhead left us with a heavy blood trail, giving us hope the bull would not go far. Instead of pushing him into the thick alders, we decided to give him some time and headed back to our tents for dinner.

We waited a couple hours and then headed back down the river to find the bull. The blood was not difficult to follow, and we trailed the caribou several hundred yards downstream to a point where it looked like he had crossed the river. It was getting close to midnight, and Alaska’s famous midnight sun was starting to wane, so we decided to pick up the trail in the morning.

The Search Continues

The next morning, after some amazing tracking by Brad and George, we relocated blood on the opposite side of the river and trailed the bull into a thick patch of alders where we found more blood and my broken arrow. Unfortunately, we lost the blood trail in the alders.

At this stage, we decided to go to a high vantage point along the river that would provide us with a good view of the entire area to see if we could spot the bull. Several hours of glassing turned up no clues as to its location.

We woke the following morning to high winds and rain. The plan was to spread out and walk the entire area where we lost the blood trail. After several hours of walking through the tundra and its miserable, ankle-turning tussocks, as well as busting through patches of alders, we had still not found the bull. Hope was fading. We headed back to the tents to dry out and get some lunch.

The weather cleared, and the sun was shining. George suggested we go back to our glassing point to have one last look over the area. George and Brad had already reached the summit as I continued to climb the steep hill to the glassing position. One of the other hunters in camp and his guide were already there and had been glassing the area, hoping to spot a new group of caribou.

Brad started glassing and quickly noticed a few seagulls frequenting a location on the tundra in the general area where the bull had headed. After further scrutiny, he proclaimed, “Those seagulls are on something.” George quickly pulled out the spotting scope and confirmed it was our bull.

I must admit, I shed some tears as I looked through the scope at the bull’s rack protruding above the tussocks. We were within 150 yards of the bull that morning and didn’t see him due to a patch of strategically located alders.

My Super Slam was complete. Persistence pays, but sometimes you need a little bit of luck. Other times, you need a miracle.

Author’s Notes

On this hunt, I used a PSE EVO NXT 35 bow, Easton 5mm Axis Match Grade arrows and 100-grain SEVR broadheads. My bow was equipped with a Hamskea drop-away rest, Spot-Hogg bowsight, Conquest Archery Control Freak stabilizers and a TightSpot quiver. I also used a Stan Outdoors OnneX release aid, Leupold RX-FullDraw 4 Rangefinder and Swarovski 10x42 binoculars. I wore KUIU clothing, Chota waders and Simms wading boots.

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