Remote Nunavut Bowhunt Ends with Muskox and Rare Wolverine

Nunavut is a unique fragment of this giant blue marble we call home. This vast and remote Canadian territory is the kind of place where, if that distant boulder you’re studying with binoculars suddenly morphed into a wooly mammoth, you wouldn’t be shocked. Little has changed on this stretch of Planet Earth over the long blink of natural history, and while the mammoths are gone, there remains primordial evidence thundering across the tundra — the shaggy muskox! One cannot observe the rumbling gait of a herd of muskox without having visions of mammoths and saber-toothed tigers.

When you tell people you’re traveling to hunt in this wild place, accessible only by plane or boat, the response is predictable.

“Nunavut?” they ask. “Where’s that?”

Geography isn’t a strong suit with most people, but in this case it’s understandable. There was no such thing as Nunavut (pronounced noon-NUH-voot) before April 1, 1999. That’s when the eastern portion of Canada’s Northwest Territories, a mind-boggling 787,200 square miles comprising most of the Canadian Arctic Archipelago, was turned over to the Inuit people. Nunavut, which means “our land” in the Inuktitut language, is the largest and northernmost territory in Canada, yet it wasn’t even on a map until 25 years ago. So, the confusion is excusable.

Return Engagement

Nearly 20 years ago, I arrowed a huge, 370-inch Central Canada Barren Ground caribou in Nunavut, near the village of Repulse Bay (now known as Naujaat) on the Arctic Circle. I then hunted the Chesterfield Inlet area a couple years later and failed to fill my caribou tag. Both hunts were unreal adventures. So, when Jay Osting of Bowhunting Safari Consultants called last summer and asked if I was interested in a muskox/caribou hunt in Nunavut, I was quick to sign up. This hunt would take place along the shores of Baker Lake, a massive body of fresh water that lies inland from Chesterfield Inlet on Hudson Bay.

Baker Lake isn’t nearly as far north as Repulse Bay, but it was still a three-hour jet flight from Winnipeg, Manitoba. The village of Baker Lake lies on the west end of the giant lake, but our hunting camp was 80 miles east, by water! My outfitter, Tony Dias, had large cabin cruiser boats and 300-horsepower outboards, and it was still a three-hour boat ride. As with most adventure hunts, the travel is an integral part of the experience.

It was a comfortable cruise, but when we were about two-thirds of the way to camp, we spotted a herd of muskox (known as Umingmak in the native tongue) grazing along a rocky ridge in a stalkable situation. Another client, Arkansas bowhunter Brady Bradford, decided to try a stalk. So, his guides took him to shore. We watched the stalk from the water for a while but decided to complete the trip to camp before it got dark. It was 1 a.m. when Brady and his guides showed up in camp with a boatful of muskox horns and meat. Brady had made a great stalk and could now focus on his next challenge, tagging a caribou.

Camp was a collection of wood-framed cabins and tents tucked into the end of a wind-protected bay. Smack in the middle of camp was a Starlink Mini Dish that provided us with high-speed internet access. You just can’t hide anymore, no matter the degree of wilderness. That said, it was convenient and easy to stay in touch with home. These days, many hunters must stay in contact with work while gone on extended, remote hunts.

A major storm had ripped through camp the day before our arrival. So, some reorganization was necessary the first morning before we could get out hunting. With chores done, our guide, Tony’s son, Tristan, loaded the boat and we started cruising the shores of Baker Lake, glassing for muskox and caribou. It didn’t take long to spot the first herd of muskox, and it was obvious there was some rut action going on. Several bulls were jockeying for position on a particular cow. One bull had a very blonde “saddle,” bordered by dark brown. He was a beauty, though his horns didn’t have deep curls. I wasn’t particularly hung up on score, since muskox are difficult to judge, and any bull is a good bull in my eyes. As I was pondering whether to stalk that bull, he began to drift inland, away from the herd. Another decent bull suddenly started wandering toward us. I could have ducked behind the bank and gotten in front of him, but he wasn’t a first-day bull, if you know what I mean.

We resumed our cruise and spotted several small muskox herds, but none in a stalkable location. Tristan motored us about an hour away to a large island where he had scouted some muskox prior to our arrival. We spotted a large herd, but they were too far out with the daylight we had left, so we planned to get back to that island at some point. During our travels, we also saw a few scattered caribou, but no bulls.

Island Time

Mother Nature stole the entire next day. High winds kept us off the water. In fact, it was so windy that even if we’d hiked behind camp, I’m not sure we would have been able to make a good bow shot in such a gale.

The wind kept us down for most of the next morning as well, then subsided enough we were able to ride the waves into a back bay. We beached the boat and hiked out onto the tundra to glass. We picked out two young caribou bulls that were stalkable, but they were just too small. When it started to rain, we headed back to the boat and camp. We needed better weather.

The next day dawned perfect — sunny with a slight “stalking breeze.” Our destination? The big island. It was one of those mornings that burns an indelible memory into your consciousness. The water’s mirror-smooth surface seemed to beckon us toward the island’s sunbathed tundra. The ultra-fresh air cleansed my lungs, and my mind was filled with the wonder of being able to participate in such an unforgettable bowhunting adventure in such a spectacular place.

“There’s a bull muskox,” declared Tristan, putting a quick end to my daydream. We were still 500 yards from the island, but there were actually two bulls, in separate locations, both wandering westward along the shoreline. Tristan cranked the boat toward a shallow bay with a plan to intercept the bulls. It was difficult getting the large boat up to shore in the shallow water. I feared we were making too much noise trying to beach the boat, but by the time we did, the larger of the two bulls had bedded in a reckless location. Predators are few, so muskox often lack caution. Bad for them, good for me.

The tundra is as good as it gets for stalking quietly, but cover is scarce. Fortune smiled on me, as there was a large boulder within 10 yards of the bedded bull. I stole the wind and put that boulder between myself and the eyes of the bull and crawled into bow range. Tristan circled around to my right to evaluate the bull’s horns, but also so he could show himself to the bull once I was in position. You don’t want to shoot at a bedded muskox, because they are such a giant block of fur it’s difficult to tell what you’re shooting at. This strategy would make the bull stand up and look at Tristan instead of me.

The plan worked perfectly. I got the shot I wanted, my arrow passing through, but hanging up on the fletching on the opposite side. Muskoxen are the toughest animal I’ve ever arrowed. I shot a bull in Greenland in 2013, and despite being shot through both lungs, he stayed on his feet for minutes instead of seconds. I sent an insurance arrow into this bull, and my second muskox finally tipped over.

The long, flowing, chocolate brown fur of the bull seemed to sparkle in the subarctic sunlight. When it comes to fur, the muskox is the supermodel of wild game. His bosses were thick, and the tips of his horns extended well above the eye, a sure sign of a quality, mature bull. I sat down on that boulder for a few moments to resume my daydream and reflect on how fortunate I am to experience such things. I feel bad for the huddled masses in the large cities that can’t even imagine the sights, sounds and smells we bowhunters witness in the wild places.

That daydream ended once the photo session was over and we had to break down the bull and get him back to the boat. Assistant Guide Brett Fotheringham had come along, and we were appreciative of his help. Fortunately, the boat was only about 200 yards away, making that labor of love closer to enjoyable rather than a backbreaking chore. We were all smiles as the boat cut a wake in the smooth surface of Baker Lake on the way back to camp.

Wolverine!

My last half day was spent looking for a caribou bull worthy of a stalk. We found one at about 10 a.m. and spent a couple hours trying to get close on the wide-open tundra. The bull finally picked us off and got into that classic caribou trot that eats up ground like no other animal. Within seconds, he was nothing but a memory.

You might get the feeling this story ends here, but not so. I’d packed all my gear for the long run back to Baker Lake and my cameraman, Christian Hoffman, had disassembled all his camera gear and stowed it for the rough boat ride ahead of us. We were about halfway back to Baker Lake when we spotted something strange swimming from an island to the mainland. It was a Qavik — wolverine! Unbelievably, I had a wolverine tag!

I proceeded to rip my bow case open and frantically reassembled my bow, grabbed one arrow and a broadhead, got to shore and ran to get ahead of the wolverine. The second it climbed onto the rocks I took a 30-something yard shot that I barely remember in my state of intense panic. Somehow, the arrow was lethal. I had accomplished something that is beyond rare. After some research, I’ve concluded fewer than a dozen wolverines have been taken with a bow and arrow. It was only the second wolverine I’ve ever seen. It was a total fluke, including the fact I had a tag, on the advice of Tony. This was one time when “just in case” came true. It took some time before what had happened finally sunk in.

The rest of the trip back to Baker Lake was one of the most satisfying boat rides of my life. It was a true bowhunting adventure, and while there were no mammoth or saber-toothed tiger sightings, I was more than content with Umingmak and Qavik in Nunavut.

Author’s Notes: I booked this hunt through Jay Osting at Bowhunting Safari Consultants (419-236-7703). My hunt started on Aug. 27, and I may have been a little early for seeing numbers of caribou. On this hunt, I shot a Hoyt Alpha X set at 67 pounds outfitted with a Spot-Hogg Boonie sight, QAD Ultrarest and Easton Axis Long Range 4mm arrows tipped with Muzzy Trocar broadheads.

---