I can't remember when I last slept as well, and as deeply, as I did in the Inuit's tent. I could hardly wake up. The cosy warmth, the comfy mattress, and beneath it the thick, insulating caribou skins, along with the friendly atmosphere, guarateed a good night's sleep. And the fact that nobody snored. It was after 8.00 before I was able to force myself out of my sleeping-bag. Isaac is preparing breakfast; finally, the old Coleman stove is being used for its original purpose: he's about to cook on it. Space is rather tight, so we are forever moving around each other, something that prompts an endless stream of jokes from my two constantly good-humored hosts. I'm taking some videos of the inside of the tent; they're quite happy about it and we all clown around in front of the camera. Jack contacts the other hunters over the radio. The harvest continues: this is the
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height of the season and many musk ox are falling. The radio aerial is a long cable, at least 60 ft., which they drape over the tent. They're always having to move it to get the best reception.
The weather is excellent: there's not a cloud in the sky. The wind is blowing again, but this is normal for the tundra; it's never still here, unless you're inside a well-insulated tent. I've almost decided to leave the tent, not just stick my head outside, when Jack says:
- Musk ox!.
The ox are right here beside our tent.
I jump into my boots and quickly search for my sight, before realising that I haven't yet unpacked it: it is still buried somewhere on the sled. Because of this, I decide to aim my camera, rather than my gun, at the animals grazing 1800 ft. away. They've chosen our lake for their morning watering-place. It's very exciting, but only for me. Jack and Isaac just smile calmly, and ask which I would prefer to do first: go hunting or have breakfast? What a question! Of course we must go hunting first. They turn off the stove, and I fish out my gun: let's go! Jack has already picked out the strongest bull, but by the time we get there the herd has taken to its heels. They have disappeared into the vastness of the tundra, But we are still going after them; I don't need to ask why, as I now know that at some point soon, they will stop. And when they do, we'll be there.
At times we have to slow down, as the herd spreads out; we'd rather they remained close together, as it is easier to make comparisons then. Occasionally the rear guard looks back, and then, like experienced soldiers, we fall on our stomachs. The chase goes on over difficult, stony ground. I follow behind Isaac as I can tell he knows best how the game will behave; he was leading yesterday, as well. We cross one small ridge after another: we must be at least 2 miles from camp by now. The ox have been within visual range several times, but have disappeared again.
Finally, we catch up with them.
All we can see of the strongest bull is its rear, so we start looking at some of the others. But then it turns sideways and its thick hair is tugged by the wind. The Inuits agree that is the best choice, and give me the OK to go ahead. Despite the rocky ground, it isn't easy to find a good stone to use as a gun-rest. We move 60 ft. forward, until we find a suitable place.
We don't have to crawl on our stomachs here, like I did at Brooks Range. I lie down; looking over the rocky ground through the sight I can just make out the target, but only the upper part. The laser is on it... 700 ft. - the perfect distance. I prepare for the shot. I take off my light jacket, roll it up, put it under my gun and continue to watch the ox. Now it is facing us head-on; it is looking in our direction, but hasn't noticed us. For long, long seconds we both continue to stare, and then it
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turns sideways once again.
There's no point in waiting any longer.
After the shot, the ox collapses, accompanied by loud cries of delight from the Inuits. I can't see anything, as it disappeared from my field of vision when it fell. I keep looking at the target area, scanning it with my sight, but I can't see any sign of movement. I give a big sigh: I have managed to rectify yesterday's mistakes.
I have my second ox.
I celebrate with Jack and Isaac. Our whoops can even be heard by the musk ox, who are fleeing into the distance.
We approach it slowly, with the camera rolling. It is alive, but only just. Once again Jack taps an eyeball; the reflex still works. I'm not happy about it, but the Inuits say there's no need for another shot to finish it off. I give it another minute, but it is still alive. This can't go on; this "let's just wait, it will die soon" attitude is completely foreign to me, and I say so. In cases like this, the Inuits don't use a second shot. Usually, they kill it with one shot; they can't afford, in the case of a large animal, to destroy several pounds of valuable meat, which is what a second shot would do, because in winter they need all the meat they can get.
I call Jack over and, to take the sting out of my remark, I offer him a go with my gun. I've suggested it several times before, but he always shook his head, saying it was too powerful for him. Now he crouches down and grabs the gun: it's almost as big as he is. I release the safety catch of the R93 as usual, and reduce the sight magnification down from x12, warning the little Inuit not to put his face too close to the sight: it's not a .223.
He looks through the sight, tells Isaac what he sees and touches the sensitive trigger... and starts to fall over. I'm worried that he'll fall on to the stones, but he manages to regain his balance. He wasn't properly balanced and the recoil almost knocked him over, but, luckily, the sight has not hit his forehead. He picks up the empty cartridge case and proudly shows it to Isaac.
In the rush leaving camp this morning, I left behind the GPS and my other camera. I take some photographs using the video, but the quality won't be that good. The main thing is that I have it all on video - I can describe everything else myself.
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I replay the video, and my shot can be seen clearly; finally, I have one of my kills recorded live!
Jack handled the camera like a real professional. After removing the head we all return to camp, leaving the carcass behind. Back in the tent Isaac starts to make breakfast, which, because of the time we've been out, has now become lunch. They had already beaten the eggs back in Holman and brought them here frozen, in a bag. - a novel and practical way to carry them. They've thawed out and make a huge portion of scrambled eggs, accompanied by fried luncheon meat and bacon. After that I devour two cans of preserved fruit: this hunt has really given me an appetite. It is the most cheerful breakfast/lunch that I can remember. These Inuits joke non-stop; their eyes sparkle mischievously with genuine kindness. It is impossible not to like them. They manage to please their clients, but still retain their dignity; and after a successful hunt they are truly as happy and pleased as their guests are themselves.
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Slowly, we pack up the camp.
We've got to go. This has been the most enjoyable part of my trip so far; I've never slept sounder, or had a better breakfast than I have with Jack and Isaac. I have my two musk ox, so we can leave the hunting grounds: we are going back to Holman. They dismantle the tent and camp without haste, while I say my farewells to the landscape. Before we leave, Isaac goes off on a honda to collect the horns of the first ox and we load up the sleds. All the meat will be left behind as they do not need it. Jack is very good at knots; everything is tied up so tightly that we won't lose a thing. We leave, retracing our path exactly. We pass the remains of an old motor-sled which I noticed on our way out. Jack says it has been there for at least 30 - 40 years. It broke down, couldn't be repaired, so its owner jus abandoned it. It's a long way home and even sitting on the plank on the back is very exhausting. By the time we reach the gravel road, I've had enough. And by the time we reach Holman we are all covered by a thick layer of dust. We go straight to the only hotel in town and I am given Room 1. After a few tries, I finally get a WIFI connection - while doing this, I gratefully thank my company's programmers who prepared me for just such a situation by explaining how to reset a bad connection - and send a report of my success to those concerned. We have arrived at the hotel after dinner-time, but Jack finds a member of staff who takes me to the kitchen. I find a hunk of caribou-meat in the fridge and cut myself a liberal slice.
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Room 211
Chateau Nova Hotel
Yellowknife