We must leave the camp today.
Now it's time to pack. If there's anything I dislike about long journeys, it's the constant packing.
After I've finally locked my bag, I always find some clothes or other things that I've forgotten, and for which I have no room anyway. I can never understand how it all fitted in before, but won't now.
The much-loathed task of packing is made even harder by the presence of Ricardo. He is constantly telling jokes, reducing me to fits of helpless laughter every minute. Before Jake Ensign packs up his bow, I ask to take a look at it. He says that if I can draw it, I can have a go with it.
I can't even string it.
I have three tries, before I manage to do it, but I can't draw it. It uses the muscles in a completely different way to how I use them in my shooting practice. I tell the boys that once I'm back home I'm going to buy myself a bow. I'd like to take the archery exam for hunters, as this is a really exciting way to hunt. Ricardo promises to email me a list of recommended bows and accessories.
I doubt if I'll ever be a truly dedicated archer, as I love guns too much, but it's quite possible that I will happily go hunting with a bow, if I can learn to use it properly. They tell us our plane will land after 3.00 pm. Just to be sure, I call Frank to check that they have managed to book the hotel and re-book the plane ticket. I'm using Ricardo's satellite phone, because yesterday, when I asked to borrow Pat's phone, he made an awful face, as if I was sending him off to the condemned cell.
We are lying in the barracks with our bags all packed. The hours go by. Occasionally, we doze off and then wake up and chat for a while. There is nothing to do. I'm about to nod off again, just before 3.00, when Jake comes in:
- We can't fly today! There's thick fog over Yellowknife and the plane doesn't have the equipment necessary to fly in such weather. The pilot refuses to take off.
I'm not surprised. I must call Cabela's quickly, to tell them to re-book my plane ticket and hotel room. But Jake and Ricardo, meanwhile, have gone down to to the shore. We've already put our bags on the beach, and they want to get their sleeping bags out. I follow after them as I need to borrow Ricardo's satellite phone again. It has all been going so well, and then we suddenly have this setback. It would be so nice if, for once, everything went as planned.
I'm just about to dig out my sleeping bag when there's a sudden, loud guffaw. They've fooled me!
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The archers have conned me again!
I try to push Jake into the lake, but he's ready for me and jumps away. They've got me once more! It goes to show how relative happiness is. I had already accepted the bad news, and now, hearing it's all been a joke, I am just so relieved.
The plane arrives around 4.30, bringing a new group of three hunters. Their clothes are clean and they look relaxed. Whereas we are so dirty that all our clothes feel sticky, and when I hit my pants, clouds of dust rise up. Ricardo and Jake do look rather bedraggled, but, to be honest, I probably look the same.
The huge Cessna float-plane moves across the lake for a long time before it finally turns and heads towards our old camp. Because of the favorable wind, this is the best direction for take-off.
We gather speed and lift off from the Wolf, just before the shore. I cast a farewell glance at the camp. I think I can see Pat, standing in front of the tents, watching us. I can see the barracks, which have been my home for several nights, and now belong to the new hunters. They don't yet know that there are little blood-suckers waiting to get them, or at least their lower arms. We never managed to trap one of the little devils in the act, so I don't actually know what sort of an insect they were. We are now flying almost exactly over the spot where I bagged my second caribou. I look down and can see a flock of birds, possibly dividing up the remains amongst themselves.
I say goodbye to Caribou Camp, where I have had a very enjoyable time, mainly due to the presence of these two rascally archers, who I've got on so well with. I can't even remember when I last laughed so much. There've been a couple of moments that I'll remember for the rest of my life. It has been an excellent hunt, really successful!
When we reach Yellowknife, we have to sort out some official matters. We throw our bags and trophies onto the trailer behind Carlos' minibus, and head to the office, where we must register all the game we have shot. When we get there, we rush in and Carlos goes off on other business.
The nice lady asks for my permit ... which, needless to say, I don't have on me.
I left it in the minibus. We manage to explain it to her, she looks up my details on a list, and I swear that I am definitely Gábor Katona. In the meantime, two men arrive from the company that will export the trophies, and I explain what I want done with them: nothing. Móni Tóth wil contact them, and I will have the work done in Hungary. All the administration, including the paperwork, takes about 20 minutes despite the missing permit, and that's for all three of us. I expected something much more involved than this.
By the time we get to the hotel, it's 7.00. I find a letter from Jenn waiting there. My plane tickets and hotel reservations are confirmed, and tomorrow I will travel to Billings. I shall spend an extra
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two nights there. Jenn encloses her letter to Boyd Warner, in which, to avoid any future misunderstanding, she plainly states that the cost of these nights will be born by Boyd. It's such relief that I don't have to deal with any of this. I'd hate to get into an argument all the time with my outfitters.
I meet up with the boys at 8.00 and we set off for The Black Knight pub. Ice-cold beer and a huge hamburger covered in half a bottle of red Tabasco sauce ... This is what I've been waiting for!
I must say goodbye to the two archers: the famous, great hunters. Tomorrow we are going to fly off in three different planes, in three different directions. Each of us going his own seperate way.
A difficult moment.
Jake Ensign is a real gentleman, with a wide knowledge on all topics. He's a generous, well-mannered, helpful hunter. Much is explained about his skills and experience by that famous Grand Slam...
Ricardo Longoria is a bit of a rogue, and is constantly planning his next prank. He is also someone you can always rely on, whatever the circumstances; even though there are very few people above him on the SCI list, he has not a shred of pride or arrogance in his character.
Both are superb hunters, quite probably the best I've ever met. Their attitude and standard of preparation far exceed those of the average hunter. They are true sportsmen, and I could not have asked for finer companions than them. I'm really glad I had the chance to meet them, and I hope that one day, somewhere in this great, wide world, we will again have the opportunity to hunt together.
So, tomorrow I will be off to Montana. Once more, my whole day will be spent on airplanes, or at airports. This constant flying is beginning to get on my nerves.
