The Hunt of a Lifetime

Last year at this time a fantastic experience took place as I stepped onto the tundra in Northern Manitoba.  For me this was a trip dreamed about and here I was staring out across the beauty of northern Manitoba.  After getting the gear stowed and the paperwork taken care of, the hunt for caribou would take place.

The animals we would be hunting are part of the Qamanirjuaq Caribou herd with over 400,000 migrating animals. Hunting them consists of exploring the hills and areas around Commonwealth Lake by boat.  Moving slowly and using high powered binoculars, we studied the terrain.  If Caribou were spotted, we would  bypass their position and move downwind if possible and put the boat ashore.  Then the work started.

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The tundra is spongy and there are small puddles of water everywhere in the lower levels of the gradual sloping hills.  The object was to move to the top of the ridges and check on the Caribou that were just spotted.  Besides the spongy walking, we encountered small boulder fields that had to be circumvented.  Walking across was a good way to have a fall.  The question was asked, "Who put those there?"  The answer was, "God."  At times we walked across areas that looked as if they had been plowed up by a mold board plow.  The question was, "Who plowed this ground?"  The answer was, "God."  The ground had probably been that way for centuries or longer and had been formed by the glaciers.  The sky remained gray and a light mist would come and go constantly.  Having waterproof clothing was a must. If you hunt in the north without it, you will be wet.

 As we approached the top of the ridge the ground turned from spongy to very firm.   We walked on the surface that was gravel and hard rock mixed into the surface.  This was great and was more like walking on a sidewalk at home.

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Moving slowly out about 50 to 100 yards,  the bank was studied to locate Caribou.  We finally spotted a small group on the top of one of the ridges.  They appeared to be grazing and moving very slowly along the top of the ridge. 

After putting the boat ashore,  the stalk began as we got to their location.  Carrying the gun, the pack, all the clothing, and wearing the knee high boots was a lot of work going up the hill.  We reached a point where we could spot the animals, but they did not see us.  I shed my pack, and if it had not been so cold and wet, I would have shed all my clothes.  Then we began crawling up to a good shooting position that would be about 150 yards. I have not crawled since I was a baby, and it was a lot of work.  The guide moved ahead of me. Then he got on his knees to take a better look and stopped.  After setting up the shooting sticks, I got on my knees and laid the rifle into the V.  The shot was not taken as two hunters from our camp with their guide crested the hill to our left, and we passed on the shot.  The boo were spooked and took off like a herd of scalded dogs.  It was so beautiful to watch them run with their heads thrown back as they disappeared over a ridge and were gone.  

The first day was done and the rules of the outfitter required us to be back in camp by 6 PM.  Tomorrow is another day.

The next morning started out with a really hearty breakfast after a great night of sleep.  Hiking over the tundra took it's toll on my body, but a good night's rest corrected all the pain and I was ready to go.  It was two hunters per guide. The weather just could not have been more miserable.  We moved up some hills to the top of ridges where the caribou had been seen only to find nothing.  The fog made it really difficult to glass the top of the ridges and the mist now seemed to come in sheets.  We would be in dry air except for the fog, then a sheet of mist would descend on us and come in waves.  Staying dry was no problem as I was wearing a waterproof shell consisting of top and pants that were purchased years ago and were resurrected for this trip.  It pays to buy and hold on to our hunting gear.  We must also remember, we cannot have enough gear.

My guide and fellow hunter wanted to check out a ridge about a mile away, but I decided to stay in a valley with a small stream going by.  It was recommended that I move around to 3 different spots and wait for traffic to come by.  While I waited a couple of hours, caribou moved up and down the valley, but none came within gun range.  A group of five came out of the pines opposite my position, started toward me, then moved going upstream away from me.  They might have been 400 to 500 yards out, but with the wind, it would be a bad shot and presented the chance of wounding one.  That was not wanted.

 Soon the guide and my fellow hunter came trudging across the tundra and it was plain to see a really nice caribou was harvested. The antlers were carried on his back behind his head with his hands hanging on to them.   My partner had made a 200 yard shot and dropped a really good size animal.  As they reached my position, they noticed up on the ridge behind me about six animals.  We all got down, binoculars were pulled and their direction was studied.  It looked at first like they might be coming directly toward us.  Then they moved back over the ridge.  The guide said to me, "Drop your pack, hunker down low, and stay right behind me."

Up the ridge we moved, until we got to the top.  It appeared they were going to go by us, and one really small animal did, but was not worth shooting.  Then we moved back to the top of the ridge.  I need to point out that when I got toward the top of the hills or ridges, the walking became much easier than slogging my way across the swampy marshland and tundra.  Still, I was huffing and puffing.  Then I broke my shooting sticks.  The shot would have to be made without them.  

At the top of the ridge came the small herd of caribou with a decent size one in the front.  At about 100 yards, a round was sent and the animal folded and went down.  The guide said he dropped like a sack of bricks.  The herd only moved off about 50 yards and stopped and stared.  They may have never seen a human being before.  Up close the animal looked good.

The meat on the animal was then removed from the bones and packed into large plastic bags.  The guide then packed all the bagged meat into his back pack and off we walked to the boat.  The antlers were put over my shoulders, and I carefully made my way to the boat.  

Back at camp, the meat was then removed from the bags and hung outside along the side of the lodge.  It was then allowed to drain and start the aging process.

Dinner never tasted better that evening, and a great nights sleep was welcomed.  Another boo was shot the next day, then it was two days of fishing and pitching giant northern pike.  For me, this was the trip of a lifetime.

Good hunting, good fishing, and good luck. Hank

 
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The Glacial Lakes Whisper

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I awoke really early the next morning after taking a drubbing on Waubay Lake.  Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes he eats you.  I was eaten yesterday, but the call of a new lake that I had never fished was inviting.

Several trips ago I met some fishermen from Minnesota.  Imagine that.  Two fishermen fishing South Dakota when they live in a state known for excellent fishing and a walleye haven.  They told me there was not the competition in South Dakota, but I feel it is pretty heavy at times on some of the lakes in the Webster area.   They had been fishing a newly opened up lake named Hazeldon and it was close to Webster.  They had pulled out sixteen to eighteen inch walleye and a limit of four each in about two hours.  I liked the sound of sixteen to eighteen inch fish and the action was fast, which was even better.

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The lake is not big and it is divided into two sections.  The northern section is almost impossible to access.  You have to go through a very narrow channel that is very shallow and full of stumps. There are other problems if your boat gets hung up.  Fishing alone, I was not about to try that access.  The people at Sportsman Cove told me boats had damaged motors and gotten hung up in the mud trying to access the northern arm of the lake.  Check with the people at Sportsman Cove before going there.

The southern half is relatively narrow and is only 863 acres with a maximum depth of 19.7 feet.  It gets deep relatively quickly.  The boat ramp is on the south end of the lake and the water level is relatively shallow.  The dock is okay, but the access to the ramp and dock is not paved or graveled.  It is just a dirt road.  In rainy weather, this lake would be out of the question as the access is steep and you could  easily get stuck trying to get your boat out.  Also parking is limited to about 15 boats, depending on how people park.  The road up to the access is one lane gravel so if you meet someone coming out or in, depending on your direction, you have a minor problem of someone getting by.  Knee high weeds are on each side of this lane.   Having said all this, I am sure everyone reading this has probably asked themselves, "Why go there at all?"  It is the obsession to catch a limit of the "eyes."  To see a good drawing of the lake go the the following website and select Hazeldon Lake - Day Co. (http://gfp.sd.gov/fishing-boating/tacklebox/lake-maps/default.aspx)

Notice the boat ramp marked in red.  The lake is long and narrow with steep bank drop offs into deeper water.  Most of the lake is 18 to 20 feet deep.  To the right of the lake is 12 feet of water and it was recommended not to fish there.  Because the lake is so small and fertile, I believe the locals will fish it out in no time. 

I was on the lake by 7 AM and the only boat to hit it that early.  The sky was a low overcast and the wind had come up probably around 10 to 15 mph out of the southeast.  This provided a good drift and a chartreuse spinner was selected with a crawler.  I started working up the northerly shore moving the boat between 12 to 18 feet of water.  Off the weed line, soft taps were picked up, but no biters.  The wind continued to pick up and boat control was a bit of a problem.  Rods were switched to an ultra light with a chartreuse jig and leech.  After about 90 minutes of not catching anything, the boat was moved to the southeast shore line, and north of the boat ramp.

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The wind was a little calmer, but there was a good drift.  I switched back to the spinner and crawler, but kept the ultra light rod working the water.  When the boat got into 15 feet of water, Wham!  A hit was taken and a 13 inch walleye was landed.  Moving on up along the shoreline another and another was taken, but no keepers.  The boat was moved back to the starting point and positioned out to the 18 to 19 foot level.  An old walleye fisherman told me that when you catch small fish on a location, that is all you are going to catch in that area.  I think that is true as I have experienced size similarity depending on the location.

Into the deeper water the spinner was dropped to the bottom then lifted about 2 feet above it.  At this point,  I slowly drifted with the wind along the bank using the trolling motor to keep the boat parallel to the wind drift.  Wham!  Another fish was nailed and it was a 17 inch fish.  Just what I wanted.  Now to limit out.  The boat was moved back in the general area where the fish was picked up and it was Wham!  Another fish was landed.  This one was about the same size.  Not wanting to risk dropping it, the catch was not measured.  Now the plan was to keep working this area.  It took a little time and another fish was picked up.  However, the bite was starting to get soft and I was sure they were going to turn off.  This one was measured and it made the 15 inch minimum.  One more was all that was needed.  Thirty minutes later my legal limit was caught and it was all over for the day.

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It was 11 AM and to get the four fish had taken four hours.  By the time the boat was out and the fish were cleaned back at the motel, it would be lunch time and time for a short nap.  A person needs to reward himself once the limit is reached.  The plan was to go back to Waubay in the late afternoon and catch and pitch anything that would hit.  After all, I came to fish.

 

 
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Good hunting, good fishing, and good luck.  Hank

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