Nunavut Nomads--Musk Ox

I`m not exactly sure when the idea of going on a musk ox hunt started percolating through my little brain. I think most serious big game collectors probably ponder the possibility, and there`s no denying the mystique and unique character shown by these large, hairy, prehistoric beasts, throwbacks to an earlier icy age of cave men, dire wolves and hairy mammoths.

I`ll be the first to admit, I didn`t know much about musk ox, trophy-wise. We are all familiar with their daunting face-out defensive circle they employ when facing a threat, protecting the calves and weaker herd members within a phalanx of sharp horns and an intimidating bulk. But other than a few biological traits, I couldn`t find much on how to choose a good bull. And I really wasn`t too concerned. What`s an inch, here or there...I wanted to experience a true Arctic hunting experience, with the possibilities of frostbite, whiteouts, icebergs and all. Besides, all I usually notice about musk ox is that amazingly thick, long coat and imposing shape.

I booked for a late fall hunt out of Cambridge Bay on Victoria Island, Nunavut, Canada, so that I could also hunt Arctic Island caribou (I`m a helpless caribou addict). I had always been enchanted by photos I`d seen of the diminutive Peary caribou from the far north, and while these island critters were not true Peary`s, this was probably as close as I was going to get. There were supposed to be thousands of caribou on the island, and over 30,000 musk ox, as well as the occasional wolf, wolverine and bear.

A late cancellation allowed me go on my hunt a year earlier than I had arranged, and after getting some tips from other hunters on necessary gear and likely conditions in late October, I set off from home in Montana to Edmonton, Alberta to catch a flight to Yellowknife and on to Cambridge Bay. There were eight other hunters on the plane, including a few bowhunters. Since the caribou don`t stick around long after the big bay freezes over but continue on south for the winter, the timing of this combination hunt was critical, and quite weather-dependent. The outfitter, Canada North Outfitting, offered five four-day hunts in October and early November, and I was on the second of these. Hunters are guided one-on-one in pairs for safety in the event of mechanical problems with the chosen transport or other complications...it soon became evident what a wise policy this was in a harsh environment.

Cambridge Bay is a small, mostly Inuit village of around 1500 residents, and you could certainly tell we were well above the Arctic circle. Although there wasn`t a lot of snow, just a few inches covering the tundra, the wind was strong and biting. Everyone`s gear arrived safely, and our contact gal Mabel bundled us all off to the only hotel in town for the first night.

We met our guides, and I was paired with Jeff, a hunter from Ohio. My guide Mark seemed experienced, albeit quite short...we made an amusing pair, as I`m 6`4". Half the hunters chose to stay in the hotel and hunt from there every day, while Jeff and I planned on staying in a cabin out in the tundra somewhere, a daunting prospect. Our guides used 4-wheelers on our first day due to the lack of snow; we rode behind our guides, who each towed a sled for gear.

First we drove about eight miles up the coast to our lodgings in a trapper`s cabin, which seemed very adequate and well-stocked with food, an oil stove and four bunks. We left our gear and headed north to the hunting area, enjoying the rare sunshine and the sight of blue icebergs that dotted the coastline. Ravens charted our progress overhead, and white arctic foxes dashed ahead of our quads amongst the ice.

A few hours later we saw our first herd of caribou, and as the rut was in full swing, there was a dominant bull in attendance, who spent most of his time chasing off the hopeful satellite bulls on the herd edge. This particular bull was actually really nice, with a lot of mass on his antlers, and Jeff made a good shot to claim his first caribou ever. Their capes were snowy white and swollen from the rut, which also unfortunately rendered their normally delicious meat inedible for these few weeks of the rut. I wouldn`t believe it at first; caribou meat is one of my very favorites, but the strong pungent chemical smell from the meat was enough to convince me otherwise, and the carcass was delegated for sled dog chow.

We continued on, and eventually came across a bachelor herd lingering near a handful of cows and their dominant bull. I was sorely tempted by several of the bachelors, one of which had that white face I was hoping for, but they all had quite modest antlers. The herd bull was rushing from one end of his small herd to the other, grunting and panting, and showing off his unusual rack, which had two long points that almost touched behind his head.

He won me over, and toppled to a shoulder shot. With two caribou down on day one we headed for home, a slow and bumpy ride with over 12 miles to cover. It was soon apparent that the other quad was having a problem, and I was alarmed to see that the left rear tire was coming off the rim. It was soon completely loose, and the rim bent with the pressure, but it still kept going somehow, slowly chewing the tire to ribbons. Jeff crammed onto our quad, and his guide somehow made it to camp in that condition.

We got to our shack at dark and made dinner while the guides caped our bulls. The local arctic foxes spread the word, and the carcasses were soon swarming with hungry white wraiths...hunters are not allowed to shoot the foxes, but skins are available from local trappers.

I got a kick out of a little weasel with a dead hare left outside by a previous hunter; he was happily tucked inside the hare, gnawing away.

After our 4-wheeler mishap, it was decided to switch to the more traditional snowmobiles, which towed a wooden box that the hunter reclined in. I was a tad nonplussed when I saw my "coffin", but Mark put lots of cushions and tarps down, and I clambered inside, my back to the wind. Off we went, and with the lack of a good layer of snow, the ride was jarring to say the least as we zoomed over rocks and the frozen, broken tundra. Luckily there were lots of frozen ponds, which made for a smoother ride, and we quickly made up some time, arriving in the hunting area in early afternoon.

We stopped at a high point and could see several distinct herds of musk ox in the distance, tiny black dots in a sea of frozen snowy tundra. We made our way close to one, and they soon became nervous and took off, their long shaggy coats bouncing and flowing with each stride. It took a surprisingly long time for the herd to stop, but they finally did, tongues lolling out as they panted from their run. I took one look at the bull and decided I liked him just fine, and we gave chase again, finally catching up to him as he whirled around to face us.

I borrowed Jeff`s 7mm (I had decided not to bring a rifle), and with a quick shot he went down almost immediately. What a beast! I thought he was lovely, with his long flowing coat and those black-tipped horns.

This method of hunting is not what most hunters would choose, but it seemed the only practical way to approach these herds. After the dubious experience with the caribou meat, I tried a nibble of the musk ox meat, and was relieved that he had no bad odor. Mark skinned him for a half- lifesize mount, we loaded up the cape, horns and meat, and took off in the direction of another herd.

After perusing several good bulls from a larger herd, Jeff finally made a selection as the sun was setting and snow started falling. I was a little worried that our guides wouldn`t be able to find their way back across the featureless landscape, but once again we arrived just after dark, ahead of the worsening weather.

As we prepared supper and the guides skinned the capes out, I was grateful that we had accomplished our goals, taken such beautiful, majestic animals, and had fairly good conditions for our short hunt. We rode back to town the next morning, meeting up with several other hunters who had also been successful, and most of us managed to catch an early flight back to Edmonton ahead of the ominous weather.

Hunting in the Arctic is not for the faint of heart. Although it may not be physically taxing, the wind and cold do take a toll, as does the rough ride across the tundra. And those of us from the U.S. might grapple with the "native" way of doing things...you are on arctic time up there, no hurry, no schedule, no timetables, you just go with the flow.

I`m grateful that I had the opportunity to take two such wonderful animals in their sometimes harsh and extreme habitat, and to experience, however briefly, the feeling of pursuing such an ancient, specialized creature as the noble musk ox.

*tips on gear: I took everything warm that I owned, and also rented an arctic snowsuit from the outfitter, which was well worth it. The wind is constant and very cold, so windbreaking gear is a must. I also had a -40 rated sleeping bag which proved unnecessary in our situation, but some of the cabins have no source of heat, so it`s best to be prepared.

First Air, the airline of choice, was very accommodating as usual—we all had lots of bags, guns, capes, heavy horns and skulls, but were only charged about $100 extra each, quite a bargain. Since I drove to Canada from Montana, I can`t speak for what happened on US airlines for the other hunters...