Caribou Stampede

Our first trip of the new millennium was to the homestead on January 8. To get there in winter, we drive for six hours, unload, pack the gear into low sleds called akios, and continue by snowmobile the last 20 miles to the cabin.

About halfway in, we stopped for a short break. I glanced up the road and saw a pack of animals cresting a rise and coming toward us at high speed.

"Grab the dog!" I yelled, thinking it must be a musher training his dog team.

"What's the matter?" Dennis asked, not understanding my urgency.

"Quick! Get Goldie!" I insisted. Once the dog was safely under control, Dennis asked again for an explanation.

"There's a dog team coming," I said, turning and pointing.

But they weren't dogs. A tightly-packed herd of at least 100 caribou was racing full speed toward us down the unplowed highway. We hunkered down between our machines and watched in awe as they thundered closer and closer, tongues hanging out and hooves pounding. Awe turned to fright as we realized they were coming straight toward us! They might trample us as well as the machines!

Dennis stood, waved and yelled. They spooked and veered slightly, but continued their headlong race right past us, so close we could almost reach out and touch them. In almost 40 years in that country, Dennis had never seen anything like it. A caribou stampede! The photo shows where it happened.

We started the machines and continued on cautiously, expecting to see a pack of wolves or something else that may have frightened them. But there were only more caribou, grazing peacefully on both sides of the road.

Go on to read "The Homestead 2002"
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