The Far North and the Characters That Inhabit It

When Salamonie Jaw eased the canoe onto the rocky shore of the small island, I thought he was going to take care of nature’s call. Instead, he produced a large coffee can, small backpacker’s stove and a package of tea. I was puzzled.

“Do you know where hunting camp is?” I asked politely.

“Never been there,” he answered.

“Don’t you think we should follow the boats?” I asked. “The chief said we should stay together.”

The young Inuit guide (the only one in our party who spoke English) thought about that a moment.

“You right,” he said. “No time for tea.”

This incident clearly illustrated the rugged nature of people inhabiting the far north. Survival is taken for granted and with much confidence, often with little or no advance planning. Thought processes are seldom complicated, and are mostly directed toward the present rather than the future. Because of this survivability, I have the utmost respect for Inuits. I‘m intrigued with their culture.

Quickly we were off again, barely able to see the other canoes. As we chased the fleeing sights of the small vessels far ahead, I wondered how I ever got talked into hunting caribou from a hunting camp that was 80 miles away–every mile of it riding in a 20-foot freighter canoe powered by a 25-hp outboard.

I suppose I signed on because the late Jerome Knap who owned Canada North Outfitters told me that we’d be the first Caucasians to hunt remote Baffin Island for caribou. I’ve always been a willing candidate for a wild adventure and I figured a trip across the Arctic Ocean was bordering on insanity. Besides, I was hoping to take all five species of caribou recognized by the Boone and Crockett Club. This hunt would allow me to get the Central Barren Ground subspecies if I was successful.

The farther out in the ocean we rode, the higher the swells and the harder the canoe slapped down with each wave. Eighty miles of this? I looked at my two hunting companions in the canoe and wondered what they were thinking. My thoughts were simple: would this canoe hold together with the violent pounding which was bound to get more violent? I looked at the dark green water, realizing that if we ever had the misfortune of going overboard into the icy ocean, we’d have a couple minutes to live. There’s a popular saying in the north that a life preserver is useful only to retrieve your body and send it home to your loved ones.

Soon the swells deepened and the wind blew furiously. The canoe labored through the crashing waves, slamming down with an unnerving thud as sprays of icy water stung our faces. I looked at Salamonie for a hint of a plan.

He read my mind. “We go there,” he said nonchalantly, pointing to an island a quarter-mile away.

After beaching the canoes, the guides quickly set up tents, lashing rocks to the ropes in the wind and the driving, bitterly cold rain. It was a sleepless night as the wind slashed at our tent. At times I knew it would blow away. I got up once to retie ropes to rocks that had come unfastened.

The seas quieted by morning and we traveled on, finally reaching the camp area several hours later. We hunted on foot over rugged terrain and used the canoes to access nearby islands. Salamonie made a stunning shot I’ll never forget. When three ducks flew in front of the boat, he grabbed a rusty .22 with open sights and hit a duck in the head. He proudly accepted our vigorous handshakes.

After three days of hunting, all 15 hunters scored. Now we had another adventure awaiting as we headed back to the tiny village of Cape Dorset, our starting point. We were about to cast off the loaded boat to leave camp when Salamonie made a startling announcement. “May not have enough gas to get back unless the tide is good.”

He explained that if we couldn’t cross a reef several miles long at one narrow 30-yard low spot, we’d have to take a 20-mile detour and surely run out of fuel. But if the tide was high enough, we’d be able to cross the cut. More bad news. We were the last canoe to leave. The other boats were already out of sight and there would be no catching up and borrowing fuel.

As we approached the cut, we were collectively holding our breath when Salamonie grinned widely. “We through by this much,” he said jubilantly. He held his fingers apart indicating the prop missed hitting the reef by inches.

Once more I marveled at the tenacity and grit of the people who inhabit the bleak, perilous country of the far north. I couldn’t wait to go back.

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