HUNTING CARIBOU IN NEWFOUNDLAND. 



W. A. B. SCLATER. 



Having finished a prospecting trip to 

 Port au Port, I took the train to Gafft op- 

 sail, Newfoundland, where I arrived the 

 same afternoon in time to get into camp. 

 I here picked up Robert Porter as guide. 

 The noise made by wolves, fighting over 

 a wounded caribou, kept us awake the first 

 part of the night. 



In the morning we started for a low 

 hill, from which we could see the deer 

 leads or paths, for miles around. Nor had 

 we long to wait, for within an hour we 

 saw a herd of 48 caribou marching down 

 one of the paths. A large stag was lead- 

 ing. They were going South, as the cari- 

 bou migration was then on. We had only to 

 go down hill and cut them off, as we 

 could see the lead they were in. A run of 

 500 yards, over rocks and marsh, brought 

 us within 100 yards of the point they had 

 to pass. We got there just as the leader 

 marched out at the head of the tribe. He 

 was the largest , as well as the strongest 

 stag of the herd, and had the finest head. 

 I sent an express bullet from a .40-82 Win- 

 chester through his shoulder. The bullet 

 broke in 3 pieces. One passed through the 

 heart, another through the opposite shoul- 

 der, and the third pierced the liver. That 

 caribou ran, as if unhurt, for over ico 

 yards, but then fell dead. The others of 

 the herd, instead of bolting as I expected, 

 bunched and stood until I walked out in 

 the open, when they went off in a hurry. 



I could have shot my legal number out 

 of that herd, if killing had been my object. 

 Having 5 days to spare, I preferred to kill 

 just one each day. We saw several smaller 

 herds that day, but only used the glass on 

 them. 



After getting the head and scalp to the 

 camp and the meat to the track, we were 

 glad enough to rest. The remainder of 

 the day was spent in fixing up the scalp 

 and salting and preserving the skin. 



The next day we started for our old 



lookout but had not been 10 minutes on 

 the way when I caught sight of a large 

 stag. He was running, and had evidently 

 been started by some other party. He did 

 not see us but parsed at a long swinging 

 trot, about 100 yards to our left. I caught 

 him in the neck, the ball breaking the 

 bone just clear of the shoulder and killing 

 him instantly. The head was not so large 

 as that obtained the day before, but the 

 points were more evenly placed and there 

 were 43 of them. The brow antlers were 

 perfect and large. 



The weather on the third morning looked 

 threatening, and Porter, the guide, promised 

 plenty of rain before night. I, however, 

 got a fawn with a nice dark skin, before 

 the rain came. I also got wet through 

 before I reached camp. Next day we took a 

 new route, thinking we might get a bear ; 

 but though we saw tracks of bear, wolf, and 

 lynx, we got no sight of the animals. I had 

 given up hope of getting a shot at anything, 

 when I saw, just over a large rock, the 

 antlers of an old stag glistening in the sun, 

 and of that fine red tint which they lose so 

 soon after shedding the velvet. After a long 

 and hard stalk, I got within 150 yards of 

 him. Then, as there was no cover, he saw 

 me and started at a trot but my bullet 

 stopped him. 



I shot a doe caribou that afternoon, 

 which made up the number I could legally 

 kill. She had a pretty head, and her antlers 

 were still in the velvet. The following day 

 was my last on that ground, so I took the 

 shotgun and dog for a day's grouse shoot- 

 ing. I found but few, and only got enough 

 to send home. I shared my venison 1 with 

 the 2 St. John's orphanages, in which there 

 are over 200 children, who were glad to get 

 it. 



I should be pleased to give anyone who 

 intends visiting Newfoundland for shoot- 

 ing or fishing, all the information he may 

 require. 



" I suppose you get a lot of honeymoon 

 couples billing and cooing around here? " 

 asked the inquisitive stranger of the land- 

 lord of our favorite week end seclusion. 



" Well, ye — es," replied the man of ex- 

 perience, " plenty of cooing. I manage the 

 rest." — Sporting Times. 

 273 



