THE

BARREN GROUND CARIBOU

OF KEEWATIN

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

(added by transcriber)

In the printed text, illustrations were grouped into three blocks,
probably for mechanical reasons. For this e-text, each illustration has
been placed as close as practical to its discussion in the text, while
keeping them in numerical order. The List of Illustration and marginal
page numbers both show the original location.

Introduction

No other large North American land mammal is of such primary
importance as the Barren Ground Caribou (Rangifer arcticus
arcticus) as a source of food and clothing for so many primitive
Eskimo and Indian tribes; no other performs such extensive and
spectacular migrations; no other may be seen in such vast herds; no
other exhibits so close an approach to a Garden-of-Eden trustfulness in
the presence of man. And perhaps no other is more worthy of being
cherished and safeguarded in its natural haunts for the benefit and
enjoyment of future generations.

The original valid designation, in technical nomenclature, of the
Barren Ground Caribou of the Mackenzie-Keewatin region dates back to
1829, when Sir John Richardson described it in the Fauna
Boreali-Americana as Cervus tarandus var. arctica. The
type locality is Fort Enterprise (about lat. 64° 30´ N., long. 113° W.),
on Winter Lake, an expansion of Snare River, Mackenzie. Since the
typical subspecies appears to lack a distin­guishing common name, it
would seem fitting to associate with it the name of its worthy
describer; thus, Richardson’s Barren Ground Caribou. The author’s
intimate acquaintance with the animal should have enabled him to draw up
a somewhat fuller and more adequate description than he did. Previous
travelers in the Barren Grounds, among whom Samuel Hearne (1795) was
particularly notable, had contributed accounts of the species, without
differen­tiating it from the Lapland Reindeer (Rangifer
tarandus) or without giving it a distinctive technical name.

Since Richardson’s time the mainland form of western Canada has been
discussed by many zoologists and explorers. The most comprehensive
account of its life history hitherto published is that by Seton (1929,
3: 95-135),1 whose personal experience was gained in the region of
Artillery, Clinton-Colden, and Aylmer lakes. Dearth of adequate material
(particularly from the type locality or adjacent areas) makes it all but
impossible to determine whether there is any significant geographical
variation between the herds of central Mackenzie and those of
Keewatin.

The foremost objective of an expedition I made in 1947 to Nueltin
Lake, in southwestern Keewatin, was a study of the Barren Ground
Caribou. The expedition was supported by the Arctic Institute
6
of North America, with funds supplied by the Office of Naval Research.
My headquarters were at the little Windy River trading post, at the
northwestern extremity of Nueltin Lake (map 1). There, for a period of six months,
I enjoyed the fine hospitality of Charles Schweder and Fred
Schweder, Jr. They had lived on intimate terms with the Caribou during
most of their youthful lives, and they freely shared with me the
knowledge they had thus gained concerning the ways of life of these
wonderful creatures. They secured nearly all the specimens that went
into my collection. The three other residents of the post also deserve
my gratitude for their general helpfulness and friendliness; they were
10-year-old Mike Schweder (brother of Charles and Fred), 15-year-old
Anoteelik (an Eskimo boy), and the latter’s sister, 5-year-old Rita.

In a previous paper (1953) I have endeavored to express to various
officials and friends my sincere appreciation of their courtesy and
generosity in furthering the work of the expedition; and I can scarcely
forbear to repeat here the names of at least a few of them: Dr.
A. L. Washburn, at that time executive director of the Arctic
Institute of North America; Mr. R. A. Gibson, deputy commissioner
of the Admini­stration of the Northwest Territories; and Mr.
G. W. Malaher, director of the Game and Fisheries Branch, Manitoba.
For the loan of a motion-picture camera, which secured for me some
extremely gratifying scenes of the migrant hosts on the Barrens,
I am greatly indebted to Mr. William C. Morrow. Dr. Ralph S. Palmer
has kindly read, and made helpful comments upon, a preliminary
draft of the present report.

Through the courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History, the
United States National Museum, and the United States Fish and Wildlife
Service, I have been able to examine important comparative material
in their collections.

A grant from the National Science Foundation has enabled me to carry
the investigation through to completion.

1.
This statement, written long before the appearance of Banfield’s work of
1954, no longer applies.

Migrations

The Barren Ground Caribou is the outstanding migratory land mammal of
North America at the present day. (Some of the bats, though extensively
migratory, obviously belong in a category too distinct for comparison.)
We know as yet extremely little concerning the movements of individual
Caribou;2
but it is fairly safe to assume that among those reaching the southern
limits of the winter range in central Manitoba or northwestern Ontario,
there must be many whose summer range is at least 500 or 600 miles to
the northward. The latitudinal extent of such wanderings is comparable
with, or equivalent to, an annual round trip between Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania, and Charleston, South Carolina. There is perhaps less
information available concerning the migrations of the wild Reindeer of
the Old World than concerning the movements of the Barren Ground Caribou
of North America (cf. Jacobi, 1931: 191-200).

2.
One means of gathering information on this subject would be to capture
fawns as they swim across lakes or wide rivers on the autumn migration,
then to affix numbered metal tags to their ears and to release them in
time to rejoin their mothers. This would simply be a modification of the
leg-banding method that has proved so highly successful in the study of
bird migration. It would also be particularly useful in studies on age
and growth.

Southern limits of winter range

In years long past the winter range extended at least occasionally as
far south as Fort McMurray in Alberta and Cree Lake and the upper
Mudjatick and Foster rivers in Saskatchewan, and rather regularly to
Reindeer Lake (Preble, 1908: 137); and “on rare occasions as far south
as Cumberland House on the Saskatchewan River” (Buchanan, 1920: 105). At
an early date Richardson believed (1829: 243) that “none” of these
Caribou “go to the southward of Churchill.”

There are, however, records of long ago that deal with mass
occurrences of Caribou on the lower courses of the Nelson, Hayes, and
Severn rivers, emptying on the west coast of Hudson Bay. The records are
very puzzling in several respects. Most of them do not definitely
differentiate the species involved from the Barren Ground Caribou, but
some of them (by Hearne, Richardson, and Preble) indicate that it is the
Woodland Caribou. The direction of the migrations, as reported in some
instances, is just the reverse of that taken at the present time by the
Barren Ground species during its normal movements at corresponding
seasons. Finally, it is all but impossible to reconcile the numbers
reported with such knowledge
8
as we have of the status of the Woodland Caribou at any other period or
in any other region.

Perhaps the earliest account is by Dobbs (1744: 22):

“They [residents at Fort Bourbon-York Factory] also take great
numbers of Cariboux or Rain-Deer [sp.?]. In March and
April they come from the North to the South, and extend then
along the River 60 Leagues; they go again Northward in July and
August; the Roads they make in the Snow are as well padded, and
cross each other as often as the Streets in Paris.”

In discussing the “Indian deer” or Woodland Caribou in the vicinity
of Great Slave Lake, Hearne remarks (1795: 225): “This is that species
of deer which are found so plentiful near York Fort and Severn
River.”

According to Thompson (1916: 100-101), an immense herd of “Rein Deer”
[sp.?], estimated at the rather preposterous figure of 3,564,000
individuals, crossed the Hayes River 20 miles above York Factory in late
May, 1792. The direction of this migration is not indicated.

Richardson writes (“1825”: 330) of the Woodland Caribou: “In the
beginning of September, vast numbers of this kind of deer pass near York
Factory . . . on their journey towards the north-west.”

And again (1829: 250):

“They cross the Nelson and Severn Rivers in immense herds in the
month of May, pass the summer on the low, marshy shores of James’ Bay,
and return to the northward, and at the same time retire more inland in
the month of September. . . . I have been informed by
several of the residents at York Factory that the herds are sometimes so
large as to require several hours to cross the river in a crowded
phalanx.”

The implication is that the herds passed southward in May. It
should be borne in mind that these were apparently not personal
observations of Richardson’s; and in his belief that the Barren Ground
species did not go south of Churchill, he may have merely assumed that
the animals in the York Factory region were the Woodland species.

“Near York Factory, in 1831, this propensity [Indian
destruc­tiveness] . . . led to the indis­criminate
destruction of a countless herd of reindeer [sp.?], while crossing the
broad stream of Haye’s River, in the height of
summer. . . . The deer have never since visited that part
of the country in similar numbers.” (Simpson, 1843: 76).

Referring to the York Factory region in 1837, John McLean writes
(1932 [1849]: 195). “Not many years ago this part of the country was
periodically visited by immense herds of rein-deer; at present there is
scarcely one to be found.”

A later account of Richardson’s (1852: 290) is somewhat ambiguous as
to the species to which it refers:

“The reindeer that visit Hudson’s Bay travel southward toward James’s
Bay in spring. In the year 1833, vast numbers of them were killed by the
Cree Indians at a noted pass three or four days march above York
Factory. They were on their return northward, and were crossing Hayes
River in incredible multitudes.”

Pike writes (1917 [1892]: 50) that “within the last three years
[i.e., about 1888] the [Barren Ground?] caribou have appeared in
their thousands at York Factory . . . where they have not been
seen for over thirty years.”

Preble (1902: 41) quotes Dr. Alexander Milne as thinking, after 14
years’ residence at York Factory, that the small bands of “Woodland
Caribou,” found between Churchill and Cape Churchill, form the “northern
fringe of the bands which migrate to the coast in spring, the great
majority of which in their journey cross to the south of Nelson River.”
At that time, however, Preble (1902: 42), like Richardson before him,
seems to have regarded the Churchill River as the southern limit of the
Barren Ground species, and thus he may not have considered the
possibility of the animals of Cape Churchill and the Nelson and Hayes
rivers belonging to the same species.

It is difficult to draw any sure conclusions from the confusing
records just quoted. Possibly chief reliance should be placed upon the
testimony of such high authorities as Hearne, Richardson, and Preble
when they refer to the animals as Woodland Caribou. Furthermore, none of
the early writers identify them unequivocally as the Barren Ground
species. It remains fairly evident that long ago some species of Caribou
in great numbers did actually cross these rivers in a southerly
direction in the spring, pass the summer on the coastal tundra east of
York Factory, and return northward or northwestward in late summer or
autumn. Whichever species it was, it represented a segment of the
population that must have become reduced to utterly insignificant
numbers, if not entirely extirpated, some decades ago. In any event, it
does not seem very
10
likely that we shall ever be able to reconstruct the actual movements of
the “incredible multitudes” in the York Factory region of more than a
century ago.

Since the beginning of the present century, until very recent years,
there seem to have been few or no Manitoba records of R. a.
arcticus from any locality so far to the southeast as York Factory.
In 1947, however, Mr. G. W. Malaher, director of the Game and
Fisheries Branch in Manitoba, informed me that during the previous
couple of winters the animals had ranged southward on a broad front to
the latitude of Oxford House, where they had not been known for 40 or 45
years. It was surmised that the recent burning of large areas north of
The Pas, resulting in the destruction of the Caribou’s normal winter
food of lichens, had deflected the animals toward the southeast and had
caused them to extend their migration beyond its normal limit. The Split
Lake band of Indians (on the Nelson River) were said to have killed
4,000 Caribou during the winter of 1946-47, and to have used half of
them for dog feed.

Arthur H. Lamont, in charge of the meteorological office at Fort
Churchill, gave me information concerning Caribou that he had seen
during a plane flight from that point to Edmonton on March 18, 1947. At
midday he had sighted hundreds, in bands averaging 20 to 30 individuals,
on some little lakes, averaging a quarter of a mile in diameter, near
the southwestern end of Reindeer Lake. The animals were right in the
middle of the frozen lakes (evidently for a noonday rest), and some of
them were lying down. They paid no attention to the plane at a height of
6,000 feet, but were frightened when it came down to 200 feet. This was
the only area where Caribou were sighted during the entire flight.

Duncan A. McLeod, of Winnipeg, informed me that he had seen thousands
and thousands of Caribou on April 16, 1941, while he was flying from
Isle à la Crosse to Beaverlodge on Lake Athabaska. They were nearer to
Lake Athabaska than to the starting-point. They were congregated on
frozen lakes about the middle of the day.

“Their nomadic migrations during the past 10 years have brought
caribou herds during winter months to northwestern Ontario (Little
Sachigo Lake); central Manitoba (Cormorant, Cross, and Island Lakes);
northern Saskatchewan (Churchill River); northeastern Alberta
(Clearwater and Athabaska Rivers and Lake Claire)” (Banfield, 1949: 478,
fig. 1).

Spring migration in the Churchill region

The Hudson Bay Railway is perhaps the only one in North America from
which Barren Ground Caribou of the present subspecies have been seen. On
May 21, 1947, a passenger reported three or four of the animals
near Mile 326, between Gillam and Amery. Farther north, between Herchmer
and Chesnaye, the railway passes for perhaps 30-40 miles through the
western edge of a tundra area, interspersed with small spruce timber;
this is known as the “Little Barrens.” It was a thrilling experience to
see my first Caribou here, during a period of three-quarters of an hour
on the afternoon of May 21, from Mile 453 to about Mile 475. There were
eight bands, varying in number from 2 to 60 or 70 and averaging about 20
individuals. The first and largest band was loping away from the train,
at a distance of perhaps 350 yards. A band of 9 or 10, at about 250
yards, exhibited both a trotting and a loping gait. Others, as far off
as half a mile or a mile and therefore less alarmed, seemed to content
themselves with trotting. They maintained a noticeably close formation
while fleeing from the train. Yearlings, appearing only about half the
size of the adults, were readily distin­guishable. The animals were
in the midst of their spring migration and were evidently moving in a
general northerly direction over the snow-covered Barrens. The ice of
the small lakes was still solid enough for the Caribou to trot over
it.

Two weeks previously a large movement had passed through this area,
as I learned from several sources. A member of the Royal Canadian
Mounted Police detachment at Churchill, for example, had traveled
through the Caribou for a distance of 15 miles without coming to the end
of them; he estimated their numbers at more than 5,000. Joe Chambers,
a trapper of Goose Creek, said the animals had been very plentiful
in April, moving generally northward. He spoke of finding a good many
Caribou that Wolves had killed, contenting themselves with eating only
the tongue and the unborn fawn.

According to a railway conductor, only 12 Caribou were seen from the
train as it passed through the Little Barrens on May 25, and none on May
28.

John Ingebrigtsen, of Churchill, reported passing a frozen lake
somewhere east of the Duck Lake Post, that was “absolutely full” of
Caribou. It was about a mile and a half long by half a mile wide, and he
estimated the number of animals at not less than 20,000.
12
This was in the early part of May, 1942 or 1943, when the spring
migration was no doubt under way.

During a plane flight from Eskimo Point to Baker Lake on May 22,
1947, John M. Bourassa and Don Gallagher sighted numbers of Caribou,
including one herd of about 500. On May 28 the former saw a Caribou
between Churchill and Fort Churchill. From other sources I learned that
small numbers occasionally pass along the outskirts of Churchill during
the migrations.

Professor Hazel R. Ellis (in litt., April 13, 1953) reports
seeing several bands of Caribou from the train as it approached
Churchill on June 8, 1947; also a band between Churchill and Fort
Churchill on June 13 and 21, 1949, and a single animal on June 28, 1949,
on the west side of the river near Churchill. On July 5, 1949, she
filmed a herd of over 40 Caribou at Bird Cove on Cape Churchill.

Preble writes (1902: 41): “Between York Factory and Fort Churchill a
few small bands [of Woodland Caribou] are found throughout the year on
the ‘Barrens’.” He includes reports to this effect from several sources,
including J. W. Tyrrell (1898). The latter, however, does not
specify which species of Caribou his party encountered. It might be
expected that R. a. arcticus, rather than R. caribou
sylvestris, would be the proper inhabitant of this tundra area. It
is beyond question that the animals seen in recent years on the “Little
Barrens” between the Churchill and the Nelson Rivers are the Barren
Ground species. Furthermore, Mr. G. W. Malaher, of the Manitoba
Game and Fisheries Branch, informed me that a considerable number of
this species spend the summer and have their fawns on the Barrens in
this area.

Spring migration in the Nueltin Lake region

The general pattern of this migration, as manifested particularly
about the northwestern portion of the lake, was explained by Charles
Schweder. As a rule, practically all the local Caribou spend the winter
in the wooded country to the southward. When the northward movement
starts in the spring, the does precede the bucks; they migrate through
this area mostly in May (and apparently more commonly in the latter half
of the month), but to some extent in April or even earlier. During June
the majority of the animals passing by are bucks. According to Fred
Schweder, Jr., the spring migration here is more regular, less erratic,
than the fall migration.

When I arrived at Nueltin Lake on May 31, the spring migration
13
was in full swing; it continued through June in gradually lessening
force, and the last northbound band was seen on July 1. In the
meantime many interesting details of caribou behavior came to light.

While flying from Churchill to Duck Lake Post on May 31, at a height
of about 500 feet, we detected three bands on the frozen surface of Seal
River, where they were evidently taking a noonday rest. They numbered
approximately 40, 20, and 6 individuals. Within 20 minutes after
resuming our journey, from Duck Lake Post to Nueltin Lake, we saw four
more bands, numbering from two to a dozen individuals. Finally, just
before landing on Windy Bay, we noticed a band of perhaps 20 crossing
the bay a mile from its head.

Observations during the following 10 days showed that this was a very
definite crossing-place for the Caribou, as if some invisible barrier on
each side kept them to a certain line of march. Moreover, Charles
Schweder informed me that they followed this identical route year after
year. An examination of the local topography (map 1) soon revealed the reason. The rugged south side
of Windy Bay rises steeply for some 500 feet to the summit of the Windy
Hills, and over a considerable distance there are precipices and talus
slopes barring the passage of such animals as Caribou. But the mile-long
South Bay, meeting Windy Bay at right angles, affords a convenient break
in the hills; and the slopes thereabouts are gradual enough to be
negotiated readily by the Caribou. So here they converge from the
neighboring heights, making long, slanting trails through the snow that
are visible for miles; they pass out of the narrow mouth of South Bay as
through a funnel, then follow the beaten path of their predecessors
across the ice of Windy Bay toward the farther shore, until they are
lost to view among a cluster of islands. It may be further remarked that
their course northeastward from the mouth of South Bay is less
obstructed by islands than almost any near-by portion of Windy Bay.

From our camp, a mile or so distant, Caribou in bands of
approximately the following numbers were observed using this
crossing-place during the early part of June: June 1—7, 10, 18,
20, and several other bands of unrecorded size; June 2—10, 3, 7;
June 3—4, 4, 10, 30, 70, and others; June 4—3, 40?; June
5—40, 50, 75; June 6—25; June 10—8. Of course many
others must have passed while our attention was elsewhere engaged. In
most cases my records indicate the time of day when the bands were
crossing Windy Bay.
14
The periods were mainly from 10 to 11 a.m., from 2:30 to 5 p.m., and in
the evening. Perhaps the infrequency of midday passages was due to the
habit of the Caribou of resting at this period. One of the last bands to
pass during the evening of June 1 consisted of about 20 individuals. Two
big bucks were in the lead, and apparently a few others were scattered
along the line. At the very rear was a big, extra-dark buck, immediately
preceded by a yearling barely half its size.

In crossing the bay ice, the animals traveled habitually in long
files, one after the other, and yet not altogether in single file. In
watching the endlessly interesting spectacle from camp, we could not
always count the individuals exactly, for here and there a few would get
abreast of others and be partly concealed. The general formation of each
band was that of a much strung-out procession. For the most part the
animals progressed at a moderate walking gait; there were no flies to
spur them on at this season. On one occasion the forward element of a
large band was actually running, but those in the rear were going
calmly, and there was no visible cause of alarm. At mid-morning of June
6 most of a band of 25 were lying down to rest on the bay ice, while a
few remained standing.

Meanwhile Caribou in some numbers were advancing northward by
crossing Windy River, the ice on which did not break up generally till
June 14. On June 3, for example, as I peeped out of my tent at 4
a.m., there was a band of about 15 making a crossing a quarter of a mile
above camp. Late in the afternoon several dozen did likewise close to
the same place. At this period I did not get farther upstream to note
how many might be passing there. On June 14, while the river ice was
breaking up but while the bay ice was holding firm, two bucks moved
about on the latter, just off the river’s mouth. They appeared to be
seeking a safe crossing. The smaller of the two almost invariably
preceded, just as if it were aware that it would be less likely to break
through than its companion. For the most part they walked rather
sedately, but now and then took up a very leisurely trot. On the
following day a dozen crossed Windy Bay at about the same place. These
were the last ones seen on the ice in June. Though the ice remained on
the bay for some days longer, it had evidently become unsafe.

Thereafter the Caribou obviously preferred the short passage of Windy
River (no more than 50 or 60 yards wide in places) to a swim of half a
mile or so across Windy Bay. So they appeared in
15
considerable numbers on the south bank of the river, reconnoi­tering
for a suitable place to cross. Many were deterred by movements or sounds
in our camp on the north bank, including the yelping invariably set up
by the tethered Husky dogs whenever they would catch sight of Caribou;
the latter would then be likely either to retreat behind the ridges or
to pass upstream along the south bank. Along the half-mile extent of
this bank visible from our camp, I noted the following making the
passage of the river by swimming: June 18, a band of half a dozen;
June 20, a band of three landing practically in our dooryard and
about 14 crossing at the mouth; June 21, six crossing at the mouth; June
24, about 10 (mostly big bucks) landing just above the camp. On the
morning of July 1 a buck swam across the bay just off the river’s mouth,
and a little later a band of about 11—the last seen on the spring
migration—were trotting upstream along the south bank.

Various groups observed during June, principally on the south side of
the bay and the river, furnished memorable spectacles. Besides resorting
to open areas on the frozen lakes and rivers for their resting periods,
the Caribou will also select some commanding hilltop for the same
purpose. On June 3 a band of 75 appeared in midday on the summit of a
rocky hill (“Caribou Knoll,” map 1) rising to
a height of some 150 feet on the far side of Windy River. While some
kept on feeding, many of them lay down on snowbanks, apparently
preferring these to the plentiful patches of bare ground, and doubtless
passing the time by chewing their cuds. The velvet of the bucks’ new
antlers was plainly visible through field-glasses. In the variety of
their attitudes on this rocky height the animals were disposed perhaps
more like alpine Chamois than like the generally conceived masses of
Caribou on the low Barrens. What a subject for a Millais!

It appears likely that the higher elevations may serve for the
nocturnal rest as well as for a noonday siesta. During the evening of
June 1, for instance, some 75 Caribou in a loose aggregation were
feeding over the summit of Josie’s Hill, beyond the junction of Windy
and South bays. On June 20 I was enjoying a wonderfully clear and golden
light that was cast on the imposing mass of this hill as the sun was
setting at my back about 9 o’clock. The glory of that scene was enhanced
by picking out with the naked eye, at a distance of a couple of miles,
two separate bands of 12 to 15 Caribou making their way upward toward
the broad, plateaulike summit. Meanwhile a lone Caribou was outlined
against the sky on
16
one of the rocky ridges to the south. Might not these various movements
have indicated a common urge to spend the semi-darkness of the Arctic
summer night on some high, open area where a good lookout for Wolves
could be kept?

About 2 p.m. on June 15, a herd, perhaps half a hundred strong,
appeared on a ridge directly across the river from camp. The animals
made a lovely spectacle as they stood for a time, despite certain human
movements in camp. Then they moved off upstream. A couple of hours
later about 15 Caribou were feeding quietly on the south bank. On the
following morning a band of 20 were doing likewise in nearly the same
place. Among them were a patriarchal buck (apparently the leader),
several other bucks, various does (one with hard horns), and a large
proportion of yearlings. The bucks in general were lighter in
color—more buffy; the does and yearlings, a sort of smoke
gray. They seemed to be feeding to some extent on the patches of
crowberry and dwarf birch. Presently they trotted off upstream, almost
but not quite in single file, for a couple marched out of line with the
others.

On June 17 a band of about 20 appeared at a distance of 125 yards on
the brow of a low hill near Stump Lake. Nearly all were big bucks, with
velvety antlers up to about 20 inches in length. Perhaps three in the
band were hornless—if not does, then young bucks that had very
recently shed their antlers. Two of the bigger bucks were in the lead.
At first the band came toward me, then went off at a tangent at a good
pace, splashed across a little stream in a spirited action, and
disappeared over the next ridge.

Out of several bands appearing on June 20 on the opposite side of the
river, one of about 14 individuals came down the slope near the mouth,
took to the water at once, and made for the north shore. A strong
buck landed first, and farthest upstream; others did nearly as well, but
some of the smaller animals were swept by the strong current down into
the bay and probably landed beyond the point. On reaching the shore, and
even some minutes afterward, several of the Caribou could be seen
shaking the water from their fur in doglike fashion.

On the morning of June 21 a dozen came to the ridge across the river,
briefly inspected the camp, and retreated. In a short time they
returned, four antlered bucks in the lead, and some hornless individuals
in the rear (almost in a separate band). Three of the bucks stood side
by side, looking long and earnestly at the camp,
17
while the others grazed. Finally dissatisfied with the prospect, they
made off upstream.

A little before 7 p.m. on the same day six Caribou appeared on the
same ridge. For once the dogs were inattentive and silent. After
promenading back and forth along the brow, the Caribou disappeared on
the far side of the ridge; but in a few moments they were in the water
at the river’s mouth, in very close formation, three of them swimming
abreast. There were three good bucks and three smaller, hornless
animals. After they got ashore at the opposite point, there was wagging
of tails and shaking of ears, heads, and bodies, while the water flew
off in a spray. Then they leisurely proceeded along the shore and around
the point.

About 7 p.m. on June 24 some 10 Caribou (mostly big bucks) swam the
river and landed immediately above our camp. The last two, I noted,
were heading almost upstream in the current that was running 6-8 miles
per hour. They swam high, with the whole line of the back 2 or 3 inches
out of the water and with the antlers tilted back to keep the snout
above the surface. On landing, the animals hastened to the top of the
Camp Ridge and ran off along it, while the chained and frustrated dogs
expressed their feelings in the usual manner.

As I was retiring to my tent on the Camp Ridge in the twilight about
11:30 p.m. on June 29, I noticed a Caribou in the opposite edge of
the river, about 125 yards away. For the most part it stood in about a
foot of water and kept watching upstream. After some minutes I moved
closer, right along the skyline; I waved a white pillow at it and
shouted several times, but still it would not leave. Eventually it did
move a few feet back from the water’s edge and there appeared to browse
on some dwarf birches.

The next day, watching from Pile o’ Rocks northwest of camp,
I noticed three Caribou passing on a northeasterly course. They
walked for the most part, but now and again trotted. They were two
well-antlered bucks and a smaller individual with shorter horns. One of
the former paused to graze in a green-sprouting sedge bog. It was
perhaps such fresh summer vegetation that had helped to produce fat an
inch thick on the haunches of an animal secured about this date.

The area near the western border of Keewatin, lying at some distance
south of Dubawnt Lake and west of the upper Kazan River, does not appear
to attract large numbers of Caribou. Just once, in May, Charles Schweder
has found them crossing a lake
18
which he considered Dubawnt, but may have been Kamiluk. In his trapping
excursions in that area he has found trails and other signs all along
the way, indicating that the animals at least pass through on their
migrations.

Summer interlude

After July 1 no more Caribou were seen about the Windy River for five
weeks. From information supplied by Charles Schweder, it appears that
virtually all of the animals desert the southern portion of the Barren
Grounds at this season. Before dropping their fawns, the does pass on
for an undetermined distance to the northward of that portion of the
upper Kazan River lying immediately below Ennadai Lake. The rear guard
of the northward migration seems to be composed mainly of bucks and a
few barren does.

A general veil of mystery seems so far to have enshrouded most of the
natal places (except the islands along the Arctic mainland coast) and
the first few weeks in the life of the Caribou fawns.

Fall migration in the Nueltin Lake region

In former times the southward migration reached the Nueltin Lake
region in July (cf. Downes, 1943: 203-237), sometimes as early as
the middle of the month. Suddenly the time of arrival shifted to (early)
August, and has so remained. In Charles Schweder’s experience, the bucks
nearly every year precede the does on the southward migration; this
suggests that at least the majority of the bucks may not go so far north
as the does. In a certain year the does actually appeared first in
coming south. In normal years, according to Fred Schweder, Jr., the
migration continues till October or November, by which time the animals
have passed into the wooded country for the winter.

Charles Schweder described the general pattern of fall migration as
follows. At first two or three animals will appear, then a few more, and
after several days a big movement, lasting three or four days, will pass
through. Thereafter the numbers dwindle, though the migration continues.
Curiously enough, there is a definite retrograde movement northward into
the Barrens in September—sometimes as early as the first part of
the month. Then there is a final movement toward the south in November,
at the time of the first good snows; the largest herds of the year may
then be seen. Just how far the migration in 1947 conformed to this
pattern (outlined in early August) will be seen in the following
pages.

The big August movement occurs occasionally as early as the first
days of the month, whereas it was delayed till the last week in 1947.
About the first of August, 1943, according to Fred Schweder, Jr.,
a thousand Caribou swam across the mouth of Windy River in the
course of an hour, and there were other thousands during a two weeks’
period. But such a large migration strikes this point only once in
several years. In other years it may pass southward farther to the west,
as in the vicinity of Simons’ Lake.

In the fall of 1946—the very season when the Caribou bypassed
the Eskimo camps on the upper Kazan River—there were said to have
been far more than the normal numbers in the Windy River area. Thousands
passed in one day, about October 10. The hills about Four-hill Creek
then gave Fred Schweder, Jr., the impression of “moving with Deer.” By
comparison, the numbers along the Windy River in 1947 were considered by
the local residents to have been below normal, however impressive they
may have been to a zoological visitor. On the other hand, it seemed to
Charles Schweder, during his trip down the Thlewiaza River in late
August of 1947, that Caribou were still very numerous; and he reported
that people along the west coast of Hudson Bay were then getting more of
the animals than in previous years.

Only rarely do limited numbers of Caribou remain all winter in the
Windy River area. During Charles Schweder’s years of residence there
(about 1936-47) the animals had done so just once—on the Windy
Hills. In 1946-47 Fred Schweder, Jr., found about 300 of them remaining
all winter about the north end of Ennadai Lake. He said that the locally
wintering animals are all bucks. Katello, an elderly Eskimo of the upper
Kazan River, informed Charles Schweder that the Caribou used to remain
there all winter, but now very rarely do so.

By the end of July, after both men and dogs had subsisted for several
weeks on a diet devoid of caribou meat, an air of expectancy began to
pervade the Windy River camp. The hunters roamed the Barrens or watched
from some lookout post such as the Pile o’ Rocks (fig. 27). No Caribou were detected during plane trips to
the upper Kazan River and return on July 31 and August 3, though
their ancient, well-marked trails were visible along the ridges. It was
not until August 6 that the first buck of the return movement was
encountered. On the following day another animal was secured. On August
10 and 11 only a few Caribou—not over 25 in a band—were seen
by Charles Schweder and Fred Schweder, Jr.,
20
from the air between the Windy and the Kazan rivers. It began to be
feared that the bulk of the migration might pass somewhere to the
westward. On August 13, however, at a distance of some miles from camp,
Fred sighted 20 Caribou; all of them were does and fawns except for one
buck. On August 17 he secured a good-sized buck (specimen No. 1065;
figs. 3, 4) at Bear Slough and saw five other bucks elsewhere. Two
days later Anoteelik reported a band of 13.

On August 20 Fred reported about 300 Caribou moving in our direction
across the Barrens east of Lake Charles; they proved to be the advance
guard of a big movement. On the same afternoon I had filmed several
bucks going their separate ways on the slopes about Pile o’ Rocks and
Stony Man. They were moving along somewhat hurriedly, in a manner very
different from the placid grazing of sheep or cattle. One or two does
with fawns also appeared in the vicinity. (The passage of a Keewatin
Tundra Wolf over the same ground a short time previously had no effect,
as far as I observed, on the behavior of the animals at this time.)
A grander, though more distant, spectacle gradually unfolded off to
the eastward, beyond Little River, where several groups, numbering from
3 to 20 or 25 individuals, were feeding quietly over the open Barrens.
Their fresh dark autumn coats showed up much more conspicuously than had
the cream-buff of their winter coats in June. Presently the scene became
livelier, as the largest band, composed of does and fawns as well as
lordly bucks, started to romp northward over the Barrens. One or more of
the various kinds of insects that bring life-long misery to the Caribou
may have stampeded them. This band swept past a group of half its size
without at once involving it. A doe and a fawn remained lying down
as the others passed.

As the eye swept farther over that lonely land, still other Caribou
were disclosed singly or in groups scattered over a couple of square
miles. There was no strong herd instinct as they grazed at will. Even
when on the march, they straggled along, some as much as 20 to 30 yards
apart. As the sun sank lower, and the black flies became less active
with the dropping temperature (about 53°), a lull ensued in the
movements of the Caribou.

The big movement of the fall migration finally began to materialize
on Sunday, August 24. This and the next few days were filled with
memorable experiences. The throngs of Caribou passing at such times
around the head of Windy Bay and across the lowermost
21
portions of Little and Windy rivers may be accounted for, in part, by
the local topography (map 1). The upper part
of Windy Bay, occupied by numerous islands of various sizes and
extending about 5 miles in an east-west direction, opposes something of
a barrier to the Caribou in their southward trek. The easiest way to
overcome this barrier is to by-pass it. So the migrant herds approaching
the north shore of the bay turn westward toward Little River. At a point
half a mile short of this stream a rather minor proportion of the
Caribou actually do essay a passage of Windy Bay. They cross an island
lying very close to the north shore, then steer for a small rocky islet
a quarter of a mile northwest of the mouth of South Bay. Here they get a
brief respite from swimming by walking through the shallow bordering
waters, then continue straight on to the rugged south shore of Windy
Bay. This course is roughly parallel to, and a quarter of a mile west
of, the one pursued northward or northeastward across the ice in the
spring migration. The Caribou were seen to follow this water route on
various days from August 24 to September 8, and again on
October 7. Like the one across the ice, it is probably a regular,
well-established, annual route.

The greater number of the migrants proceed along the north shore of
the bay to Little River and are there confronted with a choice of
various further routes. Some continue for an indefinite distance up the
northeastern bank, passing Lake Charles on their right, though other
animals, coming from the north, may be following this bank in the
opposite direction. Probably most of the Caribou arriving from the
eastward either plunge into Little River at its mouth and swim across
(figs. 9, 10, 12) or pass upstream for a bare quarter of a mile and then
wade across at a rapid (figs. 7, 8).

Without human interference, a large proportion of those that cross
the lower part of Little River would doubtless proceed more or less
directly to Windy River and cross near its mouth. But the human and
canine inhabitants of the Windy River post seem to exert a strong
influence in deflecting the Caribou northwestward along several more or
less parallel ridges that rise to a maximum height of 40 or 50 feet.
These are Little River, Middle, and Camp ridges (map 1). Many animals follow the first of these to its
northwestern end, then cross a bog and ascend the Middle Ridge. Some
cross the southeastern end of Little River Ridge, scramble down its
steep sides by strongly marked trails (fig. 2), and then
22
move across the Eastern Bog to the Middle Ridge. But when they reach the
summit, they can see the post directly ahead, and generally hurry off
northwestward along the ridge. Presently some may cross the Camp Slough
(fig. 13) to the Camp Ridge and then proceed
either westward or northwestward. The Caribou have a strong predilection
for following the treeless summits of the ridges wherever they are
available and extend in a more or less desirable direction. On reaching
the vicinity of the Bear Slough, where the three ridges are interrupted
or peter out, the animals doubtless turn more or less southwestward to
make a passage of Windy River at various points above its mouth. Under
the conditions outlined above, it is obvious that some of the finest
opportunities for close-range observation and photography lie at the two
well-established crossings near the mouth of Little River.

On the dark and drizzly morning of August 24 (temp. 47°-48°) I
noticed a number of Caribou, in groups of 2 to 20, traveling
northwestward along Middle and Little River ridges. This indication of
general activity enticed me to the top of the latter, whence I had a
view of perhaps 8 or 10 animals scattered over the Barrens beyond Little
River. Several were lying down just beyond the summit of a ridge between
the river and Glacier Pond, so that little more than their antlers was
visible. With the idea of finding out how closely I could approach these
resting animals, I waded knee-deep across a rapid about 100 feet in
width, and worked my way up the opposite slope until I once more caught
sight of the tips of several antlers. Under cover of a rock and some
dwarf birches, I crept ahead on hands and knees, with a miniature
camera at the ready. I had arrived within 50 yards when the nearest
buck got to its feet and stood looking at me. In hopes of photographing
the rest while they were still lying down, I rose to my knees and
hastily exposed the last bit of film in the camera. Still there was no
immediate reaction on the part of the Caribou. Fortunately there was a
cross wind. The first buck was so little alarmed that it leisurely
sprinkled the ground. But presently it turned and walked off, presumably
giving some signal of voice or posture (such as an erect tail) to the
rest; for they got to their feet, not the half a dozen I expected, but
half a hundred of them! Though they trotted off toward Windy Bay, they
paused within a hundred yards and turned to stare at me. Several more
relieved themselves as the first buck had done. By this time I saw that
some of the Caribou, including a little fawn, were carrying their tails
quite erect, as an expression
23
of suspicion or a signal of alarm. Evidently a majority of the band were
bucks, but there were some does, with foot-long horns, and their fawns.
On my way back to camp I noticed several groups of Caribou swimming
across Windy Bay; perhaps they included the very animals I had so
recently disturbed.

In the early afternoon it became evident that a further northwesterly
movement was under way along the ridges between camp and Little River.
The animals had doubtless made the passage of the river near its mouth.
I followed some of them to a bog at the upper end of Little River
Ridge, where I began to film several bucks and a lone, inquisitive,
one-horned doe. While the latter was approaching me within a hundred
feet, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, and all at
once the bog seemed full of Caribou. There were 75-100 of them, chiefly
bucks, and not more than 50 yards or so distant across the open bog.
They presently moved on, without haste, and ascended the Middle
Ridge.

Several hours later about 50 more Caribou passed through this bog.
Then a band of 17 came along, composed chiefly of does and their fawns,
with a couple of young bucks; they did not even turn their heads in my
direction as I stood in the open 50 yards away. Eventually a herd of
about 150 (the largest I saw during the whole season) passed along the
well-worn trails on the summit of the Middle Ridge. It seemed to include
all sexes and ages, with possibly a majority of does and fawns; bringing
up the rear was a limping patriarch with huge antlers, a heavy
mane, and a lingering winter coat.

During the remainder of the afternoon several other groups appeared
in that general area. About 15 individuals descended Little River Ridge
(fig. 2) to the Eastern Bog, but retraced
their course after coming close to several of us; they were mostly does,
with four fawns and a few bucks. Another band, of all ages and sexes and
numbering perhaps a hundred individuals, crossed at the rapid on Little
River. The temperatures that had prevailed during this day’s marked
migratory movements varied from about 45° to 50°. They were low enough
to keep the black flies completely in abeyance, and the mosquito season
was virtually over. Although I noticed none of the parasitic flies,
possibly enough of them were present to keep the Caribou moving actively
against a moderate to brisk northerly wind. Now and again a big buck
could be seen fairly jumping out of its skin with the vigor of vibrating
its sides to shake off the tormentors.

On August 25 (the second day of the big movement) I watched and
filmed the pageant of Caribou migration from the southwestern bank of
Little River. The turfy slopes of the Barrens, carpeted with low
ericaceous shrubs, mosses, and reindeer lichens, and dotted here and
there with little thickets of dwarf birch, spruce, and tamarack,
stretched invitingly before me. Temperatures ranging from 40° to 51°,
with a brisk northwest breeze sweeping down the river, happily
suppressed most of the black flies.

The Caribou came along at intervals from the eastward, in bands up to
75 strong, either to make the passage of the river or to continue
upstream along the opposite ridge. A small number might make the
crossing in one or two files, but one of the larger bands might spread
out widely in the shallow rapid. One of the photographs (fig. 7) shows approximately 75 Caribou going divergent
ways at this rapid: about 20 passing upstream along the ridge on the far
side, including some pausing to feed on the low vegetation; 8 or 9
moving down the slope of the ridge to the water’s edge; about 10 bucks,
16 does, and 6 fawns making the passage of the river; and about 13
arriving on the near shore and pausing to feed. The adults were able to
step across in the swift water, while the fawns swam part of the way.
The bucks were apparently in the minority again on this day.

One group of some 40 does and fawns, after swimming the river near
its mouth, came hurrying along the ridge in close array directly toward
my station, and did not take alarm until they had arrived within 100
feet. Then they turned tail and, each with its flag erect, beat a hasty
retreat. The maneuver made a scene of considerable charm and interest.
While I was filming a dozen Caribou in the Eastern Bog from the Middle
Ridge, a stray fawn came up and halted for some seconds within a
rod of me. The bewildered look in its big eyes was comical though
pathetic. In presently dashing on, it passed within a dozen feet.

Late in the afternoon Fred Schweder, Jr., reported about a thousand
Caribou, in various bands up to 100 strong, crossing Little River here
and there a mile or so above its mouth. They were traveling
southwest.

Retrograde autumnal movement

It would doubtless be difficult to find, among other animals, any
exact parallel to this curious feature of caribou migration. According
to Charles Schweder, it takes place in the Nueltin Lake region in
September—sometimes as early as the first of the month. Herds up
to 200 strong may then be seen moving northward, but generally the
numbers are smaller—say 10 to 30 in a band. Some of the more
notable autumnal movements toward the north, as reported by Charles,
were the following: at Simons’ Lake in 1936 and again in 1938, when
herds of fat bucks were streaming past for a month and a half; likewise
at Josie’s Bay in 1940; and through the Windy Hills and across Windy
River in 1943. Fred Schweder, Jr., said that most of the animals, in
returning northward at this season, cross Windy River 4 miles above its
mouth or Windy Bay 4 miles from its head; comparatively few pass the
mouths of Windy and Little rivers. He remarked further that it is mostly
bucks, with few does and fawns, that make the passage on Windy Bay.

More or less evidence of such a movement toward the north in 1947 has
been presented in preceding pages, in the notes for September 6, 7, 11,
14, 20, 24, and 28, October 1, and even October 23. The numbers
observed so involved on each of these days varied from a solitary buck
or a doe with a fawn to about 300 of the animals. On some of these days,
however, other Caribou were observed making their way toward the south.
It is thus obvious that there was no universal impulse among the Caribou
of a given area to move simul­taneously in a certain direction.

The general weather conditions on the nine above-mentioned days may
be summarized as follows. Every day but one was largely or wholly
cloudy; snow falling on three days, but ground bare on other days; wind
predominantly from the north; extreme temperatures, 26° and 61°; mean
daily average, 37.5°. Whether or not there is significance in the
matter, it appears that on those days within the period extending from
September 6 to October 1, when
37
the Caribou were not definitely observed moving northward, the winds
were less likely to be northerly. Furthermore, within this period there
was never enough snow to interfere appreciably with the animals’ feeding
on the ground lichens of the Barrens.

By October 6 there were 6 inches of snow on the ground, and on the
following day 200 Caribou swimming southward across Windy Bay may have
marked the beginning of the final movement into the timbered country. It
appears possible that a considerable fall of snow may have a definite
influence in inducing the Caribou to retreat from the Barrens.

On a trip from Windy River north to the Kazan River region in
September, 1946, Charles Schweder found, during the first 45 miles, that
the Caribou were moving north; at the Kazan they were moving south,
although some were merely loitering. Northwest of the Kazan, the animals
were taking a westward course. During the latter part of his return trip
to Windy River, 11 or 12 days later, they had reversed the previous
direction and were traveling south.

For such a distinct and regular feature in the life cycle of the
species as the retrograde autumnal movement there must be some
biological explanation. Several possible factors appear reasonably
clear. Perhaps we may consider the Barren Grounds the true and preferred
home of Rangifer arcticus, from which a proportion of the
population is driven during part of the year under stress of insect
attacks or shortage of food. When the animals begin to enter the woods
in August, there is no shortage of food; thus an insect-induced frenzy
may possibly be regarded as a potent force driving them southward. In
September a state of comparative peace descends upon the caribou world:
the current crop of adult insects has subsided; the larvae of warble and
nostril flies have not attained the formidable size of the following
spring and perhaps are not yet causing any severe discomfort; little or
no snow covers up the food supply; the lakes and rivers, still unfrozen,
offer a ready way of escape from pursuing Wolves; moderate or even balmy
weather gives nature a pleasant mood. In short, both man and beast may
well look upon early autumn as the very finest time of year both on the
Barrens and in the adjacent wooded country.

Under these circumstances a definite retrograde movement out of the
wooded country in September on the part of many Caribou must indicate
their preference for the Barrens at this season. In any event, the
movement begins just after the insect menace has
38
subsided to a negligible stage. Possibly another inducement for
retreating from the wooded country in the early fall is the dearth of
open areas in which the animals may spend their resting periods, in
comparative safety from Wolves. It is only after the freeze-up that the
surfaces of the lakes and rivers supply this desideratum. This condition
lasts from November to June—precisely that part of the year in
which the Caribou are present in the wooded country in the greatest
numbers.

But by November what are the conditions on the Barrens? The weather
has become severe; snow has covered up a large part of the ground
lichens; tree lichens are not to be had. And so at this season, with the
coming of the first heavy snows, there is a final movement out of the
Barrens into the shelter of the woods, leaving only a minority of the
animals to face a bleak and bitter winter in the open country. The
biggest herds of the year may then be seen passing southward. A few
bucks are said to remain during most winters in the Windy River
area.

Far to the westward, toward Great Slave and Great Bear lakes, the
retrograde movements are somewhat different and more complicated
(Clarke, 1940: 96).

“Mr. Carl Buchholz, of Churchill, describes the caribou migration at
the 60th parallel, north of Churchill, as a southward migration in
August, northward in September, and then south in the autumn” (Clarke,
1940: 97). (See also the next paragraph.)

Fall migration in the Churchill region

The following notes for 1947 were kindly furnished me by Angus
MacIver. He reported large numbers of Caribou moving southward across
Caribou Creek (25 miles south of Churchill) about November 10,
a day after the local freeze-up. He would then see thousands in a
day. Prior to that time (perhaps in September?) there had been two
“runs” to the northward and northwestward; these presumably represented
the normal retrograde migration in the fall. The herds engaged in these
two northerly movements must have previously passed southward farther
inland. He reported also that the rutting season this year had commenced
a little later than the usual October 15.

References on migration.—Dobbs, 1774: 20, 22; Hearne, 1795:
39, 40, 56, 66, 74, 85-87, 286, 299; Franklin, 1823: 241-242; Sabine, in
Franklin, 1823: 667; Richardson, “1825”: 328-329, and 1829: 242-243;
Godman, 1831, 2: 283-284; John Ross, 1835a: 328, 330, 337,
376, 390, 529-530, 628; J. C. Ross, in John Ross, 1835b:
xvii; Richardson, in Back, 1836: 498;
39
Simpson, 1843: 76, 196, 233, 277, 301, 320-321, 328, 386; Rae, 1850: 93;
Richardson, 1852: 290, 296; Rae, 1852a: 79; J. Anderson, 1857:
326, 328; Murray, 1858: 203; Richardson, 1861: 274, 275; B. R.
Ross, 1861: 438-439; Osborn, 1865: 223-224, 226; Kumlien, 1879: 54; R.
Bell, 1881: 15C; Caton, 1881: 108; Gilder, 1881: 196-197; Nourse, 1884:
235, 356; Schwatka, 1885: 77-79, 83; Boas, 1888: 502; Collinson, 1889:
244, 290; Pike, 1917 (1892): 48-49, 50, 89-91, 101, 174, 204, 209, 220;
J. B. Tyrrell, 1892: 128-130; Dowling, 1893: 103, 107; J. B.
Tyrrell, 1894: 442, 1896: 13, 63, and 1897: 10, 19, 21, 49-50, 76, 124,
140, 142, 165; Russell, 1895: 48, and 1898: 88, 226; Whitney, 1896: 157,
238, 241; Lydekker, 1898: 48; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908 (1898): 77-78,
80; Jones, 1899: 368, 374; Hanbury, 1900: 66-67, 69, 71; A. J.
Stone, 1900: 50, 53; W. J. McLean, 1901: 5, 6; Elliot, 1902: 259,
260, 274-275; Preble, 1902: 42; J. W. Tyrrell, 1924 (1902): 26, 31;
Hanbury, 1904: 10, 30, 32, 34, 58, 93, 108, 120, 121, 139; Hornaday,
1904: 137; Stone and Cram, 1904: 52; MacFarlane, 1905: 683-685;
J. A. Allen, 1908a: 490; Amundsen, 1908, 1: 97,
102-106, 200, 247, 326-329; Preble, 1908: 137-139; Cameron, 1912: 127;
Wheeler, 1912: 199-200; R. M. Anderson, 1913a: 6, and
1913b: 502; Stefánsson, 1913a: 94-96, 99, 100, 103, 106,
1913b: 203-204, 224-225, 263-265, 269, 294, 348-350, and 1914:
39, 41, 54; Chambers, 1914: 93; Hornaday, 1914, 2: 101-104;
Wheeler, 1914: 58; Harper, 1915: 160; Camsell, 1916: 21; Thompson, 1916:
99-101; Kindle, 1917: 107-108; Camsell and Malcolm, 1919: 46; Whittaker,
1919: 166-167; Buchanan, 1920: 105-108, 128-129; Hewitt, 1921: 60-63;
Stefánsson, 1921: 401; Jenness, 1922: 15, 17, 25-26, 125; Blanchet,
1925: 32-34, and 1926b: 46-48; Mallet, 1926: 79; Preble, 1926:
137-138; Rasmussen, 1927: 54, 214-217, 246; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 51,
56, 101, 106; Seton, 1929, 3: 122, 125-128; Blanchet, 1930:
49-52; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 58, 192-196; Hoare, 1930: 13, 14, 16,
21, 22, 27, 31, 33, 36-38; Kitto, 1930: 87; Mallet, 1930: 20-23, 27;
Jacobi, 1931: 80-84, 192-210; Harper, 1932: 30, 31; Munn, 1932: 58;
Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 79, 81; Weyer, 1932: 40; Birket-Smith, 1933:
91-94, 112, 118; Ingstad, 1933: 34, 134-135, 156-159, 161, 163, 225,
229-231, 280, 291, 293, 296, 324; Weeks, 1933: 65; R. M. Anderson,
1934a: 81, 1937: 103, and 1938: 400; Hornby, 1934: 105-107;
Birket-Smith, 1936: 91; Hamilton, 1939: 244-247, 359; Murie, 1939: 244;
Clarke, 1940: 8-9, 11, 85-100; G. M. Allen, 1942: 298-299; Soper,
1942: 143; Downes, 1943: 215, 221, 224, 249, 250, 253-256, 260; Manning,
1943a: 52, and 1943b: 103; Porsild, 1943: 389; Soper,
1944: 248-249; Wright, 1944: 186, 190; Gavin, 1945: 227-228; R. M.
Anderson, 1947: 178, and 1948: 15; Manning, 1948: 26-28; Rand,
1948a: 212, and 1948b: 149; Banfield, 1949: 478, 481;
Harper, 1949: 226-230, 239-240; Banfield, 1951a: 6, 9-12,
28, and 1951b: 120; Anonymous, 1952: 267; Barnett, 1954: 96, 103.

Summation of Geographical Distribution

The localities from which hitherto unpublished notes on Rangifer
arcticus arcticus are presented in this paper include the following.
Keewatin: Nueltin, Windy, “Highway” (at source of Putahow River), and
Ennadai lakes; Little Dubawnt, Kazan, Red, Windy, Little, and Thlewiaza
rivers; between Eskimo Point and Baker Lake. Manitoba: Nueltin (southern
part), Nejanilini, Reindeer, and Split lakes; Seal River; Churchill;
Cape Churchill; “Little Barrens” south of Churchill; between Churchill
and Knife Lake; Caribou Creek, 25 miles south of Churchill.
Saskatchewan: small lakes southwest of Reindeer Lake; lakes south of
Lake Athabaska. Details
40
as to occurrence and status in these localities are supplied on other
pages.

The Caribou have been so thoroughly distributed over the
approximately 300,000 square miles of the mainland Barren Grounds
between Hudson Bay and the Mackenzie Valley that it is fairly safe to
say that there is scarcely one square mile in this vast territory that
has not been trod by the animals during the past century. See maps by
Preble (1908: pl. 19), Seton (1929, 3: 60), Clarke (1940: figs.
3, 4), Banfield (1949: 479), and Anonymous (1952: 267).

The appended annotated bibliography supplies, in abstract form, most of
the hitherto published information on the geographical distribution of
Rangifer arcticus arcticus. In its preparation I have included
records of Caribou from the Arctic islands north to Lancaster Sound,
Barrow Strait, Viscount Melville Sound, and McClure Strait—all
approximately in latitude 74° N. This has been done as a matter of
having a convenient, well-defined regional boundary, not with any
conviction that arcticus has ranged so far to the north in the
more westerly islands, especially in recent years, when it is said to
have become restricted to the southern fringe of the islands (Clarke,
1940: 98; R. M. Anderson, 1947: 178; Banfield, 1949: fig. 1).
The islands north of latitude 74° are doubtless the exclusive domain of
Rangifer pearyi. It is possible that this species may also occur
to some extent on Banks, Victoria, Prince of Wales, and Somerset
islands. The typical R. a. arcticus, as currently
recognized, ranges eastward to Baffin, Salisbury, Coats, and Southampton
islands and to the western shore of Hudson Bay. (The animals of the last
three islands may be distinct insular forms.) The southern limits of the
winter range in northwestern Ontario, central Manitoba, northern
Saskatchewan, and northeastern Alberta have been discussed in preceding
pages. On the west the range extends to the Mackenzie Delta (formerly),
Great Bear and Great Slave lakes, Wood Buffalo Park, and Lake Claire.
The timbered country (Hudsonian and Canadian Zones) is practically
entirely deserted by the Barren Ground Caribou in mid-summer. At this
season, in Keewatin at least, the animals tend to draw away also from
the southernmost portions of the Barren Grounds.

References.—Since practically every paper in the entire
bibliography presents some data on geographical distribution, only a
few, containing more than an average amount of new or summarized
information on the subject, have been selected for inclusion in the
following list of references: Hearne, 1795; Franklin, 1823; Lyon, 1824;
Franklin and Richardson, 1828; Simpson, 1843; Pike, 1917 (1892);
Russell, 1898; Preble, 1902; Hanbury, 1904; Amundsen, 1908; Preble, 1908;
R. M. Anderson, in Stefánsson, 1913b; Stefánsson,
1913a, 1913b, and 1921; Hewitt, 1921; Jenness, 1922;
Rasmussen, 1927; Seton, 1929, 3; Blanchet, 1930;
Critchell-Bullock, 1930; Hoare, 1930; Jacobi, 1931; Clarke, 1940;
Manning, 1943a; Wright, 1944; R. M. Anderson, 1947; Manning,
1948; Banfield, 1949 and 1951a.

Distributional maps.—Grant, 1903: map following p. 196;
Preble, 1908: pl. 19; Dugmore, 1913: 138; Hewitt, 1921: 57; Seton, 1929,
3: 60, map 2; Jacobi, 1931: 77, fig. 17; R. M. Anderson,
1934b: 4062, fig. 6; Murie, 1939: 241; Clarke, 1940: figs.
3, 4; Banfield, 1949: 479, fig. 1, and 1951a: figs.
4-10; Anonymous, 1952: 267.

Ecology

Habitats

Within their natural range the Caribou apparently resort to
practically every type of terrestrial and aquatic habitat (other than
cliffs and precipices). On the Barren Grounds proper they frequent the
open summits and slopes of the ridges, the dwarf birch thickets, the
sedge bogs, and the peat bogs. Their trails traverse all the upland
spruce and tamarack tracts, the wooded muskegs, and the willow thickets
along the rivers. In the summer and fall they swim the rivers and the
narrower lakes, and during the winter and spring they cross these on the
ice. They do not avoid rapids; in fact, they seek the shallower ones as
fords, and they swim the deeper ones (cf. Clarke, 1940: 88). They
also cross the tundra ponds on the ice, but probably walk around these
smaller bodies of water, as a rule, when they are not frozen. While they
may prefer to approach the river crossings over open slopes, they do not
hesitate to maintain trails through the dense thickets of willow on the
banks.

The winter habitat of the major part of the Barren Ground Caribou
population comprises the Hudsonian and upper Canadian Zones. This
forested habitat is characterized by sparser and smaller timber in the
Hudsonian Zone and by denser and taller timber in the Canadian Zone.
Important among the features of this winter habitat are the frozen
surfaces of the lakes and rivers, where the Caribou are wont to
congregate for their daily periods of rest (cf. Mallet, 1926: 79;
Ingstad, 1933: 86).

Trails

The favorite migratory highways are the long, sinuous ridges that
stretch across the Barren Grounds in a sufficiently approximate
north-south direction to serve the needs of the Caribou. Here their
age-old trails are particularly in evidence and may even be detected
from the air. A single small ridge may bear half a dozen or more
such trails (fig. 1), roughly parallel but
anastomosing at frequent intervals. They probably change but little from
generation to generation. They provide the smoothest courses available,
avoiding rocks and shrubs and traversing intervening bogs at the most
suitable points. The summits of the ridges constitute vantage points
from which the animals may keep a wide lookout for Wolves and human
enemies, and on which they may obtain the maximum benefit from
fly-deterring breezes. Man himself is glad to utilize these trails,
whether on the Barrens or in the timber tracts, wherever they
42
lead in a direction he desires. They are kept open by the hurrying feet
of hundreds or thousands of Caribou every year.

Along a well-used trail extending through low Barrens near Duck Bay,
I found a certain grass (Agrostis scabra) growing.
I did not recognize or collect it elsewhere during the season. Is
this perhaps like certain other species, such as Juncus tenuis
(fide Dr. Edgar T. Wherry) and Eleocharis baldwinii, in
curiously thriving on beaten paths?

When the Caribou arrive at some lake or river, they generally follow
the shores for a greater or lesser distance, seeking either a way around
or a suitable crossing-place. The trails thus formed are generally on
the nearest ridges rather than on the immediate shores. Their direction,
as they conform to the winding shores, may diverge very widely from the
desired migratory course.

In many parts of the Barren Grounds there must be as many as 10
linear miles of caribou trails to every square mile of territory. Even
if there were only one mile of such trails to each square mile, the
total, on the Barrens of Keewatin and Mackenzie alone, would equal or
exceed all the railway mileage in the United States.

In contrast to the narrow ridges, the broader hilltops in the Barrens
offer such freedom of movement to the Caribou that trails are much less
likely to be formed in such places, even when they are frequented by
large numbers of the animals. Thus I found the broad summit of Josie’s
Hill practically without well-defined trails, despite the regularity
with which many migrant bands resort thither. In feeding or traveling
over such an area, there is no occasion for restricting themselves to a
narrow course. In crossing from one ridge to another through an
intervening bog, the animals may leave numerous scattered and temporary
trails in the dense sedge growth to mark their passage (fig. 13). On the uniform surface of such a bog, as on the
broad hilltops, there is no need to confine their steps to any
particular course.

It might be supposed that the Barren Ground Caribou would have some
reluctance in entering thickly wooded tracts, where Wolves naturally
have a much better chance of a close approach than on the open Barrens.
As already stated, however, their trails may be found more or less
throughout the spruce and tamarack growth in the Windy River area. One
of these tracts, covering probably several square miles on the west side
of Four-hill Creek, is fairly crisscrossed with trails. At deep dusk on
October 2, while several of us were skinning a Black Bear in this
thick timber, about
43
five does and fawns trotted up quite close to us. Perhaps they were on
their way to the open Barrens to pass the night. While wintering in the
forested Hudsonian Zone, the animals may spend their nights as well as
their diurnal resting periods on the frozen lakes and rivers.

Fred Schweder, Jr., says that Caribou are somewhat fearful of sand
hills or eskers, and that he has never seen one lying down in such a
place; he believes this is because the Wolves frequent the eskers in
summertime. On the other hand, Mr. G. W. Malaher spoke of a long
esker that extends down the west side of Nueltin Lake and far to the
southward; this, he said, forms a migration highway for the Caribou.

References on habitats and trails.—J. B. Tyrrell,
1892: 129, and 1895: 445; W. J. McLean, 1901: 6; Blanchet,
1925: 33, and 1926a: 73, 96-97; Mallet, 1926: 79, 80; Seton,
1929, 3: 100-102, 122, 127-128; Jacobi, 1931: 186-187; Ingstad,
1933: 86; Murie, 1939: 246; Manning, 1948: 26-28; Rand, 1948a:
212; Harper, 1949: 226, 228; Banfield, 1951a: 3.

Influence of weather on distribution

In the section on Migrations the meteorological conditions in
1947 have been reported for any possible bearing they may have had on
the daily movements of the Caribou, particularly during the fall
migration. The temperature has an important effect on the activity of
the insect pests (see Influence of insects on distribution) and
thus, to a certain extent during summer and fall, on the behavior and
probably the distribution of the Caribou.

Low winter temperatures on the Barren Grounds do not appear to be a
factor of prime importance in the seasonal distribution of R. a.
arcticus. “Some individuals and small herds remain in the northern
part of the range at all seasons” (R. M. Anderson, 1947: 178).
Peary’s Caribou (R. pearyi) inhabits the more northerly Arctic
islands throughout the year, without engaging in such extensive
migrations as its relative to the south.

The forceful winds that blow over the Barren Grounds so much of the
time are of distinct benefit to the Caribou during the summer in abating
the very serious scourge of flies. If other things were equal (as they
are not), this factor alone would make the Barrens a more favorable
summer habitat than the forested country. (See Retrograde autumnal
movement.) Air movements of similar strength during the winter must,
through the wind-chill factor (cf. Siple and Passel, 1945), make
life so much the harder for any living being; on the other hand, they
tend to sweep the ridges bare of
44
snow, thereby making readily available the Caribou’s principal winter
food of reindeer lichens (Cladonia spp.)

References.—Armstrong, 1857: 479; Critchell-Bullock, 1930:
192, 194-196; Hoare, 1930: 33; Jacobi, 1931: 193, 195; Clarke, 1940: 96,
99; Banfield, 1951a: 27-29.

Influence of food supply on distribution

The strong winter winds on the Barrens affect the Caribou in still
another way. While they pack the snow so firmly that man may dispense
with snowshoes, this condition naturally increases the difficulty that
the Caribou experience in pawing through the snow to reach the lichens
that are covered by it. The limited grazing capacity of such areas as
are laid bare by the wind may force a reduction in the wintering
population. Although the snow in the timbered regions to the south
covers virtually the whole surface of the land, it is evidently less
compact and so offers more favorable feeding conditions than the areas
of hard-packed snow on the Barrens. (Charles Schweder states that Willow
Ptarmigan will fly out of the Barrens to spend the night in tracts of
timber, where the snow is softer and thus more suitable for the
nocturnal burrows of these birds.)

Another apparent inducement for resorting to the tracts of timber in
winter is the abundance there of tree lichens, such as Alectoria
and Usnea (cf. Richardson, 1829: 243; J. B. Tyrrell,
1894: 441;
Dix, 1951: 287), upon which the Caribou may feed without regard to snow
conditions. (See also Retrograde autumnal
movement.)

Reindeer lichens (Cladonia spp.) and doubtless other lichens
are of such slow growth that forest fires may deprive the Caribou of
this indispensable food for a period of years. According to Mr.
G. W. Malaher, the recent burning of a large area north of The Pas
may have deflected the animals toward the southeast, causing them to
extend their migration to an abnormal distance in that direction. For a
similar reason in years past, according to Pike (1917 [1892]: 50), they
avoided “great stretches of the country” near the Mackenzie River, and
also on the south side of Great Slave Lake. A quarter of a century
after Pike’s time, Dogribs reported that Caribou had not come to the
lower Taltson River for several years, “because the timber had been
burned off” (Harper, 1932: 30). Some years ago, extensive fires in
Manitoba were said to have been deliberately set by prospectors with the
aim of exposing the underlying rock.

Charles Schweder believes that the Caribou show a certain
predilection for rocky places, owing to the more luxuriant growth of
lichens there.

References.—Richardson, “1825”: 328-329; Bompas, 1888: 24;
Pike, 1917 (1892): 50; Wheeler, 1914: 60; Blanchet, 1930: 52; Jacobi,
1931: 192, 194, 195; Harper, 1932: 30; Ingstad, 1933: 34, 161, 163;
Hornby, 1934: 105; R. M. Anderson, 1938: 400; Clarke, 1940: 100,
106-107; G. M. Allen, 1942: 299; Downes, 1943: 261; Porsild, 1943:
389; Wright, 1944: 186; R. M. Anderson, 1948: 15; Banfield,
1951a: 5, 11, 27-29.

Influence of insects on distribution

It is quite possible that the blood-sucking mosquitoes (Aedes)
and black flies (Simulium) and the parasitic warble flies
(Oedemagena) and nostril flies (Cephenemyia) have a
definite and important influence on the extent and dates of caribou
migration.

As far as I am able to judge from my own experience, mosquitoes are
more or less equally numerous and ferocious in the Canadian, the
Hudsonian, and the Arctic Zones of the Northwest. Naturally the season
begins earlier in the more southerly localities. In two seasons (1914,
1920) at the western end of Lake Athabaska they began to be troublesome
about the middle of June, whereas at Nueltin Lake this stage was reached
about the first of July. In the Athabaska and Great Slave lakes region
(Canadian and Hudsonian Zones) I have never had occasion to regard
black flies as serious in respect to either numbers or ferocity; but
there is universal agreement that conditions are vastly different and
worse on the Barren Grounds. At Nueltin Lake the Simulium hordes
become troublesome at approximately the same time as the mosquitoes.
Toward the end of August there is a merciful diminution in the numbers
of both mosquitoes and black flies on the Barrens, and after the first
of September they may be practically disregarded, except on an
occasional day of unseasonable warmth.

It may be remarked in passing that one of the insect terrors of the
Athabaska region, the so-called “bulldog” (a species of Tabanidae),
did not come to my attention as a pest at Nueltin Lake though I
collected two species of Tabanus. Malloch (1919), in reporting on
the Diptera of the Canadian Arctic Expedition of 1913-18, does not
include a single species of Tabanidae. On the other hand, Twinn (1950:
18) states that 17 species have been found at Churchill; he refers to
tabanids as “very abundant in forested regions of the North.” The
“bulldog” may be presumed to contribute to the summer misery of the
Woodland Caribou and the Moose as well as of man.

The season during which the adult warble flies and nostril flies
harass the Caribou probably lasts only a few weeks in July and August.
While the adults evidently cause no pain, they no doubt arouse an
instinctive dread in the prospective hosts of their larvae. While I have
no information as to whether they follow the hosts into the wooded
country, it would appear quite likely that they do so if we are to
credit statements by Franklin (1823: 242), Richardson (1829: 251), and
B. R. Ross (1861: 438) that these pests infest the Woodland Caribou
as well as the Barren Ground species. Furthermore, Cephenemyia
has been reported in Pennsylvania as a parasite of the White-tailed Deer
(Odocoileus) (Stewart, 1930?). The scarcity of available study
material may be judged from the fact that the Canadian Arctic Expedition
of 1913-18 secured only three adults of Oedemagena and none of
Cephenemyia (Malloch, 1919: 55-56).

From the foregoing it may be seen that the wooded country represents
a virtually fly-free haven for the Barren Ground Caribou during nearly
ten months of the year. Is it any wonder, then, that they hasten
throughout August toward or into the shelter of the woods, to gain
freedom from the winged scourges of the Barrens? (See also Retrograde autumnal movement.)

In the spring migration of 1947 the last of the Caribou passed the
Windy River area on July 1, just before the mosquitoes and black
flies had become seriously troublesome. It might be surmised that the
animals keep marching northward in advance of the appearance of these
flies, as long as that is feasible; and that when fairly overwhelmed by
the winged hordes, they desist from further progress in that direction.
The fawns are born at such a time (in late May or June) as to pass their
first few tender weeks before becoming subject to serious insect
attacks.

(See also Retrograde autumnal
movement; Relations to
flies.)

References.—Richardson, “1825”: 328-329; Hoare, 1930: 33,
37-38; Jacobi, 1931: 193-195; Soper, 1936: 429; Hamilton, 1939: 247,
301; Clarke, 1940: 95-96; Porsild, 1943: 389; Banfield, 1951a:
27-29.

Effect of combined environmental factors on distribution

The sum total of environmental factors apparently makes the Barren
Grounds a distinctly more favorable summer habitat for the present
species than the wooded country, since the latter region is virtually
entirely deserted at that season. In general, the wooded country must be
a more favorable winter habitat, since the bulk of the animals evidently
resort to it at that time; yet its advantages
47
are by no means clear-cut or overwhelming, since a very considerable
proportion of the Caribou elect to spend the winter on the Barrens
(Hanbury, 1904: 93, 120, 139; Hoare, 1930: 22; Clarke, 1940: 8-9, 11, fig. 4;
Anonymous, 1952: 267).

Relations to man

The Caribou dominates the thoughts, the speech, and the general human
activities of the Barren Grounds. As the chief food resource of that
region and the adjacent timbered country, it plays a highly important
role in the economy of both primitive and civilized man. As long as
those regions were occupied only by native Eskimos and Indians,
employing such primitive weapons as bows and spears, the species was in
no danger. Its vast numbers were maintained steadily from generation to
generation, and were perhaps limited only by the grazing or browsing
capacity of their range.

With the advent of civilized man and the placing of firearms in the
hands of the natives, the situation has deteriorated at a rate that
becomes accelerated with the passage of time. If it had not been for the
encroachment of civilization and the introduction of its instruments of
destruction, the natives would have been assured of a proper meat supply
for an indefinite period. Here and there some of them would miss a
caribou migration and starve to death; yet the animals have been so
generally available that many of the natives even today lack the
foresight to put up an adequate supply of fish as an alternative winter
food.

Almost everywhere the annual slaughter is both excessive and
wasteful. Few inhabitants of the North, whether native or white, stay
their hands while Caribou are present and ammunition is available. There
is undue reliance on a continuation of past abundance, and an
indifference to the welfare or rights of posterity. The whole culture of
the inland Eskimos and the northern Indians (the Caribou-eater
Chipewyans in particular) is so thoroughly based upon Caribou that the
decimation of these animals would mean a fundamental modification or
virtual extermination of their culture.

The average trapper of the Barren Grounds apparently aims at killing
annually at least 100 Caribou. Only a small portion is required to feed
himself and his family. The rest is designed for use as fox bait and dog
feed. In September he goes over his trap-line, perhaps 100 miles long,
and endeavors to kill Caribou at convenient intervals throughout its
length. (In October, 1944, a single trapper killed 90 during two
days of a big movement.) The animals are left
48
where they fall. Presently spells of warm weather may render the meat
unsuitable for any one with more fastidious tastes than a hardy man of
the Barrens. In any event, the beasts of the field evidently get the
lion’s share, even when the trapper endeavors to cover the carcasses
with rocks or spruces. Bears, Wolves, Foxes, Weasels, Wolverines,
Lemmings, Rough-legged Hawks, Ravens, and Canada Jays help themselves to
the free feast. Bears in particular are likely to consume the whole
carcass; in the autumns of 1944 and 1947 they thus disposed of about 70
and 40 caribou bodies, respectively, within a few miles of the Windy
River post. If the season turns out to be a particularly poor one for
Arctic Foxes, the trapper may abandon his trap-line for that winter, and
dozens or scores of Caribou will have been sacrificed in vain.

Fish, which are available in abundance nearly everywhere, would serve
well enough for both fox bait and dog feed. But the average trapper
prefers to secure Caribou—a less laborious matter than putting up
a winter’s supply of fish; at the same time he may admit that fish are
easier to handle in feeding and are preferable from that point of view.
Charles Schweder has rarely found Caribou along his trap-line between
the upper Kazan River and Dubawnt Lake. By using fish (out of the Little
Dubawnt River) for fox bait, he avoids the necessity of making an early
fall trip over that long distance to secure Caribou for his winter
operations. A trapper from northern Manitoba informed me that the
local Indians were complying with a recent government regulation that
each owner must put up a certain number of fish for the consumption of
his dogs—but, they were still feeding them with Caribou. The Split
Lake band of Indians on the Nelson River, Manitoba, were reported to
have killed 4,000 of the animals during the winter of 1946-47; the
greater part of these were utilized ingloriously as dog feed.

The hunting of such an extraordinarily unwary animal as the Barren
Ground Caribou calls for extremely little skill. Scarcely anything more
is required of the hunter (at least in southwestern Keewatin) than to
place himself on their line of march and to await their arrival. No
concealment is necessary, but quick movements are to be avoided, and the
direction of the wind should be such that it will not carry the dread
human scent to the animals. Even in perfectly open terrain one may
generally walk slowly up to within shooting distance of resting Caribou.
But if they are on the march and have already gone past, the hunter may
not succeed in getting
49
close to them. Pursuing them on the run is likely to send them off in a
panic. (There is some evidence that on the Arctic Coast and in the
Barren Grounds of Mackenzie, where hunters are probably more numerous
than in southwestern Keewatin, the Caribou are usually much more
wary—cf. Amundsen, 1908, 1: 103; Stefánsson,
1913b: 278; Blanchet, 1925: 34; Ingstad, 1933: 88.) In the
section on Disposition the destruction of about a quarter of a
herd of 100 or more by a single hunter is described. On September 9 an
Eskimo boy killed 13. On November 3 eight out of a herd of 50 were
secured by another hunter in a few minutes’ time. During the autumn
migration of 1947 one of the Eskimos on the upper Kazan had killed 85
before the end of September. This band of Eskimos is said to have once
slaughtered 500 animals, half of them in the river, where they did not
even bother to pull them out; they had killed for the sheer delight of
killing rather than for utilization. It is customary for them to spear
more animals than they shoot. A trader’s family in the Nueltin Lake
region used to kill 500 Caribou per year for their own use and for their
23 dogs. In one instance a number of Caribou were shot from across a
river; several hours elapsed before a canoe became available, and by
that time the bodies were frozen so stiff that no attempt was made to
use them. It was reported that tractor crews operating between Reindeer
Lake and Flin Flon brought out many hind quarters to sell illegally at
the latter point, leaving other parts of the bodies along the way. In
the winter of 1944-45 Nueltin Lake was said to have been covered with
the bodies of Caribou that the Chipewyans had shot for “fun” and had
neglected to utilize. It was also reported that in May, 1947, there were
many neglected bodies in the vicinity of Duck Lake, the local Chipewyans
having killed the animals during the previous fall; meanwhile the spring
migration had commenced and was furnishing all the fresh meat
required.

In the Windy River area nearly all the Caribou were secured with
rifles. A few, however, were speared by the Eskimo boy as they swam
across Windy Bay. The spears used here are manufactured articles of
iron, fitted to a wooden shaft.

Katello, a Kazan River Eskimo, informed Charles Schweder that his
people used to construct snow-covered pits for the Caribou to fall into.
The present generation is considered too lazy to undertake such a task.
Although information is lacking in the present case, urine may have been
employed to entice the Caribou into these pits, as reported by Hanbury
(1904: 114-115, 123, fig.).

A general deterioration of antler size in the Barren Ground Caribou
seems to constitute a case parallel with that of the European Red Deer
(Cervus elaphus elaphus). The reason is evidently the same in
each case—the long-continued selection by hunters of old males
with the best “heads.” Only the motive differs decidedly in each case:
the European hunter looks upon the antlers themselves as the main prize;
the Eskimo and the Indian are indifferent to these ornaments, but
realize that the bucks with great antlers provide the most meat and
fat. The bucks are said to become much fatter than the does. The
Eskimos are especially keen on getting the big bucks. According to
Charles Schweder, the old antlers left at the river crossings from
bygone days are superior in size to those of the present day. He himself
has never secured a set of antlers equal to one (fig.
25) lying on the shore of Simons’ Lake; it may have been there for
20 or 30 years prior to 1947.

From about mid-September to nearly mid-October the flesh is counted
upon as being in especially fine condition. In August, 1947, the animals
had scarcely any fat, but by the middle of September the roasts were
delicious. On October 8 the fresh strips of back fat from several bucks
weighed about 5 to 10 lbs. each. A good many of these strips were
put in a storehouse at Windy River for winter use. Charles Schweder
remarked on having seen such a piece of fat 3 inches thick. At the
rutting season, which commences about mid-October, the bucks become very
poor and thin. They neglect their feeding and do not have full stomachs,
as earlier in the season. Their fat becomes tinted with red, and the
flesh becomes so musky that even the dogs and the Wolves disdain it.
(See also the section on Fat.)

In some cases, when a local Caribou is being dressed, a part of the
stomach is utilized as a receptacle into which the blood is dipped from
the body cavity with the hands, in Eskimo style. The blood goes into the
making of soup. The tripe also is relished. Once I found the children of
our camp boiling up a section of the aorta as a delicacy. The ribs are
commonly impaled on a stick thrust into the ground and roasted in front
of an open fire. Leg bones may be cracked to render the raw marrow
accessible; if they are cooked, the marrow may be blown out of the open
ends with the mouth. The Padleimiut consume much of the meat in the raw
state, and frequently wash it down with hot tea.

Much needless wounding and suffering of the Caribou, as well as waste
of valuable resources, result from extensive use of such a
51
small-calibred rifle as the .22. It may seem remarkable that such a
large animal should succumb at all to such a slight weapon; but it does
happen, usually after a number of shots. For example, an Eskimo boy
secured 13 Caribou in a single day with a .22. On the other hand, many
of the animals must get away from the hunter, only to die, after much
suffering, at a considerable distance, where they are not likely to be
recovered and utilized. The absolute outlawing of the use of the .22 on
such large game would seem to be in order.

Once Charles Schweder shot a doe whose jaw had been broken by a
bullet. A piece of the bone had “grown into the tongue” but the jaw
was healed.

At the Windy River post, in the latter part of summer, portions of
the caribou bodies are placed in the river not merely for refrigeration,
but for protection from blowflies. Such meat is used mainly for the
dogs. The Eskimos are said not to engage in this practice. Consequently,
some of the caribou bodies lying about their camps become masses of
maggots.

On the last day of September I observed how Charles Schweder prepared
a fresh caribou body in the field and endeavored to protect it from
beasts and birds. First he cut off the head with his hunting-knife; then
the hind legs, which were severed very readily at the hip joint. Next he
opened the body cavity and pulled out the viscera, setting aside a mass
of fat (apparently the omentum). The hind legs were placed beneath the
body, and the head was thrust into the opening of the abdominal cavity,
as an obstacle to such scavengers as Herring Gulls, Rough-legged Hawks,
Canada Jays, Ravens, and Foxes (cf. Downes, 1943: 227, 228). The
skin was left on the body, and the whole was covered with small spruce
tops.

An interesting device in the hunting of Caribou consists of “stone
men”A (Harper, 1949: 231, fig.). They are made of rocks, piled one upon
another in such a manner as to faintly suggest a human figure. “Moss”
(either moss or lichens) is added to some of them to enhance the human
appearance. A considerable number may be seen in the Windy River
area, where they are generally placed along the summits of the ridges.
Construction was probably begun many years ago by natives, and has been
continued by the present residents. When Caribou, in fleeing from a
hunter, catch sight of these “stone men,” they are likely to pause in
suspicion of the figures, and to be deflected from their chosen course.
This may give the hunter a chance to come within range of the animals.
The Kazan
52
River Eskimos are said to use converging lines of such rock piles to
direct migrating Caribou to certain river-crossings, where the hunters
lie in wait for them. Occasionally a single pile is erected merely to
mark the spot where a caribou body is left until the hunter can return
with a dogteam to fetch the meat.

A.
Inuksuit (sing. inuksuk).

On first securing one of the animals, the hunter makes a practice of
cutting out the tongue and carrying it to camp in a pocket or a
game-bag. On a subsequent trip, if there is sufficient snow on the
ground, the meat is generally transported by dog sleigh or toboggan
(cf. Harper, 1949: 231, fig.). Occasionally a hunter will carry
it on his shoulder (fig. 4) or in a pack.

In all the Canadian North, as far as I am aware, the Windy River post
is virtually the only place where summer transpor­tation is
accomplished by dog-drawn travois (fig. 5).
This device, consisting of two trailing poles, with a small platform
midway, is recognizable immediately by readers of Parkman’s Oregon
Trail (1849), where its use by Indians of our Western Plains is
mentioned again and again. The travois was introduced into this region
by the late Charles Planchek?, a Czech? trapper of somewhat
sinister repute, whose headquarters were at Putahow Lake. He was the
“Eskimo Charlie” of Downes (1943: 160-161, pl.). In years gone by he
took a travois with him on a visit to the Windy River area, and it was
thereupon copied and subsequently used regularly by the Schweder family.
Their Eskimo friends of the upper Kazan will occasionally borrow one,
but I am not aware that they have made any travois of their own. During
the summer the two younger boys of the Windy River post made a practice
of hauling in caribou meat from the surrounding Barrens by means of
travois.

In the latter part of summer some small pieces of caribou meat were
occasionally laid on a stone for drying, in front of the door at the
post. Other pieces were said to have been hung up in the air for the
same purpose, without fire or smoke, out in the field where the animals
were killed. Apparently blowflies did not pay much attention to this
meat. No considerable quantity seemed to be preserved locally in this
way. Three Caribou-eater Chipewyans from the south end of Nueltin Lake,
who visited our camp in late October, were carrying dried meat with them
as travel rations and eating it without cooking.

The larvae of the warble fly (Oedemagena tarandi), found
beneath the skin of the Caribou, are relished by the Eskimos, being
eaten apparently while alive and raw. The Eskimo boy of our
57
camp continued this practice after his little sister had given it up.
Hearne (1795: 197) reported the Indians as eating the warbles in his
day.

Only a small proportion of the hides of the locally killed Caribou
are preserved. A hide that would fetch only a dollar at Reindeer
Lake would not be worth transporting more than 250 miles from Nueltin
Lake. Hearne long ago (1795: 84) remarked on the remoteness of the
hunting grounds from the trading posts as a barrier to trade in the
skins; and this condition prevails to a large extent to the present day.
Thus only such hides as are required for domestic use are kept. Tanning,
while done by the Eskimos of the upper Kazan, is not undertaken by the
residents on Windy River. Here the task of drying the hides is left
mainly to the children of the camp. Most of them are pegged out on the
summit of a gravelly ridge, wooden pegs being driven with a rock through
slits in the edges of the skin (fig. 6). Now
and then one is nailed to the outer wall of a log cabin (fig. 18).

56
Fig. 15. Anoteelik in caribou-skin clothing, holding a caribou spear. A buck on the skyline. Mouth of Windy River, September 7, 1947.	Fig. 16. Katello, a Padleimiut Eskimo from the upper Kazan River, in a coat (attigi) and boots (komik) of caribou skin. Windy River, Oct. 6, 1947.

One of the main uses of the hides is for winter clothing. The Windy
River residents have their garments made by Eskimo women of the upper
Kazan, whose tanning process leaves the fur intact. Early autumn hides,
with new, comparatively short fur, are the ones in demand. The season
for securing such hides is said to extend to mid-September. At that
season the larvae of the warble fly have not developed far enough to
have injured the hide appreciably. The long winter fur is much less
suitable for clothing. In moderately cold weather a single coat
(attigi), with the fur inside (fig. 16),
is worn by the Eskimos. This coat, when made for a man, extends very
little farther downward at the rear than at the front; but a woman’s
coat is considerably longer at the rear. The bottom is generally
provided with a fringe consisting of small strips of caribou skin,
perhaps 4 inches long and 1/16 inch wide. In mid-winter another coat,
with the fur outside (fig. 15), is slipped on
over the other. Both are provided with hoods. Trousers, with the fur
outside, are cut rather short at the bottom; some such material as rope
is passed around the waist, without belt loops, to hold the trousers up.
Boots (komik) of tanned caribou skin (fig.
16), reaching nearly to the knees, with the fur inside, make
exceptionally warm footgear in winter. An extra piece is sewed on the
sole, with the fur outside, but the hairs soon wear off. The seams are
sewed with sinew. Another sort of boot, for summer use, is made of
untanned skin, without the fur, and is more or less waterproof. Mittens
58
(pahloot) have the fur outside; the thumb piece, of a length
suitable for a short Eskimo thumb, does not properly fit a white
man.

In the autumn of 1947 the migrating Caribou did not reach the
territory of the Chipewyans about the south end of Nueltin Lake till
about November 1—by which time the fur had grown so long that it
was not suitable for clothing. When I inquired of Charles Schweder how
these natives managed under such circumstances, he replied that nowadays
they use very little skin clothing—just manufactured clothing.
Certainly the latter type was being worn by three men of this tribe that
visited the Windy River post in late October. In this connection it is
interesting to note that in November Charles brought to Windy River a
bundle of fawn skins that he had secured from an Eskimo on the upper
Kazan. Presently he traded them to a Cree halfbreed from the Putahow
River, who was to have them made into a coat for himself. In years gone
by the above-mentioned Chipewyans must have found some means of securing
caribou skins for themselves in August or September; they could have
accomplished this by moving to the northern part of Nueltin Lake,
provided the animals had not reached the southern part at the proper
season.

From Charles Schweder I learned that the Hudson’s Bay Company
acquires caribou skins (apparently tanned) from the Duck Lake Chipewyans
at about a dollar apiece, puts them up in bales of perhaps 10 to 20
skins, and ships them by steamer from Churchill to Baffin Island or
thereabouts, for use by the Eskimos. He had seen about 25 or 30 such
bales being loaded on a steamer in September, 1947. This trade evidently
results from the present scarcity of Caribou on Baffin Island
(cf. Manning, 1943a: 47-50; Soper, 1944: 247-250;
Banfield, 1949: 481). Moccasins of caribou skin, made by the Duck Lake
Chipewyans, were on sale at Churchill.

The three Caribou-eater Chipewyans from the south end of Nueltin Lake
brought mittens, gloves, and moccasins of caribou skin to trade at Windy
River. Similar gloves were brought by a Cree halfbreed from the Putahow
River.

At the Windy River post furred caribou skins served in upholstering
the seat, back, and arms of a couple of home-made chairs. They were used
also as mattresses or blankets, in the making of sleeping bags, and even
as insulating material on the outside of the cabin (Harper, 1949: 226,
228, figs.). The Schweder boys also maintain tents of caribou skin at
various points on their long trap-lines; they are much warmer than
canvas tents, and require no outlay
59
of cash. The skins are nailed on poles arranged in tepee form; the
height of such a tent is about 10 feet, and the diameter 9 or 10 feet.
There is a home-made stove inside, with the smoke-pipe projecting
outside about halfway to the top of the tent.

The Eskimos of the Kazan River have large summer tents of caribou
skin, and smaller ones of canvas. The former are the ones in which the
drum dances are held. These Eskimos never make their winter houses
wholly of snow, according to Charles Schweder, but use caribou skins for
the roof.

In illustration of the primary importance of the Caribou to both
primitive and civilized man in the Arctic and the sub-Arctic, the
numerous cases of partial or complete starvation in the absence of
Caribou may be cited. The chronicles of northern explorers are replete
with them. A notable case is that of John Hornby and his two
companions on the Thelon River in the winter of 1926-27 (Hoare, 1930:
25; Christian, 1937). In the autumn of 1946 only a small fraction of the
normal caribou migration passed by the Eskimo camps on the upper Kazan
River. These happy-go-lucky, utterly improvident people did not take
steps to secure an alternative winter’s supply of fish, and by the
following spring eight out of the band of 27 persons had succumbed
directly or indirectly to starvation. (It is suspected that several were
accounted for by anthropophagy.) Women, children, and dogs were the
victims; no adult male succumbed. The casualties would doubtless have
been more numerous if Charles Schweder had not reported the plight of
the band when he made a trip to Reindeer Lake in March. Thereupon the
government shipped emergency rations by plane as far as Nueltin Lake,
and Charles transported them from that point by sleigh to the Kazan.
Meanwhile he rescued two of the orphan children, took them to the Windy
River post, and in a few more months formally adopted them.

Ethnological material from caribou products

In addition to the utilization of caribou products for the primary
purposes of food, clothing, and shelter, as discussed in preceding
pages, certain other uses of an ethnological nature may be mentioned
here.

Charles Schweder spoke of the former Eskimo use of splint bones from
the legs of Caribou as needles, after a hole had been drilled or burned
through the larger end. They are about the same length as a large
darning needle. These people commonly
60
use the back sinew as thread or as wrapping on tools, drums, and the
like. I saw a piece of back sinew being dried for future use at the
Windy River post.

Either lard or caribou fat serves as fuel for an “Eskimo candle”; the
wick is a bit of rag or moss. The heat of the flame melts the fat where
it is spread out in some small receptacle like a can cover. When our
other means of illumination gave out at the Windy River post,
I worked or wrote notes for many hours by the light of one of these
candles. It gives approximately as much illumination as an ordinary
tallow candle. One disadvantage of using caribou fat for this purpose is
the considerable amount of smoke that it produces.

The Eskimos make odd use of an antler as a brake for a sleigh, to
prevent the harnessed dogs from running after any Caribou they may
sight; on other occasions it retards the sleigh in descending a hill.
Such an antler, that I found at the Windy River post, is notched near
the base; a rope or thong, 2 or 3 feet in length, is fastened
at one end to this notch, and at the other to the side of the sleigh. To
apply the brake, the driver simply presses down the points of the antler
into the snow or ice.

The drums used in the ceremonial dances of the Kazan River Eskimos
are made of a piece of caribou skin stretched tightly over a circular
frame of spruce and fastened in place with caribou sinew. They are about
3 feet in diameter.

In an Eskimo fish spear from the upper Kazan River an iron barb on
one of the prongs is supported by a small piece of caribou antler and
fastened with back sinew. The two large lateral prongs, of metal, are
tied to the wooden shaft of the spear with braided sinew.

Two snow-knives have handles of antler, about 10 and 11 inches in
length. One of the handles has been planed down, and is wrapped with
sinew.

The handle of another implement, used in cleaning out grains of wood
from a hole being drilled in wood, is also a piece of antler.

A woman’s knife, or ooloo, has a section of antler for a
handle.

Strands of beads, used either for an ear pendant or for ornaments at
the peak of a hood, have a caribou incisor fastened at the tip. The
opposite end of the pendant is provided with a thin strip of caribou
hide for fastening to a perforated ear lobe.

The willow stems of pipes are wrapped with back sinew.

Antler and sinew went into the making (by Anoteelik) of a “ring and
pin” game.

References on relations to Eskimos and Indians.—Isham, 1949
(1743): 152-154; Dobbs, 1744: 19; Hearne, 1795: 35, 78, 80-84, 96, 119,
195-197, 297, 316-319, 321-325; Franklin, 1823: 243-244; Lyon, 1824:
119, 123, 130, 144, 198, 229, 238, 241, 282, 311-317, 324, 327, 336;
Parry, 1824: 289, 380, 403, 494-497, 505, 508, 512, 537; Richardson,
“1825”: 330, 331; Franklin and Richardson, 1828: 200, 275; Richardson,
1829: 242-244, 245-249; John Ross, 1835a: 243-244, 252, 352, 512,
537; J. C. Ross, in John Ross, 1835b: xvii; Richardson, in
Back, 1836: 499; Simpson, 1843: 76, 208, 312, 347, 355; J. McLean, 1932
(1849): 195, 359; Richardson, 1852: 290; J. Anderson, 1856: 24, and
1857: 321; Armstrong, 1857: 149, 154, 155, 166, 194; M’Clintock, 1860?:
212; Richardson, 1861: 274; B. R. Ross, 1861: 439-440; Kennicott,
in Anonymous, 1869: 170; Kumlien, 1879: 19, 23-25, 36-37, 54; Caton,
1881: 366-371; Gilder, 1881: 11, 23, 25, 26, 28, 43, 50, 59, 61, 64, 67,
71, 137-146, 154, 245-255; Nourse, 1884: 220, 232; Schwatka, 1885:
59-86; Boas, 1888: 419, 429, 461-462, 501-503, 508-509, 522, 555-560;
Bompas, 1888: 61, 100; Collinson, 1889: 277; MacFarlane, 1890: 32-34,
38; Pike, 1917 (1892): 51-56, 59-60, 82, 209; J. B. Tyrrell, 1892:
128-130; Dowling, 1893: 107; J. B. Tyrrell, 1894: 445, 1895:
440-444, and 1897: 122, 126-127, 131-132, 151, 166-167; Russell, 1895:
49-51, and 1898: 91, 134, 168-172, 176, 178, 187-189, 227-229; Whitney,
1896: 161, 175, 176, 213, 237, 240, 242, 262; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908
(1898): 80-81, 123-141, 241; Jones, 1899: 342, 429; Hanbury, 1900: 64,
65; J. M. Bell, 1901a: 16, and 1901b: 252, 255, 258;
Boas, 1901: 52, 54, 81, 102, 107, and 1907: 465, 493, 501; W. J.
McLean, 1901: 5; Elliot, 1902: 276-279; J. W. Tyrrell, 1924 (1902): 28, 37;
Hanbury, 1904: 41, 43, 67, 70, 72, 75, 82, 114-115, 120, 121, 123, 137,
143; MacFarlane, 1905: 680-683; Amundsen, 1908, 1: 120, 201, 237,
326-329, and 2: 110; Preble, 1908: 137; Seton, 1911: 259-262;
Cameron, 1912: 127, 309; Wheeler, 1912: 199-200; R. M. Anderson,
1913a: 5, 6, 8, and 1913b: 502-505; Stefánsson,
1913a: 105, and 1913b: 203, 215, 221, 281, 337-338, and
1914: 48, 56-59, 97, 137, 139-141, 147-148, 150, 296, 353; Hornaday,
1914, 2: 97, 100; Wheeler, 1914: 52, 56, 58; Nelson, 1916:
460-461; Thompson, 1916: 19, 99; J. B. Tyrrell, in Thompson, 1916:
16; Buchanan, 1920: 113-151; R. M. Anderson, in Stefánsson, 1921:
743, 750; Hewitt, 1921: 58, 59, 64-66; Stefánsson, 1921: 401-402;
Jenness, 1922: 47, 48, 61, 78-81, 97, 100-103, 124, 127-142, 148-151,
182-189, 244, 248, 249; Blanchet, 1925: 34, 1926a: 98, and
1926b: 47; Preble, 1926: 121; Craig, 1927: 22; Henderson, 1927:
40; Rasmussen, 1927: 5, 23, 59-60, 65, 67, 68, 73-76, 103-106, 145,
166-167, 245, 246; Anthony, 1928: 532; Kindle, 1928: 72-73;
Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 9, 47, 52-53, 56, 57, 86, 89, 90, 94, 96, 98, 101, 102,
104, 106-112, 133-144, 171, 186, 191, 196, 199-223, 232, 239-251, 262,
263, 268-271; Seton, 1929, 3: 111-122, 133-134; Blanchet, 1930:
50-51, 53; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 193, and 1931: 32-33; Kitto, 1930:
87-88, 90; Mallet, 1930: 13, 32, 85, 87, 89, 90, 92, 95, 102, 116,
131-140; Jacobi, 1931: 156, 157, 159; Harper, 1932: 30, 31; Jenness, 1932: 47, 48,
51, 58, 59, 75, 406-408, 411, 412, 414, 415; Munn, 1932: 191-192, 210,
214, 255, 271, 278; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 80-83, 86-87; Weyer,
1932: 38, 39; Birket-Smith, 1933: 100; Ingstad, 1933: 118, 122, 135,
139, 162-163, 167, 186-187, 247, 253-254, 257-259; R. M. Anderson,
1934a: 81, and 1937: 103; Godsell, 1934: 273-276, and 1937: 288;
Hornby, 1934: 105; Birket-Smith, 1936: 90, 91, 110, 111, 115-116;
Hamilton, 1939: 246, 352, 359; Clarke, 1940: 5-9, 84, 110, 112; G. M. Allen,
1942: 297; Manning, 1942: 29, 1943a: 47, 50, and 1943b:
103; Downes, 1943: 215, 227-228, 261-262; Soper, 1944: 248-250; Wright,
1944: 185, 187, 188, 193; Rand, 1948b: 149; Yule, 1948: 288;
Banfield, 1949: 477, 478, 481, and 1951a: 1, 11, 14-15,
42-50; Harper, 1949: 226, 230, 231; Hoffman, 1949: 12; Polunin, 1949:
230; Scott, 1951: 127; Anonymous, 1952: 264.

References on relations to civilized man.—Kennicott, in
Anonymous, 1869: 166; Schwatka, 1885: 59-86; A. J. Stone, 1900: 57;
Grant, 1903: 186; Cameron, 1912: 309; R. M. Anderson, 1913a:
5, 6;
1913b: 504, and 1938: 400; Stefánsson, 1913b: 27;
Hornaday, 1914, 2: 100; Wheeler, 1914: 56; Hewitt, 1921: 11-12,
59; Critchell-Bullock, 1931: 33; Godsell, 1937: 288; G. M. Allen,
62
1942: 298-299; Manning, 1942: 28; [U.S.] War Department, 1944: 77;
Harper, 1949: 239; Banfield, 1951a: 1, 14-15.

Relations to Black Bears

It is hardly to be expected that Black Bears (Ursus americanus
subsp.) commit any depredations on adult, able-bodied Caribou unless
under very exceptional circumstances. Since they do not normally venture
to an appreciable distance into the Barren Grounds, their contacts with
Caribou are mainly in the forested zone. For an untold period in the
past there has been a very interesting tripartite relationship between
Bears, Caribou, and Caribou-eater Chipewyans about the south end of
Nueltin Lake. For information concerning it I am indebted to Charles
Schweder. The Indians of that area have been in the habit of killing
large numbers of Caribou, especially on the spring and fall migrations,
and leaving many of the bodies, or parts of the bodies, out in the
“bush.” The Bears have become accustomed to taking advantage of the
situation, especially, perhaps, in the matter of fattening up for
hibernation. This probably resulted in a certain concentration of the
animals thereabouts. But of late years the local native population has
seriously declined by reason of fatal illness and removal to other
parts. Consequently, as Charles Schweder expressed it, there are no
longer enough people there to feed the Bears! Three of the Chipewyans
reported in late October, 1947, that they had lost a good many of their
Caribou to the Bears during that season.

This recent change in the food situation about the south end of
Nueltin Lake has apparently resulted in, or at least coincided with, an
influx of Bears in the Windy River area, where they were unknown until
1944. During the next four years seven Bears were killed locally. The
animals are said to have consumed about 70 Caribou bodies in the fall of
1944, and about 40 in the fall of 1947 within a few miles of the Windy
River post; thus they became a somewhat serious factor in the human
economy of the area. The Caribou is evidently the chief loser in this
curious relationship, but even the Bear, which may be regarded as the
chief beneficiary, suffers from man’s retaliatory efforts.

Relations to foxes

The demand for Arctic Fox furs on the part of the fashionable women
of the world sends the trapper on his winter rounds over the bleak and
bitter Barren Grounds, where he depends upon his autumn kill of Caribou
for sustenance for himself and his dogs as
63
well as for fox bait. It is thus quite obvious where a large share of
the respon­sibility for the dwindling numbers of the Caribou
lies.

Both Arctic and Red Foxes (Alopex lagopus innuitus and
Vulpes fulva subsp.) are among the scavengers that help to
consume caribou bodies that are left unguarded in the wilds. According
to Charles Schweder, foxes of both species seem to follow the Wolves,
presumably in the hope of securing the leavings of their kills.

Charles also gave me an account of a remarkable sort of play between
a Red Fox and a small buck Caribou. He had witnessed it in September,
1943, about 18 miles north of Windy River, from a distance of half a
mile. The Fox would approach the Caribou closely; the latter would then
walk up to the Fox, which would retreat, not allowing the Caribou to
come close enough to touch it. Neither animal was afraid of the other.
They kept up this performance for about 5 minutes. The Fox then went
among some bushes, where the Caribou tried to follow it. The larger
animal was still there, feeding, when Charles passed on out of sight. He
regarded the whole performance as a matter of playfulness. His recital
put me in mind at once of a slightly similar play between a Newfoundland
Caribou and a Red Fox, as recorded by Millais (1907: 302-303).
Stefánsson (1921: 623-624) describes a game of tag between an Arctic Fox
and several yearlings of Rangifer pearyi on Melville Island.

References.—Blanchet, 1925: 34; Birket-Smith, 1929(1): 101;
Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 143; Munn, 1932: 278; Ingstad, 1933: 90,
157-159; Freuchen, 1935: 128; Banfield, 1951a: 36.

Relations to Wolves

Aside from man, the principal predatory enemy of the Barren Ground
Caribou is undoubtedly the Wolf. A comparison of a
distri­butional map of Caribou by Banfield (1949: 479, fig. 1)
with a distri­butional map of Wolves by Goldman (1944: 414, fig. 14)
indicates that the latter species is a considerably more plastic animal.
No less than six subspecies of Wolves seem to occur in parts of the
currently recognized range of a single subspecies of Caribou
(Rangifer arcticus arcticus), as follows: Canis lupus
arctos, Prince of Wales and Somerset islands; Canis lupus
manningi, Baffin Island; Canis lupus bernardi, Victoria
Island; Canis lupus hudsonicus, Keewatin, eastern Mackenzie,
northern Manitoba, and northeastern Saskatchewan; Canis lupus
mackenzii, northern Mackenzie; Canis lupus occidentalis,
southern Mackenzie and northern Alberta and Saskatchewan.

The Keewatin Tundra Wolf (C. l. hudsonicus) is presumably the
only one that concerns us here. However, its extension into the forested
zone of northern Manitoba and northeastern Saskatchewan, as indicated on
Goldman’s map, is still problematical. Goldman’s text (1944: 428-429) is
quite indefinite on this point. There are such distinct differences
between the general fauna of the Arctic Zone and that of the Hudsonian
Zone that the Wolf of the latter zone may well prove to be
differen­tiable from hudsonicus, whose type locality is at
Schultz Lake in west central Keewatin. It is an interesting question
whether any Wolves of the Barren Grounds follow the Caribou southward
into the timbered country in the fall; likewise, whether any individual
Wolves of the latter region accompany the Caribou on their spring
migration out into the Barrens. Little light on the subject seems
available at present. There is no doubt, however, that a good many
Wolves remain during the winter on parts of the Barren Grounds that have
been deserted by the Caribou at that season. Furthermore, at the time of
the spring migration, mature Wolves of the forest zone would be
restricted to their home territory by the necessity of caring for their
young ones.

A Wolf is by no means able to capture a Caribou at will. During the
season of open water the latter may effect a ready escape by plunging
into the nearest river or lake and crossing to the other side. There is
reason to believe that islands provide a good sanctuary during the
summer (Seton, 1929, 3: 108-109; Gavin, 1945: 228). In the winter
the Caribou must depend primarily on its fleetness of foot. Even the
fawns are reputed to be able to outdistance Wolves in a chase that is
not too prolonged. An adult, if brought to bay after a long chase, is
probably able to stand off a single Wolf indefinitely. Its powerful
hoofs are its principal means of defense. Even if the antlers are
brought into play, they are effective only during the limited period
when they are fullgrown, hard, and free of velvet. When two or more
Wolves manage to bring a Caribou to bay, the outcome is probably almost
invariably in their favor. Charles Schweder has never known a Caribou to
kill one of these predators in defending itself. In several cases
reported by Fred Schweder, Jr., the last stand was made on the ice of
lakes. The Caribou itself may choose such a place, as if aware that it
may be more sure-footed on the ice than its enemy.

After listening to wolf tales by residents of the frontier
settlements rather than by real men of the “bush,” one might almost
expect to see a couple of these bloodthirsty animals harrying the rear
65
of every band of Caribou and keeping up a relentless pursuit. However,
during a sojourn of six months on one of the best Caribou ranges in
Keewatin, where trapping has very little effect on Wolves, I saw
just one of these animals alive, heard the howling on several occasions,
and noted a single Caribou that had probably been killed by them. It is
far from a common experience for the resident trappers to witness actual
pursuit by Wolves or even to find their kills. The following instances,
related by Fred Schweder, Jr., comprised his only direct observations on
Wolves in pursuit of Caribou up to and including 1947, when he was
eighteen years old.

During the northward migration in May, 1945, a silent black Wolf
pursued a band of 100 Caribou over the ice of Windy Bay. At one time it
came within 100 feet, but thereafter they forged ahead. After half a
mile the band split up, and the Wolf desisted. In October, 1946, Fred
noticed a Caribou fighting off two Wolves on the ice of Nueltin Lake
near its outlet. It used both horns and hoofs against its attackers.
While one Wolf was in front, the other would try to get in the rear of
the Caribou and hamstring it. This went on for two hours until darkness
hid the scene. The next morning the Caribou was dead and half eaten. On
October 16, 1947, a white Wolf was seen in pursuit of four
fast-moving Caribou near Simons’ Lake. It was about half a mile in their
rear, and presently halted, probably by reason of catching sight of
Fred.

November 7, 1947, was a blizzardy day; the air was full of drifting
snow. Under these conditions a gray Wolf chased a buck and a doe right
into the dooryard of one of Fred’s trapping camps 10 miles north of
Windy River. It was only about 30 feet behind them. When the buck broke
through the ice of a little creek, the Wolf went right past it in
pursuit of the doe. The latter nearly ran into Fred’s toboggan, and he
shot it at a distance of 20 feet. The Wolf came within 40 feet, but by
the time it was recognized as not just another Caribou, it was 100 feet
away. Fred then shot but merely wounded it, the sight being off his
rifle. Meanwhile the buck escaped, but 3 miles away Fred met with it
again and secured it. He recognized it as the same animal because at
both encounters it was limping from a previous wound and was hornless as
well.

In late November Fred found two fullgrown bucks and a doe on the ice
of Windy Lake, where they had been killed by Wolves. The bucks were
antlered and had probably met their end several weeks previously. Yet
their flesh was so musky and unpalatable, in consequence of the rutting
season, that it had not been devoured.
66
A long trail of blood and hair led to the spot where the doe had fallen,
apparently a couple of weeks previously; it was still only half
eaten.

In Fred’s opinion, Caribou are apprehensive of sandy eskers as the
haunt of Wolves, and do not linger there.

On October 15 Charles Schweder pointed out the body of a Caribou in a
little pond in the delta area at the head of Simons’ Lake. He considered
it killed by Wolves some weeks previously; its antlers were in the
velvet, and it had been eaten only about the head and hind quarters as
it lay in the water.

Joe Chambers, a trapper of Goose Creek (south of Churchill), stated
that Wolves select the fattest Caribou, and that during the winter of
1946-47 they had been devouring only such choice parts as the tongue and
the unborn young.

Caribou bodies are the primary bait for Wolves and Foxes on the
Barren Grounds. Two traps are commonly placed at each carcass.

Up to a couple of centuries ago, when the baneful effect of civilized
man began to be felt, the Caribou throve and multiplied to a point where
they probably strained the grazing capacity of the Barren Grounds.
Neither primitive man nor the Wolf had any serious effect on the size or
condition of the herds. The Caribou were numbered by millions, and they
doubtless owed their vigor and their success as a species in no small
measure to their friendly enemy, the Wolf. Through long ages the latter
had tended to eliminate the weaklings, the sickly, and the less alert
individuals, leaving the fitter animals to propagate their kind. Here
was a fine example of natural selection operating to the advantage of
the Caribou. Thus the Wolf may be safely considered a benefactor of the
species as a whole—a regulator and protector of its vitality.

There are only two regions of the world where Caribou (or Reindeer)
have not long shared their territory with the Wolf—Spitsbergen and
the Queen Charlotte Islands. And what sort of situation do we find
there? Instead of thriving in the absence of such a natural predator,
the animals of both regions are the runts of the whole Caribou-Reindeer
tribe, and those of the Queen Charlottes have become virtually or wholly
extinct (cf. Banfield, 1949: 481-482). Furthermore, the
Newfoundland Caribou suffered a very serious decline after the
Newfoundland Wolf became extinct at about the beginning of the present
century. The lesson is obvious:
67
it is folly for man to imagine that he can benefit the Caribou by
eliminating the Wolves.

It is virtually axiomatic that no predatory species (other than
modern man) exterminates its own food supply. Long ago nature must have
established a fairly definite ratio between the populations of the Wolf
and the Caribou. Although a certain fluctuation of that ratio could be
expected from time to time, each fluctuation would be followed by a
return to more or less normal conditions. The trend of evolution has
doubtless been toward perfecting the Wolf in its ability to capture the
Caribou, but at the same time toward perfecting the Caribou in its
ability to escape the Wolf. Unequal progress of this sort on the part of
the two species would presumably have been rather disastrous to the one
or the other. But it is nature’s way to have preserved a proper balance
between the abilities of the two species, and thus between their
populations. This balance (a rather delicate one) has probably been
upset to some extent by the advent of civilized man with his devices to
the Barren Grounds.

The Caribou “exemplify the survival of the fittest; none but the
perfect are allowed to live and breed, hence their perfection. We
believe that the wolf is in no small degree responsible for this high
standard, and that were he killed off the species as a whole would
suffer.” (Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 161.)

“It is doubtful if the efforts of white or native hunters are of any
importance whatever in the control of wolves in the caribou country, or
could, under present circumstances ever be of any importance.” (Clarke,
1940: 109).

References.—Franklin, 1823: 242, 327, 344, 486, 487; John
Ross, 1835a: 402, 530, 534, 564; Back, 1836: 128-129; Simpson,
1843: 232; Armstrong, 1857: 395, 480-481, 488, 525; Osborn, 1865:
227-228, 231, 232; Kumlien, 1879: 53, 54; Gilder, 1881: 61; Bompas,
1888: 60; Collinson, 1889: 244; Pike, 1917 (1892): 56-58; Whitney, 1896:
239; Jones, 1899: 374-375; Preble, 1902: 41, and 1908: 214; Hanbury,
1904: 89; MacFarlane, 1905: 692-693; Amundsen, 1908, 1: 102;
Seton, 1911: 225-226; R. M. Anderson, 1913b: 516; Stefánsson,
1913a: 93, and 1921: 248-249, 475-476; Blanchet, 1925: 34;
Mallet, 1926: 79; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 51; Seton, 1929, 1:
344-346, and 3: 108-109; Blanchet, 1930: 54-55;
Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 159-162; Hoare, 1930: 22; Kitto, 1930: 89;
Jacobi, 1931: 240-241; Harper, 1932: 31; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 33,
35, 36, 81, 82, 84, 85; Ingstad, 1933: 157-159, 165-166, 207, 302-304,
306-307; Hornby, 1934: 106, 108; Freuchen, 1935: 93, 120-122; Murie,
1939: 245; Clarke, 1940: 107-109; Manning, 1942: 29, and 1943a:
55; Downes, 1943: 262; Young, 1944: 236-238, 243; Yule, 1948: 288;
Harper, 1949: 230-231, 239; Banfield, 1951a: 37-41; Anonymous,
1952: 263-265.

Relations to birds of prey

These relations are not so much of the living Caribou as of their
bodies after death. The principal avian scavengers in the
68
Windy River area seem to be the Rough-legged Hawk (Buteo lagopus
sancti-johannis), the Herring Gull (Larus argentatus
smithsonianus), the Canada Jay (Perisoreus canadensis
canadensis), and the Raven (Corvus corax principalis). These
birds are evidently attracted to the vicinity of camps and trap-lines by
reason of the numbers of caribou bodies lying about. On their first
arrival in late May or early June, before the lakes have opened up and
while food in general is scarce, Herring Gulls seem particularly prone
to assemble where Caribou have been recently killed. For example, up to
June 3 only a handful of these birds had been seen about Windy River. On
that day several Caribou were killed, and on June 4 about 100 Herring
Gulls had gathered at the scene. Their scavenger activities make it
especially necessary to protect the caribou bodies in the way described
in the section on Relations to man. In a few days one of the
bodies (apparently not so protected) had been almost entirely consumed.
The Herring Gulls operate locally only from May to September, being
absent during the rest of the year. A few Ring-billed Gulls
(Larus delawarensis) appeared meanwhile and attacked a caribou
carcass.

The Rough-legged Hawk is far less numerous than the Herring Gull and
so is a much less serious scavenger. Now and then, however, it may be
noted feeding on a caribou carcass. Even the Long-tailed Jaeger
(Stercorarius longicaudus) is reported in such a role. The Canada
Jay and the Raven are permanent residents and are undoubtedly helped
through the inhospitable winter by man-killed Caribou. On the other
hand, a good many Ravens fall victims to the fox traps placed about
the bodies. Charles Schweder has frequently seen Ravens following
Wolves, as if in expectation of a kill. Buchanan remarks (1920: 248)
concerning the Reindeer Lake region, that the Ravens “appear to remain
in the vicinity of the Caribou herds all th[r]ough winter.” In the Windy
River area the Canada Jay became noticeably more numerous in August,
after the Caribou had returned from the north. The Ravens and the
Rough-legs exhibited a similar increase in September and October.

The depredations of these carnivorous birds result to the detriment
of the living Caribou in that they virtually force the hunters and
trappers to kill a larger number of the animals than would otherwise be
necessary.

References.—Hanbury, 1904: 135; Stefánsson, 1913a:
93; Seton, 1929, 3: 108; Ingstad, 1933: 157-159; Downes, 1943:
228; Banfield, 1951a: 36, 42; Harper, 1953: 28, 60, 62-64, 72,
74, 76.

Relations to miscellaneous animals

The Schweder boys spoke of Arctic Hares (Lepus arcticus
andersoni) being in the habit of eating the stomach contents of
Caribou after the animals have been dressed in the field. This
represents merely harmless utilization of a normally waste product,
although it serves some of the natives as nerrooks or “Eskimo
salad” (cf. Richardson, 1829: 245). Wolverines, Mink, Weasels,
and Lemmings help to consume unprotected caribou bodies. (In the Old
World the Wolverine is regarded as a serious enemy of live Reindeer
[Jacobi, 1931: 243; Harper, 1945: 473].)

References.—Pike, 1917 (1892): 56-58; Seton, 1911: 252,
1929, 2: 413, 424, 443, and 1929, 3: 108; Harper, 1932:
23; Ingstad, 1933: 157-159; Freuchen, 1935: 93, 99; Hoffman, 1949: 12;
Banfield, 1951a: 36, 41; Harper, 1953: 40, 41.

Relations to flies

Flies of various kinds perhaps cause more wide-spread, year-round
misery to the Caribou than all other pests and enemies combined. It is
safe to say that not a single individual in the whole population escapes
their attacks, and some even succumb to mosquitoes (Gavin, 1945: 228).
The various biting and parasitic flies have already been discussed to
some extent in the section on Influence of insects on
distribution. Harassment by these pests is believed to be the
leading cause of the haste with which the Caribou are frequently seen
passing over the Barrens in summer. Downes (1943: 204) has commented on
the habit of Chipewyan hunters in the Nueltin Lake region of examining
the legs of Caribou for swellings caused by mosquito bites. In a buck
secured on August 17 the legs exhibited numerous little bumps of this
sort; furthermore, black flies covered the buck’s body, while scarcely
troubling those of us who were preparing the specimen. Fortunately the
suffering from mosquitoes and black flies on the Barrens is largely
limited to the months of July and August.

Even at this season the Caribou are granted occasional relief from
the blood-sucking flies. The charac­teristic strong winds of that
region help greatly in keeping the insects in abeyance. Furthermore,
both mosquitoes and black flies become more or less inactive whenever
the temperature drops to the neighborhood of 45° (cf. Weber,
1950: 196), and this happens fairly frequently even in mid-summer.
Finally, the black flies retire during the hours of darkness; and short
as these hours are, the relief they bring is very noteworthy. These
conditions offer something of a contrast to those surrounding
70
the Woodland Caribou. It is difficult to see how that animal can secure
a moment’s respite from mosquito attacks, by day or night, through most
of the summer. In its forested habitat there is not sufficient lowering
of the temperature nor sufficient penetration of strong winds. Hard as
the life of the Barren Ground Caribou may be, it seems to have a few
advantages not available to the Woodland Caribou; and possibly it is
these that have enabled it to attain a vastly greater population than
the other species.

Of 52 mosquito specimens brought back from the Windy River area, 39
were Aedes nearcticus Dyar, 2 were probably Aedes
fitchii (F. and Y.), and the remaining 11 were of the same genus but
not in condition for specific determination (cf. Dyar, 1919;
Weber, 1950: 196). Ae. nearcticus is holarctic in distribution;
in North America it occurs chiefly on the Barren Grounds, but is known
from as far south as Montana. Ae. fitchii ranges through the
northern United States and Canada, north to the limit of trees. Of 26
black flies, all were Simulium venustum Say, which occurs in
northern Europe, Alaska, and Labrador, south to the Adirondacks,
Illinois, Iowa, Georgia, and Alabama. (Names and ranges supplied by Dr.
Alan Stone, of the United States Bureau of Entomology and Plant
Quarantine.) These mosquitoes and black flies were presumably the
species attacking the Caribou in the Nueltin Lake region.

The effects of the two parasitic flies are felt nearly throughout the
year. The adult warble fly (Oedemagena tarandi) is seen in the
Windy River area in August, when the Caribou are on their southward
march. On August 22 Fred Schweder, Jr., secured three of them on freshly
killed Caribou and another that alighted on himself—all on an
island in Windy Bay. His name for them is “deer fly.” He reported seeing
about 50 of them on this day (more than ever before), although he
sighted only 10 Caribou. As he remarked, these fuzzy flies look much
like bumblebees. Three days later, along Little River, something buzzed
past me while a band of Caribou were near. It was probably this species,
although it suggested a hummingbird almost as much as a bumblebee. On
several subsequent August days, while numbers of Caribou were passing
very close to me, I detected no more of the warble flies. In
general, they might well have escaped my notice owing to my
preoccupation with photography; but on August 30, when I looked for them
on one of the nearest animals, I saw none. Evidently they are not
sufficiently numerous (like horse-flies on cattle) to be constantly in
attendance on each Caribou. In fact, a comparative scarcity
71
(or at least difficulty of capture) may be surmised from the fact that
the Canadian Arctic Expedition 1913-18 brought back only three adult
females—one from Teller, Alaska, and two from Bernard Harbour,
Dolphin and Union Strait (Malloch, 1919: 55). Weber (1950) collected no
Oestridae in Arctic Alaska.

Apparently there has been scarcely any published study of the
egg-laying or other habits of the adult Oedemagena in relation to
Rangifer arcticus arcticus, other than a few recent notes by
Banfield
(1951a: 31-32, fig. 17); but its behavior in relation to
the Lapland Reindeer seems to be fairly well known, and it is summarized
by Jacobi (1931: 245-246). In the case of the Reindeer, the fly’s eggs
are laid (during the summer) generally on the legs, belly, and tail
region of the victim; the larvae, on hatching, bore through the skin,
travel widely through the body, and finally (in the autumn) reach the
place for further development—beneath the skin of the back on both
sides of the vertebral column. Each one makes a breathing-hole through
the skin, and uses this as an exit when leaving the host in the
following June. Only the younger animals, from one to about four or five
years old, are heavily infested; those still older are spared, possibly
having learned to guard themselves better against the fly. Curiously
enough, the fawns are said to escape this parasitism entirely.

My own observations on the larvae were restricted to a few Caribou
specimens in June and in the autumn. As with the Reindeer, the Caribou
fawns in their first autumn showed no visible infestation, as I noted in
looking over some fresh hides on September 10, and as was noted again in
a fawn of September 26. Fred Schweder, Jr., made the remark that larvae
would be evident in the fawns by the following spring; this may indicate
that the larvae have not, in the autumn, completed their journey to
their final position on the Caribou’s back. I learned of no
immunity on the part of old adults.

Fullgrown larvae still remained in bucks secured on June 3 (fig. 17)
and 18. According to Charles Schweder, they drop out in June. In the
buck of June 3 there were perhaps several dozen warbles, each surrounded
by a mass of repulsive tissue; in another buck of June 18, there were
apparently more than 75. “It may be assumed,” says Johansen (1921: 24),
“that the pupae lie on the ground for about a month before the flies
appear.” He found (1921: 29) the adult flies abroad at Dolphin and Union
Strait by July 14.

56
Fig. 17. Charles Schweder with the fresh, warble-infested hide of a Caribou buck (specimen No. 1033). Windy River, June 3, 1947.	Fig. 18. Hide of a Caribou doe, about four years old, with about 130 small warbles or warble scars (concentrated on the rump). Windy River, September 15, 1947.

In a buck of August 17 the new warbles (or perhaps merely warble
scars from the previous June—cf. Banfield, 1951a:
32) on the inside of the skin were not very numerous. Some were
medium-sized, but most were so small that it was not deemed necessary to
scrape them off; they had comparatively little fatty tissue about them
and were merely allowed to dry up. The number of warbles (or warble
scars) found in autumn specimens varied considerably, up to a maximum of
roughly 200. They were situated mostly along the mid-dorsum, and more on
the lower back or rump than farther forward. The number appeared to be
approximately 130 in the skin of an adult doe that was nailed to the log
wall of a cabin for drying on September 15 (fig. 18). A doe of
September 21 seemed to have less than the usual number of warbles.

The nostril fly (Cephenemyia) is another serious dipterous
parasite of the Caribou. The life history of the European C.
nasalis (L.) (or C. trompe [L.]) and its effect on Reindeer
are discussed by Bergman (1917), Natvig (1918), and Jacobi (1931: 245)
as follows.

This fly attacks the host from June to September, depositing its
viviparous larvae in the nostrils. The Reindeer attempts to fend off the
fly, striking at it with its hoofs and keeping its nostrils closed as
far as possible. Once deposited, the lively larvae crawl into the inner
nasal passages and as far as the larynx, where they fasten themselves
and live on the mucus. A Reindeer may harbor as many as 130 of
these parasites. They range from 6 to 26 mm. in length. Their particular
growth begins at the end of March, and they are ready for pupation up to
May. The host assists their exit by continual sneezing and snuffling. In
the last stages they are a great affliction for the host, and they
sometimes cause its death. Pupation takes place in or on the ground,
under some sort of cover, and it lasts for 15-19 days. The flies have
been found emerging from July 12 to 31.

The corresponding parasite of the Barren Ground Caribou is a similar
or perhaps identical species, with a parallel life history. Its chief
activity as an adult doubtless occurs in July and August. A number
of the mature larvae were found in the throat of the buck of
June 3; two of them that were preserved measure approximately 7 mm.
in diameter and 27 and 30 mm. in length. A large mass of such
sizable parasites in the throat might easily become a serious obstacle
to comfortable living or even to survival on the part of the host.
Presumably the larvae drop to the ground at about the
73
same period as those of Oedemagena. Fred Schweder, Jr., remarked
concerning the buck of August 17 that these larvae are never found at
that season, and Charles Schweder made the same remark concerning a doe
specimen of September 21. It would appear either that they remain so
small as to escape detection at this time or that they do not reach the
throat on their short journey from the nostrils until some later period
of the year. Johansen (1921: 24) records larvae only 2-3 mm. long in the
nasal passage at the end of May.

Since the bulk of the Caribou population has passed well to the
northward of the Nueltin Lake region by the time the larvae of
Oedemagena and Cephenemyia drop out of the bodies of their
hosts to pupate briefly on or in the ground (say in the latter part of
June), one is tempted to speculate on the possibility that the adult
flies found here in August may have followed their prospective victims
for many miles in their southward migration. However, Porsild remarks
(1943: 386) that they “apparently do not travel very far.”

Certain kinds of behavior exhibited by the Caribou in attempting to
fend off the parasitic flies are discussed in the section on Shaking
off moisture and insects.

The adults of Oedemagena tarandi (L.) were determined by Mr.
C. W. Sabrosky, of the Bureau of Entomology and Plant Quarantine;
and the larvae of Oedemagena and Cephenemyia by Dr.
W. W. Wirth, of the same bureau. The larvae of the latter genus are
regarded as probably C. trompe (L.); they were new to the
collection of the United States National Museum.

References.—Hearne, 1795: 197; Franklin, 1823: 241;
Richardson, “1825”: 328-330, and 1829: 242; Godman, 1831, 2: 284;
Murray, 1858: 210; B. R. Ross, 1861: 438; Pike, 1917 (1892): 58-59;
J. B. Tyrrell, 1892: 128, and 1894: 442; Whitney, 1896: 239;
Russell, 1898: 228-229; Jones, 1899: 411; Hanbury, 1900: 67, and 1904:
32, 137, 194; Preble, 1902: 41; R. M. Anderson, 1913b: 504;
Stefánsson, 1913b: 204, 212-213, 333; Douglas, 1914: 191-192;
Malloch, 1919: 55-56; Hewitt, 1921: 67; Johansen, 1921: 22-24, 29, 35,
37; Stefánsson, 1921: 247; Blanchet, 1925: 32, and 1926b: 47;
Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 56, 133; Seton, 1929, 3: 109-111; Critchell-Bullock, 1930:
193; Hoare, 1930: 33, 37-38; Kitto, 1930: 89; Jacobi, 1931: 244-245;
Munn, 1932: 58; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 84-86; Birket-Smith, 1933:
90, 92; Ingstad, 1933: 48, 135; Hornby, 1934: 105; Soper, 1936: 429;
Henriksen, 1937: 25, 26; Hamilton, 1939: 247, 301; Murie, 1939: 245; Clarke, 1940:
70, 95; Downes, 1943: 226, 255; Manning, 1943a: 53; Porsild,
1943: 386; Gavin, 1945: 228; Harper, 1949: 228; Banfield, 1951a:
31-33; Barnett, 1954: 104.

Ectoparasites

It was in vain that I searched a number of fresh specimens for lice,
mites, fleas, or ticks. The Schweder boys spoke of never having noticed
any such parasites. Seton (1929) mentions none, and
74
Jacobi (1931: 243) records only a louse (Linognathus tarandi)
from the Reindeer. “Lice are not known from caribou according to Ferris
(in conversation)” (Weber, 1950: 154).

Relations to Reindeer

Recent discussions of the possibility or advisability of introducing
domesticated Reindeer to replace, or to augment the diminishing supply
of, native American Caribou in various new localities prompt a brief
review of the subject.

It may be remarked at the outset that acclimatization attempts in the
Old World have generally been abortive. Wild Reindeer introduced from
Finmark into Iceland in the eighteenth century flourished for a time,
but by 1917 they were almost exterminated. A number of different
introductions into Great Britain, Denmark, Germany, Austria,
Switzerland, and Italy came to naught. On the other hand, the
introduction of Lapland Reindeer on the subantarctic island of South
Georgia in 1908 seems to have turned out successfully. (Jacobi, 1931:
158-165; Harper, 1945: 473-474.) A saving feature in each of the
above-mentioned cases was the absence of any native Reindeer whose
racial purity might have been destroyed by the newcomers.

Decrease of local American stocks of Caribou, and consequent
suffering of native populations who had in past generations depended
upon these animals for a major portion of their food supply, have led to
introduction of foreign Reindeer in several regions of North America,
from Newfoundland and Labrador in the east to Alaska in the west. The
persons responsible were doubtless inspired by high humanitarian
motives; but it is doubtful if they could have thoroughly considered or
foreseen the serious biological consequences of their efforts.

In Alaska, importation of domesticated Siberian Reindeer began in
1892. By the 1930’s the herds had increased to an estimated total of
600,000. For various reasons, however, the industry has so far declined
that by 1949 the total number of Alaskan Reindeer had become reduced to
about 28,000 head. Disin­clination of Eskimos for reindeer-herding
and mixture of their stock with wild Caribou were important reasons for
this decline. (Lantis, 1950.) From the biologist’s point of view, the
most unfortunate result was the large-scale interbreeding with the
native Grant’s Caribou (Rangifer arcticus granti) and the
progressive extermination of that fine animal in a pure form by dilution
with inferior alien blood. Among Alaskan
75
Reindeer, “constant inbreeding has led to a noticeable reduction in the
prolificness of the females, and degeneration is to be observed in many
herds” (Hewitt, 1921: 323).

In 1908 Dr. Wilfred T. Grenfell brought 300 Lapland Reindeer to
Newfoundland. After some years they were transferred to the north shore
of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and finally to the island of Anticosti.
(Hewitt, 1921: 324-328; Seton, 1929, 3: 92.) In 1911, 50 of these
Reindeer were shipped from Newfoundland to the Slave River region. Most
of them escaped (probably to contaminate the local stock of Caribou),
and by 1916 the last survivor of this band in captivity had succumbed
(Hewitt, 1921: 329-330).

“A large part of the reindeer in Alaska are south of the Arctic
Circle on the comparatively mild shores of Bering Sea, where there are
several months of open tidewater navigation; vegetation is more
luxuriant [than in Arctic Canada] and conditions easier in general.
There the reindeer were introduced into a country where the wild caribou
had been virtually exterminated, and a large native population were
anxious to take up a new mode of support. The percentage of profits has
appeared unduly large in Alaska because statisticians have been unable
to take into account the value of the services of a large body of
devoted missionaries, government teachers, and other unselfish persons
who put their best efforts into years of unpaid extra work to make the
reindeer successful and beneficial to their charges.

“Canada has a large area of Arctic and sub-arctic lands beyond the
reach of possible cultivation, still occupied by large numbers of wild
caribou and remnants of musk-oxen, with native inhabitants who derive a
living from them and add to the national wealth by fur production. These
Indians and Eskimos are still far from being either able or willing to
enter upon a pastoral stage of existence, and moreover, they are now
enjoying an era of prosperity from the fur industry which may be
temporary, but which they will not relinquish for the slower and less
profitable prospects of the herder.” (R. M. Anderson, 1924:
330-331.)

In 1921 some Norwegian Reindeer were landed at Amadjuak, Baffin
Island (Seton, 1929, 3: 92). The lack of further reference to the
Baffin Island animals by such subsequent investigators as Manning and
Soper would seem to indicate that the reindeer have not survived, unless
through mixture with the native Caribou. An attempt in 1922 at
acclima­tization in Michigan “ended in total failure” (Seton, 1929,
3: 93).

“The Barren Grounds . . . still feed enormous herds of
caribou. . . . The greatest danger to this industry
[reindeer-raising] is just these wild herds, which would be very apt to
absorb the tame animals. This problem may perhaps become a fatal one to
the Eskimos, for there might very easily come a most difficult
transitional period, when the caribou would be too few in numbers to
form a definite basis for the existence of the people, but on the other
hand numerous enough to make reindeer breeding difficult.”
(Birket-Smith, 1933: 121.)

In northwestern Alaska “large numbers of reindeer are constantly
escaping the herders and joining the wild caribou. It seems that it will
be but a short time until there will be no pure bred caribou along that
part of the coast. . . . As the reindeer are protected,
and the caribou are killed at every opportunity, the former will
doubtless prove the dominant animal and in time overcome the caribou,
with hybridization the inevitable result.” (Bailey and Hendee, 1926:
22.)

“The caribou’s greatest menace is not the wolf, nor the hunter, but
man’s economic developments, principally the raising of reindeer.
Wherever reindeer herds are introduced, caribou must of course
disappear, for both cannot occupy the same range. The disappearance of
the caribou along the Bering Sea and Arctic coasts, while regrettable,
was unavoidable in view of the development of reindeer herding in this
section, which is ideal for the purpose. . . .

“The mingling of reindeer with the main caribou herds should be
avoided. Reindeer herds maintained in close contact with migrating
caribou suffer frequent losses through strays. Already the domestic
reindeer are mingling with the caribou herd of Mount McKinley National
Park. . . . [Hybridization] would be regrettable in
interior Alaska, which has produced a splendid type of wild caribou,
coming near at least to being the largest on the continent.” (Murie,
1935: 7.)

Murie’s extensive experience with these animals in Alaska has led him
to remark further (1939: 245):

“The greatest hazard to the Caribou is the possible occupation of the
range by man’s agricultural activities. . . . The most
serious danger is introduction of domesticated Reindeer on wild Caribou
range, for the wild herds must be removed in order to make possible the
safe herding of the domestic animals. . . . There is not
room for both of these animals on the same or closely adjacent
ranges.”

Porsild points out (1943: 386, 389) that sparsely covered grazing
77
areas are suitable for Caribou but not for Reindeer; and that the former
disappear before expanding Reindeer culture.

“Perhaps the worst threat of all to the caribou has been the
introduction of reindeer culture along the arctic coast. This has
resulted in interbreeding between the wild caribou and their inferior
domesticated relatives. When and if this mixture extends to all the
herds of the Barren Grounds, the caribou may be written off the record
as a pure species; the animal will have become extinct through dilution,
as the biologists express it.” (Harper, 1949: 239.)

The American Society of Mammalogists, at its annual meeting in 1950,
passed the following resolution (Jour. Mammalogy 31 (4):
483, 1950):

“That the American Society of Mammalogists urges that the Canadian
Government not undertake the introduction of reindeer into Ungava.
Before any introduction even is seriously considered, those persons
involved in any planning are urged to make a thorough study beforehand
of the problems of integrating lichen ecology, reindeer biology, and
native culture—serious problems that have not been solved to date
on any workable scale on the North American continent. It would be
particularly deplorable if an introduction, to aid the natives, led to
early successes and high hopes, then eventual failure.”

Porsild, who knows the Reindeer thoroughly at first hand, has made
(1951: 53) the following observation:

“Thus far these experiments [at introduction into America] have met
with only partial or indifferent success, because reindeer nomadism is
incompatible with present trends of cultural development and because the
North American Arctic is too thinly populated to provide a ready market
for reindeer products.”

Referring to the region of the Brooks Range in northern Alaska,
Rausch says (1951: 190):

“The mixture of inferior reindeer bloodlines with the native caribou
is serious. This has already occurred to a considerable degree, and it
is hoped that proper control will be exercised if the reindeer industry
is revived in Alaska. Ear-notched animals have been killed in the
Anaktuvuk Pass country, and white reindeer have been seen running with
the caribou. The number of unrecognized reindeer passing through could
be great.”

At present the Barren Ground Caribou is apparently the third most
abundant member of the deer family on our continent, being exceeded by
the White-tailed Deer and the Mule Deer (cf. Jackson,
78
1944: 7-8). No other member of this family could be expected to be so
eminently and thoroughly adapted to its Arctic environment or to thrive
so well on the very ground where nature has been molding and perfecting
its characters for thousands of years. No naturally occurring
relative—Moose, Deer, or Woodland Caribou—undertakes to
compete with it on its own particular range. It requires practically
nothing for the maintenance—and increase—of its present
numbers, other than an enlightened policy of conservation. (As indicated
on a previous page, the feminine wearers of Arctic Fox furs must bear a
heavy share of respon­sibility for the decline of the Barren Ground
Caribou in recent decades.) Our highest authorities have pointed out the
imprac­ticability of Caribou and Reindeer occupying the same
range.

Would it not be the part of wisdom to exclude the inferior
domesticated alien, with its difficult and generally unsuccessful
culture in North America, and thereby to give the wonderful wild Caribou
of the Barrens its best chance for survival?

References.—Chambers, 1914: 350-351; Hornaday, 1914,
2: 105-108; Hewitt, 1921: 323, 329-330; R. M. Anderson,
1924: 330; Kindle, 1928: 74; Seton, 1929, 3: 92-93; Blanchet,
1930: 53-54; Birket-Smith, 1933: 121; Godsell, 1934: 276; Murie,
1935: 7, 1939: 245-246, and 1941: 435; Porsild, 1943: 386, 389;
Rousseau, 1948: 96; Harper, 1949: 239; Polunin, 1949: 24; Lantis, 1950;
Hustich, 1951; Porsild, 1951: 53; Rausch, 1951: 190; Scheffer, 1951.

Numerical Status

There seems to be a general impression, among those who have known
the Barren Ground Caribou at first hand for a considerable period, that
the population has been reduced by something like a half during the past
generation. “Recent preliminary aerial survey has indicated that their
numbers, although less than the previous estimates of 3,000,000
(R. M. Anderson, 1938; Clarke, 1940), which were based upon the
carrying capacity of the Arctic tundra, are probably comparable to their
primitive numbers in the central portions of the range” (Banfield, 1949:
478). A definite reduction is indicated along the Arctic coast and
on the Arctic islands (R. M. Anderson, 1937: 103, and 1938: 400;
Banfield, 1949: 478, 481, and 1951a: 13-14). While large numbers
still remain in southwestern Keewatin, there are no reports of any such
mass occurrence as was witnessed by the Tyrrell brothers on the upper
Dubawnt River on July 29, 1893; that throng was estimated at 100,000 to
200,000 animals (J. B. Tyrrell, 1897: 165).

During the big movement of the last week of August, 1947, I may have
seen as many as 500 Caribou on one or two days, in herds
79
numbering up to 150 individuals. A striking proportion of those
observed seemed to occur in bands of roughly 25 animals. On August 25
Fred Schweder, Jr., reported about a thousand crossing Little River, in
bands of as many as 100 individuals. On October 11 Charles Schweder
observed a thousand Caribou resting on a hill 3 miles long in the
vicinity of Four-hill Creek. In November he found thousands, in herds up
to 300 strong, moving south from the upper Kazan River. These figures
may give a faintly approximate idea of the numbers occurring in the
general region of Nueltin Lake in a year considered less good than an
average one. On the other hand, toward the coast of Hudson Bay, there
were reports of a greater number of autumn migrants than in ordinary
years.

In October, about 1944, tracks indicated that 2,000 or 3,000 animals
had crossed Windy River in the vicinity of Four-hill Creek in the night
(fide Charles Schweder). About October 10, 1946 (a year of
unusual abundance), Fred Schweder, Jr., witnessed the passage of
thousands in one day in this vicinity; he got the impression of “the
hills moving with Deer.” (Yet this was the season when the Caribou
passed mainly to one side of the upper Kazan River, so that nearly
one-third of the local band of Eskimos starved to death.) In the first
part of May, about 1942 or 1943, John Ingebrigtsen came to a nameless
lake, about half a mile by a mile and a half in extent, somewhere east
of Duck Lake, Manitoba. It appeared “absolutely full of Caribou,” and he
estimated their number at not less than 20,000. This would mean a
density of no more than about 50 per acre.

References.—Jones, 1899: 368, 374; J. B. Tyrrell,
1894: 442, and 1897: 10, 49-50, 165; Whitney, 1896: 240; Seton, 1911:
220, 258-260; R. M. Anderson, 1913b: 502; Hornaday, 1914,
2: 225-226; Nelson, 1916: 460; Thompson, 1916: 100-101; Kindle,
1917: 108-109; Buchanan, 1920: 130-131; Hewitt, 1921: 56, 64-66;
Stefánsson, 1921: 255; R. M. Anderson, 1924: 329; Blanchet,
1926b: 48, and 1930: 52; Kindle, 1928: 72-73; Seton, 1929,
3: 131-134; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 159-160; R. M.
Anderson, in Hoare, 1930: 52-53; Kitto, 1930: 87; Jacobi, 1931: 201-202;
Munn, 1932: 58; Birket-Smith, 1933: 89; Ingstad, 1933: 160; R. M.
Anderson, 1938: 400; Clarke, 1940: 65, 84-91, 101-104; Downes, 1943:
258-260; Wright, 1944: 185-188, 191, 193; Yule, 1948: 287-288; Banfield,
1949: 478, 481, and 1951a: 9, 13-14; Harper, 1949: 231, 239;
Anonymous, 1952: 261; Barnett, 1954: 96.

General Habits

Daily periods of activity and rest

According to Charles Schweder, the Caribou do not move about much at
night; that seems to be their principal time for sleep. They exhibit a
definite tendency to pause and rest also toward the middle of the day.
Several instances have already been given
80
of the animals resting at such a time on frozen lakes and rivers: lakes
southwest of Reindeer Lake, March 18; lakes south of Lake Athabaska,
April 16; Seal River, May 31; Windy Bay, June 6 (mid-morning). Open
hilltops are evidently sought likewise for both nocturnal and mid-day
rests: knoll by Windy River, June 3; Josie’s Hill, June 20; ridge
by Little River, August 24 (about 9 a.m.). (For details, see sections on
Winter range, Spring migration, and Fall
migration.)

Although we noted a small band of Caribou passing through a thick and
extensive stand of spruce at dusk on October 2, Fred Schweder, Jr.,
remarked that they do not rest in such a place; they are safer from
Wolves in open areas. Charles Schweder reported about 50 Caribou, in
three slightly separated bands, appearing on the south side of Windy
River near Four-hill Creek during the evening of September 24, but not
making up their minds to cross; he thought they might have been scared
by Wolves. Possibly there was a similar explanation for the crossing of
the river at this point by large numbers of the animals during an
October night several years previously.

According to Fred Schweder, Jr., a day’s movement of Caribou past the
mouths of Little and Windy rivers during the fall migration generally
does not commence before 10 a.m. and ends about 3 p.m. The explanation
of such a phenomenon is none too obvious; and in any event, there were
exceptions enough, though the general statement may hold true for the
bulk of the migrants. As remarked in the section on Spring
migration, the daily periods when the Caribou crossed the ice of
Windy Bay were mainly from 10 to 11 a.m., from 2:30 to 5 p.m., and in
the evening.

On August 27, about 5:50 p.m., a majority (say half a dozen) of a
small band of Caribou were lying down on a slope near the mouth of
Little River. They faced down wind to watch for enemies in that
direction, while their noses would warn them of any approaching from the
opposite direction. Their attitude was very much like that of Norway
Reindeer figured by Seton (1929, 3: pls. 11, 15, 18).

Charles Schweder spoke of having seen whole herds lying down to rest,
while none of the animals remained standing up on guard. He had noted
one such herd of 600 or 700 along the Thlewiaza River in August. He
further stated that when the Caribou lie down to rest and to chew the
cud, they hold the head up. They may also sleep in this position. In the
hard winter of 1944-45, when the snow
81
was deep and the animals were tired and hungry, he came up to a resting
herd. All but one of them got up and moved away. That one remained
sleeping, head up and eyes closed; Charles walked up to within 10 feet
and shot it. He has also seen resting Caribou lay their heads down on
the side, but only for a few moments at a time.

References.—J. B. Tyrrell, 1892: 129; Jones, 1899:
359; Harper, 1949: 227; Banfield, 1951a: 23.

Organization of herds

The Barren Ground Caribou is a distinctly gregarious species. It goes
in herds for at least the greater part of the year; this is especially
true of the spring and autumn migration periods and of the winter
months. We know comparatively little of the behavior of the does at
fawning time in June; but probably there is a tendency toward
solitariness on their part at that season. It is true that solitary
Caribou may be met with at almost any season of the year; but this
doubtless represents merely temporary rather than permanent segregation
of such individuals. At the very end of the spring migration and at the
beginning of the autumn migration, there may be, among the sparse
southernmost elements of the population, a larger proportion of
solitary animals.

While marching over the Barrens and feeding as they go, the smaller
bands maintain a fairly loose organization, as apparently best suiting
their needs. On the other hand, the huge herds of former times, such as
the Tyrrells met on the upper Dubawnt in 1893 (J. B. Tyrrell, 1897:
49-50, pl. 1; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908: pls. facing pp. 80, 81; Seton, 1929, 3:
pl. 22), obviously maintained very compact ranks. In my limited
experience, the animals bunched more closely in crossing the rivers than
was normally the case on land among feeding herds. While swimming, they
would follow each other in files at minimum intervals; but in stepping
across rapids they might extend these intervals somewhat.

When merely covering ground, without stopping to feed, or when
following a trail through brush or along a narrow ridge, there is a
strong tendency for the animals to go in a single file, or at least in a
procession many times longer than wide. This was also apparent when they
were crossing the ice of Windy Bay in June.

When Caribou flee from some source of alarm, a distinct tendency
toward compact bunching may be observed. This may have been developed as
a measure of protection from pursuing Wolves; the latter could naturally
overcome a straggling or isolated individual more readily than one in a
compact herd. The Caribou running
82
away from the train in the “Little Barrens” south of Churchill very
clearly demonstrated the tendency toward a close formation. (See also,
in the section on Disposition, the account of a herd
attacked by a hunter near Lake Charles.)

The larger herds of the autumn migration seemed to be generally
composed of all sexes and ages; yet some sizable bands were made up
chiefly of bucks on the one hand, or of does and fawns on the other
hand. The rear guard of the spring migration and the vanguard of the
autumn migration are generally composed of bucks, traveling either
singly or in small bands; this state of affairs is looked upon as
evidence that the majority of the bucks do not advance so far to the
north in June and July as the does do.

The following are a few examples of the composition and leadership
(or rear-guarding) of groups of Caribou. (Other examples are mentioned
in the sections on Migration.) A band of about 20, after feeding
for a time on the south bank of Windy River on June 16, moved off
upstream, mostly in single file, with a patriarchal buck in the lead.
The remainder of the band included several lesser bucks and various does
and yearlings. On the following day a band of equal size, composed
chiefly of bucks but including three hornless individuals (does?), was
led by two of the bigger bucks. When a band of some 40 does and fawns
approached Little River to cross it on August 25, a doe came first
to the water’s edge to make a careful inspection. On the same day I
remarked having noted several times that a buck brought up the rear of a
band. On August 26 I noted that a distinct majority in the herds of the
previous two or three days were does and fawns, although there were
generally a few bucks present also. At this period I got the impression
that the number of individuals in a band was frequently not far from 25.
On August 28, when a band of 40 crossed the mouth of Little River, three
or four bucks plunged in first, but a doe was almost even with them. At
the Bear Slough, on September 3, a group consisted of two bucks,
two does, and a fawn. On September 15 Fred Schweder, Jr., reported
seeing about 100 Caribou, with not a buck among them. On September 24
about 15 does and fawns were resting or feeding quietly by Glacier Pond.
On September 28 a band of six large bucks crossed the Camp Ridge. On
October 1, an older and a younger buck appeared in the shoal waters of
Duck Bay. On November 3, in the same locality, a band of about
50 was composed largely of does, but included a few fawns and a few
well-antlered bucks. On
83
November 11 five does were reported crossing the mouth of Windy River on
the ice.

Charles Schweder remarked that the leader of a band is generally a
doe; but sometimes it is a buck, or even a fawn. There is virtually no
way of telling whether the same doe habitually leads a band. In the big
migrant herds, bucks bring up the rear. Once in September, in a herd of
about 100 animals, the front half was composed of does and fawns, the
rear half of bucks. In the rutting season the does are naturally in the
lead, the bucks following them.

References.—Hearne, 1795: 198; Richardson, “1825”: 329;
Simpson, 1843: 277, 281, 381; J. Anderson, 1856: 24, and 1857: 324;
Schwatka, 1885: 83; Pike, 1917 (1892): 49, 174, 204, 209; Dowling, 1893:
107; Stone and Cram, 1904: 52; Blanchet, 1925: 32-33, and 1926b:
48; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 192-196; Hoare, 1930: 13, 33, 37; Kitto,
1930: 88; Mallet, 1930: 20-23; Jacobi, 1931: 190, 203-204; Hornby, 1934:
106; Birket-Smith, 1936: 112; Hamilton, 1939: 247; Clarke, 1940: 95;
Downes, 1943: 256; Manning, 1943a: 52; Harper, 1949: 228, 229;
Banfield, 1951a: 23-26.

Disposition

The Barren Ground Caribou comes close to holding the palm for
unwariness among the larger land mammals of North America. It is
fortunate that its range lies so far from the centers of civilization.
It is scarcely conceivable that it could survive, as the White-tailed
Deer does, in some of our most thickly settled areas. At the river
crossings, where I watched the pageant of migration for day after day,
some of the animals would come up to within a rod while I handled my
cameras in the open, with no more cover than knee-high bushes and rocks
(figs. 11, 14). Where
else, among the larger creatures of the wilderness, could one find such
a close approximation to a Garden-of-Eden existence? Until they detected
the human scent, they would stare at me at such close quarters with
little more concern than so many barnyard cattle. (For examples, see the
section on Fall migration.) Moreover, there were occasions when
they must have gotten my wind and still did not show panic. There is an
obvious deficiency of eyesight or judgment, or both.

To account for their behavior on such occasions, I speculated as
follows. The species has scarcely any predatory enemies save man, the
Wolf, and (perhaps to some extent) the Wolverine. In their normal
experience, any such enemy, if within close range, would be making an
attack. Thus a questionable figure, not becoming evident to them until
they are within close range, and then making no motion to attack, may be
dismissed by them as something different and therefore harmless.

The attitude of unconcern has probably been developed in
84
past generations through the habit of the Caribou of traveling in vast
throngs. The threat of danger to a given individual in a herd of, say,
100,000 is practically negligible. From time immemorial the river
crossings have represented a particular point of attack on the part of
the natives. Yet when a large band of Caribou come to such a crossing,
they may plunge in with little pause or hesitation. On the other hand,
when a lone doe with her fawn approaches the river bank, she may be very
circumspect, taking time to look carefully upstream and down, and
across, before venturing into the water. I also saw another doe
with a fawn exercise similar precaution, when she was merely the first
of a band of 40 to reach the river’s edge. It is probably concern for
her fawn that renders a doe more circumspect than a buck.

When Fred Schweder, Jr., was endeavoring to intercept a Wolf on
September 6, a fullgrown buck came feeding around a tree
within 10 feet of him. The animal winded Fred without apparently seeing
him, and went back and forth uncertainly for about a minute; finally it
moved off very slowly.

Stefánsson’s account (1913b) of his various adventures with
Caribou near the Arctic coast of Mackenzie indicates a far wilder animal
in that region than the one in Keewatin. It appeared a great deal easier
for me, with no particular effort at caution, to get within photographic
range (say a dozen feet to 50 yards) than for him to approach within
rifle range (several hundred yards).

Even after being fired upon, a single animal or a band in the Nueltin
Lake region will rarely put distance between themselves and a hunter
with all possible dispatch, as an alert White-tailed Deer would, but
will run hither and thither in confusion, with frequent pauses to
display their befuddlement. On October 8 I was a distant and saddened
spectator of a scene of slaughter. A hundred or more Caribou were
resting or feeding quietly on a bare ridge south of Lake Charles. They
were distributed in a narrow formation, 75-100 yards long and from one
to several animals deep. A hunter, approaching close to the south
end of the herd, began firing. With one accord they made toward the
north, but very shortly executed a sharp turn and came back rapidly in
the opposite direction, passing in a narrow, compact column within 30
feet of the hunter, who continued shooting. In 200 or 300 yards they
paused and allowed the hunter to come up with them and resume shooting.
The process was repeated over a distance of three miles; but the pursuer
now and then circled ahead of the herd instead of following
85
in its tracks. The final toll: 29 Caribou hit and 22 or 23
secured—virtually a quarter of the herd destroyed and most of it
to be used for dog feed.

It is said that the attachment between a doe and its fawn is such
that when one of them is killed, the hunter can approach within 50 feet
of the surviving doe or within 20 feet of the surviving fawn.
A fawn is apt to linger for days in the vicinity where its dam has
been killed.

Charles Schweder has never seen fawns playing with each other or with
their mothers; two or three times he has seen one frisking by
itself—such as jumping about or running in a circle—but
never for more than half a minute at a time. Seriousness of life for a
Caribou seems confirmed from its infancy.

In the hard winter of 1944-45, when the Caribou were tired and
hungry, Charles had the rare experience of driving his dogteam right
through herds on Nueltin Lake; the animals merely moved aside enough to
let him pass. In like vein Joe Chambers spoke of encountering such
numbers of migrating Caribou on or near the “Little Barrens” south of
Churchill in the spring of 1947 that his dogs “went wild” and he had to
halt for a time; the animals came within about 100 yards of his
team.

A Caribou bold enough to attack a man is very rarely heard of. Yet
that was the experience of 15-year-old Anoteelik on September 8.
Having run out of ammunition, he undertook to kill a 2-year-old buck
with a rock in a patch of timber. (Possibly the animal had already been
wounded with Anoteelik’s .22 rifle.) When the missile failed of its
mark, the buck made for the boy, who escaped by climbing a tree. Perhaps
this is the first case on record of a man or a boy (especially an
Eskimo!) being treed by a Barren Ground Caribou. Jenness mentions (1922:
150) a case of an Eskimo being fatally gored by a Caribou on
Victoria Island. Otherwise, under all general circumstances, and in
contra­distinction to the Bison, the Muskox, the Moose, and even the
White-tailed Deer, the Caribou may be regarded as quite innocuous to
man.

The restlessness so frequently exhibited by Caribou during the
summer, in trotting rapidly over the Barrens or in feeding hurriedly
here and there while constantly forging ahead (in contrast to the
placidity of grazing sheep and cattle), may be attributed in large part
to the relentless scourge of fly pests.

(See also Relations to man.)

References.—Lyon, 1824: 336-337; J. McLean, 1932 (1849):
359; Simpson,
86
1843: 207; Armstrong, 1857: 478-479, 481-482; Gilder, 1881: 78;
Schwatka, 1885: 85; Pike, 1917 (1892): 51-52, 90; Whitney, 1896: 242;
Hanbury, 1904: 85; Amundsen, 1908, 1: 103; Stefánsson,
1913b: 278, and 1921: 251; Hornaday, 1914, 2: 104;
Jenness, 1922: 150; Blanchet, 1925: 34; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 106;
Seton, 1929, 3: 105-107; Jacobi, 1931: 219, 220; Ingstad, 1933:
88, 293, 297; Downes, 1943: 236-237; Porsild, 1943: 389; Harper, 1949:
229-230; Banfield, 1951a: 22.

Senses

There is fairly general agreement on the Caribou’s keen sense of
smell, good hearing, and less well-developed vision. But perhaps the
last-mentioned attribute does not so much constitute poor eyesight as
lack of perception or recognition. In other words, is it
not possible that the animal is merely deficient in interpreting what it
may see clearly enough?

References.—R. M. Anderson, 1913a: 8, and
1913b: 504; Stefánsson, 1913b: 164, 1914: 58, and 1921:
307; Blanchet, 1925: 34, and 1926b: 48; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1):
106; Seton, 1929, 3: 104; Murie, 1939: 245; Banfield,
1951a: 22.

Gaits

The three principal gaits of the Caribou are walking, trotting, and
loping. The animal seems to be in such a constant hurry that trotting is
fairly habitual. The speed of this gait varies with the urgency of the
occasion; also, according to Stefánsson (1921: 248), with sex and age.
When frightened by an enemy, a Caribou may start off with a loping
gait, but it soon settles down to its space-consuming trot, which keeps
it safely ahead of a Wolf in any brief chase. The initial leap takes all
four feet off the ground at once (cf. Buchanan, 1920: 126).
According to Charles Schweder, it is usually a single animal that reacts
in this way; but he has seen as many as six together leaping into the
air. Fred Schweder, Jr., has seen both bucks and does in this
performance. My own observations covered two lone adults (at least one a
buck) and a lone fawn. One of the former turned and took a step or so
before making the leap. The fawn (at Simons’ Lake in October), after
allowing a canoe to approach within 100 feet, started off twice in
succession, and each time with an initial leap into the air before
settling down to a trot.

Even a summer fawn is reputed to be able to outdistance a Wolf. Lyon
(1824: 67) found a Caribou too fleet for a greyhound.

In trotting rapidly, a Caribou points its snout pretty straight to
the front, thus tilting the antlers backward a little. This gait, with
front legs stretching well out in front and hind legs thrust backward
correspon­dingly, gives a very charac­teristic and distinctive
87
stamp to the appearance of a fast-trotting Caribou. (Compare the
sketches of trotting Norway Reindeer by Seton, 1929, 3: pls. 15,
18.) It is apparently quite different from any normal gait of the
White-tailed Deer. A buck’s well-grown antlers are of such weight
as apparently to force it to hold its head rather rigidly while going at
speed. If its head swayed appreciably, the top-heavy antlers might tend
to throw the animal off balance. In a trotting gait, the hind foot may
be planted just beyond the spot where the front foot had rested. In
walking, the print of the hind foot may be superimposed on that of the
other (fig. 20). The white “spats” just above the
hoofs show to fine advantage when the Caribou trots; they fairly
twinkle. In a retreating animal the white rump-patch appears in marked
contrast to the dark brown adjacent fur.

In stepping across a shallow rapid in peaceful surroundings, the
rhythmic splashings of the water to the front and the sides of the
alternately descending hoofs make a scene of rare charm. In moving
through deeper water, where the bottom is rough, rocky, and slippery,
the animals may pick their way quite slowly. When alarmed near the
water’s edge from some such cause as detecting a human scent, they may
make great splashing leaps into a river or bay, fairly enveloping
themselves in huge clouds of spray. There can be few more spirited
scenes of animal life in the North.

I have seen several of the animals running with open mouths, even
when they had gone no more than a quarter of a mile from a point of
alarm. Every now and then a Caribou will be seen limping—perhaps
from wounds, perhaps because of a leg sprained in rough terrain.

References.—Lyon, 1824: 67; Osborn, 1865: 227; Russell,
1895: 50, and 1898: 90; Hanbury, 1904: 131; Nelson, 1916: 460; Buchanan,
1920: 126; Stefánsson, 1921: 248; Blanchet, 1925: 33, and 1926b:
47; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 193; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 83;
Ingstad, 1933: 87; Murie, 1939: 245; Downes, 1943: 236-237; Harper,
1949: 226, 229; Banfield, 1951a: 21.

Tracks

Caribou trails, resulting from the impact of countless hoofs on the
same restricted courses for unnumbered years, have been discussed in the
section on Ecology. The placing of the feet has been touched upon
in the section on Gaits. The individual tracks remain to be
considered.

Each of two foot-prints photographed in mud was approximately 4
inches (102 mm.) long and 4½ inches (114 mm.) wide. Another such
photograph (fig. 19) shows tracks about 114 by 95
88
and 102 by 102 mm. The foot sketched by Seton (1929, 3: 129) is
obviously a front foot, though not so labeled; the hoofs as drawn are
approximately 89 and 93 mm. in length; the width of the foot is
approximately 100 mm.

A track (fig. 20) photographed in 2-inch snow represents a hind
foot-print superimposed upon a front foot-print in a walking gait;
including the marks of the dew claws, it was approximately 6 inches (153
mm.) long and 5 inches (127 mm.) wide. The “square-toed” appearance is
very charac­teristic.

A front hoof is a little broader as well as longer than a hind hoof
(fig. 24). The extreme and average lengths of the
front hoofs in five of my adult male specimens are 80-92 (85.2); of the
hind hoofs, 74-84.5 (79.8). In an adult doe a front hoof measures 77;
a hind hoof, 72.

Reference.—Banfield, 1951a: 19.

Swimming

In their extensive and long-continued migrations over a territory
composed in large part of lakes, ponds, and rivers, the Caribou have
almost daily need, from June to October, of surmounting these barriers
by swimming. The low temperature of the water seems to have no deterring
effect on them. Yet it appears that some of the animals may fail in
attempting the passages of wide waters. Charles Schweder spoke of
finding a number of dead Caribou, including bucks as well as fawns, that
had apparently succumbed in crossing a 4-mile-wide lake on the Thlewiaza
River. (Or had they perhaps come to grief in some upstream rapid and
finally been washed ashore on the lake?) Bones on the shore indicated
that this sort of tragedy might be more or less of an annual occurrence.
Perhaps some of the victims had been wounded or were otherwise in poor
condition.

The buoyant, hollow hairs of a Caribou’s coat enable the swimming
animal to keep almost the whole median dorsal line of its body perhaps 2
or 3 inches above the surface (figs. 9, 12). In a doe noticed on August 28 the lowest point on the
top of the neck, just in front of the shoulders, was practically level
with the surface, but elsewhere the dorsal line, from snout to tail, was
out of the water. In both doe and fawn the head is held so high that the
lower side of the snout at the tip does not touch the water; in the
older bucks of the autumn, however, the weight of their antlers presses
the head down until the lower side of the snout is frequently in contact
with
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the water. The swimming position tilts the antlers backward until the
basal portion is practically horizontal (figs. 9,
12). All ages and sexes, while swimming, hold the
tail nearly erect; but the very tip (perhaps only the tuft of hairs)
inclines toward the rear.

On October 30 tracks indicated that half a dozen Caribou had swum
across Little River near its mouth, breaking through a 10-foot rim of
ice on the near side. When a herd of 2,000 or 3,000 crossed Windy River
during an October night about 1944, as reported by Charles Schweder,
they broke three channels through the thin ice that covered the
river.

Once Charles saw a buck cross the 100-yard-wide Nahiline Rapids on
Kasmere River, where it drops about 40 feet in a quarter of a mile; yet
the animal did not seem to be carried far downstream. When about 10
Caribou (mostly big bucks) crossed the Windy River at our camp on June
24, the last two, I noted, were pointing almost upstream in the 6-
to 8-mile-per-hour current.

The usual formation in which a small number of Caribou cross a bay or
a quiet stretch of river is a single file, but a larger band is likely
to make the passage in several simultaneous files. The fawns, in
particular, follow as closely as possible behind their mothers.

Although the Caribou are strong and speedy swimmers, the natives are
able, in canoe or kayak, to overtake and spear them. In 1947 several
fawns were speared in Windy Bay by Anoteelik.

Other notes on swimming may be found in the sections dealing with
Migrations.

References.—Back, 1836: 367; Simpson, 1843: 76, 310; Rae,
1850: 27; Richardson, 1852: 290; Schwatka, 1885: 68, 71-72; W. J.
McLean, 1901: 6; R. M. Anderson, 1913b: 503; Blanchet,
1925: 34; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 109-110; Seton, 1929, 3: 107;
Hoare, 1930: 27, 31; Jacobi, 1931: 216; Clarke, 1940: 88-90; Downes,
1943: 256; Harper, 1949: 227, 229, 230; Banfield, 1951a: 21.

Shaking off moisture and insects

The long, dense fur of the Caribou holds so much moisture that when
the animal emerges from swimming it endeavors to rid itself of the extra
burden and cooling agency. This is effected to a large extent by a
vigorous shaking of the body, head, and ears and a switching of the
tail. The initial performance, lasting for perhaps a second or two, may
be undertaken while the animal’s lower extremities are still in the
water; and it is likely to be repeated from one to several times as it
moves over the shore and ascends the adjacent ridge. The cloud of spray
flying off is a sight to behold (fig. 9). The
action is very much like that of a dog under similar circumstances.
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The fur may remain wet for a least 10 or 15 minutes after emergence from
the water. In driving rain on September 5, I noticed an
individual in a band of 20 Caribou shaking itself and sending the rain
drops flying off in spray, just as when one emerges from the water.

The Caribou also go through a very similar but perhaps still more
strenuous performance for the obvious purpose of shaking off flies
(perhaps primarily the warble flies, Oedemagena). On August 20 a
buck passing along a ridge in the Barrens agitated the hide on its body
several times with considerable vigor. A young animal (fawn or
yearling) thus shook itself on August 28 as it approached the far side
of Little River. I got the distinct impression that the hide was
shaken horizontally in the case of moisture, but vertically in the case
of insects; for the present, however, this is best considered as just an
impression, and not a statement of fact. The muscles that agitate the
skin of the sides should be particularly well developed through frequent
practice with water and flies during the warmer part of the year.

At the mouth of Little River, on August 30, I heard one of the
Caribou in a large band “blow its nose,” so to speak, with vigor. The
sound suggested that produced by a horse in vibrating its nostrils by
forcefully expelling air through them. I suspect that the Caribou
uses the same means, in an effort to fend off a nostril fly
(Cephenemyia) bent on depositing its larvae.

Reference.—Harper, 1949: 230.

Signaling

Apparently the commonest method employed by the Caribou for
indicating or communicating suspicion or alarm is erecting the stub of a
tail to a vertical position. This brings its white under side into full
view, as the silent flashing of a danger signal to other Caribou.
However, a solitary animal will exhibit signaling behavior as well
as one in a band. The tail remains erect, whether the animal stands to
stare uneasily at a suspicious object or flees from it in alarm. The
action is common to old and young of both sexes. It is so
charac­teristic of a fleeing animal as to give significance to the
expression, “high-tailing it.” In normal, unalarmed progress the tail
extends backward in a drooping curve (figs. 11,
12).

I was not fortunate enough to detect any flashing of the white
throat, as described by Preble (1902: 42).

Another silent signal is a most peculiar sprawling posture of
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the hind legs, attained by thrusting one of them well out to one side
and setting the foot down. The legs are not then symmetrically placed;
the one not moved obviously bears most of the weight of the hind
quarters. I managed to film this stance in a buck standing on a
sky-line on August 24 (cover). On September 9 another buck assumed the
posture while looking over our camp from a ridge on the opposite side of
Windy River. According to Charles Schweder, this is an expression of
suspicion or alarm, designed to communicate the same feeling to other
Caribou. When the others notice it, they stop and assume the same pose;
it may be observed in does and even fawns. Charles added that the tail
is erected at the same time—a very natural accompaniment, though I
failed to notice it.

In all the literature on the Barren Ground Caribou, I have found just
one reference to this posture, and that a distinctly fragmentary
one:

“While [the Caribou are] thus circling around I have often been
amused at the manner in which they carry one hind leg. A novice in
the hunting field, after having fired a shot in their direction, would
think that he had broken one hind leg of each member of the herd.”
(A. J. Stone, 1900: 53.)

The author makes this observation just after mentioning a herd
sighted near the shore of Franklin Bay. A virtually identical
posture in the Norway Reindeer has been sketched by Seton (1929,
3: 112, pl. 18), who labels it “surprize.” An analogy to the
posture of the Caribou might be found in a hand thrust out, with fingers
spread, by a military scout as a signal of warning or caution to his
fellow scouts. A sprawling leg is perhaps the nearest approximation
to the human signal that a Caribou can attain.

As noted in the section on Gaits, an alarmed Caribou may set
off by taking an initial leap into the air. According to Dugmore, such
an act on the part of the Newfoundland Caribou plays an important role
in its system of communi­cations, not by means of sight or sound,
but through the olfactory sense. He observes (1913: 89-90):

“For hours afterwards every Caribou, on arriving at the place
where the frightened ones had jumped, has started violently, and has on
nearly every occasion turned and run in a manner that showed every
indication of fear, even though my presence was entirely unknown to
them. My idea is that when the animal is suddenly frightened it expels a
certain fluid from the glands in the foot, and that
98
this fluid is a signal of alarm, a silent and invisible warning,
but none the less so positive that none dare ignore it.”

As for the foot click—a presumptive means of communication
(cf. Seton, 1929, 3: 69; Jacobi, 1931: 212-216)—I
must confess that I was always so engrossed with photography whenever
the Caribou were close at hand (up to within a dozen feet) that I had no
thought of this pheno­menon and did not detect it.

References.—Richardson, 1829: 242; A. J. Stone, 1900:
53; Preble, 1902: 42; Seton, 1929, 3: 105; Murie, 1939: 245;
Harper, 1949: 230; Banfield, 1951a: 19, 27.

Food

The ground lichens (including the various species of Cladonia)
in the Windy River area in 1947 did not seem, for the most part, to have
a height of more than 2 or 3 inches. The average length of several local
specimens of Cladonia is approximately 51 mm. This condition was
in considerable contrast to the great spongy masses I had noted in the
Tazin River basin, between Athabaska and Great Slave lakes, in 1914.
I have no means of knowing whether the condition in Keewatin
represented severe cropping by Caribou in past years and subsequent slow
recovery, or whether it is a normal condition. According to Charles
Schweder, the growth depends upon rain, and so varies from year to year.
During the warmer months, from June to September, the local Caribou
seemed to me to be feeding very largely on the higher vegetation, such
as willow, dwarf birch, alder, and sedges. I had no definite
evidence of their consuming lichens during that period. By early October
the species of Cladonia seemed to have attained a somewhat fuller
growth than they had exhibited several months previously. Perez-Llano
discusses (1944: 29-30) the utilization by Reindeer of various lichens.
Dix has reported (1951) on a collection of lichens from the Windy River
area.

Some miscellaneous observations along Windy and Little rivers follow:
June 16, 20 Caribou feeding apparently on patches of crowberry
(Empetrum) and dwarf birch (Betula glandulosa) on a ridge;
June 29, a Caribou feeding apparently on dwarf birches; June 30,
a buck grazing in a sedge bog; August 26, several bucks browsing on
willow tops (probably Salix planifolia) in a riverside thicket,
and some does on dwarf birch and perhaps tall grass or low willow;
August 27, numbers feeding largely on willow and dwarf birch; August 28
and 30, low alders, willow, and dwarf birches nibbled off. By early
October the leaves of the three last-mentioned
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shrubs were no longer available, having dropped off. During the summer
they had seemed to be preferred above the lichens. Cabot has remarked
(1912: 46) on the fondness of Rangifer arcticus caboti for dwarf
birch in Labrador.

Charles Schweder reported as follows on the food of Caribou. In
summer they live chiefly upon leaves, especially those of dwarf birch,
and to some extent upon “grass” (probably largely sedges). Toward the
last of June a Caribou was killed with fat an inch thick on its
haunches—perhaps the effect of recent feeding on the fresh green
vegetation. In August and September the animals also eat mushrooms and
get very fat on them; they seem to be especially fond of a certain red
kind, which Charles has found in their stomachs. The Eskimos’ name for
mushrooms signifies “deer food.” The Caribou feed upon dead “grass”
(perhaps mostly sedges) in the fall, but not in the winter. Charles has
seen them digging through 4 feet of snow to get at the reindeer lichens;
but for the most part their winter feeding in this region is on the tops
of the hills, which remain bare. They also eat tree lichens, especially
in the winter time.

Charles has seen Caribou chew the cud while standing as well as while
lying down. He once saw a buck thus occupied while standing on a hill
for half a day in a breeze that kept the mosquitoes down.

Among the hundreds of Caribou observed at the river crossings and
elsewhere, I do not recall seeing a single one pause to drink.

The Influence of food supply on distribution of the Barren
Ground Caribou has been discussed in a previous section.

References.—Hearne, 1795: 317; Franklin, 1823: 242;
Richardson, “1825”: 329, and 1829: 243; Godman, 1831, 2: 284;
Richardson, in Back, 1836: 498, and 1861: 275; Murray, 1858: 202;
B. R. Ross, 1861: 439; Kumlien, 1879: 54; J. B. Tyrrell, 1894:
441; Russell, 1898: 226; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908 (1898): 80; Lydekker,
1898: 49; Elliot, 1902: 276; Stone and Cram, 1904: 53; Buchanan, 1920:
105-106, 131; Hewitt, 1921: 61; Blanchet, 1925: 33; Seton, 1929,
3: 107-108; Kitto, 1930: 87; Jacobi, 1931: 223; Harper, 1932: 30;
Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 84; Weyer, 1932: 39; Hornby, 1934: 105;
Murie, 1939: 245; Clarke, 1940: 106-107; G. M. Allen, 1942: 299;
Soper, 1942: 143; Downes, 1943: 228; Porsild, 1943: 383; R. M.
Anderson, 1948: 15; Manning, 1948: 26-28; Rand, 1948a: 212;
Harper, 1949: 230; Banfield, 1951a: 11, 19-20, 28-29; Barnett,
1954: 106.

Scatology

The pellets of the Caribou are small, more or less blackish, very
irregular in shape, somewhat compressed, and generally deposited in
little piles, in which the individual components do not stand out
100
very distinctly, being pressed against each other. They are quite unlike
the oblong, curvilinear, comparatively symmetrical scats of the
White-tailed Deer and the Moose. I did not observe, nor learn of,
any particular seasonal variation in the shape or other characters.

References.—Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 81; Manning,
1943a: 50.

Voice

My impression of the adult Caribou is that it is a comparatively
silent animal during most of the year. At the rutting season, however,
when the bucks do their fighting with a clash of antlers, their voice is
heard, as Fred Schweder, Jr., informed me. It is about as loud as the
fawn’s grunt, but a different sort of sound. Fred has also known a doe
to call when its fawn was shot.

The only vocal sound that I heard from the Caribou was the grunt or
bawling of the fawns on the fall migration, and only during the last
week of August, when the “big movement” was under way. It was uttered
chiefly at the river crossings, apparently as a result of the fawns’
anxiety lest they be separated from their mothers during the slight
uncertainty or confusion of these passages, when a considerable number
of animals were participating. It seemed to be a fair equivalent of a
human child’s crying out: “Don’t leave me behind!” or “Where are you,
mamma?” The grunt is very different from the bleating of a lamb or the
bawling of a domestic calf. It is a surprisingly raucous or guttural,
almost explosive, yet not very loud note, which I rendered at various
times as gwuf, goff, gowk, or gorr. Perhaps
the last rendering comes nearest to the actual sound. With one or two
exceptions, I did not identify any individual uttering one of these
grunts; but the Schweder boys, from their intimate knowledge of the
species, assured me that this was the voice of the fawn. In one case the
sound came rather definitely from a fawn that had become somewhat
separated from its band in going up the adjacent ridge after crossing
Little River. But for the most part the grunts seemed to come from
swimming animals.

On August 30 another sort of sound—probably not a vocal
one—seemed to come from one of the older animals among a large
band crossing Little River. It was probably produced by a vigorous
vibration of the nostrils. It is further discussed in the section on
Shaking off moisture and insects.

It is rather astonishing that Seton, after seeing and studying many
Caribou at close range in Mackenzie, should say no more
101
about their voice than: “They snort a good deal and grunt a little”
(1911: 210). In his later monographic account he practically ignores the
topic, merely referring to the animals’ “sniffing, snorting”
(1929, 3: 105).

References.—Lyon, 1824: 336; Pike, 1917 (1892): 89; Stone
and Cram, 1904: 53; Seton, 1911: 210, and 1929, 3: 105; Hornaday,
1914, 2: 103; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 193; Sutton and Hamilton,
1932: 84; Murie, 1939: 245; Downes, 1943: 226, 256-257; Harper, 1949:
230; Banfield, 1951a: 22.

Reproduction

By the time the rutting season arrived in mid-October, there were
comparatively few Caribou left in the Windy River area. Consequently my
information on the subject was derived mainly from Charles Schweder and
Fred Schweder, Jr. Weeks before the scheduled season, there were certain
manifes­tations of the sexual urge. For example, on September 5
about 20 Caribou were passing the Bear Slough. The band consisted mostly
of does and fawns, but included several middle-aged bucks (with antlers
much less than the maximum size) and possibly some younger bucks. Twice
I saw one of the animals attempt to cover another, but driving rain and
the compactness of the band prevented me from determining the sex or age
of those involved. During a trip to the Kazan River, lasting from
September 17 to October 1, Fred observed a good deal of fighting
among the Caribou—obviously a prelude to the mating season. In
Charles’ opinion, these early contests are not very much in earnest; the
real fighting begins about October 15. On October 8 Charles and Fred
referred to fighting that was going on among a herd of about 100 between
Glacier Pond and Lake Charles. Perhaps less than a quarter of this herd
were older bucks; the rest, younger bucks, does, and fawns.

In former years, while living at the “Old Post” on Red River, Charles
used to go out and watch the fighting on a big open muskeg, about a mile
square, where the Caribou would congregate practically every year at the
rutting season, up to a thousand strong. They would stay for three or
four days, then disappear. Nothing on the same scale had come to his
notice in the vicinity of the Windy River post. At this season, when the
animals are in large herds, the bucks utter their calls, as mentioned in
the section on Voice. According to Fred, one sees in October a
good many bucks with an antler broken off in the fighting. The break
generally occurs at about the middle of the antler. On September 29
Charles reported a buck with a broken antler, which he interpreted as
evidence
102
of the beginning of the fighting season. During the rutting season he
once shot a buck with a broken jaw, and another with an eye gone. The
possible inference was that these injuries had been sustained in
fighting. A buck secured on October 16 had apparently been wounded
in fighting; there was pus in its neck, and it was considered unfit for
eating. I heard nothing as to the possible use of hoofs in contests
between bucks, as reported by Jacobi (1931: 233) for the Reindeer.

During the rutting season the herd is likely to be a large one, and
to do little traveling. It is composed of fawns as well as adults. The
bucks pursue the does, and sometimes chase each other. Charles thinks
the young bucks keep away from the does at this time, being unable to
fight the older bucks with larger antlers. Fred reports a proportion of
about 10 bucks to 50 does in these herds—a probable indication of
polygamy. He expressed the opinion that the bucks do not mate until 8-10
years old, and the does not until about four years old. However, he was
basing his estimate of the age on the total number of points on the
antlers—one point for each year; and on this basis the age was
probably much overestimated. Earlier sexual maturity on the part of the
doe might be another indication of polygamy in the species.

At the onset of this season, the bucks neglect their feeding to some
extent; consequently those killed have stomachs only partly filled,
instead of completely filled, as at other times. By mid-October their
fat becomes tinted with reddish, and the whole flesh becomes so rank and
musky that it is disdained not only by human beings but even by the
Wolves. This condition seems to be considerably more pronounced in the
Caribou than in the White-tailed Deer. The hunters forego eating the old
bucks for a period of several weeks. Meanwhile the younger bucks, not
engaged in mating, remain fit to eat. Hearne (1795: 69) reported the
flesh of bucks as still unpalatable as late as December 30.

The rutting season is said to continue through October into November.
The end of the period is uncertain, but it may coincide with the
shedding of the antlers of the old bucks.

References.—Hearne, 1795: 72, 198-199; Richardson, “1825”:
327-328, 1829: 243, and 1861: 274; Pike, 1917 (1892): 48, 90; J. W.
Tyrrell, 1908 (1898): 80; Hanbury, 1904: 73; Stone and Cram, 1904: 52;
Blanchet, 1925: 33; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 51, 56; Seton, 1929,
3: 124-125; Jacobi, 1931: 232; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 81,
84-86; Weyer, 1932: 40; Ingstad, 1933: 158; Hornby, 1934: 105; Murie,
1939: 244; Manning, 1943a: 52; Banfield, 1951a: 10, 26,
31.

Fawns

Since the fawning takes place far to the north of the Nueltin Lake
region, practically no local information concerning it was obtained.
Charles Schweder stated that in the spring migration the pregnant does
pass to an undetermined distance north of the upper Kazan River (below
Ennadai Lake). Although the migration at Nueltin Lake continues
throughout June, the rearguard is composed largely of bucks, and the
comparatively few does accompanying them toward the last may be barren.
Fisher (1821: 199) and Parry (1821: 183) report a small fawn of R.
pearyi on Melville Island on June 2. Richardson states (“1825”:
329) that the young are born in May and June. There is evidently some
geographical and individual variation in the time of birth (cf.
Jacobi, 1931: 232). Apparently the gestation period in the Caribou
covers approximately eight months or a little less. In the domesticated
Reindeer it is 231 to 242 days, according to Jacobi (1931: 234); in the
White-tailed Deer, 205 to 212 days, according to Seton (1929, 3:
258).

Fred Schweder, Jr., stated that he had never found more than a single
unborn fawn in any one of the animals he had secured; yet he has seen as
many as four fawns following a doe. Of course there is no proof that
this individual was the actual mother of so many fawns; a stray or
bereaved youngster might well endeavor to attach itself to a foster
mother. On August 28, at Little River, I saw a doe being followed
by two fawns. On September 16 Fred reported seeing three old does
without fawns. Presumably most of the does do not bear young until they
are two years old (cf. Jacobi, 1931: 235); thus many yearling
does without family cares should be observed during the summer.

On September 12 Charles Schweder stated that the does would soon be
losing their milk; yet on occasion he has found them with milk as late
as November (cf. Jacobi, 1931: 235). On September 21, when he
secured a doe (fig. 21) that was accompanied by a fawn, I asked if
he thought the latter was still nursing. By way of answer, he squeezed a
couple of the doe’s mammae, and some milk exuded. Thus the mammary
glands were still functioning at that date; they appeared well
developed. By August 27, at an age of perhaps two and a half months, the
fawns were browsing on their own account, and their teeth were well
developed. Fred Schweder, Jr., then spoke of having seen fawns nursing
four times during that month, the last occasion having been on the 25th.
On the 27th I had the rare privilege of witnessing such a nursery rite
across the mouth of
104
Little River. The wilderness baby was so large that it was obliged to
lower its forequarters very decidedly in order to reach the maternal
font (from a lateral position). This attitude left its hind quarters
thrust high and ludicrously into the air. I did not notice that it
wriggled its tail as a bovine calf might have; but Charles Schweder
spoke of having seen a fawn hold its tail erect while nursing. He also
said that the bigger fawns kneel down with their front legs while so
engaged. In his opinion, when a doe is killed in the autumn, its fawn
does not go and join other Caribou, but lingers near the fatal spot
until a Wolf or some other enemy overcomes it. For this reason it is his
practice to secure the fawn also, if possible, when he takes the mother.
On September 13 a fawn remained by its dead mother, permitting one of
the hunters to approach within 30 feet and to throw rocks at it three
times, finally taking it by that means. After a doe was killed on
September 21, its fawn lingered in the vicinity for a day or two.

References.—Franklin, 1823: 242; Richardson, “1825”: 329;
John Ross, 1835a: 432; Simpson, 1843: 277, 281, 381; J. McLean,
1932 (1849): 359; Armstrong, 1857: 477-478; Murray, 1858: 202; Osborn,
1865: 227; Nourse, 1884: 264-265; Pike, 1917 (1892): 204, 209; Dowling,
1893: 107: Russell, 1895: 51; R. M. Anderson, 1913b:
504-505; Hewitt, 1921: 62; Blanchet, 1926b: 47; Seton, 1929,
3: 124-125; Blanchet, 1930: 49, 53; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 192,
193; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 86; Ingstad, 1933: 161; Clarke, 1940:
88-90; Gavin, 1945: 228; Banfield, 1951a: 26, 27; Scott, 1951:
179, 180; Barnett, 1954: 96.

Growth

During late August and early September the fawns probably averaged
about 50 lb. in weight. (For the measurements of two specimens, see the
section on Measurements.) Yet they varied so much in size that
some appeared nearly twice as big as others. On September 7 an
exceptionally small fawn was secured (estimated weight, 35 lb.) (fig.
23). Its coat was soft and woolly, representing an earlier stage than
that seen in any of the other fawns of that season. It was molting into
the next pelage, and its hide was unprime. It must have been born at an
unusually late date. Fred Schweder, Jr., remarked that he sometimes sees
this stage in the growth of fawns when the Caribou come down early from
the north (about the first of August), but it seems remarkable that it
should have been found in a September fawn. The present specimen has
actually smaller measurements than one secured on August 2 at Artillery
Lake (Seton, 1929, 3: 97). The collector reported that the parent
doe appeared of ordinary size—not a particularly small or young
one. The yearlings noted on the spring migration
105
in May (south of Churchill) and in June (at Nueltin Lake) appeared
roughly half the size of the adults.

Evidently several years are required for the attainment of full
growth. The younger adult bucks, with smaller antlers, are appreciably
inferior in body size to the older bucks, with better developed
antlers.

References.—Seton, 1929, 3: 97, 98; Banfield,
1951a: 30.

Antlers

In late August and early September antlers were already in evidence
on the fawns, at an age of less than three months. They consisted of
bony knobs, covered with skin, and were an inch or two long.
I obtained no information as to when the fawns may shed the velvet
or the antlers themselves. By analogy with the Reindeer (cf.
Jacobi, 1931: 237), the fawns might be expected to drop their antlers in
late winter.

When the adult Caribou return from the north in August, the antlers
of all are still in the velvet. However, completely hornless does are
not particularly uncommon at this season; in Charles Schweder’s opinion,
some remain permanently in that condition. Hornless does are reported in
various forms of Caribou or Reindeer in both hemispheres (Jacobi, 1931:
48). I saw also a few one-horned does on the autumn migration. In a
single group of three adult does photographed at close range on August
28, one was hornless and another one-horned (fig.
11). A considerable proportion of my other photographs of
Caribou groups at this season show one or more animals with a single
antler or none. The hornless condition appears to be astonishingly more
common in Keewatin than in regions farther west. Stefánsson, whose field
operations were chiefly in northern Mackenzie and southwestern Franklin,
remarks (1913b: 151) on having found, at any season when Caribou
are normally horned, just three hornless animals among a thousand at
whose killing he had been present. Murie (1935: 20) speaks of having
observed only one hornless doe in Alaska, in September.

By late August the bucks’ antlers have attained nearly their full
growth, though still in the velvet. The largest head of the season was
obtained on August 22. Its measurements were: right antler, in straight
line from base to tip of longest prong, 995; left antler, 980; distance
between main tips of the two antlers, 620; brow tine, from base to upper
tip, 335; to lower tip, 290. For the older bucks, the principal period
for shedding the velvet is September 10 to 20, although Charles Schweder
once observed a buck that had
106
completed the process by September 1, and Fred secured one in that
condition on September 6, 1947. In Alaska old bucks shed the velvet
more or less regularly in September (Murie, 1935: 26). Sick or wounded
animals are said to retain the velvet for an indefinite period. For
example, a buck secured on September 29 had some velvet hanging in
shreds from the tips of its antlers, and it was found to have been shot
in the mouth sometime previously. The younger bucks and the does lose
their velvet somewhat later than the older bucks (say toward the end of
September). In a doe of September 21 (fig. 21)
the antlers were covered with velvet and still had soft tips.
A young buck of October 2 was just shedding the velvet.

Charles Schweder spoke of noting as many as 30-33 points on the
antlers of old bucks. (He probably included the brow and the bez tines
in this count.) He also referred to an exceptional set of antlers at
Simons’ Lake with about 40 points; he had first noted it about 10 years
previously, and it had doubtless been there for years before that. He
had never been able to secure its equal. When I saw and photographed it
in October (fig. 25), some of the points were broken off, so that an
accurate count was impossible; but there must have been close to 40
originally, even without the brow tines, which were missing. The
palmation was much broader than I have seen in any other Caribou.

The prong projecting backward at the angle of the main beam is by no
means so uncommon in the animals of this region as a Chipewyan hunter
seemed to indicate to Downes (1943: 227-228).

Charles Schweder found a pair of locked antlers about 1940 near
Josie’s Bay. This was the only case of which he had any knowledge. An
instance of locked antlers in Rangifer pearyi is mentioned by
Peary (1907: 84).

There is marked variation in the dates of shedding the antlers,
according to sex, age, and physiological condition of the individual.
This has resulted in various conflicting statements in the literature.
In the present region, the old bucks with 25 or more points are said to
shed their antlers about the end of October or in November, at the close
of the rutting season. (Fred Schweder, Jr., encountered a hornless buck
as early as November 7, 1947.) The younger bucks, with 15 to 20
points, and the does retain their antlers till late May or June of the
following year. A doe of June 3 and another of June 16 were still
horned. In Alaska “the young bucks may carry their
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old antlers until late in April, while does carry theirs until the
middle of May, some of them until June” (Murie, 1935: 26).

John Ingebrigtsen reported having seen two or three shallow lakes,
between Churchill and (South?) Knife Lake, whose bottoms were fairly
covered with caribou antlers. They were visible through clear ice. It
appears probable that these lakes, while ice-covered, were favored
resorts of large numbers of Caribou for their midday or nocturnal rests
at a period when they were shedding their antlers (November for the old
bucks, May or June for the does and young bucks).

It is natural that the season at which the new antlers of the Barren
Ground Caribou begin to grow should vary greatly according to sex and
age, just as the shedding of the antlers does; probably also, for the
various forms of Rangifer, according to locality (cf.
Jacobi, 1931: 237). On Southampton Island “the new antlers begin to
appear in the males in March and April” (Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 85).
In Alaska Murie (1935: 24) “has found old bucks late in April with
velvet knobs well begun.” Seton’s account (1929, 3: 102-103) of
the seasonal change of antlers is not only meager but largely at
variance with the information I assembled in Keewatin. Recently gathered
information is supplied by Banfield (1951a: 17-18).

Measurements of the length of antlers in the velvet (right and left,
respectively) were recorded as follows: adult male, June 18, 420, 440;
adult male (figs. 3, 4), August 17, 1165, 1205; adult female (fig. 21), September 21, 220, 165.

Scratching or anointing of antlers in the velvet with a hind hoof was
observed in an adult buck on June 16, and in a fawn on August 27.

While there is undoubtedly some correlation between the age of a
Caribou and the number of points on its antlers, I am not aware
that such a correlation has been worked out to a satisfactory degree.
The Schweder brothers judged a Caribou’s years by the number of points
on both antlers, yet freely admitted that they had limited confidence in
such a criterion. Probably they would be nearer the actual facts if they
counted the points on only one antler. The situation is complicated by
the fact (if we are to credit Jacobi, 1931: 238) that bucks in other
forms of Rangifer exhibit the best development of antlers at six
to eight years.

References.—Hearne, 1795: 198-199; Franklin, 1823: 240-241;
Lyon, 1824: 270; Richardson, “1825”: 327-328, and 1829: 241; Richardson,
in Back, 1836: 499; Armstrong, 1857: 478; Murray, 1858: 199-206;
B. R. Ross, 1861: 439; Osborn, 1865: 227; Pike, 1917 (1892): 49;
J. B. Tyrrell,
108
1892: 128;
Dowling, 1893: 107; Russell, 1895: 51, and 1898: 225; Whitney, 1896:
238-239; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908 (1898): 79-80; A. J. Stone, 1900:
53; W. J. McLean, 1901: 6; Elliot, 1902: 279-280; Hanbury,
1904: 95, 116, 133; Hornaday, 1904: 138; J. A. Allen, 1908a:
488; R. M. Anderson, 1913b: 505; Stefánsson, 1913b:
151; Buchanan, 1920: 126; Blanchet, 1925: 33, 1926b: 47-48, and
1930: 49; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 50, 89, 239-251; Seton, 1929,
3: 102-103; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 192; Jacobi, 1931: 237;
Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 81-86; Ingstad, 1933: 159; Hornby, 1934: 105;
Murie, 1935: 20, and 1939: 244; Clarke, 1940: 95; Downes, 1943: 228;
Manning, 1943a: 52-53; Harper, 1949: 228; Banfield, 1951a:
17-18; Barnett, 1954: 104.

Rubbing trees

Charles Schweder gave the following account. The bucks hasten the
shedding of the velvet in the autumn by rubbing their antlers on various
trees—willow, spruce, or tamarack. The individual may complete the
operation in possibly half a day. It is thought, however, that most of
the velvet comes off at the first tree. The animals usually select a
tree standing by itself rather than one in a thicket. It is usually a
small tree—say 4 feet high and 1 inch in diameter. Perhaps a
spruce is most often selected. Branches are broken and much of the bark
is scraped off in the process. The velvet soon dries up, so that it is
little noticed. Charles did not recall having seen any hanging in a
tree.

The numbers of rubbing trees that I noticed at Simons’ Lake in
mid-October indicated that Caribou must have been much more numerous
there during the previous month than in the vicinity of the Windy River
post. These trees were particularly in evidence on the outskirts of a spruce
and tamarack thicket at the head of the lake. They were mostly
tamaracks, with some black spruces. Of the two spruces shown in figure
26, the larger was about 4 feet high. Many of the young trees had been
killed. The branches and the tops had been pretty generally broken off
and were lying on the ground. Most of the damage was fresh, but some of
it dated from previous years.

Reference.—Hanbury, 1904: 232.

Morphology and Taxonomy

Pelage and molt

When the Caribou migrate northward through the Nueltin Lake region in
May and June, they still retain their winter pelage. It is now worn and
faded, and harsh as well, in contrast to the fresh, dark, soft autumn
coat.

This stage is represented by an adult buck (No. 1046) of June 18. The
general color above is Cream-Buff (capitalized color terms
109
are derived from Ridgway, 1912), changing gradually to Isabella Color on
sides of head and body; no distinct dark longitudinal stripe on lower
sides (such as appears in summer and autumn pelage); tail Cream-Buff
above, the rest Cartridge Buff; rump-patch varying from Cartridge Buff
to Cream-Buff; tip of snout and chin dirty whitish; small area below
nostrils near Mummy Brown; triangular area behind nostrils Cream-Buff;
crown Cartridge Buff; ears Olive-Buff on outer surface, Cartridge Buff
on inner surface; posterior venter Cartridge Buff; legs Isabella Color
in front, remainder Cream-Buff; hoofs black, bordered above with
Cartridge Buff hairs, forming a band ½-2 inches in width; antler velvet
in this and other specimens Olive-Brown. The marked difference between
the dark brownish and white pelage of the autumn and the Cream-Buff coat
of early June presumably results from wear and fading, without molt. The
does and the yearlings in June appear grayer than the adult bucks.

In another adult male (No. 1033), collected June 3, the darker part
of the pelage is Buffy Brown rather than Cream-Buff.

The molt of the bucks begins in June but takes place chiefly in July,
while the animals are somewhere to the north of the Nueltin Lake region.
On their return in August they have largely completed their summer
transfor­mation in appearance. A buck of August 17 had just a
little of the winter fur still clinging to its lower back; and another
on August 20 was in similar condition. At this season the white mane is
developed only on its lower portion (figs. 9,
10, 12), but by the end of
September the white has spread upward over practically the whole neck
(fig. 22), and in some cases over the
shoulders.

In an adult male (No. 1144) of October 16, representing the pelage of
the rutting season, the posterior crown is near Tilleul Buff, the
anterior crown somewhat browner; sides of head and upper throat between
Verona Brown and Buffy Brown; area about and between eyes somewhat
darker; triangular area behind nostrils (apex extending halfway to eyes)
and lower chin between Mummy Brown and Warm Blackish Brown; tip of snout
and chin Cartridge Buff; ears pale creamy white on both surfaces; whole
neck and shoulder mantle whitish, washed with Cartridge Buff, and
changing gradually to the brownish of the sides of the head; long hairs
along median ventral line of the neck tipped with Natal Brown; dorsal
area, from shoulders to rump, Prout’s Brown; stripe on lower sides Mummy
Brown, separated from dorsal area by an ill-defined lighter
110
stripe, mixed with whitish hairs; top of tail slightly paler than back,
the rest white; small rump-patch mostly white; chest Mummy Brown;
mid-venter varying from Deep Olive-Buff anteriorly to Cream-Buff
posteriorly; posterior venter white; forelegs near Bone Brown; hind legs
between Mummy Brown and Olive-Brown, with a pale spot on the inner side
of the heel (this spot noticeable also in doe and fawn); hoofs black,
bordered above with whitish hairs. The hides of this specimen and of two
other adult bucks (No. 1111, September 29, and No. 1132, October 16)
were prime. The dark lateral stripe, which shows quite distinctly in
summer and fall specimens of both sexes (figs. 7,
8, 10, 21, 22), from fawns (except very
young ones) to adults, and which is also a prominent feature in Old
World Reindeer (cf. Flerov, 1933), has been largely or wholly
overlooked in some descriptions of Rangifer a. arcticus.

The summer molt occurs later in the does than in the bucks. Some of
the former return toward the end of August while still retaining most of
the winter pelage. Others exhibit remnants of it in patches, especially
on the lower back; this was true even of an adult doe (No. 1101) secured
as late as September 21 (fig. 21). Its hide,
however, was prime. In this specimen the crown is near Verona Brown,
with varying admixture of whitish hairs; sides of head Verona Brown;
upper throat a little paler; a poorly defined area behind nostrils,
and lower chin, Mummy Brown; tip of snout and chin Cartridge Buff; ears
Drab, varying to Pale Olive-Buff, especially on inner surface; neck Drab
dorsally, mixed with whitish hairs, the remainder Pale Olive-Buff;
dorsal area, from shoulder to rump, Mars Brown; lateral stripe on lower
sides Mars Brown, separated from dorsal area by a poorly defined but
conspicuous area of Light Cinnamon-Drab; top of tail like back, the rest
whitish, washed laterally with Pale Pinkish Buff; small rump-patch
mostly white; chest Mummy Brown; venter Light Drab, becoming whitish in
inguinal region; forelegs Natal Brown, slightly darker in front; hind
legs Natal Brown, with a pale spot on the inner edge of the heel; hoofs
black, bordered above with whitish “spats” varying from ½ to 1½ inches
in width.

Another doe, secured on November 3 but not preserved, was apparently
in long, full winter pelage, with whitish mane and shoulders. The dorsum
generally was grayish; the top of the rump, buffy gray. The white
rump-patch appeared to be more extensive, and to contain longer hairs,
than in the doe of September 21; likewise the white “spats” appeared
much more extensive.

As winter comes on, the fur of the Caribou grows longer and paler
gray. One incipient stage of such a change from the summer coat began to
be noticeable as early as September 13. A buck that came trotting
down out of the Windy Hills on September 27 revealed the splendor of its
new winter coat, with an amazing amount of creamy white, chiefly on the
mane and shoulders. The long mane wears off during the winter, according
to Charles Schweder. It looks best, he added, when the bucks start to
fight in the fall. A yearling or large fawn on October 21 was
distinctly creamy about the neck and shoulders. After describing a
winter female from Wager River, Seton remarks (1929, 3: 98): “The
general impression is of a creamy white animal, with a gray blanket on
its back.”

For the first couple of months of its life the fawn wears a soft and
woolly coat. An example was furnished by a male fawn (No. 1095; fig. 23) of September 7, which must have been born
several weeks later than the average date. It was actually smaller and
less developed than another male fawn collected on August 20. It was
molting into the next pelage (described in the following paragraph), and
its hide was unprime. The general color is Deep Brownish Drab; this is
overlaid with longer hairs of Pale Olive-Buff on the median dorsal line
of the neck, on the venter, and on part of the legs; a median
stripe on the back near Hay’s Brown; no distinct lateral stripe; ears
and posterior crown Cartridge Buff; forepart of crown Deep Brownish
Drab; area above eye Cream-Buff; snout varying from Deep Brownish Drab
above to Pale Gull Gray on sides; transverse band behind nostrils Dusky
Brown; tip of snout whitish; tail Deep Brownish Drab above, pale creamy
on sides, and white beneath; rump-patch whitish; chin anteriorly
whitish, posteriorly Dusky Drab; throat whitish to Pale Gull Gray; lower
part of legs, in front, Buffy Brown; hoofs black, bordered above with a
very narrow (¼-inch) strip of whitish hairs. A very similar young
fawn, taken on August 2, 1907, has been described by Seton (1929,
3: 98).

In a male fawn (No. 1072) collected on August 20 the general color is
between Olive-Brown and Natal Brown; a paler longitudinal area
separating the lateral stripe from the dorsal area; ears Clove Brown
externally, pale creamy internally; transverse band behind nostrils
Blackish Brown; tip of snout whitish; sides of head varying from
Cream-Buff above eyes to Cartridge Buff below; tail Bone Brown above,
white below; rump-patch whitish; legs Buffy Brown, darker in front; chin
anteriorly whitish, posteriorly Hair Brown;
112
throat Cartridge Buff; venter Light Drab; hoofs black, bordered above
with a narrow (¼- to ½-inch) strip of whitish hairs.

References.—Franklin, 1823: 240-241; Richardson, 1829: 242;
B. R. Ross, 1861: 439; Schwatka, 1885: 60-61; J. B. Tyrrell,
1892: 128; Russell, 1898: 91, 226; J. W. Tyrrell, 1908 (1898): 79;
A. J. Stone, 1900: 52; Hanbury, 1904: 194; MacFarlane, 1905:
682-683; Blanchet, 1925: 33, and 1926b: 47; Seton, 1929,
3: 98-99, 104; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 193; Jacobi, 1931: 236;
Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 81, 84-86; Murie, 1939: 244; Clarke, 1940:
89, 90; Downes, 1943: 226; Manning, 1943a: 53; Harper, 1949: 228,
229, 230; Banfield, 1951a: 15-17.

Albinism

In Rangifer arcticus arcticus this appears to be an
exceptionally rare phenomenon. There are references to albinos by the
following authors: Russell (1895: 51; 1898: 91, 226), Whitney (1896:
237), Boas (1901: 150, 501), MacFarlane (1905: 682-683), Ingstad (1933:
312), and Degerbøl (1935: 49, 51).

Foot-glands

I dissected out the glands from the hind feet of an adult male
Caribou (No. 1046). Seton (1929, 3: 68) has discussed these
structures in the Woodland Caribou and the Norwegian Reindeer; and
Pocock (1911: 960-962, fig. 138B) and Jacobi (1931: 22, fig. 4), in
the Reindeer. Many hairs had their base in the glands, and there was a
fatty secretion on the hairs adjacent to the glands. I judged that
the opening to the exterior extended in a more or less dorso-anterior
direction. One of the suggested functions of these glands is anointing
the velvet covering of the antlers. I was highly interested,
therefore, in seeing an old buck on June 16 rub the tips of its growing
antlers with each hind foot in turn. Meanwhile it inclined its antlers
alternately to one side and backwards to place one of them at a time
within convenient reach of the hind foot on that side. It seemed to rub
its snout as well as the antler tips. In Charles Schweder’s experience
this action was always carried out with the hind foot, not the forefoot.
The latter contains a similar but smaller gland, according to Jacobi
(1931: 22), while Pocock (1911: 960-961) gives contrary testimony. On
August 27 I also saw a fawn rubbing a knob of its skin-covered antlers
with a hind foot.

Another function of the foot-glands is suggested by an observation of
Dugmore’s (1913: 89-90), which has been mentioned in the section on
Signaling. I could not definitely connect any of the various
occasions of panic that I observed, with scent from the foot-glands of
preceding Caribou that had been frightened.

References.—Caton, 1881: 265; Pocock, 1911: 960-962; Seton,
1929, 3: 68, 105; Sutton and Hamilton, 1932: 84; Harper, 1949:
230.

Mastology

Very little seems to have been published on this subject. Jacobi
(1931: 24) merely remarks that in the Reindeer the mammae number four,
or occasionally six, but that the supernumerary ones are not functional.
The four rudimentary mammae in a male fawn of arcticus (No. 1072)
of August 20 seemed remarkable for their arrangement in a nearly
straight transverse row—quite different from the more rectangular
pattern in a domestic Cow or in a male Moose, as figured by Seton (1929,
3: 221). In an adult doe (No. 1101) of September 21 the anterior
pair are about twice as far apart as the posterior pair; each of the
mammae appears no more than a couple of inches from the one nearest to
it. The arrangement in a two-year-old buck, as shown by Seton (1929,
3: 106), is approximately intermediate between linear and
rectangular.

Fat

A Caribou (probably a buck) secured about the end of June was
reported to have back fat half an inch thick—possibly resulting
from the fresh green spring feed. In August, however, scarcely any fat
was to be found on the animals; perhaps the annual renewal of pelage and
the summer harassment by flies had been deterrents to the storage of
fat. In September and early October the Caribou were in prime condition.
On September 19 there was a fresh piece of back fat half an inch thick;
two days later there was another piece three times as thick. In 1943
(a year of great mushroom growth) the animals were said to have
become particularly fat. According to Charles Schweder, the doe never
becomes so fat as the buck; one of September 21, still nursing, was just
slightly fat. An adult buck of September 29 was recorded as “somewhat
fat”; two of October 16 were “rather fat” and “quite fat.” Charles has
seen as much as 3 inches of fat on a buck. The strips of back fat
brought into camp on October 8 from several bucks weighed about 5 to 10
lb. apiece. Such fatness evidently prepares the bucks for the strain of
the rutting season, when they neglect their feeding and become very poor
and thin. This loss of fat occurs in about two weeks. The does also lose
some fat at this season, but slowly. In some winters the Caribou remain
fat, but in other winters they do not. In the latter case there may be
deep snow that hinders their feeding. In the spring the Caribou become
fat again, and they are in that condition when they arrive from the
south in May.

The eagerness of the Eskimos and the Indians for fat results in their
selection of the biggest bucks, which generally carry the most fat.
Charles Schweder spoke of the tail of such an animal almost
disappearing, apparently engulfed in fat! Besides its use in the native
diet, the fat goes into the making of “Eskimo candles” (see section on
Relations to man).

References.—Franklin, 1823: 240; Armstrong, 1857: 477-478;
Whitney, 1896: 161; Elliot, 1902: 276; R. M. Anderson, in
Stefánsson, 1913b: 505-506; Stefánsson, 1921: 231-234, 246-247,
252; Jenness, 1922: 48, 101, 248; Birket-Smith, 1929 (1): 48, 90; Seton,
1929, 3: 113-114; Critchell-Bullock, 1930: 193; Weyer, 1932: 40;
Hornby, 1934: 105; Hamilton, 1939: 109; Downes, 1943: 228; Manning,
1943a: 53.

Body-Measurements and Weights

Measurements of Skulls