It was now September 17, my eighteenth birthday. All the guys in camp wished me extra good luck and hoped I got the big one. They all thought it was awesome how I was celebrating my birthday, especially for being a girl. We were going back to the same spot we had been the previous day. On our way we spotted a large heard of bull caribou up on the ridge. We motored over to shore, bailed out of the boat, and hit the ground running. Our hearts were pumping and my dad and I were power walking so fast our guide could not even keep up. We hiked up a large hill. As we approached the ridge we crawled up. There they were, about 500 yards away. The only problem was they were feeding away from us at a brisk walk. We tried cutting them off half a dozen of times but were never able to get close enough for a shot.

After several miles we gave up knowing our endurance was not as good as the caribou. On our jaunt back to the boat, out of the trees came three bull caribou and a handful of cows and calves. We settled down behind a few rocks and waited. The largest bull came running right to us, it was crazy, usually they run the opposite way, but the caribou did not see us. Boom! I let my gun do some talking. The caribou stumbled, I hit him good. I waited a few seconds but he did not go down. I let my gun speak one last time. Then down he went. As soon as he hit the ground, my eyes lit up, and the largest smile was painted across my face. I got my birthday boo! We took loads of pictures, butchered the caribou, and headed back for camp. Even though my caribou was not a monster I was pleased. That day all but two guys at camp shot at least one caribou. We celebrated our unbelievable success with a large homemade birthday cake, made by our camp cook and telling of stories.

The following day my dad shot his first caribou. His was even nicer than mine. We could not believe it. I wish they would grow wildlife like these back where I come from. My dad’s caribou was unique. It had palmated tops and a rhinosaurus looking shovel. He shot it in the middle of a down pour, so we quickly took photos. I was really cold so I ended up going back to camp with the incredible camp manager, Kent and Joe. After about two hours my dad and Yvan arrived back at the lodge with the caribou and them dripping sweat, because of the grueling pack out.

Amanda Schmid – Montana

Stay tuned for the continuation of Amanda’s story coming soon….

The next day, September 19 was my lucky day. The best day of my life! It was the last full day of hunting so we wanted to get an early start. We rose first thing in the morning ate a quick breakfast and got all of our gear on. For the last time Yvan, my dad and I loaded up in the boat. We motored over to our hunting spot for the morning hunt. We hiked for about 30 minutes and finally a mile away we spotted a nice bull caribou strutting down the hill side. It appeared to have a large rack and a beautiful white mane. We had to think fast because he was on the move. We had to decide to go the left or right side of the hill we were perched on, it was a 50-50 chance. We decided to gamble the right side.

We strided out to cover area as quick as possible. All of a sudden I peered up and towering over the ridge were the tops of the caribou’s antlers. I quickly, yet quietly informed our guide. He motioned for us to stop, crouch down and set up. It was no more than a split second the caribou was on top of the ridge. Oh no! Just then he spotted us. I needed to shoot. There was a huge problem though all I could see was his head, not a good shot; a few moss covered boulders were in my way. Just one step. There it was, Boom! I shot about an inch to far to the right. I stood up, got into another position and Bang. I shot again, down he went. I was flabbergasted. I just had shot my largest racked animal ever. No elk, deer, antelope, or even caribou I had shot would compare to this big grandpa.

We approached him with care, made sure he was dead, and got a closer look. He was massive. He had two shovels, one larger than both of my hands combined; two salad bowl bezes that had huge points and extended along ways out, nearly past his nose. He was tall and had nice long points on the top too. This bull was amazing. He was more than I had ever dreamed of. This bull is so nice he is possibly going to make the record books! After taking more than enough photos we did the usual routine, butcher, pack, and celebrate.

We could not celebrate too soon though because my dad still had one tag to fill. We quickly hung my caribou at camp and were on our way again. We hiked about two miles away from camp to Joe and Cedric’s newly established “Carnage Hill.” After a short while we spotted a group of caribou up on the horizon migration to their wintering ground. We tried several times to get closer to the caribou but it did not work. So we decided what the heck, let’s take a shot at the big bull. It was a long shot but after a few bullets my dad made a nice shot through the heart. My dad was jacked, this bull was even larger than his first. This one had just what my dad wanted two shovels and salad bowl bezes. We were tagged out!

That night, the last night everyone celebrated their kills. All nine of us hunters had two tags and everyone went home with both of them filled. Everyone got super nice, unique bulls but mine was the largest. That night we had a feast and it was a late night. Most all of us stayed up till wee hours of the morning.
The next day we woke up and packed. Then the otter, one of the largest float planes, picked us up. None of us wanted to go home but we had no choice. After two more long days of flying, we finally made it home. I now have thousands of unbelievable stories to share with people. I have told many but I have not told nearly all of them. My birthday Caribou hunt was unforgettable, and being with my dad made it even more special. I hope to return soon to the comforts of Schmok Lake.

Thanks Webbers!

Amanda Schmid – Montana