Where and when to hunt these big-antlered bulls of the high country.

Photo above by Donald M. Jones/donaldmjones.com

My wife, Wendy, and I were sitting by the fire in the crisp morning air planning our day. We had spent the previous day leading a string of pack horses on the twenty-mile ride from our main camp in to our caribou spike camp, which was located right at timberline next to a high mountain lake. Several caribou hunters were due to arrive in a week’s time, and we had decided to make an advance run with supplies to reduce the amount that would have to be packed in with the hunters.

The plan for the next few days was to check the trails into the alpine. It had been several months since we had last ridden into the area, and there was a good chance that a few rocks had rolled onto the trails, or that blowdowns might need to be cut out of the way. 

We also wanted to see how many caribou were hanging around in the high country. On early season hunts, the temperatures can still get hot enough that the caribou seek out the remaining patches of snow to bed in and cool off. The cool mountain breezes also provide some relief from the various biting insects that make the warm months of the year a bit of living hell for caribou.

After breakfast we saddled a couple of horses. I tied a chainsaw and shovel to the sawbuck on one of our pack horses, and we pointed our ponies up one of our trails, anticipating a great day in the high country of central British Columbia. There is something magical about being above timberline; it produces a sense of well-being that most sheep and goat hunters can identify with.

The trails turned out to be relatively clear of obstructions, and within a few hours we found ourselves up on a ridge, taking in the incredibly beautiful vistas before us. We hobbled the horses and allowed them to graze in a small depression that contained several pools from an underground spring, then sat down and set up the spotting scope to glass distant basins for caribou. It didn’t take long to locate a small herd of cows and calves that had bedded down on a patch of snow about a mile away.

I told Wendy I had found a few “boo” and she quickly said, “I see some caribou, too.” I asked her where they were and she said, “They are about to run over you.” Assuming she was messing with me, I turned to look at her and simultaneously I heard the pounding of hoofs and the unique sound of the tendons clicking in their feet as several young bulls and a handful of cows and calves went thundering by just a few yards away. 

We had a good laugh at this close encounter of a caribou kind, but our horses were less than impressed by the caribou blowing through at close quarters and it took a few minutes to calm them down. Hobbles were designed for a reason, and there are times when they can save cowboys from doing a lot of walking.

Talking about mountain caribou can get confusing, as how the various subspecies of caribou are classified depends on what source you use. Over the years, biologists and taxonomists have changed their minds many times. There are those who micro-analyze the differences in caribou from various areas and different habitats, resulting in a large number of subspecies. Then there are those who want to simplify things and only identify a small number of subspecies.

All caribou are native to the cold, harsh landscapes of the Northern Hemisphere. They are found in Greenland, northern Europe, across Russia, Alaska, all of the Canadian territories, and from the province of British Columbia in the west, all the way east to Quebec, Labrador, and Newfoundland. In the Scandinavian countries they are called reindeer, but whether you call them reindeer or caribou they are all the same species, Rangifer tarandus.

The Canadian Wildlife Federation divides the caribou in Alaska and Canada into four subspecies: the Grant’s caribou in Alaska and northern Yukon east to the Mackenzie River; the woodland caribou in the southern Yukon and southwest portion of the Northwest Territories and British Columbia east to Quebec and Newfoundland/Labrador; the barren-ground caribou from the Mackenzie River east through the mainland of the Northwest Territories and Nunavut, as well as the extreme north of Saskatchewan and Manitoba and Nunavut’s Baffin Island eastward to and including the west side of Greenland; and the diminutive Peary caribou on the islands of Canada’s high Arctic in Nunavut.

However, under the Canadian Species at Risk Act there are apparently only three types of caribou in Canada: Peary caribou, barren-ground caribou, and woodland caribou. But a quick check of Canadian Geographic’s list of Canadian subspecies includes woodland caribou, Peary caribou, barren-ground caribou, boreal caribou, Southern mountain caribou, and mountain caribou. Are you confused yet?

As hunters, we have been measuring and recording the antlers of caribou in record books for a long time. There are several different organizations with record books that record the size of big-game animals and they don’t all agree on the boundaries used to identify subspecies or the method used to score the antlers, horns, or skulls.  That said, for the purposes of this article, I am going to rely on the data published by the well-known and respected Boone and Crocket Club. B&C recognize five types of caribou: the barren-ground caribou of Alaska and the northern Yukon; the central Canada barren-ground caribou; the woodland caribou of Newfoundland; the Quebec-Labrador caribou; and the mountain caribou. 

The range B&C has established for mountain caribou includes all of British Columbia and Alberta, the southern half of the Yukon, and the Mackenzie Mountains of the Northwest Territories.

When the average person thinks about caribou, they usually think of the barren-ground caribou and the incredible migratory journeys vast herds of them make every year to their calving grounds and then back to their wintering areas, as depicted on hundreds of nature shows on TV. Mountain caribou, however, do not migrate over vast areas. This does not mean they are completely stationary, as they do migrate in a fashion for breeding season and to their wintering area, but most of their movement involves changing elevation between the open alpine country and the brushy or forested lowlands. This makes them much more reliable in terms of hunting, as they are always in the general neighborhood, unlike barren-ground caribou, which can be here today and miles away by tomorrow.

Mountain caribou are also big-bodied, with mature bulls being significantly larger than mature bulls of other subspecies. It is not uncommon for a big bull to weigh close to 600 pounds, and the mass of their antlers is often quite spectacular. 

Over the years I have guided for mountain caribou in BC, the Yukon, and the NWT. When I first started guiding, BC was the number-one place to go for trophy mountain caribou and not much was in print about the excellent mountain caribou hunting to be had in the Yukon and the NWT. But as the years went by, more and more hunters learned about the mountain caribou hunting in the territories as the number of hunters heading north for Dall sheep and Alaska/Yukon moose increased.

Sadly, the mountain caribou hunting in BC has slowly gone downhill. Many decades of intense timber extraction has taken its toll in BC, with vast areas of old-growth forest being cut. Old-growth forest is exceedingly important for mountain caribou to winter in. Old-growth forest is also less productive for other members of the deer family, such as moose, deer, and elk. Less competition from other ungulates is a plus, but another very important side benefit is less predation by wolves, grizzlies, and cougars due to the lack of their preferred prey species.

In addition, a tremendous amount of access into former wilderness areas has been created by logging, conventional hard rock and placer mining, and in more recent times, the massive oil and gas industry. The population of BC has also increased enormously in the last fifty years, which naturally results in a lot more people enjoying various types of recreation in the backcountry. In addition to more hunters, there are many thousands of people who enjoy hiking, mountain biking, off-road vehicle use, and snowmobiling in the high country, and lots of people and the disturbances they create have had a negative impact on caribou.

Large chunks of BC that previously offered good mountain caribou hunting are now closed or opportunities have been significantly reduced with the advent of a limited entry draw system for residents. First Nations land claims and reconciliation efforts by the provincial and federal governments are also having an impact, and just last year a huge area of northeast BC was abruptly closed to caribou hunting by both licensed BC resident hunters and non-resident hunters via licensed guide/outfitters.

Despite all of the bad news, there is still some excellent, but very limited, hunting for mountain caribou available in BC. Many of the outfitters in both the northern Omineca and Skeena Regions still offer good to excellent mountain caribou hunting, either as a single-species hunt or combined with other species such as Canada moose, elk, Stone sheep, and mountain goat. There are also a handful of non-resident mountain caribou hunts available through a couple of outfitters in the Itcha-Ilgachuz Mountains area of the Cariboo Region in the west-central part of the province.

If you are serious about finding a big bull and not just a representative mountain caribou, the areas I would suggest concentrating on in BC are in the Skeena Region. The Kawdy Plateau and Spatsizi Plateau are known for producing big mountain caribou, as are the mountains close to the Yukon border from about Watson Lake west to the Alaska border. When contacting outfitters about their caribou hunts, it would be a good idea to look at operators in game management units 6-20 through 6-29. BC is noted for lots of beautiful country, but those who hunt in this part of the province are usually blown away by the scenery.

The Yukon and the Northwest Territories still offer exceptional mountain caribou hunting, and a quick check of the record book will reveal that there have been many high-scoring bulls entered that were taken in the two territories. The current No. 1 mountain caribou was taken in the Pelly Mountains of the Yukon in 1988 and scored 459 3/8. Outfitters in both territories usually produce a number of bulls that score well over 400 points every year.

While things are changing in the north as well, vast areas of both territories are still only accessible by float plane or chopper. It is also important to remember that the entire population of either the Yukon or the NWT is less than a small suburb of any of the larger cities in BC. The entire population of the Yukon is approximately 44,000, and 25,000 live in the capital city of Whitehorse. The NWT population statistics are not a whole lot different, with a total population of approximately 45,000, with 20,000 in the capital city of Yellowknife.

As with northern BC, the scenery in the Yukon and the Mackenzie Mountains of the NWT is breathtaking. Once you have been in this country you will undoubtedly want to go back, as you will have experienced true wilderness.

Most mountain caribou outfitters in northern BC, the Yukon, and the NWT offer horseback hunts, but some also offer backpack hunts as well. The backpack hunts are obviously designed for those who are in sheep shape and want a more physically demanding hunt, or those who just don’t get along with our equine friends. Not that being in good shape isn’t a good idea on the horseback hunts as well. Horses can go places you wouldn’t believe, but you should still expect that some hiking in steep country is going to be required. 

My wife and I raised horses for thirty years, so I admit I am a little biased toward horseback hunts, but for what it is worth, I believe there are few things in life that can top a horseback hunt in the spectacular mountains of northern Canada for mountain caribou. In my experience, it is every bit as enjoyable and rewarding as a sheep or goat hunt. 

When to Go

As is always the case, hunting seasons can vary from one jurisdiction to another. The mountain caribou season opens as early as July 25^th in the NWT and as late as August 15^th in northern BC. The seasons close between October 15 and October 31^st. 

Bulls are in velvet during August, but most will be in hard antler and stripped of velvet by the first week of September. The rut occurs during the last part of September and first part of October. It is worth noting that caribou taken on early hunts will not have the nice white mane that many hunters want on their bull, so if that is a concern you are better off to wait until the rut period. The downside to hunting during the rut is that most people consider the bulls to be inedible during the rut, and the later you go the more likely you will run into cold temperatures and the chance of significant snowfall.

One fall, Wendy and I had a few days off between groups of hunters smack-dab in the middle of the rut. I decided we should spend a few days caribou hunting for ourselves, as I wanted to get a big bull with a flowing white mane to mount. As luck would have it, on the first day we spotted a beautiful bull with double shovels and a gorgeous mane, so I put my .338 Winchester Magnum to good use, and we were soon packing the bull down out of the alpine. 

The bull smelled rather rutty, but we decided to try frying up some of the tenderloin for supper anyway. I was outside of the tent tending to the horses when I started to smell something awful. Honestly, it smelled like someone had urinated in a hot frying pan. There was no way we were going to be able to eat it as not even a good dose of garlic powder could disguise the horrid odor. Not wanting to waste it, we tossed it to our red Australian cattle dog. This was a dog that had been known to eat things that he had found in the bush that were hardly recognizable to look at, but he took one whiff of that tenderloin and turned and walked away. Not even the ravens that hung around camp would touch it.

Mountain caribou hunts are getting a lot more attention these days due to the significant decline in numbers of some of the other caribou subspecies. The Central Canada barren ground caribou herds and the Quebec/Labrador caribou herds have suffered a significant drop in numbers, which has resulted in sweeping closures in the barren lands of the NWT, Quebec, and Labrador. There has also been a noticeable decline in the numbers of Newfoundland’s woodland caribou, which resulted in much lower non-resident quotas. Even some of Alaska’s barren-ground caribou herds have seen a drop in numbers.

The result of the increased focus on mountain caribou has been what you would expect with supply and demand: mountain caribou hunts have increased in price. Despite that, mountain caribou hunts are still significantly cheaper than a hunt for sheep or mountain goat, and you get to experience all the same things that make mountain hunts so rewarding and memorable.

Optics and Rifles

Hunts in Canada’s North Country for mountain caribou are not a whole lot different from hunts for Dall sheep or moose. The weather can be extremely variable, with sunshine, rain, and snow all possible, even on the same day. Inclement weather, rocky terrain, brush, and many miles on horseback can all negatively impact your clothing and equipment. This is especially true for firearms and optics.

With the huge variety of protective coatings available these days for wood and metal, you can prep just about any rifle to withstand the abuse of hunting in a wilderness setting. That said, stainless-steel bolt-actions with composite stocks are the perfect choice for harsh environments and inclement weather.

A good variable scope of 2x or 3x low end and 9x to 15x on the high end should handle any situation you encounter, but emphasis should be on quality and reliability. The last thing you need on a hunt out in the middle of nowhere is a budget-priced scope that fails. Even if it has a lifetime replacement warranty, that is of little use to you partway through a hunt on a remote mountain in the Yukon Territory.

Binoculars between 7x and 10x are most common; if you rarely use binoculars and are not used to doing a great deal of glassing, stick with 7×40 or 8×40. If you are used to glassing, I would lean toward 10×40 binos for mountain hunting. Here again, a quality pair that can handle a few bumps and inclement weather is of utmost importance. 

Riflescopes and binoculars should be kept as dry as possible; good lens covers and removable rubberized scope covers can protect your optics and bring peace of mind. In harsh conditions I will often use both flip-up lens covers on my scope and a rubber scope coat on top, unless I am in a situation where close encounters with big bears are likely.

Caribou are not huge animals, but a big bull mountain caribou is easily as heavy as a young bull elk. Anywhere you may hunt mountain caribou is also prime grizzly bear habitat, and you may also want to hunt a bull moose or bull elk as an add-on to the caribou hunt. While a .270 Winchester with a premium bullet will easily handle any caribou that walks, something that is more appropriate to handle the “just in case” situations might be a good idea. 

Shooting distance can be anywhere from 25 yards to as far away as you can accurately place a bullet, but in most instances, you should be able to use the terrain to stalk within reasonable range, and it is rarely necessary to shoot beyond 300 yards.  

For the above reasons, hunters are probably better served with a flat-shooting rifle that provides a little more downrange thump than the previously mentioned, but highly respected, .270 Winchester. A 7mm Magnum of some description would be a better choice, but probably one of the various .30-caliber magnums would be just about ideal.

I tend to pack around a .338 Winchester Magnum loaded with either 210-grain or 225-grain Barnes TTSX most of the time, but I have been carrying it for many decades as a backup rifle while guiding and I am plenty used to it. The recoil does not bother me at all, but it seems to be more than most hunters want to deal with.–K.R.

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Fausti Arms celebrates three-quarters of a century helping shooters experience the joy of owning a high-quality double gun.

In 1948 in Val Trompia, Italy, the country’s postwar industrial recovery was ramping up. Many new businesses were starting in this region, which would soon become world-famous as the home of some of the world’s leading gun manufacturers. One of these startups was a workshop run by Stefano Fausti that specialized in making double-barrel shotguns. The shop was a small one at first, relying on the handwork of a few skilled craftsmen. It grew quickly, however, partly as a result of Stefano’s love for fine shotguns as well as his tenacity and business sense, and partly because Fausti shotguns quickly developed a passionate following by hunters and shooters worldwide who recognized their quality, practicality, and beauty.

Stefano Fausti passed away in 2019 at the ripe old age of ninety—but he left his thriving company in the capable hands of a second and third generation of Faustis who are equally passionate about fine shotguns. In the 1990s, his daughters Elena, Giovanna, and Barbara took over operations of the company and energized it with their youthful enthusiasm, and in 2018, when a third generation joined the family business, the company reorganized around a Steering Committee that has defined a clear path forward and remains committed to quality and innovation. 

Today, the family-owned company is headquartered in Marcheno, Val Trompia, in the province of Brescia. It employs some forty people and manufactures its shotguns with a fleet of high-precision CNC machines, advanced production processes, and an innovative quality-control system that ensures Fausti guns are top of the line. The company produces between 4,500 and 5,000 over-and-under and side-by-side guns annually in different models and finish levels. In 2009, Fausti expanded its footprint in North America when it opened its Fausti USA headquarters in Fredericksburg, Virginia, with exhibition space, sales offices, and a warehouse. 

Fausti’s philosophy is that owning a fine shotgun should not just be a luxury for the fortunate few—it should be possible for everyone. This is the premise behind its two product lines: Core and Boutique, which ensures that there is a Fausti shotgun that is right for every shooter. The entry-level Core line is characterized by simplicity, but makes no sacrifices when it comes to quality and reliability. The Boutique line features premium finishes, engravings, and high-grade wood to satisfy the most demanding aesthetic tastes. Both lines reflect the company’s commitment to the serious and knowledgeable shooter who wants a technically advanced shotgun that will perform flawlessly in the field, while still incorporating classic style and beauty. Reflecting this focus, Fausti launched a rebranding during the Covid years, updating its logo to a more modern look that still retains a nod to tradition and its hunting-centric customer base in the way it calls to mind the shape of a deer’s antler.

Double shotgun enthusiasts understand that constructing these classic guns is a painstaking process that allows for no uncertainties. Fausti’s side-by-sides are built on a modified Anson & Deeley-style lock mechanism. Dating back to 1875, this system is simple, robust, and reliable. Both side-by-sides and over/unders feature a dedicated gauge receiver that encapsulates the action, which makes each shotgun elegant and balanced and improves ballistic performance.

Fausti’s over/unders feature an exclusive Four Locks system: four lugs that work together to create a rock-solid lock-up, allowing thousands of problem-free shots even with the most potent ammunition. A second pair of lugs inside the receiver’s sides support the usual lugs carved into the monobloc of the barrels, ensuring even lateral closure and a perfect mechanical seal. These shotguns are extremely durable and reliable, even when subjected to intense and prolonged use in shooting competitions or in high-volume hunting situations.

Behind every Fausti product is a thorough design phase: from the choice of materials to the study of shapes, from the internal ballistics of the barrels, drilled with the utmost attention to guarantee the best yield of shot patterns with any cartridge; from the choice of the best wood, to the careful definition of the moving parts for smooth and harmonious–but above all safe and consistent–functioning. Nothing is left to chance; Fausti’s shotgun development derives both from experience and from the continuous search for functional innovation.

Fausti’s advertising tag line is: “I’ll be your gun.” It’s a simple but powerful sentiment that rings true for any upland hunter who views his or her shotgun not just as a tool, but as a trusted and treasured companion worthy of creating a lifetime of memories in the field. It’s an appropriate expression of the connection that can form between a hunter and a shotgun—a connection well understood by a family who has created fine double guns for three generations.

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The ideal puffy jacket for cold-weather hunting.

My CANIS Alps down jacket arrived in the middle of one of the consistently coldest winters in recent memory here in northern Colorado. The timing couldn’t have been better. On a single-digit day in February, after admiring the very cool camo pattern, I zipped myself into this cozy down puffy, stepped into my cross-country skis, and glided out for a spin around the local park.

Initially, I thought my jacket might be a bit too small. But after just a few minutes, I realized the size (medium) was perfect for me. Yes, this jacket is form-fitting. It’s meant to be. The body-hugging design keeps your core toasty, but the jacket is wonderfully stretchable through the shoulders, so it never binds. It gives you lots of freedom of movement, whether you’re propelling yourself along with ski poles or swinging a shotgun. I know that for a fact because I wore the jacket extensively at my local sporting-clays range, shooting hundreds of rounds over many cold mornings in February and March while getting ready for a spring dove shoot in Argentina.

The Alps jacket features 5.3 ounces of water-repellent goose down, which makes it super warm, but not bulky at all. It features two handwarmer pockets, one handy zippered chest pocket that works great for a phone or keys, and two deep mesh pockets inside. The hood design is by far the best of any puffy jacket I’ve tried—it snugs up to your face without getting in the way of your vision, and it can easily be pulled over a brimmed cap. I also love the fleece-lined collar and the way it easily zips up to completely cover your chin when the air is frigid. The jacket’s overall design is sleek, so there is nothing to interfere or catch when you slide a backpack or rain jacket over it.

The Alps jacket (like all down products from CANIS) packs down amazingly small and comes with a waterproof stuff sack to keep it dry when it’s riding in your backpack. The CANIS developers say the pack sack can also serve as a water bucket if you need one in a pinch.

In short, this is one impressive jacket, one that will definitely accompany me on a tough mountain hunt I have planned for this fall. But I wanted to know more. Truth be told, until a few months before I tested this jacket, I had never even heard of CANIS, so I did some digging to find out the story behind this company.

As it turns out, the CANIS brand is relatively new to the hunting community, but the know-how behind this high-tech clothing was two decades in the making. Co-founders Marcel Geser and Ryan Efurd come from different continents and very different backgrounds. Geser is an award-winning technical apparel designer from Switzerland, and Efurd is an Arkansas-born and bred Air Force veteran, entrepreneur, and hard-core international hunter. They teamed up to create a collection of versatile, practical hunting apparel and introduced their initial collection to the world a little more than three years ago.

A tailor by trade, Geser started a high-end, technical skiwear brand in Switzerland called Mountain Force, and later founded a very well known product development studio in the field of technical sportswear and innovation called Development Never Stops, which works with the largest mountaineering and ski apparel brands in the world. Efurd met Geser when the former began studying who was making and designing the best technical apparel on the market. Although he was looking to create gear for hunters, Efurd investigated the equipment used in the skiing, mountaineering, and Special Forces worlds. “What were the guys who were climbing Mt. Everest wearing?” he wanted to know.

Geser and Efurd teamed up to serve the needs of the modern-day hunter. One of the things they learned was that super-lightweight material can be problematic when a hunter is far from civilization in challenging conditions. Therefore, they started engineering lightweight fabrics with a very high weight to strength ratio. The results are materials that are the strongest in their weight class. The products in their Alps line, like my jacket, are extremely tear and abrasion resistant, resulting in ultra-durable gear. 

In addition to developing innovative fabrics, the CANIS manufacturing process utilizes their BTL (Built To Last) platform. In BTL, there are no exposed quilting lines because they can be one of the weakest areas of a down garment when used in alpine and subalpine environments. BTL also uses Best in Class water-repellent down to protect the insulation from water and moisture.

The CANIS clothing system features several product lines that, when used together, create a complete layering system for the serious hunter. Learn more at Canisathlete.com.—Diana Rupp

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Capybara, agouti, and paca are unusual trophies and excellent table fare.

The Independence Gun Club (IGC) Sporting Heritage Center is in the middle of downtown Independence, Kansas. The first floor now houses all my taxidermy, which is kind of fun. It’s even more fun when kids come through. Back on a shelf on the far south wall is one of my favorite mounts. Most youngsters notice it, too, and I’m surprised how many of them know what it is.

Giant guinea pig would be more apt, but it’s a capybara, largest rodent in the world. The books say it can weigh up to 150 pounds. Mine isn’t quite that big, but it’s a blocky, stocky, impressive animal. Although it’s a herbivore and essentially harmless, its teeth are impressive, too. A distinctive characteristic of rodents is two pairs of incisors, top and bottom, that continue to grow throughout the animal’s life.

The capybara, Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris, is a semi-aquatic rodent, typically living in packs or colonies along South American watercourses. They are found in every South American country except Chile, but are most common in the vast Amazon Basin, from northern Argentina northward. There is a subspecies, the slightly smaller lesser capybara to the northwest, clear up to Panama, but capybaras do not occur naturally north of the Canal.

My first experience with the giant rat was while hunting with dogs along a small river system in northern Argentina’s Santa Fe Province. I’d seen the weird, splayed-toe tracks. Five toes on the front foot, three on the rear. You can’t miss that track! Otherwise, I hadn’t a clue what to expect.

At dawn, outfitter Marcelo Sodiro and I hiked along a narrow plain, swampy watercourse to our left, thick bush off to the right. Occasional yips told us the dogs were in the bush, hoping to catch animals out feeding, or working their way back toward the river.

We strolled along for maybe a half-hour as full daylight came. Then the pack lit up with raucous hound music, and Marcelo started running, leaving me little choice but to run with him. Okay, I get it. A capybara will try to lose the dogs by escaping to its water sanctuary. Our job was to get ahead and try to intercept. We dashed along a trail just up from the water’s edge, keeping the dogs to our right. After a mad dash, the baying turned toward us. Marcelo pulled up short in a small clearing, told me to get ready. In a few seconds a brown form streaked across our front, right to left, headed for the water.

As we left the truck, Marcelo had offered me a double-barreled shotgun with buckshot, but I’d kept my Todd Ramirez 7×57 which, fortunately, fits me like a good shotgun. The dogs all had white spots, highly visible. They were a dozen yards behind, safe, but closing fast.

It was a single capybara, looked like a good-sized one. I swung with it, got the shot off, and the dogs piled in. It all happened fast, very exciting. Toward the end of the hunt, Marcelo and I did this again. Next time, I accepted the shotgun!

Capybara meat is white and mild, much like pork, and is highly prized. So is the leather. Strong, durable, attractively pebble-grained, and essentially waterproof. The leather is called carpincho from the Portuguese. Just about every shop in Buenos Aires, and I suppose in Brazil, sells carpincho items: Footwear, jackets, belts, purses. Cool stuff. Yes, capybaras are farmed, both for meat and leather.

A decade later, in 2019, I would have one more experience hunting capybara, this one quite different. I was again hunting with Marcelo Sodiro, but up in Entre Rios Province, primarily looking for free-range axis deer. We were near the Parana River, a big river. Lots of small channels and marshes. Perfect capybara habitat, and there were lots of them. This was the only time I was able to observe packs.

Hunting was by stalking carefully along the edges of marshes, looking for a big one. In a group, you can compare them but, when standing apart, there’s little to compare. One thing I learned that I didn’t know: It is possible to determine a mature male. Only the males have an odd, elongated oval bump on the snout. Subtle, but if you can get close enough to look carefully, it’s there. We looked at quite a few, shot the one that looked the biggest, but who knows? Wonderful experience to see so many, and I got some great photos.

The primary hunting opportunity for capybara is in northern Argentina. However, there’s an unfortunate wrinkle. Argentina no longer allows the export of any native big-game species, so it’s difficult to add this unusual animal to a taxidermy collection. I’m glad I had the sense to have one done life-size when I still could.

Although not nearly so large, the Americas have two more large rodents ranging from southern Mexico southward: the agouti and the paca. There are actually eleven species of agoutis, genus Dasyprocta, in Central and South America, varying primarily in color. Agoutis weigh up to about 13 pounds so, on the rodent scale, not as large as a big woodchuck.

They are diurnal, often seen and on license in Mexico’s Yucatan. When sitting on a machan for brocket deer (or whatever), it’s not unusual to hear faint scrabbling in the leaves and see two or three agoutis scampering along.

Like everything else in the jungle, the local hunters consider agoutis table fare. They’re not bad at all, but paca is the best of the best. Weighing up to 30 pounds, the paca, Cuniculus paca, is probably the third-largest rodent, after capybara and beaver. Body shape is much like a capybara, so like an overgrown guinea pig, but the paca has a thin, fragile skin patterned with white spots and stripes. Of all the jungle game, the paca is the great delicacy, with very white meat, mild and flavorful.

I used to think of the paca as strictly a Central and South American animal, so I was totally surprised when I learned that they are widely distributed in Mexico’s Yucatan, so they are also a North American animal. The paca is readily on license in southern Mexico. However, and maybe this is good for the pacas (because the locals love to eat them), this nocturnal, burrowing animal is exceptionally difficult to hunt.

Typically, they burrow in caves in small colonies, coming out at night to forage. Finding tracks (and, today, using trail cams), hunters find an occupied burrow, then set up in the late afternoon and hope they venture out just at last light. That’s how I got my paca several years ago, on one of my several failed attempts for a red brocket. Last year, that’s how hunting partner Sergio Alcazar got his paca.

Otherwise, there’s always blind luck, but it’s always better to be lucky than good. Ten years ago, I shared camp with a guy who shot a paca along the jeep trail on his way back to camp, just at sundown. We came down the trail just behind them, and I took photos in good light.

This year, I was in camp in Yucatan with hunter Michael Murphy. His story is even more unusual: Last year, hunting with Mario Canales, Murphy’s local guide found a paca and Murphy shot it at midday.

The Yucatan jungle is an amazing place, and nobody knows it like the local hunters. However, and whenever, it’s a happy camp when a paca is brought in. The meat is truly excellent; you’ll eat well for a couple of days.

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Creating corridors that allow wildlife to move is not only good for our game populations, it’s good for people, too.

Photo above: This wildlife crossing, one of dozens in Banff National Park, allows animals to cross the busy Trans-Canada Highway. The tops of these structures are planted with natural vegetation. Data shows they are used regularly by bears, cougars, bighorn sheep, and many other species.

In deer-rich northern Pennsylvania, where I grew up, an apocryphal story used to make the rounds every few years. An adjuster for a large insurance company in Harrisburg, the story went, got very suspicious of all the deer-car collision claims his company was getting from the northern part of the state. Figuring the rubes up north were committing insurance fraud, the adjuster decided to take a road trip to investigate. By the time he arrived in the region, he was frazzled from half a dozen close calls with deer that jumped out into the road in front of him. At that point he turned his car around, headed back to Harrisburg, and stamped all of the deer-related claims “approved.”

 Collisions with wildlife were long considered an unavoidable side effect of building roads through wildlife habitat. In the course of our normal “progress,” humans have thrown up all sorts of barriers to wildlife movement. From interstate highways to back roads, to cattle fences, to energy developments and subdivisions, deer, elk, antelope and other animals are constantly faced with dangerous and sometimes impassable obstacles in the course of their daily and seasonal movements. And, as that mythical insurance adjuster found out, as animals inevitably attempt to cross these barriers, it’s not just dangerous or deadly for them, but costly and hazardous for people as well. 

Wildlife crossings and migration corridors—the routes that animals travel between their seasonal habitats—have received much-needed attention in recent years. New research has turned a spotlight on the issue, largely because of amazing advances in GPS collars and mapping technology that have allowed scientists to get a much better understanding of where and how far animals move at different times of year in their ongoing quest for food, cover, and mates. These studies also help to identify bottlenecks where their movement is constrained by a highway, fence, or other man-made obstacle. 

Roads, of course, are one of the most common impediments to wildlife movement. The federal government estimates  at least 1.5 million deer, elk, and moose are killed by vehicles every year. Not only does that mean 1.5 million fewer big-game animals roaming the woods for us to hunt (1.5 million!), but those collisions cost an estimated $10 billion in human deaths, injuries, and auto damage. 

Overpasses and underpasses designed especially for wildlife can make a huge difference. The first-ever wildlife “bridges” were constructed in 1975: one was an overpass created for mule deer over I-15 in Utah, and one was an underpass under I-70 in Colorado for elk and deer. These were unusual projects at the time, but not anymore. Thousands of such wildlife crossings have been constructed in recent years, and, as long as they are built in the right spot, their effectiveness is impressive—in Wyoming, one set of crossings near Baggs reduced collisions with deer and antelope by more than 80 percent.

In the past few years, more money has been made available for these projects, partly because they seem to be one of the few things politicians on both sides of the aisle can agree on. Under the Trump administration, Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke signed an order addressing the importance of big-game migrations in the West, and in 2019 the Interior Department directed $2.1 million in grants to state and local partners in several Western states to conserve habitat corridors for elk, mule deer, and pronghorn. More recently, the 2021 Bipartisan Infrastructure Law earmarked $350 million to build wildlife crossings over and under highways.

Wyoming and Colorado are leaders when it comes to helping wildlife find its way. The University of Wyoming’s multi-year Wyoming Migration Initiative has identified a number of very long seasonal migration routes used by pronghorn and mule deer in the western third of the state (dubbed by some “the path of the pronghorn”), and this research has helped wildlife managers understand where they need to work with landowners, tribes, and other partners to help keep those wildlife corridors open so these populations continue to thrive.

In addition to constructing numerous highway crossings for wildlife, Wyoming signed an agreement with the U.S. Department of Agriculture last fall outlining how it plans to work with private landowners to mitigate other barriers to wildlife migration. The agreement provides $16 million to help willing landowners conduct habitat enhancement projects, lease their land for wildlife habitat, and install or remove fencing to benefit wildlife and livestock alike. 

The Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT) has built more than sixty wildlife mitigation structures crossing above or under highways throughout the Centennial State. The most recently completed one allows wildlife to cross US Highway 160 between Durango and Pagosa Springs. According to CDOT, more than 60 percent of all the crashes that were occurring along this stretch of road were wildlife-vehicle collisions. They’re expecting those numbers to drop by 85 percent.

It takes collaborative efforts by numerous agencies, organizations, and individuals to make these projects happen. In the case of the Highway 160 project, wildlife biologists with the Southern Ute Indian Tribe provided the research data that identified seasonal migration patterns and habitat for mule deer and elk in the San Juan Basin area.

“Nineteen years ago, the tribe deployed its first set of GPS radio collars on mule deer. The results of those collars hinted at the importance of this particular spot and stretch of roadway as a migratory crossing point [for big game] on Highway 160,” said Aran Johnson, Southern Ute tribal wildlife biologist.

Colorado and Wyoming are joined by several other western states that have recently enacted laws providing dedicated funding for the study and protection of wildlife corridors. This year, Utah passed a state budget that included $20 million for the construction of wildlife crossings in a state where 5,000 deer and 1,000 elk are killed by vehicles each year. And last year, Californa passed the Safe Roads and Wildlife Protection Act, which takes a comprehensive approach to addressing ecosystem connectivity from a transportation perspective. A project is in the works to create the largest wildlife crossing in the world under Highway 101 in southern California.

While much of the focus on wildlife corridors is happening in the West, eastern states are also taking note. Back in Pennsylvania, which still has one of the highest rates of deer-car collisions in the nation, there are currently only a few wildlife overpasses, mostly in the eastern part of the state. State Representative Mary Jo Daley has been trying for several years to get the Keystone State to conduct a study on the feasibility of constructing more wildlife crossings on the state’s highways. As she reminded one news outlet, “It’s not just wildlife in the West that’s important.”

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Does a Cape buffalo really weigh 2,000 pounds?

Photo above: PH Paul Smith, Boddington, and Wayne Holt with Holt’s awesome Zambezi Valley Cape buffalo, taken in 2005. Not weighed (as usual), this remains one of the largest-bodied Cape buffaloes Boddington has seen, and it had exceptional 45-inch horns.

One ton of black fury: so is Africa’s Cape buffalo often described. Or, if you prefer more drama, “a ton of black death.” It’s not unusual for we hunters to exaggerate the size of game animals. Nobody ever took a black bear weighing less than 300 pounds, though the actual average is a third less. Similarly, all male leopards approach 180 pounds, though an average tom is less than 150 pounds.

I’ve raised eyebrows when I’ve suggested that a big Alaskan brown  bear in autumn weight could reach 1,500 pounds. All these weights are possible. North Carolina and Pennsylvania black bears have been officially weighed in above 700 pounds, and I’ve seen leopards tip good scales above 200. These are unusual, outsized animals, which occur in every species.

Lacking access to good scales, we don’t often weigh game animals, and rarely recover large animals whole, so weight is just a guess. Antlers, horns, and skulls don’t lie, which is why record books rely on those measurements. Actual weight doesn’t matter much, except that the curious among us like to know how big animals get.

Despite the legend, I have always questioned the possibility of a Cape buffalo reaching a full ton. Few are properly weighed, but I’ve seen many on the ground. I’ve always figured 1,400 to maybe 1,600 pounds for a mature southern Cape buffalo bull. No science, just experience. This is where I got my theory that an outsized brown bear is similar in weight.

As for “black death,” “fury,” and the occasional reference as Africa’s most dangerous game, there is no doubt the Cape buffalo is strong, tenacious, and can be deadly. I’ve lost friends to his tribe. Robert Ruark is credited with saying “use enough gun.” He didn’t coin the phrase; it was the title for a posthumous collection. Good advice. Ruark also wrote that he’d seen buffalo taken “as easily as a cow in a pasture with a .30-06.” Today, usually not legal, but Ruark hunted various jurisdictions before caliber minimums. Wherever, generally unwise. Let’s stick with “enough gun” as the wiser course. Combining common sense with legality, I’ve seen few buffaloes taken with light calibers. However, I’ve seen a lot of bulls succumb to a single well-placed shot.

After millennia of being hunted by lions, it seems to me the African buffalo is perpetually ready to launch. We often talk about its instant surge of adrenaline. Don’t know if that’s medically true, but it makes sense. A well-placed first shot that the buffalo is physically unable to shake off seems critical. Failing that, all bets are off. According to all witnesses, the buffalo that killed great Zimbabwe PH Owain Lewis took eighteen hits from .375s on up before giving up.

The first shot, three days earlier, was not in the right place, and we can surmise that many of the seventeen bullets that followed also were not. Even so, that’s a bunch of foot-pounds. Jack O’Connor wrote of a buffalo that took fourteen hits. I’ve never seen anything like either incident, but I’ve seen buffaloes shrug off multiple good hits. However, many more have gone down readily to a single well-placed bullet.

My rule: Place the first shot as well as possible. If the buffalo is still up and additional shots are safe and possible, keep shooting until he’s down. After that, an insurance shot is situational. If you’ve heard the death bellow and there is no movement as you approach, not always. However, I’ve heard credible accounts of a buffalo getting back up after the bellow. So, approach cautiously from side or rear, never frontally, prepared to fire again at the slightest movement.

Like all other creatures, buffaloes have different character, some more aggressive than others. A few will circle and lie in wait; others seem to prefer flight to fight. You never know, and this is more relative to attitude than to body size.

That said, the old adage “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” is probably true. If my average weight of 1500 pounds is correct, then a one-ton buffalo weighing twenty-five percent more should be harder to stop. I guess.

The American bison is a heavier animal, with large bulls averaging about a ton. The Asian water buffalo is also bigger, bulls running to 2,200 pounds and more. We know the bison’s reputation. I  have taken water buffaloes on four continents. They are unquestionably larger than Cape buffaloes. I’ve seen them hard to put down, but in my experience, never as aggressive nor as quick on their feet. I wish I had experience with gaur, the Indian bison. Largest extant bovine, up to 3,000 pounds, legendary for tenacity.

I’ve never seen a gaur in the wild, nor a whole bison or water buffalo on good scales, but I know they appear visually bigger than Cape buffaloes. Regardless of species or size, all the big bovines are dangerous. It only takes one with an attitude. Just last year, the great Mexican hunter Mario Canales Sr. was killed by a water buffalo in Argentina. The smallest African bovine, the little dwarf forest buffalo, has a wicked reputation.

So do the smaller savanna buffaloes. In Burkina Faso, they take great pains to recover game whole, back to camp at max speed. There, they take weights and measurements for the game department. So, among few buffaloes I’ve seen properly weighed, I know that my West African savanna buffalo weighed 471.6 kilograms. That’s 1,037.5 pounds. The folks there told me it was a big bull. The West African savanna is the second-smallest race, and references confirm that it’s a third smaller than the southern Cape buffalo.

This little buffalo did try to live up to the reputation of its breed. It shrugged off a well-placed 300-grain .375 bullet at eighty yards, turned, and came straight in like a torpedo. He shrugged off the second, frontal shot, went down reluctantly to the third, and needed yet a fourth.

All buffaloes look big on the hoof, and big when you walk up to them. Except my one and only dwarf forest buffalo. Nice bull, fully mature. When approached, I wondered where the rest of him had gone!

Otherwise, they all look big, dark, and menacing. For sure, some look bigger than others, and we comment, but rarely have the opportunity to weigh. My first “big” buffalo, taken in Zambia in 1984, looked like a tank, but I lacked experience to compare. After tracking two big-footed Zambezi Valley bulls for nine days, Wayne Holt’s 2005 bull was a giant in all ways: Big bosses, 45-inch spread, visually huge body. But, with no means to weigh whole, who knows?

Just now (May 2023), hunting in Limpopo with Jose Maria Marzal (Chico & Sons Hunting Safaris), my friend Jim Gent shot a wonderful buffalo. Heavy bosses, good shape, fairly wide. We guessed it at 42-inch spread, spot-on. The bull was walking alone, nothing unusual until we walked up to it. Then it got bigger and bigger, easily the biggest buffalo I’ve ever seen. Jim made a great first shot with a .375 at seventy yards, obviously hit hard but not down, so another, Almost down, back up, solidly down to his third shot. No drama, no distance covered, but a mountain of a buffalo.

All animals vary, individually and regionally. I think of the Cape buffaloes we hunt in coastal Mozambique as “normal,” whatever that is. I think mature bulls in the Zambezi Valley are a bit larger. I don’t have much experience with Limpopo buffalo. Originally, they came from Kruger, known for big buffaloes. The South Africans have been breeding disease-free buffalo for decades, so today’s buffaloes are healthy and well-fed. Stands to reason they get big, but I’ve never seen anything like this guy, visually as large as any water buffalo bull I’ve seen.

Even though he broke the winch, we managed to get him loaded whole. Nope, couldn’t weigh him, no scale big enough. In South Africa, much game meat goes to local markets. The butchery weighed the recovered meat. At 891 pounds (minus head, skin, innards, and lower leg bones), the heaviest this outlet had seen. References suggest that large bovines lose nearly two-thirds body weight from live to hanging carcass. Working the math backwards, live weight was at least 2,300 pounds.

So, after all these years, I stand corrected. An African buffalo can be “2000 pounds of black fury.” Lest anyone think super-buffalo are being bred, a couple days later I shot a good bull in the same area. Fully mature, big-bodied, horns only slightly smaller. Visually, my bull appeared “normal,” but obviously smaller. Recovered meat was 222 pounds less. Working backward again, live weight would have been possibly 1,600 pounds, about what I’ve always considered normal for a big-bodied southern bull. 

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Hunting the “poor man’s desert sheep” during an unusually rainy week in West Texas.

West Texas is not usually known for being cold and rainy. Mostly it’s hot. And dry. Shimmering, heat-induced mirages dance across jagged ridges and rocky arroyos, while roadrunners pant in the shade. That’s what West Texas is usually like. But not today–today it’s cold; we huddle against the chill, collars turned up against the damp wind. Fog rolls in and out, making it difficult to see the distant ridges and cliff faces we’re inspecting though our binoculars. We’re searching West Texas for aoudad, the “poor man’s desert sheep,” but it feels more like we’re hunting in the Pacific Northwest. Chilled and damp, we crowd back into our truck to four-wheel to another glassing spot.

Aoudad, also known as Barbary sheep, are native to North Africa. They possess legendary eyesight and no sense of humor whatsoever, rendering them an elusive and challenging quarry to hunt. A mature ram will stand roughly three and a half feet tall at the shoulder and might weigh 300 pounds or better. They are rusty red-gold in color, sporting tough, abrasion-resistant hair. A long, blondish mane grows down the front of their neck and cascades from the fore part of their front legs, forming spectacular chaps on many mature rams. Aoudad are known for toughness, too, requiring a well-constructed bullet and accurate shot placement to achieve a quick, clean kill. 

Barbary sheep have been transplanted to multiple locations around the globe over the last century or so. Reportedly first brought to the United States around the year 1900, they were introduced into the wild in New Mexico in 1950 and Texas in 1957. Since, they have flourished across the desert ridges and badlands of both states, in many cases becoming so plentiful that they compete with native wildlife. They typically move in herds and feed indiscriminately, often badly overgrazing sensitive plants and posing a very real threat to local vegetation and habitat. Because of these proclivities, landowners, ranchers, and wildlife biologists are commonly unified in their desire to aggressively manage local aoudad populations. In Texas, Barbary sheep are categorized as an exotic species and therefore huntable 24/7/365. Management practices are determined and implemented by the landowner, often in conjunction with an outfitter who leases the land for the purpose of hunting. Aoudad reproduce prolifically and are talented survivalists, and in most cases they stay well ahead of population objectives.

Many hunters, myself included, dream of hunting wild sheep. But for me, and for most blue-collar hunters, a hunt for native wild sheep is financially unattainable. That’s where Barbary sheep enter the scene; a good aoudad hunt will set you back roughly one-tenth or less of the cost of a desert sheep hunt, and in many ways the hunt resembles that of a desert sheep, in similar country and with similar challenges. It’s no wonder hunters have nicknamed aoudad hunting the “poor man’s sheep hunt.”

The Big Bend country of Texas is a long way from anyplace with high rises and traffic lights. Nestled into a northward-curving bend on the Rio Grande River, Big Bend National Park is a place of surreal desert beauty, shimmering heat, and deep, cliff-rimmed canyons. Rattlesnakes continue their age-old quest for packrats, cottontail rabbits, and unwary tourists. Javelinas snuffle about cactus patches, smacking noisily as they chomp down great bites of prickly pear. And sheep live in the cliffs. Desert sheep, but Barbary sheep too, especially north of the park in the vast ranchlands stretching from the badlands across the Permian Basin toward New Mexico. This is where my hunting partner Jake Burns and I are headed, the tires of our rented imitation SUV humming down the lonely West Texas highway as darkness falls. Jake’s flight was delayed and it’s almost midnight when we pull into Alpine, Texas, and stumble into a motel for some much-needed sleep.

Dawn finds our imitation SUV dead alongside a ranch road, having made it all of a quarter mile from the blacktop before blowing a tire. It’s a problem, but nothing unusual in remote ranch country. Jake and one of the guides point the vehicle back toward Alpine for a replacement tire, rolling gingerly along on the rental-company’s donut spare. I climb in with head guide Cross Moody and we continue southward, Cross’s truck grumbling carefully down the rough ranch road. Emptiness stretches for miles, reaching away into the distance to where the desert merges with a lowering, rain-promising sky. It’s a place that makes city folks nervous and anxious with too much freedom. Cowboys, desert rats, and hunters feel like they are coming home, the emptiness promising and hopeful with adventure.

An old, hand-built stone ranch house greets us as we arrive at camp, where pioneer equipment and piles of shed mule deer antlers decorate the surroundings. We unload the truck, stowing gear and a week’s worth of food inside the ranch house. Settled in, we turn our attention to the hills. The sheep await, but first I need to check the zero on my rifle. Airline baggage handlers have a way of making undesirable adjustments to shooting irons, and it’s always wise to conduct a quick test before heading afield.

Belly down on a gravely rise, I adjust my turret and steady my cross hairs on a three-inch-high by six-inch-wide rock, 500 yards distant. My first shot breaks clean and the bullet strikes a fraction of an inch over the rock. A second bullet impacts next to the first, verifying that my scope, mounts, and rifle withstood the best efforts of the baggage handlers. I’m ready to hunt.

That evening we spot a lone ram feeding through the jumbled outcropping of a broken cliff. He disappears over the top, but Cross doesn’t think he is old enough to be worth pursuing. We drive and glass, fighting the fog, searching the uncommonly sodden Chihuahuan desert for elusive aoudad. Just before dark I spot two rams silhouetted against the dusk a half-mile away on a mesa top. One looks particularly good, with heavy, deep-curling horns. We circle for a favorable wind and move in, but darkness overtakes us and we never see them again.

It’s dawn once more, and Jake has rejoined us. I watch Cross’s little brown-and-white Jack Russell shivering in the bed of the Tacoma. It’s partly from the cold but also part excitement; Spade loves to hunt. I worry about him as we drive into the broken desert; he appears about to turn into a brown-and-white hunk of shivering ice. Cross notices and gives me a hard time for allowing Spade to play upon my sympathies. The morning rolls on and so do we, moving and glassing, glassing and moving. Spade plays his cards well and ends up riding inside the truck next to me, eagerly staring out the front window in search of game. I may be a sucker, but we both enjoy the arrangement. The day passes without excitement, and I can feel Cross getting tense at the lack of game. Perhaps it’s the weather that is keeping the sheep hunkered down and out of sight.

Another day dawns like the ones before it, gloomy and damp. I enjoy the moisture–it’s far too rare in the desert to ever resent. But it does make hunting harder, and this day passes much like the previous ones, with a lot of moving, glassing, and moving. The afternoon grows old, and finally Cross spots three sheep far away and below us on the point of a ridge. We study them through our spotting scopes and they are all ewes. We continue on, moving rapidly from vantage to vantage, trying hard to find some rams before darkness falls. Luck eludes us though, and the silence is loud inside the truck as we head for camp. Cross is feeling the pressure and breaks the silence, telling us that he is trying hard to find sheep. I assure him that I know he is, but he doesn’t seem convinced. We only have one day left. Fortunately, the forecast calls for sunshine and calm. It’s the kind of day we’ve been waiting for.

Blue skies greet us at dawn, and as the sun chases the shadows from the desert, we roll carefully along the gravel ranch road toward a section of tall, broken territory. A great cliff illuminates in the morning sunshine, and just above it, Jake spots a band of sheep. It’s a big band, and Cross doesn’t spend more than a few seconds in his spotting scope before uttering the words we’ve been waiting four days to hear: “There’s a couple big rams in that group. Let’s go!”

We tuck the truck out of sight behind a butte, shed some layers, and check the water bottles in our packs. Jake and I ready our rifles and correlate briefly; if a shot opportunity presents itself, I am to take the first shot. Hopefully a second ram will present an opportunity and he will get a chance too. Shouldering our packs, we head across a big alkali swale that’s rimmed by a small ribbon of slickrock opposite us. The breeze is in our faces now, but air is capricious in terrain like this and that could change once we circle the big butte to access the sheep.

The morning is bright now, a brassy sun glaring cheerfully at the desert she hasn’t seen in almost a week. The sky is blue and I feel great as we stop to shed another layer; after days of damp, overcast chill we are dressed too warmly. Moving on, we climb carefully up through a notch in the slickrock cliff. Cross slips ahead to look for the sheep.

The sheep are there, much closer than expected and moving toward us. We belly down on the desert gravel and deploy our bipods, Jake lying immediately to my right. We’re scarcely set when the wind capers and the sheep bolt, running straight away and up the steep mountainside. Big, curving horns are everywhere, but Cross directs my attention to one sheep in particular and immediately I see why. This ram is heavier and wider than any of the others, and I have no trouble keeping track of him as the band climbs away from us. The distance is roughly 360 yards and I reach up and crank the turret on my scope as the rams slows and then stops, turning his head to look back. He won’t stand for long, so I settle my cross hairs and press the trigger. The impact is obvious and the ram bolts to the right about 40 yards before slowing. He stands for a brief second and then tips over behind a big Sotol plant. My poor man’s desert sheep is down.

Another band of sheep bolts up the mountainside, weaving and leaping upward though a broken morass of jagged ribbon cliffs. Cross immediately identifies the biggest ram and gets Jake on him, but the sheep won’t stop. Higher and higher they climb, rapidly putting elevation and distance between themselves and us. Finally they stop, and Jake is ready, hitting the ram solidly at 560 yards. It staggers and then tumbles down the slope, coming to rest in some brush. We watch, but it doesn’t move again. We’ve just doubled on big Barbary rams, both accomplishing clean, one-shot kills under challenging conditions. It’s a beautiful, sunny day in West Texas as we photograph our rams and retell the story, marveling at the beauty of the sheep, the terrain, and the freshness of the rain-blessed desert air. It’s a good day to be a hunter.

Ammo for Aoudad

Thanks to tough hide and hair, dense bones, and a never-say-die attitude Barbary sheep are challenging to kill. Always use a premium bullet and place your shot with precision.

In my opinion, Federal’s Terminal Ascent bullet is the best all-around hunting projectile currently on the market. It’s accurate, but what makes it really shine is the architecture of its design and construction. The rearward shank of the bullet is solid copper and will always penetrate aggressively. The front half of the bullet features a bonded lead core and Slipstream polymer tip to initiate rapid, controlled expansion. Ballistic Coefficient is very good, as is wind-bucking ability and retained downrange energy. The entire bullet is designed to give strong terminal performance at a wide range of impact velocities.

For my aoudad hunt, I selected a Kimber Mountain Ascent rifle topped with a Leupold VX-6 HD scope and chambered in .280 Ackley Improved. It’s one of my favorite rifles and is superbly lightweight–just right for sheep hunting. Muzzle velocity with 155-grain factory Terminal Ascent ammo is 2,937 feet per second.

My hunting partner, Jake, used the same caliber and ammunition in his hunting rifle. In the end, the final moments of our hunt proved how critical to success this choice would be for both of us. Both shot opportunities were fleeting and demanded rapid execution of an accurate shot. My ram was quartered away at impact; my bullet entered mid ribcage, ranged forward through heart, lungs, off-side ribs, and shoulder muscle and bone, coming to rest under the hide at the point of the far shoulder. Terminal performance on both sheep was spectacular, the spent bullets showing perfect upset.—A.vB.

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For 125 years, Russell Moccasin boots have been the choice of world-traveling adventurers.

Photo above: These well-worn Russell Bird Shooter boots worn by Earl Shaffer, the first man through-hike the Appalachian Trail, are housed at the Smithsonian.

In 1948, World War II army veteran Earl Shaffer became the first person to hike the Appalachian Trail from end to end. A single pair of boots carried him the entire 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine—a pair of “Birdshooters” from the Russell Moccasin Company. Shaffer’s motto was, “Carry as little as possible, but choose that little with care.” Modern AT through-hikers usually go through two or three pairs of modern boots on their trek, but Shaffer made his Birdshooters last, patching and repairing them often, and stopping twice along the route to have them resoled.

Shaffer’s battered boots are now in the National Museum of American History (where a curator confirmed they are still smelly from the long trek 75 years ago). Interestingly, Shaffer’s Birdshooters aren’t the only Russell Moccasin Company boots that ended up in the Smithsonian. Over at the National Air and Space Museum you’ll find another pair of Russells—this one worn by pioneering aviator Charles Lindbergh on his record-breaking flights to the Orient in 1931 and while surveying commercial air transport routes across the Atlantic in 1933.

Over the years, Russell boots have kept many other famous feet in the game. Edward, Prince of Wales, wore them on safari with Denis Finch-Hatton. Saxton Pope and Arthur Young, the fathers of modern archery, were wearing Russell boots on their hunting trips as early as 1915. More recently, they’ve been spotted on the feet of Harrison Ford and Robert Redford.

No wonder fans of the 125-year-old W.C. Russell Moccasin Company feel that the boots on their feet are a piece of history. They also know the brand stands for craftsmanship, legacy, and quality—which is why it’s been around for well over a century.

The W.C. Russell Moccasin Company got its start on the banks of the Fox River in Berlin, Wisconsin—where the company is still headquartered to this day. William Russell, for whom the business is named, was a second-generation leather craftsman alongside his brother, Frank, and father, Charles. When the opportunity arose for his own venture, Will purchased the Wright Shoe Company from Stillman Wright and used its equipment to start the W.C. Russell Moccasin Company in 1898.

Originally he made boots for the booming Wisconsin logging industry, but soon outdoorsmen began to recognize the unique benefits of the moccasin construction for hunting, fishing, and hiking. This shift would serve to shift the focus of Russell’s efforts toward a clientele that it has dutifully served for well over a century.

In 1928, following William’s passing, one of Russell’s traveling salesmen, Bill Gustin, purchased the company. Gustin was a competitive trap and skeet shooter, hunter, and fisherman, so he had a firsthand understanding of the needs of outdoor sportsmen and began building boots specifically to meet them. In the early 1930s he introduced the now-famous Russell Bird Shooter—the boot Earl Shaffer wore on his famous trek–plus a line of oxfords, loafers and casual shoes.

The Russell legacy was carried on by Gustin’s son-in-law, Lefty Fabricius, starting in the early 1980s when Bill retired at age 92. Lefty ran the company for many decades, and was eventually joined by his daughter, Suzie Fabricius. In 2022, Lefty, Suzie, and their family sold the company to current owners Joe Julian, Luke Kolbie, and longtime Russell production manager Joe Gonyo.

Mindful of the company’s historic legacy, the new owners have restocked some longtime customer favorites, including the Safari PH and the Thula Thula PH. Countless safari hunters (including me) have worn these boots on African adventures over the years, appreciating the style, comfort, and, particularly in the case of the Thula Thula PH, the ability to stalk game almost silently.

A limited edition 125^th Anniversary Boot (only 125 pairs were made), the Nochaway Cavalier, is based on Russell’s original Cavalier Model, which debuted in the 1940s. The Cavalier, designed for quail hunting in the south, is one of Russell’s best-known models and was the forerunner of the very popular Russell Zephyr model. The Anniversary Boot builds on the history of the original model, combining classic style with modern techniques and materials.

As the Russell ads say, “Yes, this is your grandfather’s boot.” Russell boots are still durable, dependable, practical, and stylish, and they are still made to order in Berlin, Wisconsin. True to their history and tradition, Russell boots are still a great choice for hunting birds, deer, and dangerous game, embarking on a transatlantic adventure, or hiking 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine.

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Four museums where you can still see impressive taxidermy displays.

Photo above: An African water hole scene at the Chicago Field Museum. Image courtesy of the Chicago Field Museum.

My high school required students to complete at least fifty hours of community service before graduation, and one of the optional volunteer destinations was the nearby Cincinnati Museum of Natural History. I chose to serve at the museum, in part because I figured walking visitors through the museum and explaining the differences between reptiles and amphibians would be more enjoyable than clearing brush along the highway during Ohio’s long, gloomy winter.

The museum gig turned out to be much better than I anticipated, especially since I was granted access to some of the behind-the-scenes locations where a treasure trove of taxidermy mounts were stored. For a kid growing up reading Hemingway and O’Connor, having the opportunity to see and touch a real greater kudu shoulder mount was fascinating. 

For generations, museum taxidermists provided the general public with up-close access to the world’s great wildlife (until the early 2000s, the Smithsonian kept a taxidermist on staff). And although many museums have divested themselves of their mounts, there are still some great taxidermy displays in museums across the country. Here are four of my favorites. 

Field Museum, Chicago, Illinois

You may already know that the Field Museum houses the mounts of the infamous man-eating lions of Tsavo, but there’s much more to see here, including Fighting African Elephants, which includes full-body mounts of two African bull elephants engaged in battle. Other key displays that shouldn’t be missed include The Watering Hole, a diorama with life-size mounts of African game including black rhino, giraffe, zebra, oryx, Grant’s gazelle, and other species set against an East African background. 

The Field Museum doesn’t just honor African game, though. Be sure to visit the Deer in Four Seasons display, which highlights the life cycle of the white-tailed deer, North America’s most popular big game animal. The museum also pays homage to Native American culture and resides on the ancestral homeland of the Three Fires Confederacy of the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi Nations. This is just a sampling of the fascinating items on display at the Field Museum.  

University of Iowa Museum of Natural History 

The University of Iowa’s Museum of Natural History in Iowa City, Iowa, boasts one of the most comprehensive collections of preserved animals in the region, and it’s a must-see attraction when you’re traveling through the Hawkeye State. In addition to their extensive dioramas of animals in their natural habitats, the museum also houses an impressive collection of skeletons and a number of preserved insects. It’s little wonder that scientists and artists frequent this destination to examine morphological details of species from around the globe. 

“Collecting at the University of Iowa Museum of Natural History began over 160 years ago, in 1858,” says Jessica Smith, communications director for Pentacrest Museums (which include the UI Natural History Museum and the nearby Old Capital Museum). “Research expeditions in the late 1800s and early 1900s, private donations, and the acquisition of orphaned collections have been the main sources of collected materials. Today, our collections comprise over 140,000 specimens, objects, and artifacts. Our collections support research, exhibition galleries, and high-impact learning opportunities. It’s true what they say–great universities have great museums.”

College of Idaho’s Orma J. Smith Museum of Natural History

The Orma J. Smith Natural History Museum in Caldwell is a worthwhile stop when you’re traveling in Idaho. Named one of the thirty Most Amazing Higher Education Natural History Museums by Best College Reviews, this collection, which is located in the basement of the College’s Boone Hall, boasts a collection of native and domestic species preserved by some of the region’s most outstanding taxidermists. Museum director William Clark says that the bulk of species in the collection are native to Africa and North America. Some of the taxidermists whose work is currently on display include William Lancaster and Stan Buzzini of Idaho and Cliff Brooks of California. 

Some of the mounts on display include leopard and Cape buffalo, a variety of African plains game, and North American species including black and grizzly bears and elk. The museum also houses a very large collection of bird mounts, preserved insects, and many fossils. The Orma J. Smith Natural History Museum hosts a variety of educational events throughout the year.

SCI International Wildlife Museum

SCI’s International Wildlife Museum, which opened in 1988 in Tucson, Arizona, was designed to mimic a Foreign Legion outpost that famous hunter C.J. McElroy visited while on safari in Chad. Perhaps the most impressive display is the 30-foot-tall indoor mountain that houses the great sheep and goat species from around the globe. In addition to an impressive collection of taxidermy mounts, there are also bronzes (most notably Portland-based bronze artist Lorenzo Ghiglieri’s “A King’s Roar,” which features an African lion) as well as displays of extinct species like woolly mammoths and Irish elk. But the real draw in this museum are the twenty-two dioramas featuring natural scenes with wild game mounts. One of the newest additions is an exhibit displaying game animals of southern Arizona, including the world-record non-typical Coues deer.   

In addition to the mounts there are also live animals on the property, and SCI has worked with Arizona Fish & Game to stock the property’s pond with native fish species like the Arizona chub and Gila topminnow. If you can’t make it to Tucson, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy some of what the museum has to offer. SCI provides online presentations to schools in the U.S. and abroad.

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Hunting the most beautiful, and possibly the most delicious, deer in the world.

It’s often said the axis deer is the world’s most beautiful deer, reddish-gold, bright white spots, and three-tined antlers that grow tall, wide, thick, and gorgeous. It’s May, so across North America, our native deer are just starting to grow their antlers. Among the species, and by area, the antler growth cycle varies, as does the time when they drop their antlers. My Kansas whitetails are just showing little nubbins; like all American deer, we’ll hunt them in autumn and winter, in hard antler.

Although he’s been here a long time, the axis deer is not a native American deer. He hails from the steamy jungles of the Indian subcontinent, a tropical deer, with a different schedule. As such, and in common with many tropical deer (including our own brocket deer), that schedule isn’t as rigid as with our whitetails and mule deer. Some axis bucks can be found in hard antler in any month of the year.

Luck is always a factor. The biggest axis buck I’ve ever seen showed up at a whitetail stand on the Edwards Plateau in early December, a low-fence area that had a few free-ranging axis deer. Including this giant, at totally the wrong time of year. Could easily have shot him, but I was hunting whitetail…and I had no idea what the landowner might charge me. In my world, always an important detail. Luck aside, hunting is always a matter of trying to be in the right place at the right time, working the numbers game. The majority of axis bucks will finish growing their antlers in late March or early April and rub off their velvet in May.

The primary rut is June and July. Although the axis deer is largely diurnal, much rutting takes place at night, perhaps because of daytime heat. The axis is a vocal deer, sounding off with bellows and alarm barks. In a Texas camp during the rut, much of their calling is heard at night, with prime hunting time early morning and late afternoon.

Several myths surround the axis deer. It is not the only deer that retains spots throughout its life. Some fallow deer and various other Asian deer are also spotted, although I don’t believe any other deer wears a blanket of spots as bright as the axis. Its common local name of chital comes from the Sanskrit word for “spotted;” the cheetah has the same derivative. Although imposing and tall (especially with exceptional antlers), the axis deer is a medium-sized buck, larger than Texas whitetails and desert mule deer, but smaller than northern deer of either species. A big axis buck will weigh over 200 pounds, but even with the best groceries is unlikely to exceed 250.

Chital/axis deer were first introduced into Texas in 1932 and today it has far the largest population and the greatest hunting opportunity. A fixture on most Texas hunting ranches, they occur in breeding, free-roaming populations in fully 27 Texas counties; a brother-in-law in suburban Austin has them all over his yard every night, almost a nuisance. They have been in Hawaii much longer, since the 1860s, initially on Molokai, but also now found and hunted on Lanai and Maui. Croatia has a small population on several islands, and Australia has a stable, but isolated free-range herd in Queensland, spilling over into New South Wales. More recently, they have been widely introduced into Argentina, both on estates and in significant free-range populations. I saw lots of axis deer in southern Buenos Aires province, and the last axis deer I shot was in Entre de Rios province, a little-known free-range population.

With all legal hunting long closed in India, the native-range situation is uncertain. They are certainly present across much original range, and definitely not threatened. Just the other day, old Marine buddy Mike Satran joined me in Texas to hunt an axis deer. Around the fire the first night, I mentioned I’d taken one “native range, free range” in Pakistan. Mike jumped on that instantly: “I thought they were from India?”

Pakistan was part of India until Partition in 1948. Most of Pakistan is too high, dry—or both—for axis deer. They occurred in the well-watered Indus River valley and, today, with no legal hunting in India, they seem to be working north and re-establishing. I took mine there, a nice buck, with little difficulty… literally just a fence-line from India. Actual original range included not only most of India and extreme southern Pakistan, but also Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and into the lower forests of Bhutan and Nepal.

 Not a myth, but not universal, is the axiom that axis deer produce the world’s finest venison. This is generally true: it’s mild, sweet, and tender, never gamey. Time of year doesn’t matter; axis venison is the best of the best. Usually. On a cattle station in Australia’s Queensland, Bruce Keller, Donna, and I were in a rough camp, not much food (or much else). I made a sacrifice play and shot the first buck, a weird non-typical, mostly so we could have some camp meat. Our Aussie host assured us: “Mates, that ain’t fit for a dog.”

We knew better; Bruce has axis on his Texas ranch, and I’ve enjoyed axis steaks many times. It’s as good as it gets. So, we peeled out the tenderloins, marinated them, cooked them right. Looked good, smelled good. Flavor was fine but, mates, you couldn’t cut those filets with a chainsaw. I can only attribute this to the various eucalyptus, which was about all these axis deer had to eat.

We still laugh about it, and axis deer is still the No. 1 venison in my book. Also, although it was fun to hunt them native range/free range in Pakistan, and it’s also fun to hunt them in strange places like Australia and Hawaii, Texas is far and away the best place to hunt axis deer. Biggest numbers, best genetics, most opportunity.

What You’re Looking For: The problem with axis deer is there isn’t much to look at. Like many Asian deer (including sika, sambar, and hog deer), the axis deer is typical with a basic three-point antler; anything more is uncommon and nontypical. The axis deer has a brow tine projecting forward just above the pedicel; second or caudal point, forward or inward, about two-thirds up the main beam; and the main beam itself. This last, far the largest and most visible, is the way we judge our axis deer, by length of main beam. A beam of 28 inches is good, but the real goal is a 30-inch main beam. They get bigger, sure do, to three feet and slightly beyond, but you must take into account the presence and size of the brows and caudals…and the shape. What I love best—and what can’t always be found—is a buck with heavy main beams that start curving outward, then rise and turn inward with a “beer-barrel” shape. Length is always in the curve, so these are the axis bucks that are most likely yield the greatest length.

In recent years I’ve spent a lot of spring and early summertime in Texas, helping daughter Brittany with her She Hunts skills camps. Attendees don’t have to hunt but, because of the opportunity (and a bit of peer pressure), most do. Opportunity and time of year are ideal, so I’ve done a lot more axis deer hunting with Brittany’s ladies than I ever did for myself. She does her camps on Record Buck Ranch, which is famous for big axis, plentiful with great genetics.

Even so, it’s far from a sure thing. Like all deer, axis deer are wary and switched-on. Two more factors: In the thick, shadowed cover they love, those spots are the most amazing natural camouflage. Hard to see, hard to pick out the buck. Then, you have to pick out the right buck. In this area, axis bucks tend to run in bachelor groups, greatly complicating the issue. With axis deer, we aren’t counting points (past three). Mature bucks all look big, so it’s a matter of nuances: Shape, width, tips, make sure he’s got all three points on both sides. Difficult…and they don’t stand and look at you for long. Success is high, but it’s not a 100 percent deal. Like everything else in hunting, also depends on how picky you are. At Brittany’s March 2023 camp, Houston realtor Kelli Odum wanted a big axis. She was hunting hard and, as happens, was struggling to get a shot. I had to leave that camp early and I’d just gotten on the road when she came in with a giant, perfect buck, taken with a perfect shot.

A month later, just after the April camp, Marine buddy of fifty years Mike Satran came in, hoping for a big axis as a bucket list item. I was hopeful; timing was even better, rut not on, but bucks rapidly coming out of velvet. Honest, I figured we’d get him one…but I reckoned it would take a few days.

Mike hunted with Record Buck manager Shaun Catton, a great hunter, originally from Zimbabwe. We stared at midday, knowing nothing can happen for hours, but anxious to get started. Like all hunting, you just never know. Minutes into the hunt, not far from ranch headquarters, we ran into three bucks tucked under a shady oak. Lord, all three were shooters, take your pick…except one had the width, the shape, the length, the mass, the points…everything. First minute or last, this one was too good to pass. Using his pet M48 Nosler .300, my buddy got his bucket list axis and headed back to Oregon with the world’s best venison. The only sad thing: He really didn’t get a chance to hunt axis deer. And that’s a lot of fun on a late-spring day.

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