“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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.