From the other side of my knoll came the crush-crush of hoofs on frozen grass, the deep, reedy, quiet "Mah!" of a fawn -- a pleasing sound, like part of the wind and the tundra. Around the knoll came the living, suede-soft gray bodies, personal, beautiful, each coated a little differently. An alert fawn prancing after its mother suddenly dived at her for milk. Two bulls had dazzling white antlers, dipped in water, then frozen. Others, cows too, had blood red antlers. Some had tatters of velvet flying in the wind, blowing ahead of them. for the caribou were coming with the wind. . . .
     Each caribou had its individual problems. None could help another. Each must solve its own problems or perish. A cow favored a leg. A big bull, almost white, held its mouth open panting; he closed it and went on. A big heavy bull walked at the side of the column. A cow drew to the side; her calf nursed. The bulls, the cows, the calves passed her. She pulled herself away from her calf and at once was trotting. The calf paused an instant shaking its head, then was trotting too. A big bull trotted past the trotting calf -- two speeds. He was a mole colored bull with a silver belly stripe and snowy underhang or dewlap of fur; his antlers were high. He was limber power itself. His body flowed along. One sensed the reserve and depth of strength, the lightness and pleasure in control and in working far inside his strength.

-- LOIS CRISLER

[Photograph: Gilbert Staender; Caribou crossing Unakserak River, October]