Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 5 2 and Marjorie Priddy, an Aboriginal couple with whom I became great friends. Laurence's mother had hidden him in the bush during the period when the Australian government was separating Aboriginal children from their families and sending them to boarding schools to "civilize" them. His great woodsmanship reflected the time he'd spent living off the land. S everal years prior to our initial exploratory trip, I'd gotten to know Bill Baker and quickly recognized him as one of the best bowhunters I'd ever met. But buffalo were a curse species for him, and he'd failed to take one on several trips to mainland buffalo country. Although we really had no idea what we'd find on Melville Island, we all hoped it would provide Bill with an opportunity to break his jinx. And it did, although success didn't come easily. We made a number stalks in the days following that first encounter only to have our best-laid plans unravel at the last minute for reasons ranging from capricious winds to the raucous cries from cockatoos that alerted everything in the jungle to our presence. But we'd located a dry creekbed that the buffalo used as an uphill travel route every morning while moving from the food-rich meadows near the shoreline to their bedding areas on a shaded ridge. And that's where Bill finally overcame his curse. D uring the fourth morning on the island we worked slowly downhill into a reliable sea breeze and let a huge mob of cows, calves, and young bulls pass us in the scrub—some so close I could have touched them. But I suspected that a mature bull would be bringing up the rear, and I was right. Bill made a cautious, well- executed stalk to 20 yards, only to have dense brush deny him a clear shot. That's when the bull noticed him, and another buffalo stare-down began. By this time the bull was facing Bill, eliminating the possibility of a shot. Frontal shots with a bow are a bad