Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/801177
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 73 I f hunting has become too predictable, too much fun, or too easy for you, hunt for TV. That'll put new challenge and adventure into your outdoor life. Hunting for TV isn't real hunting because you're at the mercy and under the control of The Cameraman. This demigod is the modern equivalent of Thor, one level below Odin, who's back at the editorial offices waiting to dice Thor's best footage into digital ribbons on the cutting room floor. As a show's host, you might imagine yourself The Star, a man in full, an elk whisperer, a competent woodsman in control of your destiny. You'd imagine wrong. You, Mr. TV star, are the puppet of the camera, an indentured servant to the sponsors and an afterthought in the slow revolution of planet Earth. So suck it up and hunt right. "There he is," our Canadian bear guide whispered. This was too easy. We hadn't been hunting more than an hour, hadn't walked more than a mile, and here was a massive, brown-phase black bear running to my first series of wails on a predator call. "Don't shoot!" the Cameraman hissed. That was understandable. Our subject was just beginning to get into his part, still 150 yards out, but making a bigger and bigger impression with each ground- eating lunge. I appreciate drama, and this boar was pounding it out in Oscar- winning fashion. Milk it. "Ready?" I stage-whispered back to the camera guy. I didn't want to rush him, but the four-legged star of this drama had closed inside of a gridiron. A few more bounds and he'd be in field goal range. "Don't shoot!" Thor hissed again. Good grief. The bear was about to boot one through our goalpost. "Uh, now?" "No! Don't shoot! The camera's not working!" Where have I heard that before? Oh, that caribou hunt. Northern Manitoba, hard on the border with rifles by ron spomer All sorts of things cAn go Awry when you're hunting in front of the television cAmerA. Nunavik on the western edge of Hudson Bay's polar bears. We were a tick too far inland for the white bears, and caribou weren't exactly queuing up for the show, either. "They were pouring through here yesterday," said our guide. "Every client got two bulls, and a couple made the book. The cook even shot one from the porch." "I'm not sure the camera can capture that," I sassed. "Maybe we can find some stragglers?" We did. Eventually. Barely. A small band with a respectable bull came trotting with the northeast wind, kicking silver spray and umber birch leaves from the sodden tundra. We duck-walked to a truck-sized boulder, eased over the top for a solid rest, and awaited a camera-friendly approach. I'd memorized my lines, and the cameraman must have rehearsed his because we didn't miss a beat. "Ready?" I asked, my thumb on the three-position safety. "Don't shoot! Do not shoot!" The herd trotted closer. I could see individual silver droplets kicked up by Cameraman Zach Hawkins films wildlife artist Chad Poppleton as he approaches his bull elk taken on the Sun Ranch in Montana. The scene was part of a 2014 television show.