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.