A lot has changed since the discovery of southern Greenland by the Vikings in the 980s AD. But Greenland has always been a paradise for sportsmen and subsistence. Our group may not have been as tough as those on the longships that came before us, but there isn’t another group of guys I would rather be in hunting camp with. From every corner of the USA, and every walk of life, this group of hunters was one of my favorites. Or as our guide Bjorn put it, “The best last group of the 2023 fall season.”
On September 15, nine guys from all corners of America caught flights to Reykjavik, Iceland and then on to Narsarsuaq on the southern tip of Greenland. The flight treated us to some fantastic views of the ice cap and the Alp-like mountains that jut up on the outer reaches.
Due to gusty winds on the sea, we were put up in the main hotel in town for the night. The next morning we made our way to the port to hop on the boat that would take us the three hours to camp. The boat ride went smoothly. We passed fields, sheep, and brightly-colored houses spread along the coast that became less and less common. It was a true wilderness.
Upon our arrival, we unloaded the boat, claimed our rooms, and then tested the quality and accuracy of the rental rifles, a Model 700 Remington in 7mm and Blaser in .270. Once we all took our turns, we were pretty dead on at 100 meters and had one less excuse in our pockets.
The first night at camp was filled with laughs and stories during the evening’s delicious meal. The camp chefs were from the Czech Republic, and they can be blamed for no one going hungry during the week.
Morning was upon us quickly. With a plate of eggs and bacon, a packed lunch, and our super suits on, we were ready to roll. After the scramble for XXL suits, we were paired up and made our way to the boats for the day’s hunt. The pairs were made up organically: two bowhunters, an uncle and nephew, some retirees, and some guys who needed a break from their busywork back home. Only one hunter was lucky enough to get a tag for muskox, and he would head out earlier to make the hour-long boat ride up the coast to a muskox-rich area. We were jealous but excited to hear how his day would go. Our plans were clear. The only confusing part was that somehow, the smallest guy wore one of the two XXL super suits.
The archipelagos, islands, and many fjords lend themselves to the type of hunting our guides would employ, using boats to cover large stretches of land and glass, as long as the seas weren’t too uneasy. The still waters on day one meant the guides would be able to glass going 30 knots, as the rest of us looked on in amazement, forgetting that we too ought to be on the lookout.
I had the chance to tag along with two former clients of mine. After deeming the first five reindeer undesirable, it would be the sixth on the menu. The D-Day-like landing on the rocks a few hundred meters from where we had seen them last was comical. There was a scramble to climb out of our super suits, with a variety of tactics used. I went for the take-the-boots-off-first tactic, and it would prove the fastest, with the leave-the-boots-on crew arriving on land an entire minute later. The wind was in our favor and it would ultimately have no impact on our success.
As Pat worked his way across the rocky tundra that makes up nearly all of Greenland, we were able to get within a very respectable shooting distance. With one clean shot, the reindeer sunk to the ground. One reindeer down. When we joked that the boat driver could bring the boat up a few meters from where the reindeer was lying, we were told in the typical dryness of the Scandinavians that it was a small lake and couldn’t be reached from the sea. We were grateful that the shot landed better than our joke.
The last spot we checked on our way back to camp would prove as fruitful as the previous one. We put to shore a few hundred meters out of sight of a group of around 25. The climb wasn’t too extreme, even though it would prove the most difficult of my week. With our breath under control, it was time to wait for the best shot. These reindeer must have heard of our exploits on the last island—they were continuing to move away. Finally, with a good background, the one we had in mind stood broadside and the soft crack of the Blaser finished the job.
The plan was to arrive back to camp around 5:00, but after we got distracted with Larry’s reindeer, we coasted into the dock at 6:00 on the dot. The dock was full of antlers and meat, both signs of a great day for all in camp. The night would start with a jump into the sauna followed by what can only be described as the best meatloaf of most of our lives, and keep in mind that some in the group were almost 80 years old. The reindeer meatloaf was well deserved after quite a showing on the first full hunting day.
With ice coating the ocean in the morning, it removed a bit of the element of surprise from our landing crafts. Those who were still hunting, whether for their first reindeer or their second, would not let this set them back. Today I would accompany a new group. On day one, both John and Jared had harvested. Jared tagged out and John had one more to go. As we worked our way through an extremely tight, rocky gap guarding the entrance to a bay, I jokingly mentioned to John that if I were a reindeer, I would live here. The tight entrance meant that low tide would protect them.
This proved prophetic as our first glance to the right after we were through the rocks was aimed directly at an extremely nice reindeer sitting at the water’s edge 200 meters in the distance. John worked his way out of the super suit using the boot-on technique, and the stalk was on. Sensing our bad intentions, the reindeer worked his way up a nearby knuckle in the hillside. With one shot, it was clear that he was hit well. Upon reaching the crest where the first shot struck, a well-placed second shot was all that was needed to finish the job.
John, who was at one time stationed in Germany during his Army days, was more than happy to participate in the hunting traditions which were familiar from his time spent there. The last bite and pine schnapps shot were just what the hunting party deserved after an exciting morning. The afternoon would somehow prove to be as exciting once the reels were pulled out.
The sunny weather was made better by the glassy water, and better yet by removing our super suits. The fishing hole was just around the corner of the lodge. We coasted into position, just as the other boat yelled out, “Fish on!” The halibut rod didn’t give any sign of what Michael and Jim were reeling in. It ended up being the nicest Atlantic cod of the afternoon, a well-deserved double for uncle and nephew. Our forearms told us we were done fishing that day, right when the bucket was full. It was one of the most action-packed fishing days I have ever spent. You could have called it “catching.”
With no ice on the sea the next morning, I made the decision to break out the lederhosen for what would end up being my last hunt day of the trip. Tagging along with John C. and his cameraman Mike was part of the deal for this trip. It would prove to be a neat experience, if not at least comical. I stayed in the back of the pack as we scurried across the landscape, blowing past groups of smaller reindeer with our guides’ eyes seemingly set on a large one he had seen earlier from the water.
As we crested the last knoll, the scurry that carried us about a kilometer stopped abruptly. The moment had come. The guide and hunter moved into position, readied the rifle, and I expected a rifle crack to ring out, but something quite enjoyable took place. In the excitement, the spread of 30 reindeer proved to be a source of confusion, with the scope and the lens of the camera dialed in opposite directions. Seeing this, I crawled forward and mentioned that they were not looking at the same animals. This was followed by some shifting and swearing before it was clear that they were at last on the same one. “The one with the handlebars,” was the last thing the hunter said before the rifle cracked off a great shot at 180 meters.
John C., who has perhaps spent too much time in Mexico, turned to his Inuit guide Peter and yelled, “Gracias!” at which point we all burst out laughing, interrupted only by our guide’s speedy reply, “Si!” Like the first reindeer of the trip, this one also gave me the golden opportunity to try out my pull-the-boat-up joke. Potentially drained from the previous humor, Peter snapped back with a speedy, “No,” forgetting which language we were speaking. Maybe during the next trip the joke will land. The terrain in Greenland means that standing water is never far away, as every trophy photo from the trip can attest.
After we returned to the boat, it was full blast to the glacier to make the most of our day. Upon entering the fjord, our guide calmly said, “Whale.” It would be another few minutes until we spotted them again. Peter, as if training for the coming whale hunting season, took us closer and closer. With the occasional breach taking place a few meters from our bow, it wasn’t just the cold giving us goosebumps. Naturally, the lederhosen didn’t help.
As we were preparing to leave the glacier, avoiding ice chunks as we worked our way out, another boat was racing toward us, carving its way through the chunks with precision and only the occasional thud of an underestimated ice chunk. As they came into closer view, the three grins were as wide as the fjord we were floating in. In the boat was a reindeer, 5 black guillemot, and most prized of all, a seal. The seals are in constant competition with the local fishermen, with both being quite effective in their catching. Entirely accepted and approved of by the locals, they were as proud of the seal as any other critter harvested on the trip. It would even star as the evening’s appetizer.
With all desired trophies harvested, the evening meal was as festive as it gets. The award for the hunter of the day went to our fearless seal hunter Pat, who was able to pull off a seemingly unheard-of Macnab of sorts. (Macnab Challenge: Bagging a salmon, a stag, and a brace of grouse between dawn and dusk in one day.) The reindeer, guillemot, and seal were in a different category than even our bilingual reindeer hunter John C.’s great trophy.
With a few days remaining and 12 reindeer and 1 muskox in the salt, we set our sights on the world-class Arctic char fishing, which attracts avid fishermen from around the world. The camp has an even 50% hunters to 50% fishermen because it is so highly rated. Even though it was the spawning time, there was no shortage of action. With varying expertise levels, made abundantly clear when talking about fishing around the dinner table, everyone was somewhat of an expert these last days. At dinner, it wasn’t uncommon to hear stories of 7 casts with 8 catches. It was so good out there, it could have been true.
I have never subscribed to the notion that hunting should somehow be miserable, without harvest, or have some sort of monumental setback to be memorable. This trip was a perfect example. World-class lodge, great guiding, hot showers, cold beer, friendly locals, fantastic food, and of course, a funny host. I will be back and I hope you can join me.
