And here’s an anecdote to help you feel better. To set the stage, this takes place on the north side of the Brooks range in Alaska, the only hunters are spread out for miles, all dropped off by planes in this expansive roadless tundra. The animals out here have minimal contact with humans. The last caribou I killed out here was a nice bull, accompanied by a smaller bull. I made a good stalk aided by terrain and a little bit of willow growing in a creek bed. The wind was in my favor. The animals saw me before I shot, but could not smell me or figure out what I was or if I was a threat. The larger bull had gone back to grazing before I pulled the trigger. After I killed his buddy, the smaller bull ran around for a few minutes, then returned to his buddy on the ground, with a pool of blood growing around him. I watched for several more minutes and that smaller bull would have been content to stay there with his dead buddy had I not run him off so I could get to work. The smell of blood didn’t bother this bull one bit.
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