Chris Chastain looked like he was about to be sick. I'm usually not superstitious, but the turbulence en route to Montreal was rough indeed, and I hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come on the tundra, which is an ancient Sami-Russian word meaning "flat-topped hill."

Well, Quebec's share of tundra, the mostly treeless region between the icecap and the Arctic tree line, is dense with beauty and life. I figure the Sami weren't thinking tourism when they coined the word.

Chris, my dad, Russell, and I overnighted in Montreal before flying to Kujjuak, where we boarded a tundra-bound puddle-jumper.

My view of said tundra, out the float plane window, revealed muskox, wolves and huge groups of caribou -- of the Leaf River herd -- all going somewhere at a measured pace. And so were we. The skilled pilot touched the skids down nicely on the waters of Charlie Lake. The camp cabins were warm, showers hot and kitchen smells inviting. But we were there to hunt caribou, not to sit around and eat. Not yet. Guide Bucky Adams quickly clued us in to an area across the lake, where they'd been seeing some good bulls.

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