Later, we allweighed in with our hunting plans and ambitions. Steve opined that he was aslikely to take a caribou close to camp as not; other factors being equal, hepreferred less hauling to more. Sure enough, at about 2 P.M. the next day, hedropped a heavily racked bull just 350 yards from camp. Hearing the shot, Ihustled over to help, arriving in about 20 minutes. By that time, Steve wascleaning his fingernails with his knife. At his feet lay four neatly butcheredquarters, hide still on to protect the meat, and a small mountain of expertlycut tenderloins, backstraps, neck roasts, and rib meat. Nearby were the clean,white bones of his bull, innards intact. It was astounding knife work. "Youdidn't gut him," I said, making my daily entry in the Stating the ObviousSweepstakes.