Wolverine Hunt

Maxine’s great-grandmother, Ikuaalaaq, stands in the centre with her partner Atuat to her right. She stands with five of her eight children, from left to right: Kaludjak, Autut, Jack, Kiali, and Ulurksit. Missing from from the photo are three other children: Siksik, Timuti, and Leopold.

- Maxine Angoo

I am sleeping in a warm cabin two to three hours away from home. It is a crisp spring day with ice and soft snow everywhere.

It is six in the morning and my auntie Lena is fiddling with .22 bullets. “Max,” she calls to me. I squint in the blinding light that glows on the windowpane.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice raspy from sleep.

“I need to load this rifle,” she replies. I take the rifle from her and see that she put in the wrong bullets. I shake them out. I load the 25 aught 6 rifle with five bullets and try giving it back to her. “No, you take it,” she says. “Dad is waiting outside.”

I am half asleep, in my blue plaid pyjamas. I put on rubber boots and a jacket, then walk out the door. As soon as I walk outside, my grandfather yells at me: “Shoot!”

I can see the wolverine moving fast in the distance. I shoot. And miss.

“Atii, atii [let’s go, let’s go],” he yells in Inuktitut. I run and jump onto the snowmobile.

We start to chase the wolverine, which is speeding up. We get closer and I jump off the machine and shoot twice. I miss both times. “Ah! Why do I keep missing?” I ask myself.

I run back to the snowmobile and we take off once again, following the wolverine. It takes a number of sharp turns; we take forever to turn because our old Polaris 550 hunting Ski-Doo, with its worn-out skis, doesn’t turn as quickly as it used to. My grandfather yells “hold on!” I grab the handles of the snowmobile and scream as we run over the wolverine to slow it down.