PAXSON -- First a single, then five, 10, and finally a continuous unbroken line of caribou stretch from shoreline to shoreline.
It is early October and the migration of the Nelchina caribou has begun. I watch them flow down the far hillside and hit the water of Paxson Lake with a splash in their hurry to who-knows-where.
They swim straight across as they have undoubtedly done for thousands of years; the fact that we built our house on their route is only a minor inconvenience. Between the outbuildings and around the outhouse they move, constantly grunting as they travel undeterred.
I have seen this migration a dozen times over the past 40 years, and it never fails to stop me in awe. Sometimes I scramble for a camera, and get good pictures. Sometimes I don't, but I will always have the images in my mind.
Paxson and caribou used to be synonymous. During the 1960s, hunters used to stream from Anchorage and Fairbanks to the little town at the intersection of the Denali and Richardson Highways, hoping to fill their freezers with meat for the winter.
Hunters could legally take up to four caribou during those years, and many did.
The Nelchina caribou herd, the most heavily utilized herd in the state, calls this area home much of the season. In the late 1960s, the herd numbered between 60,000 and 90,000 animals, depending on who counted them.
Hunting pressure peaked around 1970 when more than 12,000 animals were taken. This harvest, combined with the deep snows of 1970 and 1971, cut the herd population to around 7,000 animals.
But these are caribou -- dynamic, unpredictable critters who are at their best when moving. The herd may have been even larger, with small splinter groups in the Mentasta Mountains, at the edge of the Wrangells and in pockets off of the Denali Highway.
The Nelchina caribou herd gradually began a recovery to where they are today, numbering just under 35,000 animals.
Through these ups and downs, the annual migrations continued with lines of animals moving along the Denali Highway, across Paxson Lake, crossing the Richardson Highway, through the Mentasta Mountains, en route to their wintering areas on Alaska's eastern border.
The actual wintering areas have changed over the years.
In winters with little snow, caribou are able to forage easier. Sometimes, large groups stay in the Tangle Lakes area or along the windblown foothills of the Wrangell Mountains. At times, groups have moved to the Canadian side of the border.
Big fires in recent years have caused them to give up portions of their usual winter range, forcing the herd onto more confined, marginal forage.
The Nelchina caribou herd is the most visible, studied, and heavily managed caribou herd in existence. Alaska Department of Fish and Game area wildlife manager Bob Tobey has worked with this herd since the late 1970s, trying to stay abreast of changing conditions. Predation, all-terrain vehicles, snowmachines, hunting pressures and changing federal regulations make this a constant juggling act.
Hunting pressure has changed from a relatively steady 3,000 to 6,000 hunters in the late 1960s and early 1970s to 50,300 Tier I permits issued in 1996.
Today it's even more complicated. A total of about 3,500 caribou permits were issued for the 2009 season -- 2,600 federal permits, 500 state Tier I permits, 300 village allocation permits and just under 100 permits for the Tetlin Wildlife Refuge.
Everyone still wants a caribou.
The management objective for Nelchina caribou is 35,000 to 40,000 animals -- and predation management has helped get there. Though not specifically targeted to aid the caribou population, it is a factor. The relatively easy winters of the past few seasons have helped too.
However, challenges remain.
Poor forage because of fires and the ever-increasing recreational traffic are negative factors of unknown magnitude. We know that the average weight of calves has decreased by 10 to 15 percent over the last couple of seasons, likely in response to the condition of cows in the spring.
Small calves mean poor survival rates -- and fewer caribou for hunters and sightseers.
On the positive side, our ability to accurately count and track the herd has improved considerably with the use of radio collars, giving biologists the ability to respond quickly when necessary.
But however we manage caribou, one thing remains certain -- we do not totally understand them. Why, for instance, are they stationary one day and on their restless way the next?
As long as some remain, they will flow from the hills, crossing the tundra on their focused path to where only they know.
John Schandelmeier of Paxson is a lifelong Alaskan and Bristol Bay commercial fisherman. A musher, he was the trail coordinator for this year's Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race and has written on the outdoors for several newspapers and magazines and will write every other week for the Daily News.
By JOHN SCHANDELMEIER COMMENT