My gear—bright red sleeping bag, shiny grey shelter, dayglo orange drysack—wet from the previous day’s rain and the night’s heavy tent condensation, flapped furiously in the 30 mph winds, barely held down by the river rocks I used as anchors. These caribou couldn’t make sense of my big, colorful, noisy mess, and, after giving a start and looking intensely for a few moments, trotted over with a mix of intent, curiosity, and fear. They stood very close, very still. Finally, they decided I was uninteresting/not wanting to eat them/too slow to catch them even if I wanted to and went about their grazing only a few dozen feet away. I sat on my bear can eating lunch and enjoying the warm sun.