The Dene man from Fond-du-Lac, Sask., just 70 kilometres south of the NWT border, found himself in hot water last December after wildlife officers seized about 100 wolf and wolverine pelts he had stashed at his cabin North of the boundary.

Adam caught the wolves using a time-tested and proven method -- for both aboriginal and non-aboriginal hunters alike -- where a caribou carcass is left out in the open to draw the lupine carnivores in. He then lies in wait and shoots them.

But under Section 57 of the NWT Wildlife Act, no person is allowed to waste caribou meat fit for human consumption.

The only way to hunt "In the Barrenlands it's the only way you can hunt because there's no way you can set a trap for animals like wolves," says Adam.

On his most recent trip, Adam shot about 30 caribou for food and bait.

He says he has been travelling across the border to hunt for the last 22 years. The pelts were confiscated from his cabin at Rennie Lake, about 165 kilometres north of the Saskatchewan/NWT border, and just at the edge of the tree line. Adam has three other cabins in the NWT he uses while making his winter rounds.

During all that time, he says, he has never been confronted by NWT wildlife officers over his hunting methods. Adam says he has a licence -- a Border A licence -- he acquired from the Saskatchewan government that allows him to cross the border to hunt and export furs from the territory.

In fact, he says, on one occasion Saskatchewan wildlife officers accompanied him on one of his hunting trips.

"One year, they went up North with me in March and they said, 'That's the only way you can get the animal, leave a caribou carcass,'" says Adam.

"That's the only way to get the animals to hang around, otherwise there will be nothing there."

Adam says he normally hunts and traps over the winter and auctions off his fur in the spring. He says his livelihood is in danger now that this year's furs have been confiscated.

"We're kind of stuck with their regulations 'cause we never heard about any regulations (on baiting) from them (GNWT)," says Adam.

"I've got all my bills that I haven't paid or nothing. I got no money to pay with."

Was a common practice Adam is not without a sympathetic ear from some members of the Dene community inside the NWT.

Eighty-three-year-old elder Phillip Goulet from Ndilo says back in his hunting and trapping days, baiting for fur-bearing game using caribou meat was common practice.

"We just went ahead and did it because there were hardly any laws then," says Goulet, who baited mainly in the Barrens for Arctic fox.

"Even though quite a while after the white man came, the white man did the same thing. There was a lot of white man trappers."

Out of step with tradition Chief Archie Catholique of Lutsel K'e says the territorial government is out of step with Dene culture.

"They seem to write legislation without even talking to the people out there, trappers and the communities," says Catholique. "A lot of our people do that. We go out and shoot caribou, and sometimes we don't take all of it but we just leave it there to attract the wolves."

Catholique says in one instance a Lutsel K'e hunter was charged recently under the Wildlife Act for leaving a caribou carcass behind in the bush, even though he had little choice. He was forced to stash the animal after his Ski-Doo broke down.

Neither Renewable Resources, Wildlife, and Economic Development or Saskatchewan's Environment office would comment on the case against Adam, except to say it's an ongoing investigation.

While Section 57 (1) of the Wildlife Act states no meat from big game, other than bear, wolf, coyote, or wolverine, can be wasted, but it doesn't prohibit hunters from using caribou as a bait.

Under Section 48 (2), hunters can use them for bait but only the parts not fit for human consumption. That includes the head, intestines, skin and bones. In order to do so, hunters must obtain a permit from RWED.

Adam says he probably wouldn't be in trouble now if the permit requirements were included on his Border A licence.

"It's been about a hundred years we've been doing that," says Adam. "We don't know what's going on."