Saturday Morning, Princeton (camping and hunting)

Laura, Gilbert, George and I are here in the Palomino Maverick camper sitting atop my Ford F350 truck looking out the salon window at an evergreen wonderland by a fast running shallow  creek.  I was here once before and now have brought Laura and Gilbert back with me. George the cat had no vote and no choice and was very much against the whole move till we arrived.  Now with the home stationary, not rocking or bouncing or stopping and starting he’s back to his old authoritative self.  He’s eating Fancy Feast Pate I just put out for him.

Gilbert woke me whining.  He wanted to be next to the love of his life Laura so I got out of bed to pee and lifted him up to greet her with his licking squirmy body.  The sounds of the two of them were rapturous. I thought it rather pleasant as I personally went to the in-house toilet to relieve myself. Feeling rather chipper I actually shaved. Next I put the coffee on. 

Ostensibly I’m deer hunting.  My KTM690 motorcycle  is still on the rack on the front of the truck.  I’d told Laura that we’d just stop here for the night and in the morning go onto a place nearer Grand Forks.  I’d been hearing from others that there were so many deer in the Okanagan.  It’s further to go and tempting. Here there is only grouse and 4 point deer, 6 point elk.  Further east there’s more likelihood of white tail deer. I’ve a bear tag too and they can be anywhere.  I picked up the elk tag at Cabelas in Abbotsford on the way.  

I am lucky to shoot one big game animal a year. I have so few actual days hunting and so far to drive to get out of the increasing press of population in the Frazer Valley.  Buying tags I do contribute to conservation.  

Hunters and Fishers are responsible for funding 90% of the Conservation efforts in the Province. Meanwhile we are demonized by the Liberal government and chronically abused by aetheist urban vegan girls who read Huffington Post and ‘know it all’ after getting a liberal arts degree in Marxist gender studies.  They  write and criticize and march and activist  and everything but put money into the environment.  Their personal money goes to latte’s and sitting around bars drinking white wine complaining about Trump. They’re hypocrites. At night they masturbate to sleep looking at tax payer fund life size cut outs of their teen idol Justin Trudeau.  

I envy them. I truly believe having the brain of a jelly fish and the heart of a lemming living in the Canadian Colonialist cities of Toronto or Montreal, fat off the stolen wealth of Canada West and North and the Maritimes would be sweet. I’d like to wear the latest fashion and have men pay for my meals and just lie back and have sex brought to one on the home delivery take out menu called Tinder.  It’s seems so luxurious like an Empress or Princess, and the best part must be complaining all day about men and Trump and the planet and men and Trump and how long it takes for acrylic nails to dry, and the wait list to see the personal physician at the upscale urban clinic which treats you for acne and STD’s. 

Right now I’m having the espresso coffee I made on the propane camper stove. I’ve not got electricity to the outlets so couldn’t grind my personal Kona roast so have had to use the Maxwell House StarBuck blend I concocted last week when the barrista’s ground the Dark French too fine it plugged my espresso machine.  The country store only had Maxwell House but mixed together they make an okay experience coupled with the 3% milk I have in the propane cooled refrigerator with the clover honey added in great dollops.  The heater just went on and off so it’s really cozy and snug in here.  Laura has woken and been chatting in her sexy sweet girl voice. She sounds just like the girl that match.com used for their late night advertisements telling all the single guys watching war movies that girls were waiting atthe end of the telephone line.  Laura is a clinic receptionist and answers the phone with that sexy voice. I’m sure it helps lessen men and women’s pain immeasurably.  

I am convinced I can see some frost on the stones by the stream.  It’s already chilly out. I could pack up and drive further just to put off the inevitable hauling the motorcycle off the rack, loading it with a strapped on 20 gauge shot gun for grouse and carrying my Winchester 300 win mag on my back. I’ve brought long johns and winter clothing to deal with the wind cold. This time of the year it’s either too cold on the motorcycle or too hot walking.  IF I shoot anything it’s a whole lot of messy cutting and cleaning.  Guts and blood.  Then I don’t really know how I’m going to get whatever I shoot other than grouse back to the camper. The deer are 300 lbs and I expect I’ll have to bring them back in halves or quarters roped on the back of the bike. A bear is dangerous as hell but easier to butcher and usually only a couple of hundred lbs of meat if it’s one of the more common young bear in these parts. A big one could be hundreds of pounds. I leave the bones so it’s just hide and meat which makes for considerably less hauling. The deer one tries to keep in tack to some degree so the meat can be hung by the butcher while the bear can be bagged. 

 I’ve shot close to 50 big game animals over the last 30 years or so, some moose and elk as well.  When I was younger it was normal for me to have bear and moose and venison in the freezer. I used to fish salmon and cod each year too so had a whole lot of prime fish in my diet.  These last few years I’m lucky if I get a deer and shoot some birds.  There was that time when every meal every week was roast or barbecued wild meat or stews.  It’s so incredibly healthy and I loved cooking the game I shot.  Thinking of those winter stews generally gets me motivated.  

I really like things when I’m doing them. It’s getting from sitting on my fat ass on the couch to actually moving that’s the tough part. I loved the drive up here from Vancouver, stopping for a Macdonald’s burger and fries on the way. Chatting with Laura about friends and family and future holidays.  Gilbert was sitting between us and George was bitching in his cat carrier.  George is a neutered male but sometimes I think he reads Miss Chatelaine’s Huffington Post.

We stopped at the O Connor parts store in Chilliwack.  The staff there are the best. They gave me a sealant I needed and had the hanger which will allow me to carry the recliners hanging from the camper ladder.  The rain stopped when we pulled into this camp.  Laura gets really tired on Friday night and perks up over the weekend. I’m happy to drive and now I’m supposed to be hunting at the break of dawn but would rather bitch about how tough this life is, the roughing it, how I have to make my own second cup of coffee and how I’m going to have to be nice if I hope to have sex this weekend.  Laura isn’t a Tinder type girl.  Sex is part of the whole relationship deal.  It’s actually pretty easy to be nice to her.  She’s been coming camping and hunting with me for almost two decades. She laughs now about the tents collapsing under snow and the bears and setting up tents in the rain at night.  Mostly she likes the dog. George is her cat. So it’s a blended family deal and thankfully George and Gilbert are best friends.

As my long married friend says any young guy can get laid once or twice but it takes a real man to have sex with the same woman over many years.  My dad, the engineer, used to talk to me about oil and vehicle maintenance when I was young. I was so stupid I thought the old guy was talking to me about cars.  It was however more a Zen and Motorcycle Maintenance father son talk and it took me years of maturing to understand how smart the old guy was.. He and mom we’re lovers and friends for over 50 years.  They camped and travelled too. I learned to hunt and fish from him like he did from his rancher logger father . 

I could make eggs and bacon and put off the thought of getting dressed and getting out in the woods.  I think another cup of coffee will decide me.