I carry the memories. I miss those deceased. Ancestors and family and friends. Gone before. I’m waiting in God’s waiting room. So much to do, so little time. Ennui. Gratitude.
I loved this weekend. There was a learned efficiency in the many moving parts. Working till noon in a clinic, hurrying home to get the truck to my home. I haven’t a parking space. I miss home driveways and garages, libraries, space. I’m always moving about people. I must load the truck before someone comes along and demands I move. I’ve the ramp for the KTM690. I mount it on the front of the truck. Laura watches Gilbert and loads her bags. She’s gathered food from the refridgerator and loaded it in a cooler. I’ve brought my guns and ammo from the storage locker the night before. I’ve the clothing, binoculars, helmet, gloves. There’s licenses and papers and keys . A myriad of detail. It all goes well.
We’re on the road. It’s a grand feeling leaving home and heading out to the freeway. I liken it to when I slipped the lines of mooring on my yacht and pulled out into the channel. I miss the sailing and the clear horizon. Here I’m just going interior but it’s still « the journey. » The humanity metaphor.
Our first stop is Chilliwack where I load the Camper. It’s always reassuring to find it safe, thankful to John who owns the Chilliwack RV Storage and watches over all our vehicle babies. I’ve spoken this week to Frazerway and learned it was a fuse on the Happy Jacks. I’ve stopped at Canada Tires and picked up a box of different types not knowing which one. I replace the fuse. It works again,the happy jack works!
Laura and I have the mounting of the Camper down now. It’s a bit of jockeying and lining up and backing up just right. Together we do it. A team. Gilbert is in the back of the truck sitting high on the luggage, holding down the guns below him with his little dog weight. Tail wagging. Useful. So proud. Good boy! We’re back on the road. The Adventurer camper is on the Ford F-350.
We stop at the Husky. It’s $200 of gas to fill the truck tank. The meter says I’ll have some 700 km with that. The government is taxing us more for their luxuries, nannies and jet flights, cash gifts to foreign dictators, favoured provinces and cronies. It’s ugly. I never knew Canadian politics to be so downright evil. I am irritated by the price of gas and the abuse of Alberta. All the lies. The price of gas triggers me. I fill the propane tanks. It takes a while to fill the water tank. Then we’re loaded.
All we need is lunch and dinner which we get in Hope, stopping at the A&W. Dry momma burgers and a meat paddy for Gilbert, French fries and onion rings. Large coffee. I put on the Johnstone’s audio western I picked up at Husky. The miles ride by on horses. Desperados burn ranches and kidnap women. Mountain men come to the rescue. It gets dark soon. Another sign of fall.
The night driving is enjoyable for me but Laura can’t see at night. I’m driving with a blind dog and a blind woman. The road becomes sinister when the pavement changes to gravel. Miles of construction. I’m not concerned but the passing cars are going dangerously fast considering the rainy highway conditions, the gravel and darkness. I must not think that someone has been drinking. Laura is frightened. I turn off the western. Listen to the wipers. Drive at 60 km. Visibility is down. Then it’s over. Pavement again.
The last stretch into Princeton seems longer. It always does. I see the light of the mine on the hill. The town is reassuring. So many times I’ve stayed here
« I came here first hunting in 1987, » I tell Laura. She’s relaxed with the neon lights. The rain has stopped. It’s 8 pm. Darkness has come earlier.
It’s not far then. The wilderness campground closer to Keremeos. I saw another hunter in cammo at the gas station. Competition. I hope there’ll be an open campsite. We’ve come other times late and all the sites were full so we had to go further.
Tonight I drive in watching for overhanging branches. The high camper takes a bit to get used to worrying about a ‘low ceiling’. Fear of smashing the fragile front of the camper overhanging the truck roof. We sleep in that area just above us. The bed is calling my name.
« Get the fucking light out of my eyes, » he screams. I’ve dismounted from the truck and am checking out the sign on the tree to see if it’s a site. Each site is numbered. I turned to the sound, looking with the flash light.
A man and woman are sitting at a campfire further up the hill. « Get the fucking light out of my eyes, I said. » He shouts, again, drunken tone, belligerent. Barbaric. Low life.
« I’m just looking for a site. »
« That’s not a site you fucking moron. »
« Good God « I said, « enough of the attitude. I’m just looking for a campsite. »
« What the fuck did you say to me. You want a piece of this you little shit. I’ll show you whose boss, Coming into a campsite at night shining your light around. Who the hell do you think you are. You fucking prick. I’ll show you. ».
I am back in the truck. Laura is scared. I’m not. I just feel stupid. I ‘reacted’. I ‘m tired of driving. I’m tired of Laura’s fear. She’s triggered by the drunk. Her past is countless bomb craters of violent drunken men and her protecting her babies from their rage. The police calls at night. Living in constant fear. I know. I’ve got the phone calls from her past. So sad. The unwillingness to love and the preference for booze and hate. These rageaholics and their demon drink.
I’m tired of bullies and low life’s. I just want a break from the drug addicts and alcoholics. I want an escape. I shouldn’t have responded. I let down my guard. I’m always on egg shells in my work. Now I’m on egg shells everywhere. The thugs have no restraints. The police are no longer protection. They live in fear. The elite with their body guards and guns and high walls and corrupt government officials. It’s Third World Canada as so many claim to want to see escape from their ‘shit hole’ countries but want this to be like there where the corrupt ruled. Dog eat dog. Survival of the fittest. Cooperation and reciprocity and all those Canadian rural values gone. It’s free needles not ‘needle exchange’. More booze and more drugs and someone’s making a lot of money. It’s not me and it’s probably not even Canadians except for the elite capos.
In the world of the western there’s a good guy and a bad guy and a damsel in distress. The good guys win. It’s simple. As I drive away slowly carefully not wanting to be reactive and hurt equipment. I still hear him shouting waking the whole campground.
« You fucking prick! Who do you think you are, shining your fucking flashlight!. »
I could have been wearing yellow. I loved reading Dr. Paul O. describing his alcoholism, « I stare at a blank wall and find a problem and it was even more of a problem if you didn’t see what a huge problem it was. »
Last month we’d arrived in paradise at 100 mile House and there was a needle on the picnic table. The DTES needle exchange program corrupted by greed and profit twisted to become ‘free needle program’ brought to you by the Canadian tax payers money and new gas and carbon taxes.
Thank you Jesus. There’s a site by the river. Laura is afraid and wants us to go somewhere else.
« He’s just over there. » she says.
« It’s the other side of the campground. » I answer. I know he’ll be hating someone else soon and forgotten about me.
My only concern is the Canadian Legal System. I can defend myself in the night in a tent from armed men in the wilderness. I’ve done it. I’ve scared off bears and wolves in the night. I’m not afraid of them. This guy could come over intent on axing me in my sleep and I would awake and I would disarm him and I’d not care enough that in the tussle I’d kill him. Then I’d go to jail for self defence or be imprisoned in the evil Canadian legal system which would accuse me of ‘excessive force’ or some such urbane fantasy when I’m stabbing this fellow with a knife to protect myself and my blind dog and Laura from his axe.. He could even axe me and I’d survive the fight. I don’t doubt my dirty skills. Drunken belligerent fools are never a concern but rapacious corrupt twisted legal systems are.
I can’t forget that a drunken bully broke into a 90 year old WWII vets room in Surrey just a few years ago. He kicked over the old man’s chair put the boots to him and then began rampaging his place for money. The old guy lying on his side waiting for the animal to come back to finish him off reached into the lower drawer and took out his Luger he’d taken from a German solderi in hand to hand combat to defend his country. He shot the man. The next 6 months he faced charges. He likely lost his gun. He no doubt was brutalized by the courts so superior and pompous , protected by the police who no longer protect citizens, but sure protect those who pay their pay and their pensions. He was 6 months accused a murderer but finally let off. 6 months is an incredibly long time when you’re 90. Some fat cat judge rich with time and money waddled slowly through the cancer of Canadian beurocracy all because some drug crazy animal didn’t get the care he deserved and victimized some old guy.
Those were the thoughts that went through my mind as my body continued the camp set up.
When Laura’s afraid or tired she gets angry at me. She’s upset now that I’m taking so long at positioning the truck and camper. I’m unable to see in the darkness. I’m jumping in and out of the truck to see until I realize that I just need a light back there . I ask Laura to stand with a flashlight. It’s like the guy who helps the planes park. I’m centred in a second. The happy jacks go down. I have the gear moved to the camper.
Laura goes to bed. Gilbert loves the campsite. After hours of driving and focus I’m feeling the tension ease. There are a few campfires around. It’s quiet. No boom boxes. No more loud mouths. He probably stole money from the mob and is waiting to find out what they’re going to do. Maybe the light in the face triggered his years in federal penitentiary. The guards coming around.
I’m settled in my corner on my seat winding down. Drinking Perrier. Having a peanut butter sandwich. Soon I pet Gilbert and crawl into bed beside Laura whose hot flushes make her a wonderful hot water bottle in the bed.
Morning is grand. I’m waking before dawn again, Just happened. I could have gone out hunting then. It’s the best time. Instead I meditate. Gilbert’s glad I’m awake. I throw the ball before settling into focusing on breathing. Lord’s Prayer. Thy will not my will. Holy Spirit come. Breathe.
Then coffee. It’s still dark outside. Gilbert gets to sniff and pee. I come back in and settle down to the second cup, stove top expresso, reading an espionage novel I’ve downloaded from Amazon kindle to my Ipad. There’s one bar on the cellular service. No internet. When it’s light I dress and unload the bike. I filled the motorcycle side boxes with hunting ‘stuff’, rope, bags, ammo, knives, saw, axe, extra hoodie. I love that it’s not raining. Laura is a wake but still in bed. I lift Gilbert up to sleep with her. I leave them that way. It’s 7:30 am. Kiss Laura on the forehead. Leave a radio. I’ve got the Ruger 30:06 for deer and the Brazilian 20 gauge shot gun for grouse. The latter sticks out the back, the cloth case under my rump and a bungee holding it down further. I’ve the Ruger slung across my back.
Thank God it’s not raining. The Silmilkameen is glorious. The sky is cloudy. The evergreens are majestic. I love the putt putt put putting out of the campground up to the highway, gunning it to high speed, feeling the wind in my face, hoping I’ve enough clothing till eventually coming to the logging road. I go back to the the slow speed as the well known road winds up the mountainside. There’s been new logging so the road is not lose gravel, and it’s safer and easier than previous years.
Right away I see the eyes on the hill. A young bear. I try to get out my camera but I’ve stuck it in an inner layer. The bear watches me. Maybe 2 years old. I’m fumbling for the camera. He’s too young to shoot but I’d love a picture. He’s finally registered my threat. Maybe he’ll live to grow old. I watch him lope diagonally up the mountain. What a great day ‘s beginning. Seeing a young bear in the wild and watching that loping run. Back on the bike I continued up the hill. It was a heavenly morning.
At the first turn off I left the bike, and walked in with the rifle. I’d not shot it since last spring. I put up a target. 30 yards. First shot a half inch from the bullseye. Enough. I got back on the bike. I really was enjoying the off-road motor cycling. Such great scenery. Mountains and valleys , great expanses of land, cut and uncut forest. All of it eye candy.
I next saw the rabbits. I actually got a picture. I’d eaten quite a few the last few years but this morning I was fancying venison. I’d take grouse but I really wanted venison steak. I never saw a deer. I had a great ride. It got chilly at the top of the mountain where the wind was greater. I had cell coverage, checked for messages. Put on an extra layer of clothing. Took some pictures. It’s God’s country. We’re so blessed.
I saw the mother and daughter moose after that. They were standing in a clearing, their colouring so camouflaging that I didn’t even see them till they moved. Big animals, Cow and Calf. The calf had those long wobbly teenager legs. The mother moved out ahead. The calf following. I couldn’t get my camera out fast enough. The memory remains. What a great sighting!
On the way down the mountain , the sun coming out and some warmth returning to the earth, I met three young brown guys. I liked that they were doing the Canadian thing. Looked either Punjab or Afghan, likely born here. More and more colour in the woods. Lots of Chinese and Japanese. Once it was just us Caucasians but now the young can have parents from anywhere in the world. Still it’s mostly the folk whose parents and grandparents hunted in the woods of their homeland that seem out in these woods. Last year I met the Russians and Serbs. Nice guys, these young guys. We chatted and joked. I thought it sad there was no grey beard with them. I’d hunted most of my life with older guys.Learned first from my grandfather ,father and older brother. Then for years I was blessed to hunt with Bill Mewhort. He’s dead now like so many greats. His son and wife continue to hunt together like young Dereck and Naomi.
« Seen anything? »
« No, » I said.
« Any grouse even? »
« Heard one in the back woods when I was walking. Have you seen a 4 point deer. We were supposed to meet up here but I’m not sure he got the memo. »
They laughed. I drove away. They’d just asked for information. They’d not shared. Reciprocity. Information like a ping pong game. There’s so many of those that Piaget described in the concrete phase of neuropsychological and social development. Takers. Want things for free. Think they’re clever taking. I’m generous. Civilized. So few are civilized these days. It’s there in the microanalysis of bits of information. The exchange. Primitives from the me first barter development. Babies.
I shook my head. I liked seeing young guys out enjoying the hunt though. But who knows they might just have a grow op or being out shooting pistols. I didn’t see any guns.The wary brain alone in wilderness. The silly would think me racist, focusing only on their présélections. I’m wary of everyone I meet in the wilderness whether it’s the woods or the sea.
The grouse was standing in the centre of the trail I rode down next. It startled me. Looked almost like a flying dinosaur on the trail. My mind took a minute to register ‘game’ ‘grouse’. I stopped the bike and unloaded the shot gun. I had a 20 gauge # 6 shells in my pocket. Cracked the barrel inserting 2 shells.I stalked forward. They sometimes run a long way. But this one only went a short distance into the woods. I saw his head move and blasted it. I aimed the shot just about the head. Perfect. It did the chicken death dance, flopping and twirling brainless on the forest floor. Lower neurone still twitching. I admit I was pleased. I didn’t care if I came back with nothing but something is always better. Further there’d be no pellets in the meat. Sonny was right, the 20 gauge is better than the 12 gauge for upland game.
I normally don’t enjoy the last drive down the mountain. In the past the gravel has made it particularly dangerous but now the road was wet and built up some. More of a nice ride. I put the trigger locks on the guns at the highway. What a rush to be back travelling at 100 km /hr. The KTM 690 is a great enduro machine. It wasn’t long till I was at the turn off for the camp.
I love the truck and camper. Just great to come home to. Laura was up and Gilbert was glad to be lifted down outside so he could mull about and sniff up a storm. I gutted the grouse and fed him the liver and heart. Happy dog. The breast was good. The pellets had only hit the head and a wing. I loved the coffee that’s for sure. Back in T-shirt and sweats I was delighted to be in my corner across the table from Laura reading my book. Gilbert was down on the floor chewing on a stick. I’d walk him a few times.
We had sandwiches. I’d brought fresh Cobb’s bread. In the afternoon I’d get out the spin cast rod and reel I’d picked up at Lone Butt sporting goods, great mechanism on the spin cast reel. I’d carry Gilbert down to the water. Blind he had a hard time navigating the rocks. I don’t like fishing much in BC. In the prairies I always caught fish with lures but here it seems you need worms. At least that’s my fisherman excuse. I’m not patient either. I like casting. Gilbert liked sniffing about the water’s edge. I lost a hook. That’s usually my cue to stop. I keep saying I’ve got to get back into fishing more. As a kid that’s all I did. Pissed off Kirk when I was with him. All I wanted to do was fish. Fished hours from a boat. Casting, casting , casting. I caught so many pike and pickerel. I’ve caught some rainbows here. But I’m not committed like I am with hunting. Actually I’m not as committed hunting. I mostly like driving about on the off road motorcycle carrying a gun just in case. That’s the joy for me, exploring. I prefer carrying Gilbert back to the truck and getting back into my seat couch and putting up my feet and reading. Cheese and Perrier water. More stove top Expresso. Laura likes doing cross word puzzles. Throws the ball for Gilbert.
It’s a perfect autum day. Not too warm. Drizzle comes and goes. I walk Gilbert. He likes being off leash able to wander about on his own banging into things and getting his bearings, marking his territory.. He’s almost got obstacles all marked to avoid in future. He actually peed a perimeter. I watched.
Laura had been watching all the neighbours, told me about their dogs and habits. I spoke with the older couple next to us. Lovely couple. Solar panels and lawn chairs under an awning, carpet, fireplace.
« He goes for a walk and comes back and tells her what he’s seen. They talk. I think it’s about little things. Then they sit and read and off he goes again. The couple on the other side of us have a big poodle who loves to fetch sticks. There’s a little cocker up on the hill and a lady alone in the trailer over that way has a chihuawa she walked several times. »
Lots happening in the wilderness camp ground.
I don’t want to go out at night. I ache all over. That was a lot of exercise hours of riding off road, logging roads and mountain trails. I did some impressive jumps. I’m already in the shit before I realize this is too dangerous and I’ve got to turn around. Turning around the 690 is a bitch on those back trails. My old Honda 250 was lighter and easier to maneuver in tight places. I miss the quads. Better hunting platforms but not so much fun as a 2 wheel.
I loved mounting the motorcycle on the front mount delighted to have one less task for morning
I forgot to take the steak out of the freezer. Laura made potatoes with butter and sour cream. I barbecued the grouse. Edam cheerse . Coffee crisp chocolate bars. More relaxing and reading. More walking Gilbert. Then bed , glorious bed! Bed, glorious bed! Is sung.
Laura has it hot again when I crawl in. It’s wonderful to cuddle like puppies in the nest. I slept so deeply. We woke late. Gilbert was glad when I got up to pee and lifted him up on the bed so he could cuddle with his love.
I had coffee. Laura rose slowly. Accepted coffee when I was making the second cup. She loves the Adventurer Washroom.
« It’s so bright and easy to clean. ».
I like the shower but I’ve been conserving water. Washing and shaving and enjoying the indoor toilet. There’s enough water that I could shower.The hot water is great but I was keen to get on the road. We were loaded up in 20 minutes.
In Princeton at the A&W I picked up Bacon Eggers and sausage Eggers, hashbrowns and a meat paddy for Gilbert. We put on the western.
« I like it better in the daytime. The scenery is gorgeous. » She said.
It really was God’s country. I was interested when we got to the road work and I could see what I’d thought treacherous. It wasn’t so bad.
A great ride in the country. Great audio book story of the mountain men and regulators. We both loved the hostaged school teacher. A real collection of voices. Audio drama. Blackey was as distinctive as Smoke.
At Chilliwack RV it took no time to unload the camper. We really are getting good at this.
Then it was the last bit of the drive home, the Langley bottle neck not so bad this early in the day and then driving up to my home. We saw Dave and Emory. Gilbert’s tale wags when he sniffs his friend. Good to see Dave.
« Where’s the deer, » Asked my neighbour Mack. « I told you how much I enjoyed venison ».
« Sorry I only shot a grouse. I barbecued and ate it myself. Didn’t even think of you. Gave the heart and liver to Gilbert. » we laugh. His dog Max is sick. He’s been carrying it out to pee.
It took hardly any time to unload, Laura taking care of the transferring the food we’d brought back.
She had to house sit in Richmond so was quickly off in her little red Smart Car, Gilbert and I left waving in the parking lot.
Then I was in the hot tub. My body was a giant ache but a good ache. The hot tub was great. Gilbert liked walking around his neighbourhood getting reacquainted. We enjoyed the steak I barbecued for our dinner.
I watched Spy on Netflix, the incredible story of the Israeli who infiltrated the Syrian government. Extraordinary acting and remarkable history.
I was early to bed and Gilbert seemed to agree. I was up at 5 am and wrote the medical report due that week. I’d only learned of its need on Thursday, had some vague thought I’d do it on the weekend but didn’t ‘crack a book’ remembering the times I had similar thoughts as a student. I did write it early morning.
A day of clinic. That night I did the editing. I’’d done the research on Thursday night till late. Now I’ve just the typing and formatting to do. I miss my office and secretary and being set up for doing these reports. Here I am with books and papers on the floor working on a kitchen table missing all my files I’d had in the drawers in my old desk.
I had a great weekend. Work was so much easier after the break. I felt refreshed.
Now I’ve got to get back to work downtown. The commute is becoming too onerous. So long in traffic. Once it was four hours added to the day and often now it’s an hour or more each way. The rain slows traffick. People are getting used to it. I can’t even find the other umbrella.
I love the BC back country.
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