Today the alarm went off in the dark and I silenced it returning to muddled dreams and questions about the validity of my hunting today. My mind entered a deeply philosophical debate about getting out of bed or staying in bed. Plato, Socrates, Kant, Spinoza all participated. Only Emerson won an hour or so later when the practicality of relieving myself occasioned the use of the toilet. Now I’ve coffee and yogurt and nature valley crunchy roasted almond and the sun is not up. I’m writing. If I rushed dressing I could be climbing this mountain and facing the elements. I turned the propane heater down last night. My face was cool and I looked up at the skylight seeing the magnificent moon and stars above. Yet I was cozy warm in my blankets and comforter. Almost womb like. I’ve had to turn the propane up now.
I stepped outside and it’s bloody shivering cold on bare skin. I’ve only my sleeveless night shirt on, a kind of extended wife beater t shirt that’s I imagine gives me night time European cache appearance. Fashion wise, a fashionista would probably link it and me to the Canadian prairies. Night wear there in winter was full sleeve flannel. It’s a luxury to wear anything sleeveless in West Coast winter but a source of pride and decadence to do so.
I’m drinking my delicious stove top espresso coffee with added cream and honey watching the lake take shape outside my window. The next challenge is choice of boots. The regular boots are easy to slip on but slippery climbing. The hiking boots are a bitch to put on but perfect for the activity and terrain. I’ll need long underwear. I have an unused full body red suit that I bought as a gag gift for a southern friend who makes occasional trips north. Unfortunately I opened the package wondering what it is. It’s a delicate matter but giving repackaged underwear even if I know it’s not used is still a bit vulgar. I’d rather be on my yacht in the tropics needing only a sarong rather than dealing with the layers necessary for hunting and Canadian winter in general.
I am imagining myself as a writer and photographer. I don’t need to dress and go out if I’m not a hunter. The game head up the mountain to sleep during the day. I expect the deer are too smart and are already in the deep woods. I hunted Harrison Lake 30 years ago and didn’t get anything but came here for the scenery and beauty and the prospect of spending the afternoon in the Harrison Hot Springs Pool. I didn’t know that there was little prospect of success back then, enjoying staying in the Bungalow Apartments with my dog and having a grand time. We shot grouse. There were a lot of grouse back then. I saw bear too and saw deer but think I only shot one over many years. Now Covid has the Hot Springs Public Pool closed and my luxury is lingering over my coffee and considering another. I really don’t want to go out in the cold. The area has become a playground for off road vehicles, teen age party animals and general loudness. This forces animals to move into the city where it’s quieter than their previous country haunts or head north. I have little hope of getting anything this morning having used up my gusto yesterday when I congratulated myself on my good hunting behaviour and getting a Friday morning hunt in on a weekend. Usually the only morning hunt is Saturday and right now I resting on my laurels. There is a touch of yellow over the mountains and the lake is looking very pretty through the trees outside my Camper window. Another cup of coffee is definitely demanding my attention.
I’m not just out here for the game. I love camping and this 4x4 truck and Adventurer Camper is the creme de la creme of experiences. I sleep is a warm soft bed after an evening of listening to a magnifient Louise Penny, All the Devils are Here, set in Montreal and Paris. I really enjoyed my barbecue pork chops made better by the pine scented chill air and the sound of water lapping on the beach below where I’m parked/camped. Now I’m invigorated by the chill morning. I’ve walked around my unit and seen all is well. I’ve stretched and looked out on the leg glorying in the beauty of the day. If an edible animal had been near I’d have raced for my rifle and shot it for the pot. There’s I hunted for all of 5 minutes.
If a bear wandered by in a neighbourly way I’d shoot him. I’ve considered the same for less edible and more offensive neighbours when I was weaponless and had to use my savage tongue to provide commentary on their morning interruption of my peace. I think it’s good that my parents didn’t feed me human as a child or their would have been more human faces missing pictures on walls about my various homes. We were brought up to eat all we shot. It must be difficult for children of cannibals. I’ve not seen any go fund me for them as adults.
There I’ve made another coffee on my propane stove using the cream from my propane refridgerator feeling the heat in this room from the propane heater. I do weary of the anti liquid heat, give me money I’ll change the weather, carnie crowds. I love the gas in my truck that took me out to this wilderness and the joys of propane that bring me comfort while I’m here. I’ve a solar panel on top of my rig trickle charging the battery but there’s no sun yet. It’s promised today. Yesterday it rained all day when it wasn’t snowing. My commo hunting jacket soaked and sodden has been dried miraculous through the night hanging near the hot air outlet.
I’ve shed my nightwear and dressed in my underwear. Black. Utilitarian. I’ll save the red full body Santa outfit for another occasion. I’ve stepped outside and it’s actually not so cold this morning. My nipples might argue and my butt cheeks would debate but really despite the welcome wind it’s merely chilly. I love the lower mainland especially near water. Harrison Lake modulates the temperature. I’ve got a picture of the light cast on the distant snow capped mountain. I’ve decided the thinner long johns will be sufficient and that I won’t have to use the robust scratchy Stanfield longjohns that has saved many a gent’s manhood in the arctic or on the north seas. I’ve these much lighter flexible Italian woven underwear I expect were developed for urban skiers given their flexibility. I love the Italians.
I am not progressing very quickly. This second cup of coffee has me thinking another and a good book would be a better way to spend this Saturday morning than climbing mountains. Yet the wind is in my favour. It carries my scent and sounds away from the game.
I have actually found socks and decided to wear the hiking boots. I have laid out the jeans. Naturally I should have done this last night. My hunting buddy Bill Mewhort when he was a live would have had us all out in the dark to watch the dawn come up from wherever we’d chosen to sit in ambush. I shot two moose when I followed his direction. I’d not shot them in ambush though, rather I shot them, walking in the cold and snow to get blood to my extremities and there they were. His son and daughter in law are following in his great footsteps, shooting game together feed their children.
The fact is I need the exercise. Sitting at a desk I grow pear shaped and out of shape. Hunting is the fall exercise that keeps me from an early executive heart attack. Not drinking is the other major activity that prevents the vascular disease deaths of the aging male. In summer I have lots of activities, more camping, boating, fishing, hiking, motorcycling. But in fall, given the inclement weather, hunting is the best. I used to cross country ski all winter in the biting cold of the Canadian prairies then a decade or two of intensive downhill skiing at Whistler and Blackomb. Now I don’t do the latter. It’s lost its appeal when I stopped drinking and the evening party scene was no longer muted by the shared stupidity of booze. I sailed in the winter for years after enjoying the ice on the rigging and the challenges of the North Pacific in winter. Now my boat is waiting another expedition and I’m accepting I need a crew as I don’t feel up to solo sailing in the great seas unless I get a smaller ship with less canvas to hoist and lower. Aging is a matter of gracious acceptance of change.
Even hunting I carry a sat phone and gps and send messages of my location to Laura in Vancouver just in case I depart from the schedule and it gives her pause. Only recently have I cared that anyone know my location. I did let my brother know the region I was hunting in but I’m soft. The idea of waiting days for rescue should I break a leg is unacceptable. With the Iridium Sat phone and the Gamin Insight GPS watch I’d most likely be rescued in hours. I had an EPIRB at sea that would broadcast my location if my boat went down. The Coast Guard could then start their search for life from that location estimating sea and wind to find the lifeboat. I never used it but always loved the insurance. Now there’s a similar device that can be worn and triggered as long as you haven’t smacked hour head. That triggers a land based rescue. I prefer the Sat Phone because it does so much more. I’ve actually used it to call Laura and talk to her because I was bored sitting on some cliff after hours of seeing no game and making ready to return to base camp,. You simply can’t whine with an EPIRB or the equivalent land technology.
The coffee is finished. The sun is up. I’m nearly two hours behind schedule but have two hours of exercise and actual productive hunting time. Any time before noon is productive., the most being 6 to 9 am but frankly most of the game I’ve shot has been between 9 and 11. The trick is to be where it is and that often takes an hour or two of hiking. That’s the exercise I’m after now. I’ll dress. Once dressed I’m too hot for the camper and might as well hunt. The camper is best in t shirt and skivies or pjs. There’s no joy in being bundled up sweating. Here I go. Charge. And thank you God for this beautiful day and the glorious sunshine. I can see the blue of the lake finally and it’s splendid. The eye candy out here is magnificent. I love to the fragrance of the forest. Nature is the most beautiful of lovers.
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