35 yo to present: Hunting,

I’d just like to mention that a main reason I lived in BC was the hunting. The outdoors here is magnificent.  I hunted every fall. I began in Vancouver where i first came. I bought a Browning 30:06 rifle from Italian Sporting Stores.  I’d have also buy a Remington 12 guage pump action shot gun. I don’t remember the 22 I first had. I have had a few 22 rifles.

I’d shoot grouse from the beginning. My first hunting trip was Pemberton followed by Whipsaw. I’d shoot grouse but while I saw deer I never shot one. I’d climb a whole lot of mountains. I used to range from dawn to dusk. In Pemberton I’d hunt in the morning and in the afternoon come back for the Hurley River hotsprings that is no longer open since the bridge collapse. I’ve been to a lot of the hotsprings especially those up by Harrison Lake. I’d hunt in the morning and lie in a hot spring in the afternoon. In the evening I’d find some place hoping a deer would come the down the hill. Lots of times I just drove about in my vehicle exploring.  I saw a lot of mighty fine country. 

 First ‘hunting car’ was my VW Rabbit. Then I’d move up to the really great little mountain Ford Broncho II. The Ford Broncho was a famed hunting mobile but the Broncho II was smaller, better for the towns but did amazingly well on the high logging roads. Later I’d get a Vanagon. Then I’d have a Toyota Sport Truck .then an Astro Van, then a Ford Ranger. Then I moved up the the Ford F-350 Harley Edison diesel. Now I have a Ford F-350 Lariat edition 4x4 8 foot box heavy duty truck. I have the last one to haul my camper or RV.

 I’d tented for years , pup tents, 2 man and 4 man tents, mostly North Face or MEC.  I’d often camp high in the mountains and sleep in my sleeping back after cooking over an open fire or with my Coleman stove. I’d take canned stew and bread, sometimes eggs and bacon. I brought a little Weber Portable that I carried in back of the Broncho II. Nothing like barbecuing venison strap muscles or liver and onions right after an animals has been shot. Grouse barbecued well too.  I had a North Face 40 below sleeping bag I’d bought as a fly in doctor for work in the far north. 

Always I had Shinto beside me in the tent. He’d bark and let me know if anything or anyone was about.  I also had  a 12 guage, usually the defender beside me. I liked to load it with a couple of buckshots and a shell in case of bear bothering the camp. On the island it was only black bear but on the mainland I was often camped in Grizzly Bear territory and would come across them when I was hunting. The worst was coming up on a mother and cub when I was bow hunting. I was glad to slink backwards and away from that encounter. Hunting is a grand adventure. Mostly I’d go alone, often with Bill and once every year or two with Bill and a couple of guys on a moose hunt. In later years others like Luke and Sonny came on the moose hunt then even later I’d have the pleasure of coming across Dereck out hunting and continuing the hunt with him. Often I’d meet guys in the back woods. In later years I’d have a 4x4 quad. I ‘d also have Honda CRF 230 then a Honda 250 enduro and buzz all around the back country. I just traded in my Honda Pioneer 500 side by side for the KTM 690 enduro.  Everyone has its merits but I shot the most game when I walked about in the woods or sat in ambush. I got more exercise and lost more weight but I really do enjoy the quadding and motorcycling in the back woods. I shoot a lot of paper and still seem to get grouse whereas I mostly scare off deer.

I always shot grouse. I loved frying the chicken breast in butter with marmalade and haveing a great delicacy on rice.  I loved cooking wild game studying and trying recipes. My crew, also my principle hunting buddy for many years despite eccentricities , a great companion in the woods when he’s not so depressive and hasn’t been alone so long he’d talking like a cabin fever person.  A lot of hunting is driving around in the back woods with a big comfortable truck talking about women, politics and God and hoping the game find you.  The dog loves it.

The first deer I had was in Comox. Bill Mewhort had shot two and I’d helped haul them out for him the day he had a heart attack. I’d hunt with him some trip almost every other year until he died a few years ago.  I butchered up that first Island Deer and began trying very way which way to cook venison. Island deer is a red deer, a little musky, perfect for barbecuing but also great for stew. I love venison stew.

I believe Scottish folk need wild game and salmon to survive to awaken.  

Bill would take me out to hunt my first deer.  He’d already told me.

“I saw you sitting by the lake huntin with my binoculars. Why are you hunting their in the morning. The deer go up to the mountain tops in the morning and come down to the river, lakes and valley in the evening. Thereafter I’d climb mountains like he did before dawn and sit half way up to shoot the deer as they made their way up coming out high first light.”

This day he suggested I stay in the valley. It’s was dawn. 

“They’re walking along the river before they head up.” 

“Don’t smoke. Don’t move. Stay completely silent. Wait in there somewhere and there’s sure to be a deer along the trail.”

He’d hardly pulled away in his 4x4 truck when I saw a deer. He looked straight at me. It’s a spiritual thing like they realize this ‘meeting’ is their last. They also always have a kind of ‘oops’ look ,the island deer did, not the Mule or the Moose. I shot that deer through the heart and was thoroughly ecstatic. I was really like those Scottish guys in the Highlander .I was suffused in energy.  I lifted that deer on my shoulders and carried it back to the road, beaming from ear to ear.  Bill had heard the shot and come back.  

“Well done young fellow. Looks like you’re happy with yourself.”

“I sure am” I said,dropping the deer on the road side.  The blood had dripped all over my face and jacket. I was ecstatic.  It’s an extraorinary feeling that linked me a thousand generations of man. I had in that one shot joined my father ,uncles and grand father’s and countless ancestors before me. We were always a hunting and fishing clan.  

Bill enjoyed my enjoyment as much as me.  He taught me how to field dress the deer and to this day I’m still not good at getting the bladder out in tact.

He’d bore around the anus with his knife with precision and finesse. I chose to cut the pelvis bone with my ax and lift the bladder and large intestine that way.

‘Remind me never to come to you for cosmetic surgery,” Bill said.  

“I’m more a trauma surgeon type.” I told Bill.  The axe work on the pelvis got the job done.  I didn’t have to tie up the bladder with a string either. I’d read up on the whole matter and being surgically trained understood the anatomy. My way “got the job done’.  Barbaric though it appeared.  

More barbecue more stew.

I’ve now shot some 30 or 40 deer in the last 25 years.  I’ve shot them with a bow and arrow as well. I’ve shot grouse with bow too. I’ve shot 8 moose.  Bill was with me when we shot my first moose. It was up in Clinton. It was late fall and cold. Bill had booked a cabin with a wood stove for heat. We were up early hunting each day.  Driving around the back woods, sitting on mountains, sitting down by the streams. Finally the last day I saw a big deer running full out in the distance.  

I pointed it out to Bill.  

It’s a moose he said.  It was running a mile away . Bill had his binoculars on it and exclaimed 

“It’s got horns.”

He then gunned his four by four perpendicular to where we were and down the hill a ways. 

“Run as fast as you can to that tree down there and shoot it when it comes put of the woods.  Don’t stop shooting till it’s down.”

I didn’t know then but moose run in straight lines.  We’d seen it a mile away running at an angle downhill towards us. Now Bill had figured the trajectory and sent me to this treed a mile down the slope. I ran like hell despite my gear and got to that tree. It couldn’t have been a minute later but this big bull moose broke from the forest. It had crossed the clearing where we’d seen it first and crashed through these stand of woods to appear 50 yards in front of me exactly where Bill said it would.  I had my 30:06 with a 180 grain bullet up to my shoulder and even though I had a 10 power scope on 5 I didn’t need it but sighted in on the heart and pulled the trigger .The moose had conveniently stopped for just that second surprised to see me. Now it took off at the locomotive speed moose do. I shot another 4 shots at the receding rear when I heard another shot and the moose stopped wobbled and fell .The earth shook. I looked up . Bill must have been a mile away by the car , a tiny dot. He’d taken that shot.  We’d find I’d missed all my shots at it’s receding ass. But there side by side not even an inch apart were two bullet holes.  Both had pierced the heart.  My shot I’d taken at 50 yards .Bill’s was more like 1200 yards if not a mile.  Bill was the most amazing hunter and marksman.

Now we had a ferry to catch. With Bill’s help we gutted the 1400 lb beast when Bill came back.  We took out the the liver and heart. The liver was huge.  Once it was gutted Bill pulled out his chain saw and emptied out the oil to replace it with vegetable oil. Then he just quartered that moose.  Loud chain saw noise then 4 huge slabs of meat. We hitched them on rope with the hide down and pulled them behind the 4 by 4 car.  

Driving back to the cabins along the logging road I saw a   a grouse on the side of the road , asked Bill to stop.  Ishot it in the head with my 22.

Some other hunters pulled up behind as I was getting back in the Jeep.

“That’s a beauty. Where did you shoot it.”

“I know. I said, holding up the grouse.” I shot it in the head with my 22 right there. “

Bill was laughing when I got back in the car leaving the other hunters dumbfounded.

“They were asking about the moose.” 

“I know but the grouse is beautiful It was a perfect head shot.”  I said.

“You’ll always be a grouse hunter.”

I really wood. It always gave me the most joy probably because I love the tasty little nutty flavoured morsels and it reminds me of the joy I had with my brother and father hunting partridge and prairie chicken in the prairies.

Bill would put the horns on the front of the Jeep. The moose was loaded in his trailer under a tarp. The challenge was to get back in time for the last ferry to the island .  

It was a wild wild down through the river gorge.

We just made it.

On the ferry in the car an older woman , more Bill’s age than mine, would object to the bloody horns been slung across the hood and held on by rope.  

“That’s awful.”  

“Shut up you old bitch. The boys shot his first moose and it’s none of your business.”  I loved that he said that. I was ecstatic with my first moose. It was an amazing amount of meat.  We’d each have something lie 500 lbs of incredibleness when he got the boxes of wrapped and butchered meat back from his favourite Gunter Brothers Butchers up the north island. He’d fry up some liver and onions and I thought I’d gone to heaven. The taste is great but the sensation that follows eating that heavenly meat is something indescribable.  Moose meat is one of a kind and a true delicacy. 

I’ve shot 8 moose , that one included the last 25 years. My Yukon friend had shot 30 said  “they walk through my back yard, so you’re doing respectably well for a southern city fellow who has a job to go to.”  I love moose meat. Best barbecue and great stew meat. 

The other most outstanding moose I shot was with Luke and Tom. They did all the hauling and butchering after I shot the moose coming upon it riding on my little 50 cc ruckus.  Great guys to hunt with.  

I show one elk north Vancouver Island with Laura along .This was a good thing because it took me 12 hours to haul out and then I flipped my ATV and hurt my back. A local man found me and helped me load the elk in his truck get it and my ATV back to my truck 30 miles away .Then he followed me back to the cabin where I ate a bottle of Aspirin and thanks to Laura’s mostly emotional support got back down the island onto the ferry dropping off the amazing elk at the butcher. I’d keep the meat in a fridge I bought for Laura’s apartment. The roasts were the best but Laura made up a hash from the ground meat  that was so tasty Iwas addicted. No wonder it’s called Prairie Beef. 

I’ve shot three bear. The first I gave most of to my Indian chief friend. He loved bear. I was concerned about the parasite and didn’t care for the meat much that first time though ate some sausage. I had the coat and head taken in to the taxidermist because I’d shot the bear in the centre of the forehead when it came on a log bridge I was crossing and would’n’t back up.  I backed up to my side and shot it glad it didn’t fall into the fast flowing river in the gorge.  

I’d shoot a deer when I was coming back to Vancouver from up north and the mayor in a town said he’d been asking hunters to shoot bear if they wood since there’d been so many that summer and they’d over run the town. I dutifully went out thinking of the African hunters who shot tiger and came across this bear which waited for me to jump out the truck and shoot.  It went right down.

Then Shinto ran over to it and up it jump turned and raced off into the woods with Shinto after it. I followed with my ‘Sexcaliber’ the stainless steel Ruger 30:06 that I’d buy from Granlund Firearms. I was living on the sailboat at the time and this was the first of the stainless steel rifles.  It got the name of Sexcalibur because the sun caught it as i took it out of the box saying it reminds me of ‘Excalibur’s and my wife at the time said ‘it’s sexy ‘ so Bill said. ‘That’s it ‘it’s Sexcaliber’.  

I’d hardly followed Shinto a couple of dozen yards into the forest when Shinto came barrelling past me with the wounded bear chasing him. His look was as much to say “he’s yours boss’.

I shot the rest of my shells in his back, two in the lungs and another in the shoulder. I was shooting down and running backwards.  He veered up and went up the tree next to the trail. I loaded 4 more shots and fired a couple more times before he fell. I’d put a last one in his head before I was certain he was dead.

When I gutted him and took the meat and rug I’d find that my first shot had taken off the apex of his heart but had not opened the chamber. It was through the lungs as two more shots I’d made running backwards and one in his shoulder. The shots I fired up the tree had severed his spine and the head shot had been delivered when he was likely already dead. It was an object lesson in how far a wounded animal could go and how dangerous they could be.  It served me well as knowledge when I was the expert witness for a policeman who shot a man and folk thought he should have shot to wound and other such nonsense. After that experience with a beast like a bear I’m not likely to shoot to wound.  Animals and man don’t take kindly to being wounded and they have a lot of life in them even after mortal shots.

I’d shoot another black bear and while I was gutting and cleaning it look over to see that my Scotty dog Stuart had decided it was his and was kicking dirt on it’s head an burying it. Stuart thought we were pretty great hunters that day. Scottys’ are little dogs with the biggest egos.  

I’d shoot three a couple of moose one time I was hunting with Bill and a a couple of the guys. I had a cow tag . I came across a couple of bulls and a cow and shot the cow.  It was heavy snow and as I was making my way through the drifts to dress the cow I saw this bull moose bearing down on me from out of my eye. He’d made a circle and come back charging straight at me. He was going full out 30 miles per hour.  

I dropped on one knee and with my bolt action Ruger chambered a shell looking threw the scope. I actually saw the bullet bounce of the skull as I chambered the second shell. That bullet two bounce off the hard horn skull. The moose was almost on me when I shot my final shot into the neck. My previous shot having caused his head to come back. He dropped right at my feet.  It was a pretty exciting and exhilarating moment. I’ve said ever since that I prefer bolt action as fear makes one fast and an automatic rifle would have been too slow. I was certainly the toast of the hunt when the guys gathered round and saw that the trails through the snow confirmed my tail. There was the fallen moose head touching where my toe and knee prints were. Everyone was pretty excited. Bill had a bull tag. 4 guys , 2 moose. Not a bad hunt. No one cares much who shoots since a moose hunt is all about the meat. It’s  harvest time.

The Wild game are managed by the incredible government forestry and wildlife services. Hunters and fishers account for 90% of the Wild life management in the province while urban polluters run their mouths off on CBC about everything but reality. They’re simply not in touch with reality. The game wardens and wild life services count the game and manage the herds which are pretty much like a free range beef only they’re on common ground and not branded. The guides who have licenses to parts of the province are equally committed to the maintenance of this resource.  

I’ve shot and cooked up thousands of pounds of the finest meat for myself and friends for decades.  You can’t buy this in the stores and the experience.  If you could a steak would cost $50 to $100 lbs. I consider the meat priceless . It’s cost me in time and effort and equipment hundreds of thousands of dollars.  Most people are ignorant of hunting and take everything for granted . Critics are proliferating in Canada. I miss the days when there were more rural folk who were learned and less of the ignorant offended arrogant city parking lot types ruining their environment with their waste and hot air.  

I’ve a vegan for years. I’m spiritual. I love the game I shoot. I’m more a conservationist and traditional hunter than any of the natives I know especially the urban natives, some of who I admire and have had the pleasure to take hunting and fishing with me to teach them skills they’ve lost with the lust for luxury that appeals to so many.  Hunting is not easy and it’s a very skilled occupation that I’ve become good at thanks to my grandfather, my father, my brother, Bill, hours at the rifle ranges and countless hours reading, wilderness skills galore and as much time as I can out in the woods. 

Now I’m less efficient and enjoy my Camper, the barbecue, reading and writing at night in the warmth. Drinking coffee made on the camper stove, hanging with the lady and the dog. I can’t seem to get up early in the morning and like careening about the back woods on my KTM off-road motorcycle. I shoot grouse still but haven’t shot a deer I skipped a Hillary Trump debate to go out hunting in my truck . A buck was standing in a field .I shot it at dusk. Gilbert ran out to it so I shot it again as Gilbert jumped on it’s face to hold the head down till I got there. I’m afraid two deer I know saw a cockatoo as the last thing they saw before departing to deer heaven.  I imagine they think that’s what killed them Gilbert certainly took credit for bringing down that deer. 

The one I shot brfore was bounding through the air and I shot him in the air in the field at dawn.  Gilbert was off and running and straddled the head of the deer trying to lift his head with his last breath .

35 yo Comox Campbell River Courtenay

I’ve been hard on administrators and bureaucrats. It’s obviously not totally fair. There was a time when they were lowly paid and highly honorable. In recent years their union has caused them to be paid the highest in the land. Unfortunately their training and competence have not increased.

My father didn’t respect Unions.  He felt they served the workers well and believed in the need for this given the history of management. No one with Scottish Irish roots can trust overlords.  I remind people that the English were more than willing to tax the Scots and Irish to death by demanding all their potatoes each harvest without consideration of how the subjugated people would survive.  The phrase ‘hide the potatoes’ followed because people who were highly cooperative eventually overthrew their masters because they simply had to have potatoes.

Now in Campbell River there was a terrific hospital administrator.  There were wonderful doctors on the north island in general too. The Campbell River Hospital wanted a day hospital for the psychiatric patients in their regions and north of them.  The psychiatrist in Comox along with that administration had made Comox the ‘regional psychiatric hospital’ so was intent on getting all the resources.  The Comox psychiatrist was in league with the local NDP politician. They had some nefarious arrangement.  Lots of backrooms in politics. Lots of glad hands and slippery hands.  All about dominance and control and not about what was needed most in the communities. Campbell River was a boom town and simply need psychiatric services the most. 

In Campbell River to get a Day Hospital, they needed a psychiatrist. This terrific administrator with a group of dedicated doctors and wonderful townspeople truly caring for the needs of the community askedme , when I made the mistake of not moving there full time, if I would come up a couple of days a week so they get the Day Hospital. I loved meeting with these people and working with this great administrator to bring the resources and people to bear to get the Campbell River Psychiatric Day Hospital.  It was such a totally different atmosphere than the Byzantine cloak and dagger administration my colleague had working in Comox. Everyone in Campbell River was transparent and concerned not looking for power or a personal kick back for themselves. It all went well and we got the day hospital with the help of Victoria administrators who acknowledged the need for the psychiatric patients in the day hospital.

I loved Campbell River. I loved the doctors there. I loved the youth and vitality in the town .I loved the fishing and hunting and logging.

I’d be hunting one day in the fall.  An older gentleman was sitting on the side of the road.  I stopped. He immediately asked me what I was looking for, “a deer of course.”  

‘What are you looking for?”  

“A doctor.”

“I’m a doctor, “ I said.

“Well I’ve got a deer. I may have had a heart attack trying to pull two out. They must have been twins.  One stood up and I shot it. Then it stood up again and I shot it again.  When I got to where I shot them I had two identical deer.   I pulled the first one out but when I began pulling the second out I had chest pain.  If you’d pull them out for me I’d gladly give you one.’

That’s how a friendship of 25 years began. I checked him over and concluded he may well have had a mild MI.  He was over it now.  I had him rest and went where he pointed. Sure enough there was a two point deer at the base of the hill. I pulled that out to the road and left it with him.  Then I climbed up the hill and found an identical two point deer. What was amazing was that both gunshot wounds were indentically placed in the heart. incredible shooting. That’s what I’d learn too. My new friend, Bill Mewhort, was an incredible marksman. 

I got the deer down and got his truck round and loaded one deer on his truck and the other on my truck then followed him back to Campbell River where I unloaded his deer and made sure he went to the hospital. I left him there. Sure enough he’d had a minor MI.  It wouldn’t bother him again.  But it began this great friendship . AFter my father and brother Bill became the man who taught me the most about hunting and fishing. He’d once been a guide and now worked in the mill.

I’d be working 5 to 6 days a week with a 20 bed hospital ward and a full private practice I shared with my colleague.  The longer I knew him the more I knew that everything he did was purely self serving. He’d pressured me to stay in Comox over Campbell River because he rented me my office. Always about the money.  Always about control and manipulation.  He actually ‘gas lighted’ people. I’d learn from the other specialists who I got along with that whenever anyone had a problem with him in town a week later they’d get a call from the College saying there was a report that they’d might be doing cocaine. Several of  the specialists concluded that the person making the false allegations was this psychiatrist.  None of them were doing cocaine but a person who could manipulate ‘gossip’ in a small town was a powerful person. Meanwhile whenever his wife was out of town there was a loose woman coming to see him late at night in the office after he’d dismissed his secretary. I’d come to pick up files from the office and be surprised that he was always seeing some pretty older woman alone at late hours.  There were several of these women.  His wife was away a lot.  A very cold arrangement.  Very peculiar behaviour. Lots of nastiness. I’d quickly learned he was a ‘backstabber’ of the first order. Highly duplicitous, saying one thing to me and another thing to staff and directors.  

When I first came on the ward I admitted an anorexic girl. A very pretty teenager.  I came back to the ward an hour later and suddenly found a literal party going on. My colleague was to be away for a week and he’d left the ward full of all these apparently healthy young and middle aged men who were suddenly very frisky with the arrival of the girl.  I was instantly suspicious about the diagnosis and treatment, reviewed the half dozen men and found they were not ‘depressed’ but rather all malingerers and drunks. I changed the diagnosis from Bipolar II to alcoholism on all of them. I saw no drug and alcohol histories were being taken by my colleagues.  The men were at first quite  the braggarts about their drinking and drugging. No wonder they were depressed. They were all hung over and had all been on a bender.

Now there was 20 bed alcohol detox and drug treatment in town. I visitted it. It was empty.  All the drunks and drug addicts were being admitted to the psychiatry hospital. That changed then. Those 6 guys ended up in the detox. Another  fifty followed along with them after I corrected all the diagnosis.   Overnight the ward changed from a belligerent entitled hang over ward to a regular psychiatry ward. Simply taking a proper history disclosed the long standing problems.  The town had a lot of drunks and addicts working in the mills and logging industry.  My colleague had been ‘enabling’.  

What was even more interesting is that the “designated addiction gp’ (no official training, just took the job for the money and status) became angry at me because he suddenly had a full unit and it remained that way. 

“All I can do now is take care of drunks.”

“That’s what your detox unit is” I said. 

“But it’s never had patients before. I had a great thing going here till you came.’’ He actually laughed. 

He’d actually be pissed for a while then he really got on board and the detox and treatment unit began to function the way it should.

A number of older women with depression and a group of parents whose children had schizophrenia approached me thanking me for what I’d done.

“I was afraid to be admitted to the psychiatry unit because of all those bad men.....I’d be suicidal at home rather than come to the hospital. “

“We couldn’t see our daughters and sons admitted there because it was always the drunks and the drug dealers living there.’

The head nurse was figuratively in bed with my colleague but a number of other nurses told me  how  the ward had been functioning at. I couldn’t have been there more than a month or two before the amazing public health nurse approached me and thanked me for sorting out he psychiatric unit because she now had a place to send psychiatry patients.

The joke was always ,”You don’t have an alcohol problem if you’re not drinking more than your doctor.’  

The psychiatrist called himself a ‘wine connosieur.’. I was happy to drink and smoke dope but it never changed my diagnostic acumen. 

He’d been a social worker before becoming a psychiatrist.

I’d meet other psychiatrists who had worked in Comox and got a whole lot of ‘skinny’ on the man.  One psychiatrist, a marvellous old scotch drinking English fellow said, “Couldn’t stand the fool. Loved to read the latest counselling book and talk like an authority but didn’t seem to know any medicine and less psychiatry.  Prancing about with his NDP politician friends.  Called me a drunk because I liked a scotch but I never saw him without a bottle of wine.”   This fellow was a Liberal and had left the community for the city in the south. .

“I left because it was clear he was going to kill someone and try to blame it on me. Always looking over my back when I worked there.” Another fellow told me. “ When I came there , there were a half dozen of us but one after another he ran us out of the town.  The worst was the child psychiatrist. Born there. Wanted to work there because his family was there. Top doctor. But smart. Met with us and took the measure of him and came to work in Victoria instead.  Truly great psychiatrist. That happened over and over. Watch your back. Greatest area but odd town.  Courtenay is like any other rural community. Lots of the farmers and long standing people that lived there for generations. Then there’s that other places with more pubs than churches. Comox meanwhile has been the place where the Ottawa bureaurcrats who did as they were told retire and now suddenly believe they can think for themselves. They can’t but the politics is crazy. The military base is there and those folk often retire. Nothing wrong with them. And lots of leaders in the resource community. But this guy is in with the NDP and frankly they’re mostly communists.  I’m a Liberal myself. Part of the reason I left.  Too much politics and in breeding and this social worker flunky trying to stir up trouble anyway he could. Watch your back. He’s a liar.”

I’d become the Vice President of Psychiatrists of the British Columbia Medical Association on the Island and really enjoyed meeting with my colleagues once a month in Victoria.  I’d take the time to drive down for my sanity.  They were truly an amazing group of the finest psychiatrists. They had a monthly dinner but the real treat was talking with them after the meetings and just getting together with some of the wisest and finest physicians and psychiatrists I’d ever know.  Many of them had worked the north Isldand before coming south. There was a nother great group of psychiatrists working in Nanaimo who I came to really admire and enjoy.  

I was staying in the Anglican Church manse which I rents. . A few months later I’d have my windows shot out. 22 rifle. Someone plunking at the windows from across the street.  Beer bottles would routinely be smashed at my door. 

My gorgeous nurse girlfriend came up to visit and she was stunning. She still was considering joining me yet her car window was broken and beer cans piled inside. She was afraid and didn’t like what I told her.  Of course she wanted me to come back to Vancouver.

I had bought a Ford Broncho II and began my love affair with hiking and camping in the woods Emily Carr made famous. Every weekend off I was out in the woods. I got a dog too. Life was good. Work was scarey. I kept diagnosing alcoholism and kept having threats. Guys would phone me at night and threatened to kill me, say how they’d had me in their sights and tell me where I’d been camping.  

I had a Browning 30:06 and a 22 rifle and added a smooth Bore Defender shot gun. I slept with that. I’d also begun to collect poisonous plants and dry them and keep them in jars in the basement. I loved botany.  

I met an old farmer and he had a freezer full of marijauna. He gave me a couple of pounds of his throw away.  I began smoking pot and drinking red wine at night, writing. I had cats too.  I lived behind a grave yard and walked the dog there at night. It was a peculiar existence.

The first girl I went out was a a cowgirl country western singer. I’d been asked to speak on the television doing a half hour on eating disorders and then on fashion and women and how fashion hurts women. I’d been asked to be the speaker at a dinner for the ecumenical churches function and enjoyed the people. I was going to each different church rotating through them. I made a great alliance with a nun who also did counseling.  The cowgirl would turn out to be a story I wrote about because it was so country strange. 

I’d refer patients to the local counsellors and this worked well except a few of them were crazier than the patients I referred. One man came back to me for his antidepressant medication and asked if he had to continues to see the counsellors.  I asked him what was the problem.

“I don’t like stripped naked with him and the two of flailing each other with whips. It makes me more depressed.” 

I contacted this local powerful famous counsellors and discretely asked him about his ‘techniques’.  He alluded to this therapy and confirmed for me that my patient wasn’t psychotic though the counsellor might be. I didn’t refer any more patients to him.

The other bizarre seriously deranged counsellor was a friend of the psychiatrist and claimed every child she saw had been sexually abused. I’d end in court repeatedly over turning these weird diagnosis because her basis of this conclusion was  always esxtraordinary . The one that sticks out was the report. “The child played with the slinky toy in such a way as to be certain she’d been sexually abused by her father.”  

I’d learn there was a dirty industry going on in the town. Victim’s compensation would pay for counsellors to see women and children but only if they had been sexually abused. So this major conflict of interest drove this incompetent ladies diagnosis. Unfortunately being pretty and a friend of my colleagues it had worked well I came along and ruined the busiensss by repeatedless saying I found no evidence for sexual abuse. By property examining the children and parents I’d changed a least a hundred of this diagnosis and make a arch enemy of this counsellor. 

My friend Marion, an actual PHD psychologist was delighted because she’d seen these politically and financially motivated diagnosis occurring to the detriment of children and families.  Further my friend Anne was the social worker and truly delighted that someone finally stopped this particular counsellor whose family unfortunately had money and were prominent in the local NDP.

Anne , a regular Anne Margaret/ Audrey Hepburn social worker and Marion , the local Joni Mitchel. Judy Collins psychologist were working in mental health north island, had invited me out for lunch shortly after my arrival.   I was blessed to meet two of the brightest most extraordinary women and therapists who’d become my life long friends.  

My friend from university who’d married a biker drug dealer and paid lawyers hundreds of thousands to keep him out of jail when he was caught was also working on the island in the south. I told her husband about my windows being shot out and how great the hunting was . This lead to a half dozen guys arriving one night on Harley’s engine rumbling, driving around the town,  each carrying a rifle either in a scabbard or across the Bars. Another guy brought up a truck. We’d use my Broncho II and the truck to head out into the woods the next morning. The guys got a couple of deer.

More importantly I slept fitfully for the first time in months.  Surrounded by friends with guns, thankful they’d made a circle of the town and now I had a half dozen Harley’s in front of the church manse, I felt ‘safe’.  Never again would there be beer bottles smashed on my doorsteps and no longer would people plunk at my windows with a 22 rifle. 

Thanks to Bill I had a deer to share. I’d butchered it my self and began my life long love of cooking wild meat.  The guys loved the barbecued steaks.  

I was really enjoying northern and rural medicine. 

My nurse broke it off and I continued to love the country.  I loved my time in Campbell River and enjoyed my private practice but the hospital was just politics and trouble. Whenever I went away I found my colleague changed my orders. He was a classic ‘passive aggressive’ little shit and was constantly politicking.  Constantly smiling to your face.  

Meanwhile I was playing a lot of guitar.My budgies were killed by the cat.  My first dog, a rescue dog, a runner, escaped and was hit by a car running across the busy highway. HE died in my arms.

Shinto came into my life after that.  Shinto. Oh now I remember. I was told there was a puppy and I went out to Quadra Island to meet him.  Cross Irish Setter and Springer Spaniel. My secretary was a dog trainer and when I told her I was looking for a dog she was kind enough to put out feelers. My dad’s dogs had been springers and my brother’s setters.  Shinto was adorable.  I named him Shinto for the spiritual essence that Japanese believe pervades life.  I miss him this day.  What a wonderful dog he was.  The best companion and a great hunting dog. He went with me everywhere though he stayed at home when I went to work.  Life is great when a guy has a dog for a companion.

The doctors in Comox and Campbell River just continued to show themselves as really good clinicians and fine people.  I had the best referrals from them but my popularity made my colleague even more jealous.   A husband and wife team of GP’s were the best.  There was a brilliant Intensive Care internist. I’d shoot skeet with the specialists at the local gun club I’d join.   I was kayaking too so all my activities put me in contact with other doctors and showed that I was a real part of the rural northern community. By constraint my colleague did nothing in the community but drink wine and conspire with his NDP friend and see pretty single women patients late at night in his office.  

When winter came I’d begin down hill skiing at the near by slope. A great lodge and great fun.  Comox Campbell River is truly one of the most beautiful places in the world.  I’d date these amazing women there too. One nurse will forever remain in my heart. I just wasn’t mature enough to be the husband she deserved. I loved the local pharmacist, an elegant lady of a girl with exquisite sophisticated tastes.  Much too good for me. I was a bad boy and did’t see any real future. I wasn’t sure if I’d settle down.

I liked that the heads of the logging companies of Vancouver Island independently and collectively approached me and thanked me for what I’d done with getting the alcoholics in treatment.

“As along as your colleague called them Bipolar and refused to diagnose them as alcoholic , neither the union or management could do anything. There were a dozen of the worst and they caused us all a whole lot of grief. After you came the accident free days in North Vancouver  Island sky rocketed. Never underestimate what you’re doing. You’re really appreciated.”  That kind of praise certainly made me feel good. 

The word had really got around and my colleague felt threatened and hated me .  Repeatedly men and women I’d meet in church or at the hunting club would tell me “Thank you for what you did. I worried every day my husband went to work. It’s a dangerous enough job but with drunks running cranes and driving the big trucks it was a nightmare.  Now he says the place is sane and the bad boys have all gone off for drug and alcohol treatment.”

Nobody worried much about marijuana. It was a principle industry and it didn’t cause the problems that alcohol and cocaine caused in the workplace.  

“I was terrified working but you got the crane operator in treatment. I thought those guys were going to kill you. They all talked about killing you.”

My friend in the mill told me I’d been targeted.  

Yet 6 months later all these guy were either sober and attending AA or had been fired and left the community. Since my biker friends had driven through the town with guns no one had bothered me again.  

The beauty of industry is once there’s a diagnosis they really work with the union to keep you working but sober not drunk.  Apparently my little ‘community medicine’ intervention had it’s pay off. The public health nurse assured me I’d made a lot of difference in a very short period of time. “But that’s because you care about medicine and the town. I  guess you know your colleague is a different sort.”  It would later come out that his family had some criminal tendencies with his lying and the family lying issues actually getting front page. I thought it explained his friendship with the snake politicians.  But then that was a problem with the community all these eastern bureaucrats wheeling and dealing.

The drug abuse and adolescent crime were an issue so I tried to get a skate board area for the kids. I was working with the police and public health and damned if the town council wasn’t a group of these recycled Ottawa sorts.  Painful to talk with them.  Every excuse and fear mongering and underhanded tactic known to a politician.  Meanwhile the kids literally had nothing to do and nowhere to hang out.  

It’s amazing what I remember. Every day I ‘m seeing dozens of patients and doing all this regular medicine. Highlights are just that. Things that stick out. They’re unusual. We simply remember the greats and the ugly.  

I’d been having these fabulous visits with Marion in Parksville, her family, young kids and noise and dogs and just all round country living a blessing. I’d be driving through the most beautiful forest in the world to do out reach psychiatry with a great old English doctor with an amazing moustache. I’d see these unusual cases only found in the wilderness and at the end of the earth.  Vancouver Island was just that sort of place. People moved all across CAnada and crazy smacked up against the ocean, having no place further to escape so stayed on the west coast. 

There was a town of in bred folk left over from a commune at the turn of the century.I spotted  the too close eyes and low slung ears, something twigged me in my pattern recognition so I  asked around and explored the history. Sure enough fifty  years previously this bit of today’s paradise had be the place of Deliverance.  A crazy American had come north with his flock.  His commune died but some of the incest survivors stayed to live in this area. Another hippy commune continued to function. 

We had a lot  of hermits and villages that worked on barter and lived off the grid. I’d meet the finest people from the islands.

I’d love this genius who lived on an island I won’t name.  I’d got in with a group of ‘survivalists’ and met this truly extraordinary guy and his lovely wife one night. A folksinger or poet introduced us. He was in a cabin on the island raising small kids but had a computer and communications array that NASA would envy. Did a couple of PHD”s in engineering and computers before heading off the grid. Whenever I had problems with my computer I’d call him up, only a couple of times, he was not someone I’d want to lose as a friend. He’d take the whole thing over through the phone before this was being done and solve my ‘glych’ and go off the grid again.  He knew my friend in CSIS. They are a really tight circle.  

I was having increasing problems on the ward. I’d had a violent young borderline admitted and left specific orders that no one was to go into her room alone and that security should always be on hand with her for her sake. . She was a tiny waif of a thing but totally paranoid and incredibly sneaky. Turn your back and she hit you. You had  to count all the cutlery and not even leave plastic with her. She responded well to medication but it took time. It was awful. There were some nurses who were less than stirling and they used this poor thing to get time off. She was so weak she couldn’t hurt anyone but within a week a half dozen of the less that stirling nurses, drinking friends of the other pscyhiatrist and the head nurse were off on extended leave for being ‘hurt’ in the workplace. They ‘milked’ weeks. The tragedy is this little girl then had to be moved to the ‘state asylum’.  She’d be there a year. She got the reputation of being violent. I’d meet up with the poor thing year later, a not atypical story of the abuse that schizophrenic encounter. . 

I hated those nurses. 

There was one bully past her shelf life, quite the dog in her 40’s and I admitted this hermit farmer from up island.He was depressed and suicidal but came with a million dollars in big denominations in paper bags. He’d been storing them under his bed and knew he needed to come to hospital and was afraid it would be stolen.I admitted this guy with these shopping bags full of hundred dollar bills. Apparently this was his ‘cash’ and that he had much more in land and banks.

He was almost melancholic.  That night this ugly cunt climbed into his bed.  Days later he was better. A week later he was married. I objected vociferously when I heard he’d been literally sexually assaulted by a nurse in the hospital. The nurses coulnd’t understand or accept my reaction to this obvious gold digger. Apparently a couple of the nurses were upset that the bitch had beat them to it.

When I raised the issue with the head of the hospital she being catholic thought there was no problem. Marriage made everything right. The nurse was catholic.  My dirty minded colleague thought I was being ridiculous and that a wife would either cure him or give him something to be depressed about. He was obvious depressed with his marriage and simply lacked ethics and morality.  A difficult man to work with.

A very blizarre psychiatry unit. 

I’ve always regretted I didn’t go to Campbell River where I’d have come under the influence of the great doctor in AA but then I’d not have had the equally joyful time of meeting the incredible nurses, pharmacists, gps, specialists, and psychologists and other people I had the joy to work with. Always the good people outnumbered the bad 10 to one but evil flourishes because no one dares confront it.  Never my problem always my curse. 

 The head of the local mental health was said by his staff to be sleeping with young women. There were several police and politicians involved in the drug trade and all manner of nefarious real estate and construction being done for cash. British Columbia did billions of dollars in the illegal marijuania industry and I was near it’s epicentre. 

 I was really out of my depth. I even befriended a hell’s angel that year becuse the courts were denying him access to his son.  Angel Acres , the major Hell’s angel gathering place was in Parksille an hour south of Comox. My patient  was a criminal but a good dad and a good guy. We fished and hunted together one weekend when a non patch wearing mutual friend introduced us.  He had more ethical and moral development on a personal level than my colleague.  He was a part of a wolf pack though and his wife an ex prostitute heroin addicted  was ruining his son.  So there I was in court defending him as a father. I’d do a lot of that. But I’d also liked the local judge who was amazingly apolitical and a great man. We’d have coffee together and get to know each other and talk about the town.  I have been truly blessed to meet the finest judges with rare exception. This guy rode a Harley too which enamoured him to me. 

He told me 

“The problem with the child custody in the north was all the guys were away in camps. The women didn’t have anything to do.They longed to be in the big city. So they’d dump the guy and take their kids to the city. The guy would have to pay child support but could never make the same amount of money in the south that he madein the north. He was literally stuck here and she was being a party girl down in the city.  When ever these cases came before  me 200 women from the community would be mustered to sit in the court intimidating me and the guys were always stuck in the camps because her lawyers always knew how to play the systems. The women have a better family law school among themselves than any offered by a university.  It’s awful but I can’t really do anything. When you give me a report saying the guys sane it helps but the system is flawed. Eventually it will change. The law gets it right but there’s always a delay and right now the children and family are suffering.”

I loved North Vancouver Island. I am pleased today that there are a half dozen or more psychiatrists up there. The people were great and deserved good medical care and not to have a little shit making a fiefdom for himself.  I am thankful to say that while I didn’t stay, though I’d return, his ‘monopoly’ was broken and his lies exposed. I’d learn later that the College Registrar was thankful for what he called ‘Dr. Hay’s reconnaissance.”  It didn’t help me. I returned to the city probably even more paranoid. But I had a collection of great memories, great friends and would be blessed for life by the experience and friends I made.  

Last I heard the other psychiatrist was dead.  The NDP was replaced by either the Liberals or Green.  Life moved on.  

I really loved the nun chaplain and did great grief work with her. A military major introduced me to the amazing knife maker on Quadra Island. I still have the knife he made for me and have butchered many moose and deer with that superb blade. The natives introduced me to the extraordinary native museum there. While I’d studied anthropology of the aboriginals and continued to read, it was here that I’d begin to learn a lot about the Kwakiutl and Haida. All the time I’d be visiting with Bill and his family. His son was a great boy who became a great man.His daughter was a beautiful school teacher who’d I’d gladly of dated but I knew by then her father was the most amazing long distance rifle shooter.

A martial artist had come to the mill and Bill told me he was bothering the other men always bragging about how he could kill people with his hands or  a kick,  Bill said he his  black belt. Bill said “because it was ruining the lunch room atmosphere I had to lean over and tell the guy, “you’d better tone it down. I can hit a silver dollar at a mile with my rifle but there’s several other younger guys here who are better shots than me and they can hit a dime at a mile. So I’d quiet down about what you can do with your martial arts up close. You’d never reach these other guys who aren’t as old and civilized as I am.”  

Pemberton Labour Day Weekend, Camping, Quadding and Opening Bow Season

For those who read stories for the kill factor, I’ll start this one by saying I didn’t see a deer and didn’t shoot one. I didn’t even see bear which were all the rage in the area, though I did see sign. I saw two ptarmigans, a partidge, a rabbit, lots of voles, a couple of gopher, some ground squirrels, a whisky jack and some eagles and hawks.  I had a really great time.  I shot a number of paper targets and cans with my Excaliber bow and with my Ruger semi auto 22 rifle and my Ruger Mini 14 semi auto 223 rifle.  I didn’t eat any paper. I cooked my own great meals on a Coleman camp stove and shared these with my cockapoo hunting dog Gilbert.  He had a really great time and chased and killed tennis balls. He did chase the two ptarmigan too.  He’ll dream of that for weeks.
My old hunting buddy Bill Mewhort, now residing in the truly happy happy hunting grounds,  emphasized the importance of the opening season hunt.  It comes at the end of August or beginning of September, first a week for us bow hunters then the rifle season proper begins with a bang.
It’s now one of the main rituals of my annual seasonal year giving it its unique form and meaning.  There’s the birthdays and anniversaries for some and the official national and regional holidays. I especially like city of Vancouver’s annual 5 k Summer Fun run. The Gay Pride parade  as sex has become mainstream more irrelevant than irreverent has  mired itself in more sordid politics, a much dirtier business indeed.
It’s sad though the atheists don’t have Christmas, Easter, Pentecost or even the days of the Saints to celebrate. No wonder they suffer more from addictions and suicide.   The Communists do continue to fail miserably to celebrate with any fervour their lacklustre godless leaders. Those of other religions other than mine do know the joy of spirituality. Their community celebrations are blessed with laughter and love.  Even the pagans with their wild ribaldry, jumping fires in spring and such,  have so much more to offer than the dead intellectualism of violent socialism.
I’m  blessed as only a Celt can be  having Hogmanny, St. Andrews and Robbie Burns.. Ah, to annually hear and witness the Ode to the Haggis with bag pipes playing and bonnie sweet lasses dancing is to be alive in a way no other can imagine. Were it not for the Highlander Scots who jumped at the tropical and mild Canadian winter offered by the Hudson’s Bay Company, Canada would have taken even longer to be discovered.  The French Festival du Voyageur is an annual delight.  The tribal indigenous people took gladly to the tribal Celts and the French who were intelligent enough to leave France.   I do appreciate my ethnically touched neighbours who break up the year differently with the  traditional Chinese parade of astrological symbolism or the Indian Diwali  festival of lights and other such communal events.
And for all of us who disdain the poor hunter vegetarians who lack the sensitivity to hear the cellular death screams of  vegetables there is  the added creme de la creme of the Opening of Hunting Season.
Each year I gather more ‘stuff’ together for the hunt.  As a boy who hunted with my father and brother I only had to bring my warm clothes, boots, cap , 22 rifle and shells.  My dad had the truck and knowledge, and tools,  having hunted as a boy with his grandfather. My brother was an expert marksman and I the youngest was best at plucking ducks and partridge.
I never did hunt big game with my brother or father. I got my first deer tag as an adult after yoga training, vegetarianism, marriage, overseas travel, study and medical internship took precedence. I had guns in Manitoba but bought my first Browning 30:06 deer rifle from Italian Firearms here.  I moved to Vancouver and began to hunt deer here in the late 1980’s.  My first hunts were in  Pemberton and Princeton. When I moved to Vancouver Island I met Bill Mewhort and we hunted together for decades. I was with him when I shot my first buck.
I’d buy my Stainless Steel Ruger 30:06 from his friend and owner of Granlund Firearms. We’d name it “Sexcalibre” because it was so sexy and shiny.  Because I sailed and often lived on my sailboat I loved the introduction of stainless steel rifles.
I’d begun archery with a long compound bow but switched to a Browning Compound Crossbow because it  required less practice each year. I’d shoot deer and grouse with that.  Bill however  has a video of me missing a deer standing still in a field four times before the deer walked away more bored than bothered.  “See what I told you about getting a rest,” Bill  forever emphasized the need to lean against something when shooting to improve accuracy.
 “Aim for the centre of the centre of the centre,” he’d say time and time again.  He called deer in and taught me stalking to the point where i could sneak up on lying deer and shout ‘boo’ in their ear watching them jump straight up before running off. Bill, himself called deer in, having them come to within feet of him every time.
I now hunt with the Excaliber Bow having been introduced to this amazing cross bow by the amazing hunting men at Reliable Guns in Vancouver. It’s more powerful than my original compound and as accurate with allowing me to hit grouse.  I like the opening bow hunting season mostly because of the last of summer and early autumn weather. Animals, when they’re around, aren’t so spooked as they are after the cacophony of gunfire alerts them to the opening of rifle season. We actually believe the deer get a memo telling them the opening season and any changes to regulations. Those that can't read get the message quick enough once the gun fire begins.
Having all my ‘stuff’ now I’m no better a hunter, worse if anything.  I used to climb mountains and carry deer back on my shoulders through down hills and through streams.  I quartered moose I’d shot to carry them overland through grizzly territory for more than a mile.  Not anymore.  I’ve got older and lazier but still surprise myself getting game. I’ve always thought of myself as a grouse hunter who happens to shoot big game when I’m out with the dog looking for grouse to shoot. Gilbert is ecstatic hunting grouse. It’s the only thing in his life, other than Fifi, that is more exciting to him than chasing tennis balls.
I have a new 2017  Ford F350 4x4 Lariat Edition 6.2 L Gas engine Super Duty Truck with Long box. I replaced my 2009 Ford F350 Harley Davidson Edition Diesel truck because it was off warranty and having troubles. I’d fairly trashed that truck too 4x4ing after my Quad was stolen.  I have my Honda Pioneer 500 cc side by side ATV for backwoods and only plan to use the truck to get to a campground where I can unload Charles. Charles is the name we’ve given the Pioneer.
Each hunting trip is an expedition of sorts.  I have to get my rifles, bows, arrows and ammunition from the gun storage locker. Then I have to get the camping gear and cooking gear and Charles from the North Shore Storage locker. I also have to find radios, gps, satellite phones and electronics. I’ve just moved trailers so finding everything is a trial.  I’d completed a morning clinic and really had hoped leaving in the afternoon to get to Pemberton and set up camp before darkness
It wasn’t meant to be.  I loaded all the gear remembering everything.  There’s the North Face Tent I bought last spring from MEC. Then last week I bought another MEC sleeping bag, this one  -9degree ,wide extra long  Draco . My other sleeping bags are 6 feet but this one is 7 feet.
My first favourite sleeping bag was a down bag I had as a fly in doctor in Northern Manitoba and Northern Ontario.  Then I made myself a sheep skin sleeping bag after doing arctic wilderness survival training making and sleeping in igloos and Quincies. Since then I’ve had a half dozen lighter weight sleeping bags and finally I’m satisfied with this one.
The same has been true for air mattresses over the years.  I’ve finally found ones I like from Cabelas whose own brand bags are the best.  I tend to pass along my old gear when it’s relatively new in my search for the perfect wilderness gear. I’m thankful for nephews and friends who are glad to take my gear so I can move along to something better. I love that some items last for a long time such as the Coleman gas stove and the Coleman Gas Lantern.
My hunting gear is a variation on my ‘car camping’ gear.  I’ve done back packing, bicycling, canoeing, canoe portaging, motorcycling, and yachting expeditions.  Hunting with a truck and ATV leaves a lot of room for the imagination.  I take tables, chairs, lawn chairs, and this week had my lovely Honda 2000 generator. I got by just fine with the Honda 1000 generator which I had on my sailboat as well but with the 2000 I can run water pumps and a heater.  I’m not averse to luxury and comfort when I’m hunting. Most guys leave tenting and move into trailers.
I did get the first  trailers for hunting and took them hunting a couple of times but my present trailer is simply too elegant for the backwoods. Besides it's too big for me to even pull without training and endorsement. As well Burnaby Hitch has to put a Fifth Wheel Hitch in the truck bed before I can even tow it.  It’s a trade off.
I really would like a camper trailer and tow my Honda.  Bill Mewhort's  best hunting system was the truck and camper towing a trailer which we’d do our best to load with moose and deer. My other impressive hunting buddy Victor has a truck and tows an enclosed trailer which he’s made up with sink and cot for hunting but which serves to haul back his abundance of moose and deer as well.
I laugh at the young guys or novices only because I’m an old guy now and can.  There’s simply no way you can get the right gear and right arrangement without experience.  The more experienced the guy the more interesting his gear is to another wilderness connoisseur.  The book learning may help and there’s merit in viewing videos but it all takes time.  And old guys just love to look at other guys gear. It was the same with off shore sailing.  So much individualization and so much consideration of efficiency and durability.
It was sunny and only about 3 pm when I left Vancouver. I love driving the Sea to Sky Highway. It’s truly one of the wonderful rides of all times. My favourite trips have been doing it on the Harley. I used to love riding up in my old Vanagon when I was into black diamond skiing at Whistler and Blackcomb nearly a quarter century ago.  The new F350 Ford with gas engine maneuvered beautifully and handled all the ascent and curves. I loved glancing to the left at the beautiful blue waters of Howe Sound remembering the countless times I sailed those water in my 39ft offshore yacht, SV GIRI.  It's now on land at Loyalist Cove Marina, Ontario planning her next expedition.
I stopped at the Squamish Canadian Tire. Canadian Tire is a necessary last stop for any expedition. I finally got the bolt I’d lost for ATV ramp.  I’d had a little excitement wondering if my jury rig would hold when I drove the Honda up onto the back of the truck.  One shouldn’t push one’s luck.
I got Gilbert’s Little Cesar dog food there.  I got some Fusion 223 ammunition for the Ruger Mini 14 I’d brought along for larget practice and tenting sleep aid.
lmost next door there’s a perfectly situated Starbucks where I bought a silver mug which would fit Charles cup holder. I also bought ground Expresso coffee for the stove top Expresso machine which I’ve taken everywhere with me, including my motorcycle ride to Sturges.  I really do appreciate a good cup of coffee with honey and cream. When I don’t have cream I love canned milk, a taste initially acquired in the far north.
Escape Route is a fabulous outdoor store further along the mall.  I’d noted this year that my hiking boots were really done in and given my injuries and need for a time with orthotics I was overjoyed to find the very best Romanian Salewa Hiking Boots. I know Romanians. They are a magnificent people who love the outdoors.  Since Communism fell they are making high quality european products. I love my goretex lined boots.  I really love these boots. They really proved themselves too.
I did my grocery shopping at the Indepent Grocery Store, finding great steaks, potatoes and pork chops, staples of my hunting along, with all the other dining luxuries like white chocolate I can’t resist. It was many many years ago I thought I should ‘rough’ it when it came to groceries. Back packing and canoe camping impose limits of weight. But I have a cooler that plugs into the cigarette lighter.  Why rough it when you have a truck and a generator. Actually because the truck worked so well as a generator with it’s USB plug in for charging my iPhone and Ipad with kindle books and AC plug ins for cooler,  I don’t think I’ll be taking the Honda generator along next time. The Ford truck is quieter and it's one less thing to lift. If I was using a heater I'd take it though.
Back in the truck with Gilbert, the retracting ceiling roof saving him from the heat, and my trips back and forth to the truck with each purchase didn’t detract from his final sloppy welcome when I started the engine. We were on our way north again.  It was now 5:30 pm.  The traffic had certainly increased but thanks to the improvements on the road made by the Liberal government of BC it really flowed despite the vast numbers heading to Whistler and Pemberton for the long weekend.
It was dark when I got to the MacDonald’s at Pemberton.  I love MacDonald’s. Gilbert loves their plain burger. He almost Jones at the Golden Arches.  It was already getting dark.
I drove the Duffy Lake Road up past the turn off to the St. Agnes Skookumchuck Hotsprings.  I used to love this but last spring Laura and I found it had been taken over by loud partying young people making it obnoxious to us.  Way too loud.  Too much booze and drugs. Too much city unpredictability. Too much like DTES and work.
I was surprised at the number of cars at Joffre Lakes.  Pemberton has just become increasingly popular.  I was planning on going to the campgrounds Laura and I found past Duffy Lake nearer to Lillouet. The only problem was that I saw a sign that said I was entering the Caribou.
The reason’s I chose to hunt Pemberton again this year was that there was a Senior’s Doe Season for guys over 65.  I figure I can use all the help I can get because I’m no longer climbing mountains for hunting like I did up to a decade a go. I can still climb with far less enjoyment and more pain but the issue is I’m not going to be able to get the game back.  Hauling my elk up hill a few years back took all day and nearly killed me when I flipped the ATV.  Even hauling in the buck I shot on the relative flat last year was a struggle. Even lifting the last few game I’ve shot onto the back of the truck has required me to use the winch I've had on the front of the ATV's
This year because of the wild fires in the interior, only the Coastal region is open to back country ATV’s.  You can still drive a truck in the Caribou other back countries.   What hadn’t been devastated by wild fires this year was still restricted to offroad vehicles.  I didn’t want to trash my new truck. And I really love driving around in Charles with my great hunting dog beside me.
Since Gilbert lost his eye to glaucoma this year I really wanted him to have a great year hunting. I don’t know how long he’ll have his remaining eye.  He does love watching the road when we’re driving around hunting.
I would have liked to camp by the river but I was concerned about Gilbert and the highway traffic so headed inland on a logging road near Van Horrick Creek.  I knew I wasn’t able to shoot old guy doe near here but I could hunt with my ATV.  I was still in Coastal Area 2.
I found a place off the main logging road, rather lucky indeed.  It being past 10 pm  and pitch dark, I almost set up my tent alongside the road when I drove in 5 km and couldn’t find any spot. Returning my lights caught this turn off which took me a few truck lengths into the bush, just enough for privacy and away from passing vehicles for Gilbert’s safety.  The down side was no running water at camp and when trucks went by, few though there were, the dust blew over my tent and gear. It was dry and dirty place, but safe and somewhat secluded.
I am thankful to North Face tents for the ease of assembly in the headlights of trucks. I’ve done so many times I can speak with experience. Never am I happy to be doing it, always I’m tired and just wanting to go to bed. It’s always the same. I methodically go through the motions and long ago stopped cursing, preferring prayer instead.  In no time the tend was up and I’d blown up the air mattresses, Gilbert helping as much as he could by sitting on them. I loved laying out my new sleeping bag and opened one for Gilbert which I draped for warmth over his little doggy bed I bring along.  It is one of life’s great joys to be able to strip in the cool night and climb into a sleeping bag with man’s best friend curling up beside you.  Just as I was falling asleep Gilbert, whose been more skittish and vocal since he lost his eye, began barking at the night.
I love my Ford F350 automatic fob. I just pressed the button so the lights went on and off and horn blared a couple of times.  Whatever Gilbert was bothered by was not about to take on a White Ford F350 Super Duty Truck. I had my Ruger Mini 14 with clip in beside me, nothing up the barrel, but really think the truck fob is the best animal deterrent. I had to do it a couple of times in the night because the little guy had a bad dream or smelt something.  I eventually fell asleep despite the air mattress, very aware how I miss my bed everytime I go back to sleeping on the ground.
It was still dark when a couple of trucks passed. I could sense an edge of dawn light and thought how my old friend Bill Mewhort would have had us all out of bed his coffee brewing and wet eggs and greasy bacon waking our senses.  Bill’s dead. I’m sorry. But I remember hunting with him  I wished that when he got us all up before dawn.  It was worse in the cold and snow.  It was worse that he was so cheerful too. His percolated coffee was welcome and good.
Alone I  rolled over and went back to sleep.  Gilbert and I usually wake at 7 am for work so he figured it was okay for him to start licking my face at that time. I often find him awake watching me waiting for me to wake up or finally taking it upon himself to wake me up.  It’s great letting him out of the tent to roam about peeing on everything.  I liked that he could be off leash the whole time.
It’s really hard to get out of a sleeping bag and get dressed. It’s even harder crawling out of a tent and standing.  My knees aren’t what they once were,  That’s not age. That’s being out of shape. I used to dance, do yoga, martial arts and tai chi.  If I did as much of that today as I did a few years back I’d be a hell of a lot more limber.  Rolling the truck and rolling the ATV and not sailing these last two years of grief and anxiety, sloth and gluttony have taken their toll. I was thankful to have the camp chair placed outside the tent subsequent mornings so I could lift myself up with it’s assistance.
Shitting in the woods is over rated.
Wet Ones are further proof that God exists and Jesus Christ was All Man and all God.  Thank you Jesus for "wet ones".
I do like standing and pissing though Marking my territory.  I like to piss in the four corners out from the tent to alert an animal to my presence. I’m scarier than anything out there even the occasional Grizzly bear.  Being alone in the woods I’m far away from the drunk and stoned young people who sometimes are looking for trouble. I’ve stood down guns and knives in the back woods over the year, facing up to some unpleasant  yahoos.
I only remembered this year the night I heard some guy in a provincial camp ground stealing my lantern. He’d stolen my axe too. In the light of my flash light I saw him running off with the long axe and lantern. I was stark naked and barefoot but took off after him armed only with my flashlight.  He had a head start and out ran me. That might have been a reason for the second wife not to want to have children with me and eventually be happy with a divorce.  She said I was a foo to chase naked after some  guy in the night who’d stolen my axe.  She often didn't approve of my nakedness, that night at the party with some hundred folk about when I took off all my clothes and suggested we should all go skinny dipping. Being a party pooper she just had to mention the outdoor pool was frozen in winter.
The fact is I’m pretty certain I’m the most dangerous animal I’ll encounter in the woods. I just don’t know if I’m more dangerous to myself or others.
Dressed I backed Charles down off the truck thankful to have the bolt in the ramp.  I love Charles. I didn’t bother with making coffee. I had a blue energy drink and got my bow and arrows and having shot an arrow off to see it was still hitting the target I headed out on Charles.  What beautiful country! BC is truly God’s country.  The devil seems quite at home to stay in Vancouver.
I love the logging companies who make these logging roads. This one was active with huge machinery left out and fresh cut timber.  I loved the smell of fresh cut fir. The sun was just rising over the snow capped mountain peaks.  The higher it got the warmer it got.  Majestic spruce and fir trees along the sides of the roads and every little while a slash which I looked over with my Bushnell Rangefinder binoculars.  I didn’t see any deer but it’s mostly about the experience. Gilbert and I were having the time of our life.
I’d brought a 5 gallon blue jug which I’d filled up at Pemberton only to have half the water spill out as it fell over on it’s side with the bumps or turns in the road.  The cap leaked.  I found a stream and filled it up and later would add quite a few drops of iodine.  Iodine purifies the water and protects against bacteria but especially ‘beaver fever’. There’s some formula about how little iodine you need for a whole lot of water but I use my own formula of dumping in more than enough but not enough to affect the taste. I figure with North Koreans being ruled by a young nut bar dictator having some iodine on board could help if Kim Jong un shoots a nuclear missile at us.
I got naked too, the ex wife not being around,  and barely survived washing myself off in the freezing cascading mountain stream.  I had Olay soap and a little tube of shampoo I’d brought from some 5 star hotel I stayed in. The sweet smells helped distract me from my feet turning blue and numb and the swivelling experience of my manhood when I sat in the water.
I often think I’d like to be a transexual admiring those who have had the courage to make the transition. It might complement my being born again.  Pain is a discouragement though and I fear that I would rather just have my youth back and not make so many mistakes with regard to marriage and love and idealism in the wicked workplace.  I like Leonard Cohen’s “I want a new face”.  I think that while other transexual’s have gender identity disorder I’ve more of an identity disorder.  The fact is that after the mountain stream experience I had a visual image of what I’d look like without a penis.  I  thought of Seinfeld's George Castandas screaming ‘its’ the cold water’.
It was already hot outside in the morning.  Back on the ATV for more driving about and exploring.  No deer.  No signs of deer. Just great countryside and whole lot of fun 4x 4ing. I just love being with Gilbert out in the woods sharing his obvious enjoyment.
Back at the campsite I made sandwiches and shared the meat with Gilbert. He ate his Little Cesar too. Lots of running about for him too.  I threw the little yellow ball and the bigger orange ball almost continuously all weekend. He’s addicted. And I’m feeling guilty that he lost his eye.  It doesn’t matter it’s genetic.  I work with some extremely hateful and chronically complaining demanding people and I attract all that misery and pain when I refuse to do some thing that the individuals wants, like free drugs, a letter saying they don’t have to work for life, a change of diagnosis from anti social personality disorder, or borderline personality disorder to choir girl or alter boy.  I’m especially disliked by the pedophiles I’ve reported. My life has been threatened repeatedly and my last dog was killed by a pothead after I refused to alter their positive drug screen for so they could continue to smoke pot and get a high paying government job.
The sad irony is that my ‘integrity’ cost my dog his life.  Burying him I cried such tears too despite my belief in Rainbow Bridge. Now I’ve returned to Canada to live and work under a Prime Minister who lied and smoked marijuana and got the highest paid  job in the country.  I’ve had a lot of conversation with God about this.
For a year I’ve looked everywhere all the time because another guy has been threatening to kill my dog because he wanted me to change his diagnosis of drug addiction and alcoholism which I can’t do and it wouldn’t wipe out his DUI”s either. The irony here is that the police who hadn't done anything despite my reporting his ongoing threats called me up because he's now taking to threatening  Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. I could have said, "Oh no, I was mistaken" but having that awful dinosaur integrity I told them that yes, the reason I reported him to you in the first place was that I thought him dangerous. And yes I've worked extensively with the dangerously insane and psychotic, addicted and personality disordered, in jails and with the police and military and only twice have I reported a patient threatening me. This is despite having been threatened physically with knives and guns and fists and other weapons in the office and simply put that behaviour down to illness.  The police thanked me and perhaps I contributed to saving Justin Trudeau's life. This too will pass. For all I know Kim Jong un has other plans.
A woman is mad about me not giving her a letter saying she never had to work again so she could continue to collect insurance and not work. I was giving her annual letters but she wanted more.  Some people you can never give enough and displeased they lie and hurt. There's a story about a scorpion and a horse I like to remember at such times. It's my nature and oath to help. I don't like being judged by those who tell me that they've given up and their's 'is just a job'.
I met a Serb who hated the UN troops more than the Croats who killed his family.  There is more evil in sins of omission than sins of commission. That's the lesson in Arendt's "banality of evil".
I cry a lot, thinking of my dog. I long for death at times too.  It’s all behind me out in the woods. No CBC news. No patients wanting "free heroin".
I set up targets and shoot nice patterns, near bullseyes. I could adjust the scope a little but I'm satisfied  with free standing and using a rest. It's good enough for the conditions.   It comes with being called a ‘straight shooter’.  Not much room for that today. Only Kellie Leitch speaks of Canadian Values anymore. I'm waiting for Andrew Scheer to weigh in on that but he's playing to a larger audience than the conservative party.  I really hoped that Dr. Leitch would acknowledged.  She's a truly amazing woman.
I didn’t bother with clothes a lot on the weekend.  It’s like being on my yacht with just a wrap or shorts. The weather was so hot it was nudist colony weather.  Not wearing my Apple watch the white band where my watch was has gone. I really did tan a great deal.  Lying on a lawn chair reading all summer and concerned about the spots on my back I was avoiding sun on my back But thanks to the two lesions being removed by the skillful Dr. Waterson I felt great going shirtless. I shot a whole lot of targets and enjoyed the sun.
I don’t know what happens to the day. I drive around the backwoods for hours.  I feel like it must have been like in the golden era of the automobile back in the 30’s.  At most I can do nearly 50 km/hour which is as exciting on rough logging roads with steep fall off cliffs but mostly all I do is 20 km and sometimes 10 km.  It’s an easy speed even if the road is horrid and there are these great rocks and cut outs for run off. It’s a speed I can look around at the scenery.  It's a speed I could see a deer if there were any.
In the afternoon I had a thermos of coffee along and some sausage. I take a tin of herring or sardines along in the morning. Gilbert doesn’t much like the fish treats but really loves sharing the sausage and cheeses.  We picnic on the side of a mountain and I watch clouds like I did as a kid.  The colours of the terrain greens and a touch of early fall are too beautiful too.
There was this relatively major river running through a valley with large blue pools. I climbed down and swam in these. If swimming means diving in then swimming right back out, lathering oneself with soap and shampoo then diving back in and rubbing off the soap and shampoo furiously to get out shivering and blue to dry in the hot midday sun.  Everything was so dry with the road dust incredibly filthy so I took these daily dips and used my big bowl with water back at the camp to wash off. I’ve talked to Afghanistan solders who’ve described the daily horror of heat and dust and feeling the awful wearing sand grit daily. I think I had a wee touch of that in the dry heat of this weekend. Braving the freezing water as I did gave some momentary relief from the constant sense of grimy grit that pervaded the camp and got into the clothes.  The air at times also was thick with the smoke from fires far away.
I never saw any deer or deer sign. I figured with the heat and flies they were high up at the glacier level where it was cool.  I did see bear scat on the road.  I surprised a grouse first thing one morning. Then I saw two ptarmigan and hoping they were in season not seriously took a long shot with my bow for the benefit of Gilbert. The arrow went a ways above their heads and bounced  off a rock, the noise and movement causing them both to burst into flight with a little dog going full tilt after them. He almost became airborne with  sheer speed and determination to catch himself a bird.
After the morning hunt on the Monday Labour Day I could have stayed longer but chose to pack up. I’d had enough. I had a home that was still chaos after a move which badly needed some organization. I had a legal report that was due and I felt like I wanted a shower and a clean bed to sleep in.  I didn’t even think of the traffic coming home a day early and getting caught up in the long weekend return. I should have known when I saw the dozens and dozens of cars all over the Joffe Lake region. Crossing through the Mount Currie Reserve where my old friend rode rodeo I was glad to see a sign saying the rodeo would be the May 20 weekend.  I really would have loved to see Wayne Andrews when he was the World Indain Broncho Riding champion.  Mount Currie reserve and Pemberton Rodeo see a lot of great horses and riders. I’ll forever be thankful for the times I rode with Wayne. the times we fished and the stories we shared late night in his sweat lodge. What a great man he truly was.
I stopped at the Spud Valley Hunting Store to talk to one of the great brothers about the areas for the Senior Doe Hunt as well as buy some ammo for next week.  I’m coming back for the opening of rifle season and more camping, though this time with Lovely Laura.
I also drove a little way up the valley to see if I could get some organic produce from the organic farm stand.  Pemberton potatoes are the finest in the world but it was just a little early for them. I did get some fabulous tomatoes which I ate all the way home.  They went really well with the burgers and paddy I got for myself and Gilbert  at the Macdonalds on the way out of town.
Traffic wasn’t bad till Squamish where I turned off only to be disappointed that the car wash was closed for the long weekend.
Back on the road we were pretty much gridlocked from the Chief to Britannia, moving along at between 5 and 20 km max for an endless time. The water cooled Harleys were riding along the side of the road to save their engines.  I was thankful for the air conditioning and sound system in my Ford Truck.  At Britannia we began on track moving along at a 100 km/hr. I stopped to take a photo of the wild fire haze over the normally pristine view.
In North Vancouver I unloaded the Honda Pioneer and camp gear, then left all my guns, bows and ammunition at the gun locker before driving home to unload food and my filthy clothing.
It was great to see Dave and Rick and Laura. Rick and Laura have lawn chairs outside and a little community has grown around them.  Rick like Dave and Mack is a real hands on down to earth guy with great ideas while Laura is like my Laura warm intelligent and engaging.  As we get older for those of us without a whole lot of attitude there’s a lot of experience that can be collected in one place very quickly with all the ensuing wisdom that goes with it.  Conversations are a whole lot better because of this. These friends sense of humour is what really counts.  There’s a whole lot of wit and the wry comments interspersed.  After three days alone I really have to admit I was glad to see such great people. Later Laura and the two girls were walking by and I was able to show off my new home, despite the mess.
I really am glad to be back.  Sleeping in my own bed without being woken by Gilbert a couple times in the night and having to flash the truck lights and honk the horn at a distance before Gilbert would settle back to sleep was wonderful. I think I missed my CPAP machine too, probably because I really did sleep the sleep of the dead after a long hot shower before bed.
This morning after a cup of expresso coffee I cleaned up the garage to make room for an office and settled down to complete the report.  I’ll be at work tomorrow but will have time to undertake a couple of errands which simply can’t wait.  A trip to the Post Office, a trip to the laundry and seeing an Optometrist to get the glasses I broke repaired.  Of course I’d love to have a deer at the butcher but there is next weekend hunting with Laura, (my Laura, not Rick's Laura.) Laura's always good luck and good fun.
It was great to hear Kevin and Anna and the god kids were back from their amazing summer camping and driving holiday all the way to the east coast and back. Like Kevin I enjoy photography so even when there isn’t game to shoot there are always great sights to be shot. Gilbert of course is my my number one model.