Autumn Hunting with Gilbert

Autumn is the most colourful time of the year. The evergreens as their name implies stay green all year. The deciduous change colour, their leaves green,  gold, orange red and brown.  The leaves fall and trails become carpeted with the crinkling cracking old leaves.  It’s a cycle, a message of nature.
I left Vancouver after the Friday morning clinic.  I had to first drop my Harley Davidson Motorcycle at Trev Deely for winter storage.  They feed him oil toddies through the winter, play Doobie brothers, Third Day, Steppenwolf and Led Zeppelin in the night, have girls dressed in leather bikinis wash and shine him, then give him back to me in spring ready to ride. After that I loaded the white Ford F350 pick up truck.  I thought about brining the KLM 690 enduro but white the weather was supposed to be sunny I feared frost and snow.  Also as the hunting season progresses I tend to strip down to basics.
I only had my Ruger 30:06, Ruger 223 semi auto and over under 20 gauge.  The 223 was as much for target practice as a back up rifle. I always have a back up rifle since the gunsmith I only used once gave me my Browning 30:06 back firing when I put it on safety.  Thankfully I had tested it out in the woods before the morning hunt so didn’t shoot any of the fellows I was with. I had another rifle and that served. I did give the gunsmith a piece of my mind and didn’t go back to him again.  That was on the Island.  Reliable Guns here in Vancouver have only done praiseworthy and Reliable work.
I enjoyed the drive up with Gilbert, beating the regular traffic jam at Langley.  I had a William Johnstone Western Audio book and enjoyed the tale of good guys and bad guys, good women and fallen women. I stopped at the Villager having phoned ahead for a room. That’s the motel I had in my mind when I booked it but they had no reservation and I didn’t remember which other motel it could be. I checked out the Villager in the summer, finding it pet friendly and really well run. Fortunately they had a room.   7 pm and I  was already unloading.  The pub next door had a great burger and an extra paddy of meat for Gilbert. We watched tv in the room and enjoyed dinner before an early night.
I was up at 530 and at the A&W which opened at 6 to get my thermos of coffee, an egger and sausage sandwich and hash browns.  I’d forgotten Gilbert’s sweater, having had him groomed at Dogtopia that week. It was frosty and cold with a light wind.   I wrapped him in a blanket and carried the blind old guy with me to the side of a cut, upwind.  Sitting in ambush in the woods I watched the sun came up.  Not a sign of game.  After an hour with Gilbert shivering I decided to walk up the trail.  It really was serene and beautiful. I had Gilbert’s leash tied to my belt. He followed right along behind trusting, with that endearing high wide stepping walk he’s developed.
I read a fellow saying he didn’t like the term ‘hiking’ for his time in the woods preferring  ‘saunter’ as it was more sacred word. I wasn’t ‘stalking’ .  That required more effort, a kind of tai chi stopping and starting slow motion movement in the woods.   I wasn’t hiking either.    Slowly sauntering, seemed to describe it. I was stopping for Gilbert to maneuver any obstacles as we moved through the forest. It was a lovely time. The colours so divine, the scents of earth and forest so rich.  I was warming up too so I  stripped off an over coat leaving it hanging on a tree for  pick up on the way back.  I’d seen a grouse but didn’t shoot it for fear of frightening other bigger game.
Later in the day I saw another grouse. I stopped the truck then, reached for the 20 gauge shot gun,  stepping out of the truck  and loaded the gun as I went.  Just as I was raising it to my shoulder the bird flew off leaving me only a tail on shot, least likely to succeed, especially at that distance. I then let Gilbert out. He was so excited.  Despite his blindness he ranged out through the underbrush and woods sniffing up a storm and trying to find another bird to raise.  That’s been our pattern. Usually I shoot the one I see then he raises several more.  Today there was only that one but I was so moved by the intrepid little fellow plowing blindly through the bush in search of game..
No more birds and no big game. I shot some targets.  It was so warm in the afternoon I was able to go shirtless.  I’d taken Gilbert for a walk using the clicker that my nephew Graeme gave me for the blind dog. Gilbert responded well to the clicker and following behind me and whenever he got off track, listening for the clicks and correcting his course.  It was a long grassy trail through a pasture.
 Eventually we headed back into town.   I was able to find Gilbert a black and red sweater coat hoodie at Everything Pets. I had a delicious meat pie at Thomasinas where the delightful owner is running for Council.   I stopped by at the hunting store for more targets and couldn’t resist buying a little knife made locally.  I hardly had time for a half hour nap  before it was time to head back out for the night hunt.
It was 5 pm.  Aunset is about 630 pm. Hunting is over about a half hour after official sunset because of darkness.  All the hunting spots around Princeton are about 20 minutes drive.  I was loving my Cabelas lined moccasins but made the effort to put my Romanian hiking books back on. Night hunts are more serious affairs.  Still bending and lacing boots gets harder every year.
I drove around the woods passing a regular convention of other hunters doing just the same thing. We’d wave at each other, sometimes stop and chat. No one was seeing any bucks. Lots of doe but no bucks.  With the bright moon and the sunny hot days the bucks tend to stay up high and not come out till after dark. The views were wonderful though. I loved the dusk with the moon coming up and the sun setting.  I saw a couple of really fast rabbits at end of light disappearing a second after their shy appearance.
Back at the motel my neighbour had a buck in the back of his truck. A handsome young man with beautiful blond wife and what looked like a younger brother. All us old guys had been talking about there being no bucks. Here was evidence to the contrary.  A dedicated hunter who was going to feed his family in style that winter.  There were a half dozen does on the lawns in the town too, spies, taking note of the hunters and their trucks to pass on the information to their male colleagues. So much for old guys saying they’re not catching fish or shooting game because of Climate Change:)
Next morning I planned to head back to the city on the  back woods logging roads as opposed to the highway.  I packed everything in the truck and checked the room one last time before driving to A&W to fill my Thermos and get another egger and sausage and hash browns to go. I finished the Johnstone audio book and now had begun a Bill Brooks Audio Western.   I iistened as  I drove on the highway to the logging road.  That’s when the hunt began and I had to turn off the gunfighting and give my undivided attention to looking for game and avoiding driving over a cliff.  The sun was beautiful coming over the mountains.   At the top I was surprised by two does crossing the road. I was out of the truck loading the rifle in case a buck was falling. No such luck.
Then a bear crossed the road running full out down hill.  Another black bear going the same speed crossed the road going up hill. Neither left the woods and bush except to cross the road and by their speed I guessed that someone had already shot at them this season.  I expect they were ‘prejudiced’  against us and objected to sound of the truck.  They would need to have some sensitivity training before either would embrace ‘diversity’ after this season’s experience with the strangers in their midst.
Another lovely autumn morning.  When I finally come out on the freeway I enjoyed the ride home with the audio book and a thermos of coffee .  I was back before noon.  As yet no big game for the butcher or freezer.  But definitely Gilbert and I had a good hunting weekend in the autumn woods.

Hunting, Clinton and Caribou Lodge

Bill , my old hunting buddy from Gold River and Campbell River, first took me hunting to Clinton. We stayed at Circle H Ranch.  It was 30 years ago. I shot my first moose there with Bill.
Mostly Bill and I would hunt deer in Sayward with his son Allan or one of his many friends.  Once every year or so he’d make a trip up to northern BC to hunt “Big Mule Deer” or Moose.  Mostly we went up by Vanderhoof. The Big Mule Deer are everywhere on the mainland. The Vancouver Island deer are about half the size, a black tail strain of red deer I seem to recall.  They’re mule deer but not like the majestic creatures you see in the coastal mountains.  “My son, Allan, just loves hunting these mule deer.”  Bill died a few years back and hopefully some day Allan and I will follow in the tradition and hunt the Big Mule Deer.
Ever since that first moose I shot in Clinton I’ve liked going back there. I love the cowboy country. I love the sage. I love the rolling hills. I been up there dozens of times over the year and yes I’ve shot a deer or two but mostly I’ve come back with grouse.  That moose I shot must have been a miracle of Bill’s incredible power of attracting wild game.  Everyone knew, if you hunted with Bill, you were always going to have game. He’d begun feeding his single mother and sister shooting deer in Quebec between age 12 and 16, when he lost his father.
He’d known his sorrow. Hunting isn’t much about killing.  The nutbars who know nothing go on and on like they know things but they know nothing. Men hunt and fish to talk for hours to each other.  When we’re hunting we’re silent. When we’re fishing we’re not talking.  But when we are driving to and fro the hunting and fishing places we’re the worst chatty Kathy’s.  I heard all about Bill’s first wife, the love of his life, how he visited her as often as she could until a nurse seeing what a great man he was took him for herself.  He never forgave himself for that. He beat himself up a whole lot.  He talked of his sons and daughters and his sister. He loved his family.
Bill didn’t drink.
I drank when we met.  On one trip I felt and was injured.  We drove home with me half drunk and every bump causing me exquisite pain.  I cursed so much that trip I was surprised that Bill wanted to hunt with me again. We went on to hunt a decade more.It was always fun. He loved the outdoors and taught me how to call deer.  They’d walk right up to him. I loved doing my ‘tai chi’ in the woods and walking up to sleeping deer to startle them awake blowing in their ear. Bill was a great guide and coach.
When we came north we’d stay in his camper and he’d have us up before dawn serving his god awful percolated coffee with the greasy bacon and runny eggs and toast.  Thanks to him I learned to carry ‘wet ones’ in the woods.  “You’ll thank me after you shit in the woods and use your wet ones.” All the guys hunting with Bill had their wet ones along for the inevitable crap in the woods.
Younger I’d come up to the north and tent but then I stayed at Caribou Lodge.  I was hooked. What a great place. Terrific rooms , great service, wonderful people catering to hunters and cowboys, miners and loggers.  It’s upscale with fine decor. A bit like a woodsy Hilton decor but rustic. Clean.  So no longer liking roughing it lying hard and cooking around a campfire I’ve become older and enjoyed the Caribou Lodge.
When I got my Honda CRF 230 motorcycle and then the 250 CRF I’d bring them up to the Caribou.  I’d load my gear on the back and sling my rifle over my shoulder and head out of town on gravel roads loving driving around the back woods. I shot every can for miles around but didn’t ever shoot anything living. That’s just what hunting is.  For me it’s just getting away from work and everything after that is Grace.
The last time I’d been at the Caribou was last year with Laura and Tom. That was the weekend Gilbert hurt his back and we had to come back in fear thankfully to find that Gilbert responded to steroids and antiinflmattories. Now here we were back again.
I’d shot a deer in Princeton so was able to enjoy the trip and hunting in a way one does once there’s meat in the freezer. Tom by contrast was still eager.  I’d have slept in that first day but Tom was adamant we were up before dawn.
So dressing in the dark we got the thermos filled at the gas station and headed into the backwoods. A half dozen other hunters were there too.  Everyone dressed in camo with belt knives and gears driving 4x4 trucks is a pretty good give away as to what we’re all doing.
I always like that sportsman pay for 95% or more of the Conservation Costs for the Province.  Rifles cost thousands. Ammunition costs thousands. The vehicles cost tens of thousands.  As a ‘sport’ its the most expensive, costing more than golf and skiing. It’s not elite either. Rural men and women shoot game every year with little effort since the deer and moose are pretty much in their back yards. My friend just carries a gun in his truck and invariably gets a deer on the way to or from work each year. All the farmers complement their winter fare of beef and pork with much appreciated venison or moose.  It still costs to have the rifle and ammo and to get a firearms license and hunting license.  The courses for firearms licenses can cost hundreds of dollars as can the courses for hunting.
I got my first marksman award at 12 yo , my ‘Bronze Rifle Safety Award.’  My brother got his ‘Silver’.  I began accompanying my dad hunting at 6 years old but only began shooting a 22 when I was 10 or 12.  My brother, 4 years older, was my Dad’s companion hunter shooting ducks and geese. I did the plucking and loved being along with the ‘men’.  Later after medical school I got back together with my dad hunting ducks and geese and wild chickens. Borrowing my brothers Irish Setter, Tartan, those were some of my fondest memories.
The real cost is for city folk. It’s the hunters and fishermen who buy the trucks and RV’s or support the rural economy staying in the motels and hotels and spending a fortune on gas and restaurants.
When I told my Yukon friend I’d shot 8 moose, he said, “that’s pretty good for a city boy. I’ve shot 40 but I shot them out the kitchen window while they were walking through my vegetable garden.”
I’ve shot more grouse than I can remember and tell everyone I only shoot big game if it comes upon when I ‘m out hunting grouse. I have a 22 for shooting the chicken’s heads off.  My present love is the new break down stainless steel Ruger 22/10 rifle. Hunting with Luke I learned about the Ruger semi auto. On our trip to Fort St. James Luke was the most proficient grouse hunter with his Hawkeye accuracy and the Ruger 22/10 that Gilbert our grouse dog stopped hunting with the rest of us and latched on to Luke as obviously the best hunter among us.  On another hunter Sonny had a 20 guage and I loved watching him take down a grouse on the fly.  I loved shooting skeet and ducks but with a 22 I only shot the grouse on the ground or in the tree. A 12 guage is too heavy for grouse, pellets embedding deep in the meat. By contrast the 20 guage  6 or 7 shot is light enough that it drops the bird but doesn’t mess up the meat.  So now I carry the 22 and the 20 guage on a rack on the ATV.  My stainless steel Ruger 30:06 which Bill called the “Sexcaliber”  when I first got it rides in the Honda Pioneer’s cab with me.  When I bought the Ruger is was one of the earliest stainless steel rifles.  I wanted the stainless steel because I was living on a sailboat.  When I took it out of the box at Bill’s cabin in Campbell River, it was so shiny, I said, “It reminds me of Excalibur.”  Sherry said it looked ’sexy’ and Bill laughing said “It’s the Sexcalibur”.  The name stuck.  It’s been an amazing trustworthy reliable rifle for 30 years.   I used 180 grain bullets for everything on the mainland, bear, moose, and deer. On the Island I’d switch to 120 grain.  Bill turned me on to Nossler Partition bullets for big game, twice the cost but having dropped a charging bear and a charging moose in my time I’m thankful for the knowledge about bullets Bill shared.
I love the delicacy grouse is, similar to cornish game hens but bigger and better.  This weekend we didn’t even shoot a grouse. I had three take off before I could get the gun out. They really were skittish which could be expected given it was the end of the season. Tom and I drove out before dawn and unloading the Honda 500 Side by Side ATV from my Ford F350 at dawn. With Gilbert on my lap Tom drove us back into the woods. The only trouble was that we picked a short road.  So back we came.  We crossed the road only to drive along another short logging road.  We decided to bring along the truck and go a little further. Tom got in the truck with Gilbert. Gilbert really likes the truck. He ’s a suck for luxury and warmth so at first opportunity he’s in the truck happy to be standing on the centre between the men eyes peeled for grouse.  I drove along the ditch about 500 yards finding the next logging road. The only trouble with being camouflaged Tom drove by me and thought I’d kept on going.
We had our very effective little yellow motorola radio communicators but Tom didn’t have his turned on at first and I was calling on the wrong frequency.  After realizing he wasn’t coming back anytime soon I headed off into the woods. That’s when I saw the smart grouse who’d survived thus far and by being paranoid about cammo geared men carrying long guns lived another day.   I thought if I’d had Gilbert I might have got one.  Meanwhile Gilbert and Tom were watching does in the woods hoping that a buck would join the does but none did.
Getting the radios right and me on the right frequency, I called Tom. Gilbert was ecstatic to find me.  We loaded the ATV which we’ve named “Charles’ and headed down to the Big Bar Ferry. It’s all posted now.  Much of Clinton is off limits to hunting now. So much farm land. Lots of dude ranches.  Everywhere I go I see the development.
We did see a whole flock of turkeys’ “Are those wild turkeys?” Tom asked.  I quickly check IHunter an amazing app I have that works with the GPS puts up the hunting regs for the region one is in.  “Not in season here.” I said.
“Besides that farmer is giving us a really mean look.  Tom looked to where I was pointing and there was a farm house and a farmer had come out of his kitchen to watch us watching what obviously must be his turkeys. The turkeys picking up on our unhealthy interest had turned about and scurried across the road back to farmer who had a rather prominent sign posted saying “No trespassing. No hunting”.
Tom said, “I guess that pretty much ruins a good turkey hunt.’
We headed back to Clinton after that.  That night we had great pork roast in the restaurant. They were singing karaoke in the bar. The Trump election win was playing on the tv with the media still acting like the left hadn’t run.  CBC news was the worst, calling on every Trump hater to denounce him and singing the praise of Hillary and Bernie despite the fact that the majority of Americans and American Colleges and States had voted in Trump. To hear the media there’d been armed coup.  Meanwhile the Democrats were hypocritically  staging riots after days before saying they were afraid of the violence of Republicans.  Black leaders kept coming forward complaining that they couldn’t see any reason that black Democrats should break into their stores and steal their VCR’s and TV’s as a ‘demonstration’. It was chaos on the news and we were glad to be out in the simplicity of the country.
Tom or I said Grace each meal.
The salisbury steak the second night was so delicious , a spicy sauce to die for. The non fattening home made apple and berry pies with non fattening vanilla ice cream really topped off the meals. Gilbert loved the all beef paddies the chef cooked up especially for him.  When we got back to the room relieving him of his guard duty he was very happy to eat his delicious dog reward. When we go hunting we all have to rough it.
We found a fabulous place in the hills where deer trails became highways became freeways. So first thing in the morning before dawn we were back there. A fellow had shot a white tail deer along the trail the day before. We’d seen the remains.  Now we unloaded Charles the Honda Pioneer ATV. Tom headed up the little trail to where we’d found the trails leading up into he hills. I took Gilbert and we began an epic exploration of the surrounding area. I got off Charles back on a mountain side and Gilbert and I climbed up into the tree line to watch a clearing for an hour before cold and stiff I went back to the ATV.  All I’d seen was a Whiskey Jack.
Then we drove all over this incredible land , sometimes slow, sometimes fast, just enjoying seeing the terrain.  A white rabbit appeared in the woods alongside the trail I was driving along. It was probably thinking it was really stupid to have traded in it’s brown fur coat for the white fur coat too early. It really stuck out. I thought of shooting it with the 30:06 but it was too big a gun and there was too much chance of missing the head and simply wasting the fellow. So I let Gilbert out and the two of them had an epic chase in the woods the rabbit eventually winning with Gilbert returning tongue lolling.
In some savannah high country I spooked a flock of ptarmigan.  I thought at first they were ducks the way they rose up from a hollow and burst out ahead of me at high speed.  It was only when I watched them in flight I realized they were ptarmigan.  Over the years I’ve shot a few but they’re a whole lot smarter and more wiley than grouse.
The law is you can’t have loaded rifles in motorized vehicles.  When you’re transporting rifles on public roads you need a trigger lock on the vehicle. I take the trigger lock off in the backwoods logging trails or when I’m hiking in the mountain. But shooting game then requires getting the trigger lock off, loading the rifle and shooting.  If the game sees you first, naturally they’re not likely to wait for you.  I’ve missed so many deer and moose and birds and bear because of the tight laws that hunters have to abide by. If we don’t we risk forfeiting all our equipment.  It’s certainly not worth losing the right to hunt and tens of thousands of dollars of gear.  But for those nutbars who have never hunted know nothing about hunting and don’t know the restrictions we hunt under or how the animals aren’t just waiting to be shot like zoo animals well it’s not at all like the CBC stories tell it.  I bow hunt and that’s even more difficult because you have to be closer than with a rifle.  I’ve shot deer at 50 yards whereas I shot moose at 300 yards. Distance is all the difference. That and timing.  Most of the time the deer have gone from where I hoped to see them. They don’t keep appointments well and obviously get tired of waiting for this aging hunter.
BC is God's country. I loved travelling about the autumn back woods. I loved the winter chill in the air. I loved meeting men out back chain sawing their winter supply of firewood. I love the country. It's so incredibly beautiful in the fall with leaves changing to browns and yellows falling off trees while the pines and evergreens remain.  I love the rolling hills and plains, the rivers and the mountains in the distance.
When I was ready to go back to the truck I called Tom on the Motorola and we coordinated our return.  I was there first so drove on to pick up Tom walking back along grown over logging road. Gilbert was ecstatic to see his long lost friend, barking and running in circles. Tom is Gilbert’s favourite ball and stick thrower. Gilbert can do this all day and Tom is pretty happy to indulge him.  So back and the truck Tom threw stick and Gilbert fetched. I actually shot he was showing us that he really was up to fetching game if only we did our bit shooting it.  If Gilbert could switch to a different hunting team he would have. He knows he’s all star and that Tom and I this weekend were farm team.
Back at the Caribou Lodge we loaded up, dropped of the key and headed back to Vancouver.  We took the scenic route through Lillouete down past Pemberton. Arriving in district 2 before dusk we drove along a longing road looking for grouse only to realize that it just kept going up and up. I turned around when I could remembering previous experiences with high altitude roads and winter conditions. When we got back to the highway it was dark and the sleet had begun.i was thankful I’d turned around.  We drove down to Pemberton through thick fog and hail and sleet. It was good to get below the weather and off the slippery slushy road.  The drive down Whistler to Squamish was busy with traffic.  Night driving in rain wasn’t too much fun but better than the sleet. I remembered how many times I’d driven this sea to sky highway for skiing or hunting or motorcycling. In the day time it’s one of the most beautiful words in the world but this night it was work.
At Squamish we stopped at Gilbert’s Golden Arches. He loves MacDonald’s.  We got burgers and he was so happy to have his little paddy.  Back on the road the traffic had passed.  We somehow must have caught a rush hour because the rest of the way back was clear of cars and the rain actually stopped.
Back in Vancouver we unloaded the guns and ammo at the gun storage and then in Burnaby unloaded all the hunting clothing, chain saw, ropes and binoculars and radios and such. Tom was going to take Charles and the Truck out to his place.He was staying the night on Naomi his yacht before heading back to the country.  I had to get myself ready for work the next day. Winding down.  Shifting gears.  I watched some tv, had a ginger ale and fries.
Soon enough sleep came. It was a great weekend. Too bad we hadn’t shot anything but Gilbert had the time of his life and Tom and I had a good go of getting some game. We’d done all the right things.  Another time.  I figured this would probably be the last time I hunted this year.  I really was thankful for the deer I shot Thanksgiving when out in the country with Gilbert and Laura.  I’d sent Tom home with some of that venison and sure was enjoying barbecuing steaks and eating the stews I made.  Victor had shot a moose and given me some moose meat which I was looking forward to in a big way.  All in all a good year. Tom and I still have rabbits we shot early in the year. I love my rabbit stew.  
Thank you Lord for all your blessings

Kamloops and Beyond: quadding, boating, hunting, fishing, ball chasing

July long weekend and I had a hankering for camping. I had the new Honda 500 side by side Pioneer ATV from Honda Centre and the AB Profile hard bottomed inflatable with the Honda 30 hp Outboard.  Tom was keen to experience the new side by side "hunting mobile".  While I’d loved the Yamaha 450 quad when we got the two of us on and had to get off quickly to shoot game it was a regular Monty Python crazy dismounts with guns that didn’t work so well.  All round this new Pioneer side by side was the ticket.
After working till Friday afternoon I met up with Tom who’d come into Vancouver.  Thursday night I’d driven by the storage locker to gather guns, fishing rods, and camping gear.  The last time I’d camped other than on motorcycle had been before I bought my RV. It was hit or miss finding stuff packing it in the little Miata with Gilbert excited the whole while.
I’d earlier in the week looked for Provincial Campgrounds on line but found the ones I considered already booked.  People can book on line a year in advance. I wanted to be right on the water so a motel was out. I’d consider a lodge another time but this time the plan was to tent.  Suffering is good for the soul!
We had the Honda 500 Pioneer on the back of my skookum Ford F350 Harley Davidson 4x4 diesel Truck, with the back seat full of gear. (Tom says my F350 should be described as ‘packing a 6.0 Litre power stroke, turbo charged, at 20 psi boost, turns out 325 horse power and hauls ass.)
At Tom’s we added the boat and trailer after Tom and I got the turning lights working.  I cleaned connections while Tom replaced a bulb.  Then we were off.  It was already night when we pulled into the Superstore to get supplies.
“You must have gone without food sometime in your life,” Tom said after we’ loaded on a weeks supply of food for the weekend, just in case.
“I have,” I said.  When Tom and I sailed back from Hawaii we had at least a week or two canned goods left.  I always figure, we can use the left overs when we come back but there’s no shopping malls in the middle of the ocean or in the backwoods wilderness.  $50 worth of steak was typical male fare but we also had to have the specialty coffee to go with the Stainless Steel French press. Then there was cream and honey and watermelons and zucchini and jams and peanut butter, yoghurts, deli light rye and the other items one absolutely needs for truly roughing it in the backwoods.  When I’m motorcycle camping I haven’t room but this truck camping gives one a lot of space.
"We didn’t have a lantern so I said , "I could get a new generator.  One never has enough power. "
I’d  sold Tom my Honda 3000 watt when I bought the Energy RV with its built in Cummins 4000.
“What happened to the Honda 1000 watt we had sailing back from Hawaii?” Tom asked.
"The little Honda lives  on the sailboat.”
Maple ridge Motorsports, advertising Honda Power tools,  just jumped out at us then as we were tooling up the #7. Amazing store. Great staff. Sure enough they had a sale on Honda generators.  The new EU 2000i was even quieter than my 1000 and only $200 more than the new 1000, a little bulkier but about the same weight.  We now had a generator I could charge my computer and iPhone with as well as use to power Tom’s  work light as a lantern. It was all we could do though to get out without buying a KTM enduro. They had a street legal 500 enduro on sale that was to die for. We were lucky we had no room for it.
We then stopped at the incredible new Cabelas in Abbotsford because I no longer had a two burner stove.  Naturally we needed to get a new higher quality stainless steel "Leatherman Charge", a camping chair with attached table.  Tom got his fishing license, and I got a new telescoping rod with skookum case.  I’d just broken another rod so was adamant about a carrying case.
Gilbert was happy when we stopped at a Macdonald’s.   He gets his little prime burger paddy while Tom and I had quarter pounder combos.  After that Gilbert and I dozed as Tom drove us up the Coquahalla to Merritt.
All the motels in Merrit were full so we drove onto Kamloops.  We didn’t actually have a destination. Just an idea of a lake and there were a whole lot of lakes around Kamloops.  At 3 am we booked into a motel on the #1 east side leaving Kamloops.  We had to haul the food and guns and valuables into the motel. I locked down everything I could as well then slept  till Gilbert woke us around 8 am.  Normally he’d wake us at 7 but he seemed to know we needed our sleep.
Great A&W egger and sausage breakfast. I filled up the thermos with coffee.  Tom filled the truck with fuel but we both forgot to fill the gas jerry cans.  Lucky enough I had a full can  in the boat locker.  I had thought to bring my BC Back Roads Map Book for the Thompson Nicola so while Tom drove I  was checking out lakes heading towards fabulous Shuswap. Laura and I had been up that way for the First Sturges North Motorcycle Ralley and loved it. The Anglican Church has its Retreat Centre at Sorrento.
At Chase we pulled off and checked out the Little Shuswap.  It’s a lovely tourist lake which I described to Tom as not quite what we were looking for but a great place to ‘water ski’.  Nearby  Adams Lake was just too big, a sailboaters windy dream lake. Pretty though with lots of lovely campgrounds.
We drove on to the provincial park at Niskonlith Lake.  The road in is over First Nations Land, with unfriendly signs, "no stopping vehicle without permission’.  Very private.  Niskonlith Lake and the Provincial Park were lovely.  Great campsites on the lake, nice size of lake, wilderness, all round, perfect. Except they had rules ‘all provincial camps, dogs must be on leash at all times.”  Gilbert didn’t like that.
McGillivray Lake looked more appealing on the map, if only because I know a legendary Druid, Canadian folksinger poet of that name and was reading a history of Scotland at the time.  We didn’t make it to McGilvrary which we learned from a couple of good guys we talked to from Chase was full.  We did find a little lake and bit of back woods grass in the environs though which Gilbert thought was perfect.  Considering we’d brought guns to target practice this way out of the way not on a map place we had to 4x4 into was just perfect.
So that’s where we’ve been these last two days.
That first day was hot, the sun shining with blue sky all round. First task was to set up tents.  I had the MSR 2 man tent I’d bought at MEC. I’d  packed the Eagle’s Camp gazebo instead of my other old 5 man tent.  Tom decided he’d use the gazebo, preferring space to comfort.  The gazebo reduced the mosquitos but didn’t keep  later rain out.  He was thankful for a ground tarp I found stashed under the seat in the truck.   Gilbert and I were snug in the little orange MEC mountaineering tent.  In the middle of the night I felt his little body pressed up against mine, shivering with his summer hair cut. I’d forgotten his sweaters so just wrapped him in the extra mommy sleeping bag I had.  The shivering stopped and we both went back to sleep.
That first morning Tom was up and had the coffee ready.  I liked that.  Nothing like the smell of brewing coffee to get a aching body out of a tent.  Gilbert figures Tom is his personal yellow tennis squeaky ball thrower as Tom good naturedly threw the ball countless times for the excited little dancing dog to fetch.  Bacon sandwiches followed. Nothing like bacon sandwiches and fresh coffee to make one feel sorry for oneself.
We used the Pioneer 500 to haul the boat down to the little lake.  Tom tried fishing. While he was doing that I was exploring all over the country side, loving my Pioneer.  Gilbert wasn’t supposed to sit on the seat beside me. The plan was that he’d stay on the floor but sometime  that day he was in his normal spot on the seat beside me.  He intently watches as we drive along and sometimes sees game before me. He alerted Tom and I to a rabbit when we were sitting in the truck in the camp waiting out the rain.  He began grunting and pointing his nose till we saw the invader.  it escaped before either of us could shoot it.  Gilbert took off full bore after it and made sure it didn’t come back this way.
At the camp we had targets out and sited in my stainless steel Ruger semi auto 22.  Nice feeling, getting that perfect pattern around the bullseye.  I’d sited in the Ruger mini 14 223 the week before so I just shot up cans for a bit with that. Tom had his SKS and was enjoying target shooting as well.   Tom and I took the Pioneer 500 out for a ride around the logging roads really enjoying it’s performance, 5 gear performance.  We checked out getting in and out of it, each with his own rifle, and sure enough it was better than a truck.  Gilbert loves when he’s part of a pack.  We just drove around exploring and adventuring.
Rabbits were everywhere.  We checked the hunting regs and sure enough these european cottontail were legal.  Little bunnies. I missed a couple, going only for a head shot, worried, what the 223 would do.  They are really fast and when I missed them Gilbert was ecstatic chasing them like a little locomotive. He actually brought one around so it passed back by me surprising me so I didn’t get a shot but figured my smart little dog had just herded game home.  Shinto, my other hunting dog, had figured out working as a pair like that. Now here was Gilbert doing the same.  The intelligence of dogs just amazes me. Unfortunately some people don’t measure up.
I eventually hit one. Back at the camp I skinned it and rinsed it by the lake. Tom brazed it then made  a new creation, “lapin superduty stew”.  While it simmered, we had to sit in the truck  and  let the thunderstorms roll through.   The first was  particularly as it dumped a shitload of hail.  The others were just  quick rainstorms that passed over.
That rabbit stew was something I’d been thinking off for some time. It’s been years since I shot a rabbit and had rabbit stew. This was just perfect.  Delicious. The meat flaking off the bone.
“A pressure cooker would be better for tenderizing,’ Tom said.
“This is just perfect!” I answered, savouring every bite of meat. The stew itself was onions, potatoes, tomato and ginger beer.. I shared a taste of meat with Gilbert who then looked at Tom with awe.  .
Tom and I shot several more rabbits up the hill behind our camp.  There were fields of daisies.  I  saw several dear driving around and got a picture of a particularly grand doe. . There was bear sign but no bears came round. I’m fastidious about cleaning up the camp and making sure all the food is in the truck before we sleep.  Having Gilbert along also keeps bears away.
The generator worked just as we hoped.  Quiet as can be, charging my iPad I was using for reading Scottish and Irish history while we waited out the rains in the truck.  At night before falling asleep I enjoyed reading too.  Nice that the iPad has its now built in light for kindle reading.
Today I was up first.  I made the coffee, then we had yoghurts.  Tom mixed his with the left over apricots. He’d brought along a jar he’d picked by St. Matthew’s Church then canned.  Another taste treat.  Tom’s gone off now exploring on the Pioneer taking Gilbert. I charged the computer and transferred the photos I’d taken with the iPhone. I had my Nikon camera along but the iPhone was always handier.
Now Tom’s back and I’d best begin cleaning up camp and stowing. A lot of people have been doing the same thing as we are, maybe not the hunting part but everything else. We're all heading  back to the city after too short a time in God’s Country, BC. Can’t wait to return.
Thank you Jesus!