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 .

First night Truck Tenting, Duffy Lake Road.

First Long Weekend of Spring. Laura says its the Victoria Day Camping weekend.
I left work on Friday riding the Harley Davidson motorcycle home from the clinic. Id’ made my last phone call to a colleague to discuss the long weekend policy.   It was 2 pm Friday. The long weekend had begun.
Laura texted me. “I”m just leaving work. The bus is delayed. I don’t think I’ll be able to get there till 3 or 4. “  I didn’t mind.  I was already busy in the trailer garage finding camping gear from a year before.I was also sorting through the boxes of ‘stuff’ I’d unloaded from my old truck when I’d traded it in for this one. I love my new white Ford F350  Lariat edition with sun roof and long box. It was finally going to used for one of the prime reasons I bought it for, hunting, fishing and camping.
I have a bear tag. I have a Ruger stainless steel 30:06 rifle and Nossler partition 180 grain bullets. I’m loaded for bear.  Though I’ve shot three I’ve no real desire to shoot another. Mainly because I’m not a really great fan of bear meat. Moose and venison are a different matter.  Bear I can take or leave. The smoked ham is great but so far the sausage hasn’t appealed to me.   Mostly I’ve gifted my bear meat to my aboriginal friends who really seem to love it.  I really was taking the rifle along this weekend, just in case.
The main event of the weekend would be the new “impulse buy” Cabelas Napier tent truck.  Aubrey, Dave, Rick and Rick’s Laura along with Gilbert and Emory the dogs had all helped me put it up the first time on Thursday night. “I still think you’re going to get a motel,” Dave said.  Aubrey helped with the colour coded rods and Rick figured that some went on the interior. Laura laughed a lot.  But the tent did get set up.
By the time my Laura drove over in her little red diesel Smart Car I had packed up my winter clothes to put in the storage locker, cleaned out several bags of garbage and packed all I needed for the weekend.  I even remembered my BC hunting license and the Iridium satellite phone and Motorola walkie talkies.
It was 5 pm when we got to the storage locker.  Rush hour traffic was in full swing.  A little delay on the upper reaches.  I’d forgotten the entrance code but followed a pretty Aussie lady in.  I was able to catch the manager and get the code so I could get out and back in.
The locker was a mess. Tom and I on our last trip had barely found room for “Charles’ the Honda 500 Pioneer side by side. Making room we’d just piled stuff on top of it hurrying to finish after a long drive down from Kamloops with work in the early morning. It was a bit of a chore but finally I found Charles, backed him out and put up the ramps for the first loading.  I’d had this special spray for the truck  box to protect it and give it extra grip. It was about to get it’s first trial.  Charles had started up wonderfully and was just purring after a ride  round of the lot.  I lined up the ramps and taking my life in my hands drove up onto the truck box. I wasn’t quite aligned careening over one wheel hub but stopping just short of dinting the back of the new pristine truck cab.
“Laura, it doesn’t fit.”I said.
“You’re kidding. That’s why you got the long box”.
“I didn’t take into account the winch."
“Will we be able to take it?"
“Oh, for sure, I just won’t be able to close the tail gate completely. It will be up and I could haul the trailer with it like this but it’s not perfect."
(When I’d traded my Yamaha 500 in for the Honda side by side because Gilbert the cockapoo couldn’t jump on and off that height after hurting his back, I hadn’t measured the length of the Honda which turned out too long for my last Ford F350 with it’s short box.  With the tail gate down I couldn’t haul the trailer so when I traded the truck in I got the humungous long box which makes the truck almost impossible to park in the city. All so I’d be able to haul the Honda with the tailgate up.  God made rope and bungee chords for people like me.”)
It was 6 pm.
“I think I should shop here at the Saveon Foods rather than waiting to do it in Pemberton.” I said.
“That’s a good idea. I can wait in the truck with Gilbert and watch the gear,” Said Laura.  I like her doing  that  when I have rifles and ammo in the truck.
One never should shop when one is hungry, tired and thirsty. A full shopping cart and $500 bill.  I know I’ll only use a quarter of what I got but I won’t have to shop for groceries for a week or two after as I ‘ll be able to bring it all back. But i just kept thinking I’ll be off the grid and there won’t be any corner stories or pizza delivery.  So like Ialways I over stocked.  Nobody who has ever sailed ,camped or hunted with me has ever faced a shortage of food.I also confess, since I’m ‘roughing it’ in the woods I like to have the a few luxuries, like the apple cheeses and rainforest crackers and best cut steaks.  It’s alright to be decadent when one is miles from nowhere in a tent surrounded by bears.
Driving out of the city I made a wrong turn and headed across Lion’s Gate. The signs don’t allow you to turn till you’re almost downtown.  I’m distinctly different from the other cars heading out to party at the famed Vancouver night clubs and restaurants. I’m driving a humungous Ford F350 carrying a tall Honda 500 side by side with camping chairs and tables lining the sides. The men may have looked envious at me but the women were giving Laura looks of sympathy.
It’s 730 pm when we’re headed up the Sea to Sky High way between ocean and mountains.  I’d  made the last  to fill up with gas. I filled up Charles and a couple of jerry cans as well.  $200.  Camping is not cheap.  The equipment to do a weekend of camping, the truck and gear and everything else, though acquired over years is more than a $100,000.  No wonder only the city rich or country poor hunt  and those who camp like safety of the "people plush” provincial campgrounds rather than the isolation of the wilderness.  The roads to Canada’s provincial campgrounds, really heavenly places, can be reached by Laura’s Smart Car so anyone with a vehicle can enjoy those. It’s the off roading when the costs start, in vehicles and equipment.
“All the campgrounds are free all across Canada this summer, “ Laura said, “It’s because it’s  Canada’s 150th birthday,”
The Squamish Chief is the most majestic mountain face in BC. I never get tired of looking at it each time I pass through Squamish.  It’s beauty is different depending on the light.  At dusk tonight it was wonderful.
We stopped at Starbucks for coffee.  I bought a very large Mocha.
The police had a road block at Breckenridge.
“They’re having a big festival of the outdoors at Whistler this weekend. They must be checking for alcohol,."
“No,” I said. “That’s not a typical breath check.”  4 cars and a half dozen police.
The RCMP said hello and waved us through.
“He looked everywhere inside the vehicle,”  Laura said.
“He sure did. They were looking for someone.  He didn’t even take a whiff inside. They’d ask if they were just checking for alcohol. This was a whole lot more serious.”
The pink sunset over the mountains was incredible just south of Whistler.  Laura tried to get a picture on the iPhone but it just didn’t do the colours justice.  I loved the endless spruce trees and all the memories of driving this road back and forth skiing with Sherry, then motorcycling with Laura and countless times hunting and camping alone.  It’s always different but always the same like high school friends.
We drove through Whistler with only one glych. A drunk or stoned  guy on a bicycle driving against traffic in the middle of the road. The car a head of me swerved to miss him and then I did the same hardly seeing him blinded by the light of the on coming traffic.
Finally at Pemberton I stopped at the gas station for the final fill up before going onto the bush.  Laura availed herself of the last civilized washroom. We even got burgers and fries at the late open MacDonalds .  Lots of young people texting on their phones sitting in booths working on lap top computers.
“You remembered Gilbert’s paddy’. she asked
“Of course,”
Gilbert loves the MacDonald’s plain paddy. He joneses at the sight of the double golden arches.  Laura breaks it up into pieces to slow him down. Still he’s begging for a bit of my burger before I’m finished.  It’s dark outside driving.  I almost missed the Skokumchuk Hot springs turn off on the Duffly Lake Road.
The first concern is about 50 cars parked along the road outside the first of the Lillouette Lake campsites.  It turns out this is an aboriginal festival so we don’t worry about yahoos and drinking and drugs. We see the folk in native costumes and some carrying drums.
The next campsite is a little more concerning. Lots of cars spilling over onto the road and 30 year olds staggering about in the dark.
“I’m not liking this.”  I say to Laura.
“I told you my niece and her friends come up to Skookumchuck to party each weekend. It’s become really popular with the young crowd.”  I’d heard her but ignored her and here was the evidence against the quiet tranquil place of my memory.
“It’s been taken over like the Chilliwack Lake and  Chilliwack River Road. Young people partying. Loud music and too much alcohol and drugs.  Maybe with the marijuana being legalized they’re stay in the city and leave us the country.” I laughed.
At midnight ,the half dozen guys on motocross bikes careening by us at high speed settled it.  Lizzie Lake Campsite had definitely been taken over by aliens. We could hear the music from cars and dozens of campfire were burning around the lakeside.
“I don’t see this getting any better,”  I said turning the truck around.
“I don’t like to be around drugs and alcohol,” Laura said. “I’ve known too much tragedy and unhappiness caused by it. They never think of what their behaviour does to others and I just can’t stand it anymore.  I’m sorry but it really triggers me.  I get so angry at the stupidity and selfishness.  They frighten me too.  I just can’t relax around people who drink or drug. I’m always waiting for the explosion.  They’re nice and then the accidents happen or the explosions or the craziness. I can’t stand it."
“Too much like work to me.” I said as we made our way slowly back over the pot holed logging road.
That’s when I made the mistake of pointing out the big black bear by the side of the road.  Laura freaked.
“Was that a bear.  It was huge,” she shouted.
“Yes. It was just a black bear.”
“I’m terrified of bear."
I remembered the time along this road when she was on the back of the Harley 1200 Roadster. I looked up on a knoll and there was a big black bear looking down at us.  I pointed it out to Laura then thought nothing of it, knowing the bear was most afraid of humans and machines so was probably headed back into the woods.  It must have been 20 minutes further along that Laura, called into my ear, “Do you think the bear has stopped chasing us?”  It’s an epochraphal story and I confess I’ve told it with way too much glee.  Black bears are mostly only a problem if you show fear.  I’ve been knocked down by them and punched them and know them as the big mean dogs they are.  Despite being the cause of almost all bear mauling they’re only opportunistic. Run and they’re haul you down.  Feed them and they’re maul you. But stand up to them and they’re leave you alone. That’s been my experience time and gain.  Grizzlies on the other hand will maul you.  They’re territorial and if you’re in their territory they are going to punish you if not eat you out right. All you can do  wit them is curl up and pray.  Polar Bear who I’ve been chased by a couple of times are altogether different. They see man as walking seals.  Food. So if a polar bear takes an interest in you, all you can do is run and run fast.  They will eat you.
Now Laura was terrified of bears.  And foolish me I’d just pointed one out.
“I decided to come this way because there’s hardly any grizzly bear over here. They’re over by Meager Mountain and Gold River. This is pretty much only black bear.”  I was cursing myself because I’d forgot the other gun I usually bring when I take her hunting. She has her firearms acquisition and is a great shot.  When I go off by myself she stays in the camp with the truck and tent and has a gun just in case.
“I’m not afraid in the daylight. It’s just at night. When you’d leave pre dawn to go hunting I’d just lie awake holding onto the gun waiting to be mauled until the light came an hour later.” she told me.  I guess telling her that there weren’t that many grizzlies this side of Pemberton wasn’t too reassuring either.  To her bear are bear.   I hadn’t planned to go hunting pre dawn this trip anyway. One of the reasons for the truck tent had been to give her a sense of safety when we were camping.
Admittedly, after a skunk shoved up against the side of the tent scratching at my face last year I too was a bit turned off to camping on the ground. I only realized it was a skunk when I got up with the gun and was expecting at most to shoo away a racoon.  Instead I saw a big momma skunk and her little ones.  That was too close a call.  I prefer my RV but as I live in it most of the time it’s just not worth hauling it for a weekend.  If I was going for a week or two I’d take the RV for sure. That’s Laura and my  favourite type of camping now.
I remember my parents moving up from tenting to trailer tenting to their motorhomes. My brother and I made fun of them.  But dad would say, “when you get my age you’ll appreciate not having to sleep on the cold ground.  Besides you know your mom loves her motorhome."
The other reason I’d not gone over the Merger Creek Gold River way was the flooding this year. Long winter and run off had lots of rivers flooding so there were provincial wide warnings about the lowland areas.
As we drove up the Duffy Lake Road, deer were everywhere.  This was their time.  We’d see their eyes in the lights in the ditch and their ghostly bodies as we passed. I wasn’t driving fast not wanting to hit one.  This was my favourite motorcycle route, Duffy Lake Road, winding road, with it’s great mountain views and evergreen forest, is really one of the famed motorcycle rides of the continent.  It’s a great weekend circle route from Vancouver to Abbotsford to Lillouette to Pemberton or the other way.  The combination of Sea to Sky Highway and then the Duffy Lake Road and Coquihalla makes it some of the most scenic viewing of varying terrains one can ever hope to find.  Not surprising all the little campgrounds along the route were full.
Not only that, I was looking specifically for a campsite near a logging road so I could take Charles for a ride in the morning. Having a mule deer doe tag for Pemberton area for the fall I really did want to find a place I’d like to return to hunt.  I was quickly learning where I didn’t want to hunt but when I did find a perfect little solo campsite by the river with a logging road leading up into the mountains, Laura said, “There’s no one else around."
I knew I shouldn’t have pointed out that bear.
We drove on a little ways further and the really perfect campsite appeared, half empty too.  Nearly all the way to Lillouete but just grand.
3 am.  I unloaded the camp gear stuffed in the box.  With the ramps out I took my life into my hands and backed Charles down off the truck in the dark. I survived!
Now I began setting up the Napier tent in the back, sure glad I’d had a dry run with all the help.  It was a bit iffy at times but working methodically I soon had all the tie downs and poles in.  What a great feeling when the whole thing lifts up.
“Voila! a Truck Tent”.  It looked so spacious, it was almost cathedral.
Now Laura who’d been groggily  waiting with Gilbert in the truck helped get all the bedding out.  She really is a little thing and setting up the tent wouldn’t have gone faster with her helping.  Keeping Gilbert out of the way did.  I felt badly with the noise I’d made parking and unloading Charles and setting up the tent. Our immediate young  neighbours had been woken, their dogs barking but then they’d gone right back to sleep.
Now Laura and I and Gilbert were in our Mountain Equipment Coop -20 degree sleeping bags, foamies under our butts and Gilbert at our head lying on my cammo fleece jacket.  This tent truck was luxurious. I was still wide awake. The late night coffee from Macdonald’s still doing it’s thing.
It was 4:30 am.  Laura and Gilbert were sleeping.  I had the rifle loaded beside me.  Nothing in the chamber.  Just ready.  It was comforting. The sound of the running river was splendid. The air smelt so fresh.  I really did like this Napier truck tent.  Despite Laura telling me earlier that bears could climb it was very very unlikely. We were a whole lot safer.   I knew falling asleep I wasn’t going to wake to a black and white momma skunk scratching at my face.  Life was good. It really was good being off the ground. You’re right too Dad, I do miss my bed.

Wildlife I saw motorcycycling Washington, Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Colorado, and South Dakota

Part of the joy of motorcycling is seeing all the game alongside the road. It's easier to stop on a motorcycle and get pictures too. The only concern though is at dusk and dawn, the wildlife may choose to cross the road. This could be a castastrophe for us both so I slowed down and was especially vigilante at those times.

Helena Forest Bear

This big sow was almost at the road when I came along and stopping scared off her cub. It ran back up the trail and  I believe scaled the tree directly behind Mom.  Mom just watched me hoping I'd leave but I enjoyed taking pictures till she got bored and went to her cub.  I love the wildlife I've seen on this trip. It's so easy to pull over with the motorcycle and get pictures as well.

Bear Scat, Deer Scat and Tracks

When hunting we look for 'sign'.  Sign is evidence of the animals in the region where we are hunting. The best evidence is the animal itself.  Alternatively we see their tracks but say "tracks make a thin soup".  Even better is fresh 'scat'.  Bear shit. Deer shit. Moose shit.  Hunters talk alot about shit.  We encourage newcomers to taste it for freshness and occasionally get a 'mark'.

I did find a hairy spiral shaped mass that made me first think of a my cat and it's fur balls. I wondered if it was a cougar fir ball but figured it was more likely wolf scat.
Needless to say we saw lots of tracks and lots of scat. The full mood and good weather meant that the animals had a lot of time at night for carousing so were less likely to be seen during the day.

Polaris Sportsman 500 and hunting in Northern BC

British Columbia is divided into different hunting regions with their own rules of conservation.  Depending on the year some areas you can hunt deer in one area where you can't in another.  Within each region there are management units.  Again each unit has even more specific regulations about when and what you can hunt.  We had camped in M.U. 7.16 but had Limitted Entry tags for Management Unit 7.23.  Limited Entry is a 'draw' that occurs each year and hunters who win the draw are allowed to hunt a specific animal not allowed in that time or place.  All of this 'game management' is paid for by hunter licenses, each species cost $20 dollars a tag or more and the overall hunter license around $50.
The principle support for ecological conservation of wildlife and fishing and their environment comes from the fees paid by hunters and fishermen.  There are hundreds of thousands of us. Whenever I hear "activists' 'talking' ad infinitum about their contribution and their concern for 'wilderness', 'old growth forest', 'endangered species' etc I remember that the hard earned cash of hunter's and fisherman are the principle means of maintaining conservation officers and ensuring that accurate counts of game and intimate knowledge of habitat is maintained by our government.  We're the ones who have the real invested interest in ensuring that game survive and annually we can enjoy the outdoors and harvest. . I commonly  spend several hundred dollars a year on licenses and tags for hunting and fishing.  Almost as commonly I'll be lucky if I catch a fish and shoot a deer.  I pay for the priviledge of hunting. I don't get a refund for what I don't catch or shoot.
The Polarais was perfect for the logging roads and back country trails and off road terrain.  I had to travel about 17 km over rough active twisting logging roads to get from where I was camped on the Cuchinka Red Forest Service  to the Cuchinka Anzac Forest Service Road where we could hunt bull moose.  Because the bridge was out some days we'd load the ATV in the back of my Ford F350 and drive the north to the northern entrance of the Cuchinka Colbourne Forest Service Road where my friend Luke and I would ride on the Polaris..  We'd see bull moose in both places.
In the 17 km stretch I drove the Polaris ATV in 2wheel drive mode like a mad man. It was usually dark with just the beginning of light. I started at 30 miles an hour but soon was doing 50 miles an hour, the machine hugging the road and me feeling like a 1930's racing car driver.  Sometimes when I hit bumps and was airborne I felt like I was Snoopy racing through the air to take on the Red Barron. Gilbert, my daring cockapoo rode behind me with a leash to his dashing orange and black Harley Davidson vest keeping him from flying out.  Up to 30 miles an hour he was standing with his nose and face stretched out beside me taking in the wind and scents.  Around 40 he'd tuck in behind me for the shelter from the cold since the mornings were chilly.
When we got to our destination road I'd  switch to 4 wheel drive mode.  The machine did amazingly well over the over grown side roads bashing through willows and even riding over the churned up forest bed where recent logging had been. There and in the thick mud after a couple of nights rain I'd had to use the low gear 4 wd.  Mostly the low gear served me best coming down steep mountain slopes, just walking the machine safely down while I felt like we'd begin tumbling head over heels at any moment.
It had amazing power. 500 hp being more than one needs for hunting but at times I'd take my buddy Luke along and with the 2 of us I certainly appreciated the size of engine. I never did get the pleasure of carrying out a moose on the Polaris but it would do that job well indeed. Luke also drove the ATV about some days when I was off walking and absolutely loved it.
Gilbert and I had a whole lot of fun exploring on the Sportsman 500.  I'd drive to my hunting spot and sit waiting in ambush for an hour or so then I'd walk about stalking somewhere else for another hour. After that I'd be careening all over the countryside going whereever my hearts desire took me.  I startled moose on the road who ran across my path while I tried to get a gun loaded to take a shot.  I missed. The bear were faster though. One young black bear out ran me down a trail and was off in the woods before I even had time to stop.  I saw other bear on the spruce and pine lined ridges but they were often more than 300 yards off.  It was just a delight to be able to drive around the country side putting a hundred miles a day of off road ATV'ing  in seeing some of the most beautiful wilderness in the world.  I probably used around 5 gallons of gas a day so the saving compared to using my truck was extraordinary. Besides the paint job on my Harley Davidson edition Ford F350 wasn't meant to be bush burned.  In contrast I think that Polaris is using something NASA developed for it's paint job because despite all the beating the machine took it didn't loose it's pristine good looks.