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 .

Princeton Autumn Hunt

Laura arrived pulling her flight bag at 3 pm on Friday. I’d loaded the white F350 truck with my bags, guns and ammo. Gilbert was beside himself barking with glee when he smelled Laura. He can’t see her so he was distracted a bit my the more powerful smelling female dog, Bella who happened to be going for a walk outside as Laura was arriving. It was all very exciting for him.

Great day. Great drive. Lovely sunshine and blue sky. We stopped at Cabelas so I could pick up some rubber soled moccasins. After that we stopped at Macdonald’s for Gilbert’s angus paddy and quarter pounders with fries for Laura and I. I had my Thermos Thermos and filled up with double double coffee. 

Back on the road, we only stopped again at Manning Resort to use the facilities and let Gilbert have a pee break. We’re talking about going snowshoeing there this winter. It’s been years since I stayed at the resort but remember the cross country skiing winter trip in the Vanagon fondly as an ‘adventure’.  It takes adventure planning to get through the Canadian winter. Downhill skiing at Whistler really was a winter relief for decades but it just lacked appeal when there wasn’t any dope smoking. With Weed Wednesday coming up next week I expect more people will be up on the slopes this year enjoying the combination.  

I’d booked Ponderosa Motel, sorry to hear the Korean fellow had gone into receivership under a cloud. I’d like him and his wife when we stayed but understand why townspeople wonder about his losing money on such a successful motel.  What’s with motel’s these days?  Greenwood Motel last week was such a nightmare from hell.  Anyway, Princeton has always been a great place to stay and we’ve stayed in several of the motels over the years all of them being a great time. Which is why it was sad to hear Ponderosa was in receivership.

The good news though was Karen and Jim were temporarilyt manageing the place. We’d met Karen and Jim years back when Laura and I would ride the motorcycle up to Princeton and tent in the in town RV park.  We loved our times there.  Laura would lie in a chair reading or sun tanning while I was more often than not off exploring, spring or fall hunting or summer trout fishing.  Karen says she’s older than she appears and both Laura and I were amazed at how well they were. Jim’s the epitome of a country gentleman, a bit Clint Eastwood cowboy with a touch of Carey Grant.  A truly handsome couple who used to summer in Canada and winter in the south when they closed the RV park. Smart by Canadian standards.  

Laura loved the motel.  I walked over to the Mall Pizza and got the great the ultra meat and cheese sticks. The large was so big we could have fed a half dozen.  Thankfully the room had a fridge and cold pizza became the next day’s lunch.  Gilbert loves Princeton and seems to remember the lane way walk and the town park.  Having hearing aids now I also was able to enjoy TV without offensive people banging on the walls.  It’s amazing how that phenomena ended when I got the NexGen hearing aids.  Go figure.

I really did get up at 6 and was on the road at 630 am.  I picked up A&W egged and sausage and hash browns, filled my thermos and actually was at the front of the line of hunters going through the hills first thing in the morning. There must have been a half dozen or more campsites with tents or trailers and I slowly passed each seeing they were just getting on their quads as the sun was coming up.  I think sun up was near 640 am.  I didn’t see anything but it was great to be first on the trail.  

I did have an obnoxious Jeep with hunters behind me who actually tried to pass me but I sped up annoyed that their following kept me going faster than I would choose.  I assumed they had some place picked and wanted to get to it but the hunting etiquette is you don’t pass another hunter early morning since he’s there first.  Mostly what we do is take a turn off and hunt some side road. At the first turn off I did just that losing the irritation that was affecting my prayer and concentration.

A grouse stood in the middle of the road. I shot it with #6 20 gauge , too far away. It’s feathers were ruffled but it flew straight and long. Of course my shot cleared all the bucks out after that.  My old hunting buddy Bill Mewhort would curse me when I’d shoot grouse out hunting. “We’re hunting deer, Bill. Your shooting grouse is scaring all the game away.”  But I’d tell him I was first and foremost a grouse hunter and had the greatest difficulty resisting shooting the tasty littler birds.  

I did see three doe. Watching one through my telescope I hallucinated horns but then before firing checked with my binoculars and saw it was a doe.  I’d want it to be a buck so bad. Probably a transgender deer but I let her go.  None of the deer this time of year as ‘self identifying’ as male. Bucks are doing anything they can to conceal their horns.  I left the truck on the mountainside and walked a trail a half mile or so before sitting in ambush. I saw 4 more doe climbing the hill but no bucks. It was chilly but the air is so fresh and the evergreen forest, blue sky, white clouds, mountains so beautiful it was a job to be out there.  Shivering I finally slogged back to the truck.  

I’d put all my gear in the laundry from last week, my long johns specifically. The Stan field greys weren’t missed but I have these Italian pair from the Bay that are just perfect. Without them I’d bought XL Women’s “leggings”.  Leggings are women’s thin ‘long johns’ whereas ‘tights’ have the feet. They sell them in Fields in Princeton.  Not as good as the Italian Long Johns but better than Stanfields which are warm but baggy.  They’re meant for overalls not for stretchy jeans.  

Around noon I got tired of driving about the backwoods and headed down to join Laura and Gilbert. The day had heated up with the sunshine so we were able to sit outside at Thomasina’s in town. Laura bought me Cafe Latte and Pastry.  We love the uptown flavour of Thomasina. Laura said she heard the owner was running for mayor. He’s a great guy and has been running a fine business so I think the town would do well to have him at the helm. Laura is a source of all manner of gossip and the story is the big events are a community public swimming pool. Laura heard that the older people would be keen for this because all the doctors recommend aqua fit. Apparently there’s also going to be a pharamaceuticial enterprise which would provide jobs.

We love Princeton and always talk about how much we’d love to live there.  I even bought a 649 ticket and gave it to Laura to manage. I lose them.  She put it in the machine and it gave her another ticket.  We love the Home Hardware because the staff all love dogs and Gilbert likes the staff who all welcome him.  

I did the evening hunt seeing lots of little fast moving rabbits at dusk but all too fast for me. More deer too. The amazing thing was another moose came out on the road in front of me and ran down the logging road. I’d done this last weekend and here again I was trying to get the iPhone to believe I wasn’t driving while I was bouncing all over the road road trying to work the screen with one hand. When I finally got the picture it flashed with a perfect windshield shot and just the faint impression of the moose’s great antlers.

At night I walked over to Little Creek GRill for take out. It’s a wonderful restaurant with great atmosphere, service and food but we like to watch tv in he room with Gilbert. The lasagna was spectacular. Laura loved the casesar salad best and something about the garlic bread was just perfect.  I don’t remember what we watched on tv.  I fell asleep right after eating.  

No plan to hunt in the morning I ‘slept in’ till 7 am. This is what working for 40 years steady after a decade of studies does to one.  Gilbert woke us first at 5 am but then let us sleep in till 7 am.  

It was only a little after 8 when we were packed up and headed back, stopping only at A&W for Eggers and hash browns and coffee.  A lovely drive home.  Back in Vancouver a little after noon.  No game but a great weekend backwoods and enjoying Princeton.  

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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

Moscow - hiking about

It was my last day in Moscow.   I visited some churches then went on an adventure looking for St. Andrew’s Church of England. There was supposed to be an evening service and meeting there. The evening service turned out to be off because an opera recital was taking place.  I actually was sitting in a cafe, showing a girl the google internet map of the area, and street the cafe was actually on asking, where the church street was, showing her the names of the streets,   when it was only a couple of blocks away and she said she didn't recognize any of the streets.  They were in her language and alphabet but they were all Greek to me.
I eventually got a map which had both the cyrrilic and latin naming. Then I asked a young man and he pointed me to the very street the cafe was on. He used his Samsung gps and rudimentary English to make sure I was pointed down the street to the church a couple of blocks away. It was across from the Marriott Courtyard.  I’d already gone to the Marriott Moscow Grand.  This was beyond the great Russian writer Pushkin's statue. There a lovely Marriott trainee got me all sorted out finding the right Marriott and gave me the indispensable tourist map.
Up until now I’d not needed such a map because Barrett had been reading a regular Moscow map in cyrrilic code.I’m convinced the Soviets use the cyrrilic alphabet just to ensure that no invader will ever get through Moscow or anywhere in fact in Russia because it’s all Greek.
I finally found St. Andrews only to encounter a busy surly chaplain.  Travelling, I’ve enjoyed meeting priests around the world, but this one was the first rude one.  Later I told Barrett about this and she figured he’d probably osmosed the Russian brevity and abruptness and not to take it personally.  As his church was being turned into an operatic forum for the evening he was probably preoccupied and didn’t recognize a sweaty Harley Davidson t shirted sneaker wearing blue jeaned pot belly older sort of Canadian as a true Anglican of the faith.  A regular colonial, and here in Moscow, is probably what he thought, Brits being Brits. That said I’ve got the very best priest the British could have produced in my parish so it balances out.  The poor fellow is also probably mad with the alphabet.
I wandered a bit.  Walked down by the Kremlin.  Checked out some statues. Some a porcelain moose in a window so am convinced beyond doubt moose are in Russia.  I also saw my Harley with a different paint job.  Made me want to ride. Got back to the apartment where the washer wasn’t working, It had captured Barretts clothes holding them hostage. She’d arrived later to tell me she waited for a repairman to release her clothing but he’d not arrived.  She’d  gone off to the Gulag Museum but found it closed.  I’d had an hour nap and a snack of Riga sardines and the repairman hadn’t come.
I was off to the church again where the opera was in full swing and the meeting was the normal tragicomedy in foreign accents.  We laughed downstairs while the piano thumped upstairs.  It was a marvellous way to spend the last evening in Moscow. Later I’d walk and talk of walruses and things with an English fellow married to a beautiful Russian.
When I got back to the apartment the repairman had been. Barrett was pleased her clothing had been freed. “He simply broke the door with his knife,” she said.  I could see she’d taken vicarious pleasure in the ill fate of the offending laundry washer door.  Now her clothing is drying out on the balcony.
We’re on the 14th floor and the view is spectacular.  Last night I was having salmon in the cafe down the street and a delightful businessman joined me. He was drinking beer and I was drinking coffee, A Russian born Russian with a Texas accent. He said he’d represented American oil men here and travelled back and forth to Texas.  He said the district we were in had several embassies. He gave me a copy of the English Moscow Times which I read while I finished my dinner before he joined me again to chat some more while I had ice cream and he had another beer.  Being in the business of oil he knew Alberta as well and waxed poetic about the Calgary stampede.  I’d just been to the Bolshoi and he was glad I’d so enjoyed the opera.  He loved the city of Moscow with all the cultural achievements but loved the West and the oil business.
I confess I enjoyed speaking English.  Other than Barrett, that gentleman, and now the fellow tonight, I’d not spoken more than a few broken phrases with anyone the last two weeks. Probably that’s part of the maker’s plan. Give my voice and mind a rest since the spoken and heard word are so much a part of my work. I’ve enjoyed watching people , their gestures and expressions.  The young are so animated here whereas a lot of the old are suspicious and scowl, more than in the West, much more.
I saw a man wearing a catchy t shirt, which said, “EAT Your Enemy”.  He was built and looked just like a Hollywood Russian bad guy.   I smiled at the shirt and he didn’t smile back.  Best to keep moving.
We’re up at 4 in the morning.  Barrett’s a great traveller. I’m so glad she said she was only travelling with two bags.  We’ve done well, washing linen of course, but the light travelling has made everything so doable.  There was no room on the train for more suitcases and we’ve had to carry and wheel our bags all over trains and planes and metro. It's been a fast paced trip with lots of walking and hauling gear.  Totally unworkable without travelling light.  It’s really a great way to travel.
I travelled with just a pack sack in my 20’s and 30’s but with all the medical conference travel I’ve become fat and lazy with a big suitcase and a little bag. I pack enough underwear and socks for a week or two and multiples shirts and pairs of pants.
Barrett calls this ‘camping’ but it’s really been the very best way to travel.  I love my Eagle Creek wheeled and shoulder strapped luggage.  It’s done extremely well.
All that didn’t work this trip was the gps maps I downloaded for Russia. Also my Iridium satellite phone connects me with some Russian speaking woman rather than dialling through to home. Getting a cell phone card here was worked just fine along with internet email.  I really would have liked to have had my hand held gps. That would really would help in city travel.As it was Barrett has scouted and conversed and found our way wherever we’ve had to go.  A top notch tour guide.
She says I’ve been most helpful and as well as a pleasant sort of travel companion.  I'm fairly non plussed by changing plans and disruptions.  It's all an adventure.  Everything is so novel.  She does get into conversations with people about their cats and children though.  I’ve had to be patient as she’s learning that some lady’s son is in prison or some daughters husband drinks too much.  She delights in these conversations.  So while I’ve been enjoying architecture,  paintings, churches she’s been having a very different experience of language, stories and people.  She’s been so happy to be with her family and friends again too.  She really animated after spending time with them.
I can’t help but think that a lot of my personal journey here has been about ‘loving your enemy’ and ‘forgiving’.  My childhood was so impacted by the Kennedy Missile Crisis and the Cold War.  Sure we got great James Bond OO7 movies but really I lived in the fear of nuclear war and threat of the apocalypse.  It wasn’t until the SALT talks that I thought that we just might have another future than the Mel Gibson’s Road Warrior one. So I really was resentful, I’m sure, at the communists who no doubt were resentful at us and vice versa.  The Stalin era architecture are a sharp contrast to the beautiful onion and cross churches.
Here I’m seeing that the Russians  are much like the Russians I’ve known back home. I was telling Barrett about the Russians I scuba dived with.  They certainly were trustworthy. And here so many people have been so helpful.
The women are so beautiful too with their love of fashion and especially their devotion to high heeled shoes. I tried to take a few pictures of shoes then but it's not as easy as it might seem.  Besides I'd not want to be arrested as a photog with a foot fetish.  I couldn't do justice to the fashion moments that happen every few minutes on the downtown streets.  Women that really could have stepped right off the catwalk saunter by.  The culture overall  is so global it’s just a different world than at some level I expected. Really, I guess, I expected more drab.
I love the Orthodox Catholic church, the devotion and revival I see happening here.  It’s miraculous really.  A real revival.  So much hope too. Rebirth.
So again I face my fears, have faith and am rewarded.  God is good.