Monday, Princeton

Monday morning. I’m still on top of the mountains. The industrial sounds of the mine began in the distance.  I’d thought to spend the week but decided to return. ,I didn’t even know if the camper and quad would be ready for me to go Friday.  As they were I headed out. Madigan and I had a blast riding around the back woods on the quad. I must have seen a dozen or more grouse but shot 5,  

I missed a half dozen rabbits only getting a shot at a couple.  What a circus that was.  I was using the new Siberian 223 semi auto but both times I didn’t get the clip in right.  The rabbits got bored with me fiddling with the rifle. I thought I’d sorted it out at the range but not quite.  When I finally had the magazine seated the first time it still misfired because I didn’t feed a cartridge into the chamber correctly.  The second time I got the clip in correctly and had a shell in the chamber but couldn’t find the target in the new. Scope.. When I finally took the shot, I missed but couldn’t take advantage of the semi automatic because Madigan burst off the quad and gave chase,  With the shotgun and grouse he’d waited till the release command but he could see the rabbit and the Siberian made a different louder noise.  Back on the quad he was leashed in again. More training . But We had fun.  

My RV storage place isn’t open on Sunday so I normally take Monday off to return the Camper and quad and trailer.  Because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get away I was booked at the office. I’m going to work virtual for the morning I have the Starlink working fine and being on top of the mountain have good enough cellular coverage. I had even thought of working the week and going back next weekend but for the Starlink I have to run the generator.  The quad takes a few gallons a day driving around the backwoods.  I don’t have enough fuel. My water supply is low too. I took a shower.  I have a toothache from a broken filling and would like to get into see the dentist.  I already miss civilization.

It’s also 4 points season. I’ve never seen a 4 point in the woods in hunting season.  Of the 30 or so deer I’ve shot almost all have been spike or two points, and one three point.  Izek shot a three point this weekend. 

Kevin had called to tell me they were camping and hunting in the valley. They were where I was bow hunting last weekend.  I’d decided as it was dark and raining I’d come here where I knew I could camp not too far off the paved road.  Alex shot a bear too.  Im happy with the grouse.  I just love watching Madigan retrieve them.  The valley is where the game still are.

I shot two grouse out of three.  Madigaan is a one grouse dog. He heads straight for the movement and then kills the still living Big Bird if it’s wounded.  I worry about him but he’s all in it. A true bird dog.  Then he comes right back waddling with the grouse in his mouth.  

He couldn’t comprehend the idea that I’d shot two and wasn’t willing to leave the one I’d taken and put in a bag on the quad.  With a whole lot of encouragement he went down the hill to where I’d seen the second grouse drop in a wood pile. Sure enough once he was down there he found the grouse and slayed it in an epic battle dodging the wounded grouse’s beak like it was a cobra snake. I wouldn’t want to be a partridge faced with a cockapoo. I realized later that my last cockapoo Gilbert would avoid the head by biting the birds butt. .  I didn’t know why at first. Now seeing Madigan face off with the partridge beak I realize it’s an epic battle. This time he literally bit the head off and grabbed the bird by the belly and brought it back.  

I imagine cats also have these tooth and claw episodes with their prey. I remember my bigger dog Shinto, cross Irish Setter and Springer spaniel would hold the bird down with his paw and bite the throat.

Mostly the bird is dead from the shot. I ran out of number 6 pellet for the 20 guage and shot these with the too light number 8 target load . I actually hit a couple of birds on the fly but the pellets just bounced off and the bird flew to safety.

Gilbert my last cockapoo would only fetch rarely. He’d find the bird and lead me to it. He’d also look to flush more birds and go with me to collect the kills.  Shinto, my really trained hunting dog I put a lot o time in hunting with , would actually flush as many as he could for me to shoot, actually chasing them and getting them to fly for the me to take the perfect shot.  We were a team. He’ also fetch all the birds and one after another bring them to the road where he’d drop them and go back and get another.  He’d even lead me to the tree where a bird had flown away too. I suspect he followed the cooing having watched the flight path when it got away.  I followed him a half mile through the woods on occasion to get a bird in a tree.  I shot a whole lot of grouse with him.  

I shot a lot or grouse with Gilbert too. He was the favourite dog when three of us went hunting and he flushed a whole lot of birds way up north,’

Madigan is learning, He’s at the stage where he dropped the first bird and when I coaxed him to get the seecond he brought it but wouldn’t let go of the bird. I could see his little mind going, “I brought you yours . Now this one is mine.”  

We have 5 grouse.  I’ll dice them at home, fry them in butter with some lemon or orange and honey and serve on rice. He’ll get a share.  Last night we had barbecued pork chops.  Madigan’s a good little dog.  

Time to get ready for work and the trip home.  I’m looking forward to the luxury and comfort of home.  

I enjoyed the old gods of England in Dirk Slattery’s Wholistic Detective Agency, the series Adams had written after the Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy.  I liked that Thor had given up sleeping out and had moved into a nursing home for the clean sheets and meals and starched uniform nurse caretakers.  I’m getting older and even having the quad and camper is a major effort.  

Kevin and Anna, Izek, Kendra, Alex, Billy and Bobby were tenting.  They set up at night in the rain and dark then hiked into a blind at dawn.  I used to always be set in ambush pre dawn. Now I’m afraid to walk off trail through the bush not wanting to slip and fall and break something. If I am to shoot something I have to be able to get it to a road with minimum effort. Gone are the days I carried a deer down the mountain on my shoulders .  

My old friend Bill Mewhort  was the master of ambush. A great hunter.  He used to say novice hunters only saw game when they took a shit because that was the time they weren’t moving and might make the least noise.  My dad was a great one for stalking.  He loved walkin along deer trails in the back woods.  They both stopped hunting younger than I am. They continued fishing years after. I’m wondering when I might go that way.  

I’m a road hunter today.  I think there should be a law against road hunting.  Only us guys over 65 should be allowed to use vehicles but even young I’d road hunt grouse.  With Dad and my brother Ron we’d drive the old truck down the trails to find the prairie chickens.  They’d fly up and we’d get out with the dog and hunt them on foot knowing where the covey was.  It still is a lot of exercise .  Madigan and I still like the guarding and grouse hunting experience. The grouse sure tastes good when I cook it up or barbecue it.

What a weekend!  Time to get back to work and back to the city.  

Picard Creek Camping and Hunting

My alarm with the song of the creed woke me,  I believe in Jesus.  A good way to begin the day.  A reminder.  Christ the Lord.

What am I here for?  What is my purpose?  The Law of Attraction.  Love thy neighbour as you would have them love you.  For days I’ve ridden my motorcycle looking for deer, and bear, shooting grouse and rabbit.  I’ve blocked negative thoughts by repeated affirmstions.  All Shall Be Well.  Lord Jesus Christ.  The Lord’s Prayer.  

The first day my mind was busy. By the third day I was focussed in the here and now.  Motorcycling can get you killed if you’re not meditating on the present.  I’m so easily distracted by the past.  Resentments creep in and suddenly I’m reliving a negative time in my life.  Here I am in paradise loving what I’m doing, exhilarated and then my mind plays tricks.  

Lord God Almighty. God of Creation.  

Why am I here?

What is this place really?  Deeply?

Is there anything I should be doing differently?

Guide me. Show me the way.  Thy will be done. 

I’m reading a book about Aboriginal Dreamtime.  With Scottish Irish heritage, clans and tribes and proximity to the reality of land and people, I’ve been called ‘fay’ and accepted the intuitive grace as another might accept strength.

 I loved CS Lewis’s book, « Surprised by joy’ and riding my motorcycle I had so many moments of joy.  The smells of the earth fragrances of plants, I so enjoyed one place because it smelt like a favoured bathroom scent. I thought how very clever someone was. They smelt this smell and re created it.  Something like ‘forest scent’.  I stopped my motorcycle and just inhaled the rich fragrance and smiled right down to my boots.  How clever humans are. Like a sketch artist with chemistry.  

The coffee is good this morning. I ground some more Kona and added it to the last of the Maxwell House.  The Honda 2000 generator has served well.  The new shut off switch got jiggled so that the battery got disconnected. When I turned off the generator yesterday Laura was left without electricity. I found her standing in the camper with Gilbert in the dark.  

« I was beginning to get chilled so hoping you’d return. ». 

« You could have plugged in the truck and used it. »

« I know. »

Man as problem solver. Man as tool maker.  I am reading Sapiens and enjoying learning about the other hominids.  I’d read years ago a book telling the tale of the great battle betweeen Cro mignon and us.  We carry their genes.  Some more than others.  

Drinking coffee and looking out this window at the white water creek, great fir and spruce tree; the beginning of autum colours in the poplars, so very pleasant. Eye candy.

There are two men here with campers and trucks. One has a dog. Another told me he winters in Mexico where he has a girlfriend.  They’re both retired.  God’s waiting room folk.  Brother Lawrence and Thoreau and probably too much beer. One at least makes a beer run each day. Sit by the fire.  Maybe reminisce.  Old men story telling. I must resist.  The eyes of the young glaze over.  Write a novel.  Tell the fiction that is your belief. 

In the Tibetan Book of the Dead the Bardot is described, a place between lives where a whole cast of characters get together and decide on parts to play.  My ex wife, the drug addict, played the saint in her previous life. The violent girlfriend who broke into my place and  punched me in my sleep leaving my face black and blue till I could throw her off, her screaming, « no man leaves me. If you hit me I’ll have you in jail.’  I left the city and no one knew why I left my job and work and escaped this stalker. I now know that’s what cocaine does to a girl.  A high class girl from a good family, professional with a career, working nights as an escort to pay for her habit and saw me as her ‘solution’.  So many saw me as their ‘solution’. Imperialist women who colonized men. I never hit a woman. I retreated.  Now I listen to friend complain of the law against hitting women.  Their modus operandi is lies and alliances and violence by proxy.  Girlfriends and ex wives.  And one day we get to laugh again in the green room between lives and talk of our performances. I did play the coward and escape artist well. She was always beautiful in her rage.

It was fun watching Dwight Yoakum and Cote and Kris Kristofferson here in a bette noir spaghetti western with an arty director, Last Rites of Ransom Pride.  Running the generator I had power for the DVD and TV.  What decadence! I believe it did justice to the insaneity of the day.  Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.  Sex and drugs, blasphemy and demonic.  Death and guilt.  Maybe it’s true only the good die young. Everything was in this Bonnie and Clyde gunslinger flick.

 Later I walked the blind dog around the known path in this campsite letting him sniff all the places where other dogs had been.  Once I lead him about an area he becomes more confident.  The beach and rocks remain a challenge.  I think it keeps him young learning these new ways of seeing.

God I would know you better. I call to you. I speak to you.  I know you as a friend. I would know you as a friend.  You are a lover and the zen warriors say that God is the one who teaches them the final lesson.  The last mistake. I should have ducked and didn’t. In the next life time I carry the learning.

Waiting for the Messiah to come. In orthodoxy I am here one life but Christ reincarnates.  I must read Revelations more. I miss more Bible study. I loved Bible studies. I loved Book studies. I loved sharing a common reading and discussing varying observations.  I’ve read the Bible cover to cover several times but it’s the one book that never gets old. I need a new home church too. I like a good sermon and the community of friends.

The ‘core’ learning component is so often absent in the YouTube internet fake news, multiple feeds. It’s a regular Babylon.  There’s the city folk and a common parking lot and stale air sensation.  Traffic jams and construction.  Offices and appointments.  Man made. Easy for the weak intellectual constructivist opinion. Not out here.  Not in the pristine and myriad creation of primal force and life incarnate.  

I am packing up today and going back to the city.  Another good vacation.  Ostensibly I’m hunting for game but mostly I’m looking for God and myself. The hide and seek of the Hound of Heaven.  Far from the Maddening Crowd, I gather my wits  from the unholy front and pray that I’m done with the carpetbaggers and their long necked women and the boys of the petty bureaucracy, the long finger nail crowd of todays day.  Such effete arrogance and ignorance. We will laugh in the Green Room. Their performances have been Dickensian  

I lost a golden hook fishing with the spin caster yesterday.  I lack patience fishing these days. I used to love and believe in little boats by reeds but here I’ve not had the same success so can’t see the fish under the water and attract them to my bait. I psych myself out.  There are no fish. The hook is wrong. They’ve eaten. It’s the wrong time of day. I’ve an endless run of negativity fishing streams here in BC.  I’ve caught trout but not so many as to have the confidence I had out east with pickerel and pike.  I’m like a hockey team with a losing streak. I need a fish whisperer psychologist to force me to stay through the drought and reap the reward of patience.  Instead I fish till I lose a hook which I may well do on purpose or unconsciously because rather than the tranquility of casting I enjoy the OM hum of the engine and the meditation in motion of the motorcycle.  

I’m motivated by a Macdonald’s breakfast or burger on the road depending on how soon we get away.  Road food.  Gilbert loves the paddy. The cat and he are sleeping with Laura who has gone back to snooze.  

I enjoyed talking to the ranchers on their combination of horses and 4x4’s beginning round up. The dogs were so excited running about the legs of the horses so ready to teach the cows a lesson. I must get back to riding horses. I miss them,  I long to visit the home ranch and see what’s left of the cowboy clan in the north.  My cousins who became loggers and horse wranglers. It’s been 5 or 10 years now since we spoke.  When our mothers and dads were alive we stayed closer.  

My sister in law has come back from Scotland having visited the professors but hadn’t seen Robert who is no longer with the BBC. He was covering wars at one time. I remember nights laughing around campfires talking about tobacco farming. 

I do look forward to the Green Room in heaven.  There are so many I’d like to see again, family and friends and yes, the enemies.  Perhaps not the bores but the bright coloured originals. The pirates and desperate.  But they became bores in time.  The desperation makes them such.  Grasping.  Begging.  I imagine we’ll laugh at their performances , like a high school reunion. I still laugh remembering my pregnant high school sweetheart teasing me and the guy who lived in the high school sports past because his life had become so mundane.  I vaguely remember the ‘great game’ he raved on and on about.  And one day we’ll remember it all in microscopic detail as our lives fly before us in a kaleidoscope of colour.

I like to think of this campsite as Captain Picard Creek.  We’ll go where no man has gone before. Make it so number one.  

Bungalow Cabins, Harrison Lake and more "View and Release Hunting".

We love the Bungalow Cabins at Harrison Lake!   With swimming pool and beach view Bungalow Motel is  the best  accommodation. It’s great spring and summer too but for close to 25 years I’ve also been coming up in the early fall for hunting season.  I confess I’ve not shot much  game here but it sure is one of my favourite places to hunt.  That’s because of these great little rustic cabins, with kitchenette,  hot showers, quiet, comfy bed, and cable tv.  The owners are the best hosts too.  It’s really ‘roughing it” hunting at it’s toughest.   We added a new harsh twist to our regime this year, getting our thermos filled at the Mall Expresso service, Americanos with Cream.
There’s also the public hot springs pool.  The pizza in Harrison’s is the best though there’s only pick up.  We loved their cheese pizza this time but the meaty ones have been fantastic too.  Again we’ve had the mall morning breakfast sandwiches.  Everything is close in Harrison’s so I’ve walked down from the Bungalow to bring back breakfast for the gang.  This time I also brought back two dinners from the fabulous Hotsprings Steakhouse Restaurant.  We all loved a roast beef dinner one night and another night had the steak and prawns special. The mashed potatoes and gravy was delicious too.  Laura doesn’t mind when I bring back my days “kill’ cooked with potatoes and veggies and blueberry pie.
While Tom and I were out messing about back country with our Honda 500 Pioneer side by side ATV we’ve named “Charles’, Laura was  in the cabins doing her nails and reading novels.  She had Gilbert with her the first day because we were bow hunting and don’t like Gilbert about the razor sharp arrows. He also tends to bark at bear which limits our hunting opportunities.  I actually got a shot at rather  large partridge.
In the world of guided hunts, one pays $10,000 dollars at times for the ‘shot’ at game.  I’ve had several ‘shots’ at buck this fall bow hunting and missed.  The bucks departed just as I registered they had horns and got away before I pulled the trigger. Now a swaggering great partridge did the same.  Tom watching said he’d seen my arrow from the Excaliber Max, most powerful of cross bows, part the feathers on the partridge’s head. I was really sorry we didn’t have a wildlife videographer along for that incredible moment. The partridge utterly bored with me trying to cock my bow for another go walked off into the woods giving me a final feather.
We got back in time to indulge a major soak in the glorious  “sacred” “mineral’ “ waters’ of Harrison’s.  I feel like a new man each time I come out of the womb there.  We had two such ‘treatments’ and my skin is tingling hallelujah still.
Sept 10, Rifle hunting proper opened.  We were up in the dark before dawn and drove the Ford F350 with Charles on the back up to the top of Harrison’s Lake. There with dawn breaking we found that we’d lost one of ramps for the unloading of the ATV. It must have slid off the back while we drove up a hill hell bent for leather, bouncing over potholes.  Tom, ever the engineer, and Evil Kenevil managed to drive Charles off the back of the tailgate onto a mound.  Getting it back up onto the truck without a ramp was even more impressive. I’d wanted to use the winch but Tom insisted he could manage without the ramp.  He’d amazingly taken the remaining ramp apart creating two short  5 foot ramps out of the remaining long ramp.
All the game had received their annual message.  I was sitting hiding in ambush watching the sun rise with Gilbert happy to sit on my warm belly all the while the animals watched us from hiding. The annual email says, “Beware of men wearing came and carrying guns. They are out to kill and eat you." All deer bear and even some partridge get the message.”  Sept 9 we saw game. Sept 10 they were all in hiding.
Still we got to drive Charles up to the top of the mountain and through streams and dales.  The Honda 500 pioneer is truly an amazing machine.  There’s more than enough room for 2 hunters and even Gilbert sat half on the seat in the middle with his chest on either of our knees.  Getting in and out in a hurry was just fine too.  On the straight logging road I was doing 50 km on my own whereas climbing and travelling in the back woods we did the standard hunting travelling of 5 to 20 km an hour, just loving the little machine as it chugged along over boulders, through mud and across logs. The roof and windshield kept the rain out and the engine under the seat kept the cab warm in the early morning.  My favourite ATV to date.  Gilbert loves it too.  When we are alone he sits in the passenger seat bolt up right watching for grouse.  We saw a half dozen or so but only one waiting for me to shoot and that one got away.
At night Tom Laura and I watched the cowboy movie, Unforgiven with Clint East Wood and Gene Hackman.  What a great movie to watch on a hunting weekend.  Silverado was on the next night.  Laura is ever a trooper and enjoyed the weekend with the guys. She loved finishing her Harlan Coben,  Fool Me Once novel saying it’s his best to date. She had a walk and shop round the little town too while Gilbert was off with the boys on the rifle hunt.  The most excitement for me was watching Tom back straight up a cliff so he could descend into the truck bed with the shortie ramp.
“Do you want to go?” Tom had asked.
“No, “  I said,  “I’m a doctor.  If I tried that, whose going to care for me while waiting for the ambulance?"
The views of Harrison Lake from the Slocum trail we’d taken that night were spectacular at dusk.  Other’s hike here and some were camping up in the hills.  It really was beautiful. The fall colours are just beginning to appear.  A young couple were tenting on a ridge with their little car.  I thought of myself, romantic and young once.  I liked seeing the kids out in the fall.  Harrison Lake is grand central station in the summer but it quiets pretty quickly in the fall.  There were still a number of tents along the beach and the rustic will be out until well into October.  Bungalow Cabins was still full and we’d  booked early in the week. In the summer bookings are often made ahead of times though I’ve been fortunate to have cancellations.
It really was a great weekend.  “View and release!” is our motto. We just take the guns and bows along for the selfies.

One Hundred Mile House and Bow Hunting

What a rush it is to get these expeditions ready.  Expeditions they are. I just regret that I have only a few days because the preparation for weeks and days is about the same.  The plan was for the the 4 musketeers, Tom, Gilbert the Cockapoo, Laura and me,  to head north for the long weekend ostensibly to bow hunt mule deer. While I've been blessed to shoot deer and partridge with bow and arrow, that is the rarity, mostly this opening bow hunt weekend is more "wildlife viewing".
Early in the week Laura informed me that the outlook for the weekend was rain everywhere.   Tenting didn't seem that attractive with that forecast. We thought of taking the RV but the Ford F350 engine glitch remains.  $2000 of maintenance later and the truck wrench icon screams imminent death with uphill acceleration.
Still One Hundred Mile House is one of the most incredible places for wildlife  with nearby Lac La Hache great for fishing.
Laura was still up for tenting, trooper that she is.  However, when I emailed her the website for Ramada Limitted, I got a text back saying immediately, "that looks fabulous and  would be nicer if it's raining."
While Laura and I had a short but hectic week of work, with the increasing distress of  the overburdened health care system, Tom was doing his best to ensure that the Ford and the Honda 500 Pioneer were ready for action. It was a good division of labour.
I didn't get out of the office till 8 pm. Any day out of the office means 2 for  preparation and payback. There's no robot doctor. What once was  once a steady stream of work has for many if not most of us become a constant torrent. The paperwork has multiplied exponentially, with a similiar rise in laws, minefields, dragons, protocols and players.  Most of the newbies really  are just overpaid critics without accountability and jolly good at spending other peoples money.   With all the hostility and workplace toxicity, physician suicides at an all time high, doctors threatening strikes, patient waitlists till forever, nurses unhappy, unrealistic demands,  beaurocratic vampires, impossible political promises. and public hangings , shame and hypocrisy;  every weekend away is like a blood transfusion.  I come back to the front revived ready for the next declaration of cutbacks and shortages.
I finally arrived home to see  Laura pulling her Eagle Ridge wheeled luggage bag out of  her  little red Smart Car.  The skies opened and the streets flooded. Tom was already at the RV sitting under the awning.
"The Ford and Honda are ready!" he said. Great news.
"Whose for pizza?"I asked.
Laura and Tom nodded while Gilbert's tail began to wag at the word 'pizza'.  Dogs know the human words that are important to them.
Canadian Pizza brought us the best meatlovers Pizza.   With the propane heater turned on and heavy rain beating on the roof we ate ravenously, sharing tidbits with Gilbert.  We watched a TV episode of the Big Bang Theory,  this generations  Seinfeld cum Friends mix. My parents watched Honeymooners in their day.
Morning early we loaded  the truck with our bows and cammo gear.  We stopped again at Cabelas for arrows and a new hard cross bow case for my Barnet Compound Cross Bow. My Excalibur Max has it's own soft case.  I'd hoped the Barnett would take an attached quiver like my Excalibur but it didn't. I got Tom a canvas hip hung quiver like the one my ex wife had made me when  I'd had a Browning compound crossbow.  More arrows and razor blade points.  Also a white tail deer tag, just in case.  Laura got a conservative comfy tartan camo pj set.  I got a couple of winter sleeping bags.  Good to 20 below. It's past the summer sleeping bag weather so if we do choose to tent again we're now ready.  At Tom's we hitched up my AB boat with the Honda 30 hp hoping to get in some lake fishing.
Tom drove us up and out of the Valley.  Leaving the rain forrest and coming up into fresh air and tumbleweed country of Ashcroft and Cache Creek is always a joy.
At Clinton we headed off the highway  onto the logging roads.  Immediately we saw a huge female moose moseying across the road.  After that we saw a big mule deer.  It was black bear season and we had tags but the black bear we saw next seemed  to know it was safe in the Provincial Park on the other side of a fence.  It was just standing there looking at Gilbert and us all.  But I don't take shots unless I'm absolutely certain it's legal. The consequence of breaking the BC Conservation Law is that all of one's gear can be confiscated on the spot, ATV's Boats, Rifles etc.

"I think of hunting as a sacred matter. Everything must come together in a Godly way.  Sure we could shoot the bear  and no one would be the wiser. But we both know 'we'd know'. "  We're probably past the park boundary but it just doesn't seem right, " I said.
"There's  still the fence, " Tom said.
BC Hunting regs say that you can only hunt on 'private land' with permission.  In the past, the land had to be 'posted', i.e. 'no hunting signs' but now the onus is on the hunter to know. Even if we  were outside the park boundary, and shot the bear,we could be breaking the law. We didn't know whose fence this was.  It's just all round easier to hunt in true wilderness.
"When in doubt, it's best to say no," Laura said.
Gilbert thought we were all fools!

We saw more grouse along the road.  Gilbert was not impressed with his hunting team. By the time we came back on the highway  darkness was coming on. At 100 mile House we immediately saw the Ramada sign coming into town. Checking into the Ramada Limited the young  good looking manager was terrific, friendly and helpful.  The Ramada was clean and the staff were the best. Gilbert was welcome but had to be on a leash.  Lots of parking.  W'e saw others had boats and ATV's with them.  Lots of expensive new trucks in the country. The manager said the parking lot was safe, they'd not had any problems.  Away from the centre of town it's  less likely to attract thieves.
Each day the Ramada had a morning continental breakfast which I only got to enjoy the final day. It reminded me of the European hotels we enjoy.  I talked to young manager  and learned that he'd been to University of Bombay.  I'd been there and loved Bombay.  He told me about all the development since I'd been and discussed the changes that have taken place there and in Canada in recent years.

Tom and I were up at 7 am to go hunting, leaving Laura and Gilbert to sleep in.  Tom had bought a whole new set of cammo gear on sale at Cabelas and was looking way too spiffy.  We loaded up with the A&W breakfast sandwiches and coffee then headed up Exeter Station road to the trails.  Parking the F350 we unloaded the Honda 500 side by side Pioneer.  Tom and I named it "Charles'.  Because it was called 'pioneer' we thought of 'chuck wagon' , considered calling it Chuck but thought 'Charles' was more distinguished and fitting.

Soon we were motoring along at about a jogging pace enjoying the  drizzly morning.  I just love being out in the wilderness. We had our cross bows strapped on the back of Charles and a rifle each in the cab.  I'd ridden enough rainy and snowy times on my Yamaha and the Polaris before it to appreciate the joy of the Honda 500 Pioneer's roof and windshield.

We came over a hill and there was a whole herd of magnificent mule deer a couple of hundred yards away. They actually let us stop and observe them. One buck had 4 points with it's velvet still on the horns. Another buck was a two point and another a spike. In addition there were a half dozen does.  I sure wished it was rifle season because I'd have had the 4 point for sure. The cross bow is best at 50 to 100 yards in my hands though others can shoot further more acurately.  It was Tom's first bow hunt so I cautioned waiting for a better shot. As we stalked closer on foot the bucks took off bouncing into the woods leaving the doe to watch us unperturbed.

We left  the ATV and with radios, bow and gear, separated for a stalk and sit.  I hurt my back drawing and cocking my bow.  That was humiliating. I have a draw string to reduce the tension but had it improperly positioned so really did everything every back doctor or chiropracter says not to do  bending straight over and pulling straight up with straight legs.  Humbug!
With my bow cocked and my back hurting I headed out into the woods realizing my knees were not happy either. They simply were not used to climbing over big rocks and my stability wasn't what it used to be.  I really had to be more careful.  What a change from a man who ran up and down hills scarce years before.  Still I'm thankful for the mobility.  Injuries to my foot and knee in recent years had made it so  I'd not even been able to stalk the previous season. It really felt good, if a little painful, to be stalking along deer paths in the deep woods.   I found just the right clearing where I could sit in ambush. I started out meditating then settled for  a nap, drifting in and out with an ear cockd for snapping twigs.  Nothing.

Three great Sandhill Crane however suddenly rose up in the air not a hundred yards away from me. What a surprise.  I'd later see there was a little pond they must have spent the night in. What majestic prehistoric looking birds they are.

Around 10 am I was stiff and cold and not a little restless.  Only a couple of hours into the hunt and wanting to be moving about. My former guide friend old Bill who was big on morning ambushes would have shook his head. I went looking for Tom surprised I was so close to the road having walked through the woods and come back on the road we came in on.  I climbed around the hills some more before getting back to Charles.  I was glad for the thermos of coffee.  The rain had stopped. The sun was poking out of the clouds. Such a lovely place.  Pine and spruce trees, green everywhere. I discharged my crossbow, stupidly losing the old broken arrow I used to save the bow string.  I drove the ATV down to the end of the road and then back again to find Tom who'd seen me go by and walked back to the road to join up.  He told me he'd  come across another herd of deer with a couple of bucks.

"If I'd had my bow cocked and a little more confidence, I 'm sure I could have got the second buck. It walked right in front of me at about 75 yards."  he said, excited.

We climbed on Charles and began driving slowly along the trails.  A man and woman on two quads passed us. They were just sight seeing. We'd seen a couple of younger guys on Arctic Cats with long compound bows riding quads earlier but no one else. Heading down another somewhat overgrown road we surprised another herd of deer. We were only thirty yards away when two deer high tailed it out of there while a couple of more just walked ahead of us into the woods. Tom spotted one huge deer when I stopped the vehicle so I jumped out.  I'd just cocked my bow with a big mule deer still standing only 30 years away.  Tom meanwhile had gone the other way after another deer.

The trouble was I couldn't see if this deer had horns. I stalked as quietly as I could hoping to glimpse the head which was down chomping grass behind some bushes. Without my ever seeing it's head,  it moved off leaving me with another great 'one that got away' story'.

Tom had one in his sights only to find he couldn't squeeze the trigger.  The deer got tired of waiting and Tom figured out the bow "safety" better so he'd not miss again.   I'm not judging, only the week before I'd missed a rabbit because I couldn't get the clip to seat in my rifle.Such mishaps make one appreciate appreciate why soldiers are forever cleaning, oiling and working their equipment.

It was a great morning with a lots of sightings and near misses.  We even saw more grouse but only ptarmigan were in season.

"Ptarmigan are the ones with feathers on their feet," Tom said.

"And they're more black and white than brown and red," I said.

Back at the Ramada Laura had been out walking Gilbert who was ecstactic to see us.  Much barking and greeting licks before he settled down. Laura had been enjoying the latest Harlan  Coban novel and said how much she enjoyed the Ramada service.

That night Tom and I drove around in the truck exploring the region. I'm not much for night hunting anymore.  I really did enjoy the seat heater on my back and it was just fun to drive about the backwoods. We actually came out at  Lake Helena a fabulous spot full of RV. Lots of ATV's and kids and big fires, boats out fishing and generally a really good feeling wilderness camping place.  Two people had the same Keystone Energy toyhauler as I do.  I  enjoyed talking with one fine fellow about it's load and towing and how well it handled on the rough back country roads.that lead into Lake Helena. I'd only had mine really offload once when we all were moose hunting. I hadn't towed it with the ATV in the garage either.  Right now my garage is a really large junk drawer. Towing heavy loads concerned me.

"I just have to go slow on the up hills," he told me.  "Otherwise the RV  handles well on the back roads. It's a tough built toy hauler. "  He had an F350 truck same as me too.We also discussed hitches  and tailgates.

Following  the road out we came to Lac la Heche and headed south on 97.

Back in 100 Mile House at the Superstore I picked up a barbecued chicken,  deli salads, buns, chips and dip, paper plates and plastic cutlery. I even got Hagen Daz ice cream.  Back at the Ramada we had a feast watching Fear of the Living Dead.  Tom and Laura were not that impressed with my choice of zombie fare but loved the food. It's really roughing it when you have to bring in your own Hagen Daz.

I'd got Gilbert a rabbit squeaky toy.   He sure had fun with that.

The next morning Tom was up in the dark and his ludicrous enthusiasm got me going. I dressed like a stiff zombie ,  somehow getting myself and gear out to the truck.

Back in the wilderness again we had Charles off the truck and loaded up a whole lot more efficiently.  Again we drove slowly into the back woods.  No talking.  Just the quiet chugging  along watching for the very well camouflaged deer.  When we got to an open area Tom spotted one bounding across the clearing.  We parked Charles.

I found a really nice spot on a trail and enjoyed the rain stopping and the sun coming out of the cloud cover.  More dawn mediation. No deer came by but I really did enjoy my time sitting in ambush.  It's a meditative time.  I've had too much on my mind with all the stresses of work and family. It surely helps to sit quietly in prayer, listening to the forest,letting go. No animals came.  Eventually I returned and met up with Tom at Charles.   I do love thermos coffee.

We drove about after.  No bear. No ptarmigan.

Stopping in a clearing we saw  a few deer on a hillside about 1000 yards away. We thought of stalking but it was too far and too open and surely the deer would leave.

"Let's ride Charles around the back and come up behind them on another trail." I said.

So that's what we did.  Stopping at a place we thought we could stalk in on them. The wind direction was better too.  Tom took the one side of the ridge and I went down the other side following along the ridge we thought we'd seen them on.

Sure enough 2 doe passed right in front of me at 50 yards. I waited and looked and looked for a hoped for buck following them. There was one but he saw me before I saw him. We looked at each other 50 yards away with  his head in a bunch old tree branches making it impossible for me to know if he had horns.  I was trying to lift up my binoculars with the strap caught on something when he turned and literally disappeared.  I just had a perfect side view of a  perfect 2 point.  I thought, if I'd just used the telescope on the crossbow and not messed with the stupid binoculars I'd have got him when he turned  It was simply not meant to be. I was winded and sore too after running up the hill after him, vainly hoping for another shot.

I felt like Tom had and later we'd talk about being 'dumb and dumber'.

I had laid a trail of bits of kleenex hung on branches but chasing uphill after that buck I'd got off my trail and decided  instead of backtracking to to head back out by dead reckoning.   I get lost alot.  I knew though  that Tom was about and I'd cross the main trail eventually if I couldn't find where we'd parked. I had  a Garmin GPS and compass watch but still I didn't find Charles where I thought it should be.

Tom and I were each carrying Motorola Waterproof GMRS 2 way radios.  I called him up and told him I was lost, asking him to fire off his rifle to help me get directions.  He did and I was a ways away.  Getting closer I fired mine off and he tried to triangulate me to his position.  I found the original road we'd come in instead so called him up to tell him to come out to me.    The trouble was he'd lost the key. Dumb and dumber.

I hiked in to where he was and we looked all over for the key. I had my set but we didn't want to lose his set.  Not only was the ATV key on his ring but the titanium chain lock I had as well.  We drove back over the places he'd been where he thought he might have had them fall out of his pocket when he'd taken something else out. No luck.

Back at the truck we loaded Charles on and left his cammo rifle cover on the ground. It had got soaked in diesel so we'd not left it in the cab.  Dumb and dumber.  Now something else was lost. And Neither of us had been able to find the old arrows we'd shot off to protect our strings when we uncocked the bow.

Back at Ramada Gilbert was ecstactic to see us.  Laura had taken him for a long walk exploring the town when the rain had stopped and the skies cleared.Tom ,going through his new Cabelas came outfit, found the pocket he hadn't looked in. Sure enough there were the ATV and titanium lock keys.  Good find.

In the evening we took Gilbert along for what was planned to be just a drive about the woods in the truck. We saw lots of grouse almost hitting one that flew up as we passed it. No deer. No bear.  No ptarmigan.

Then there was a horrid grinding growling noise coming from under the truck. Tom figured it was the brake sticking but that we'd be able to drive  back.  We drove back picking up some fried chicken and wedges at the gas station..

"Don't call them wedgies," the lively counter lady told me.

It was a great meal and late night television since the morning hunt was off due to the truck problems.  I was glad for the sleep in.

Holiday Monday, everything was closed. I'd phoned all the numbers for repairs I could find on line.  Lordco Parts was open. We decided to wash the truck before going there.  We were able to get the parts to fix the brakes with new calipers and pads. Tom figured he could do the job if needed. The Lordco guys however told us about George at Country Tire.  George did emergency repairs. George was great.

"Bring it over in an hour."  Tom was up for that. I went back to Ramada and had a very good continental breakfast while Tom went off with the truck to see George.  Tom likes to get involved in mechanical things. Normally I might  too but with a stiff sore back I was more than happy to let the professional doe the job. A couple of hours later Tom was back with the truck all healed.

"George at Country Tire is a really great guy.  He really knows his stuff."  Tom said. Now that's great praise coming from an engineer who routinely does his own car and plane  repairs.

It was a late start but we actually saw a couple of white tailed doe on the way home.

I drove down the canyon to Hope where we got burgers at DQ. Gilbert sure loves getting his little hamburger paddy which Laura breaks up in bits for him. Tom drove the rest of the way to Vancouver where he dropped us off at midnight taking the truck with him to get it ready for next weekend's opening of rifle season.  Gilbert is going to finally get to be a grouse retriever again. No more won't watching with dismay as we let partridge get away.

The Ramada Limitted was really lovely. 100 Mile House is a great town.  We've loved all our visits there. Everyone is so friendly and they really have most everything a country person needs.  Laura looked at the real estate papers and said that there were some perfect places.  We'd seen the same thing in Kamloops. The more uninhabitable Vancouver becomes the more attractive the rest of BC remains.

It really was a great weekend.  I certainly appreciated Tom and George solving the truck issues.   We both loved Charles the Honda 500 Pioneer. It was Tom's first time bow hunting and I really think he is hooked. Laura enjoyed hanging out with Gilbert and reading Harlan Corban without interruptions.

I am sure the deer  and bear were especially glad they out smarted us.

Gilbert, the Magnificent Hunting Cockapoo.

Ruffed Grouse, Grouse or Partridge are small chickens about three quarters the size of a standard chicken.  They have vicious beaks and big claws.  Up close to my like cockapoo, Gilbert, they’re about the size of Big Bird.  An ostrich really!.
Gilbert has accompanied me hunting since his first year.  He’s been ‘finding’ grouse we shot since then.   Grouse with exquisite camouflage, when they’re shot, especially when they’re shot on the wing, fall but aren’t always killed. They ‘hide’ and hunters like myself alone can’t find them.  Dogs are the solution.  Without a dog a hunter will lose half or more of the grouse he shoots.  They will become the food of eagles and coyotes and foxes but they won’t go home in the game bag.
When three of us guys went hunting for moose one week we didn’t get a moose but we shot 90 grouse and ptarmigan, a tougher more northern chicken.  We all attributed 60 of those birds to Gilbert’s genius nose.  On that hunt Luke was the best grouse shot and Gilbert stuck right with him.  Once a gun went off he was off into the woods finding the bird and subduing it and holding it down till we could catch up and collect it.  
I’ve never taught Gilbert to retrieve a grouse.  He fetches tennis ball ad infinitum but had never brought back a grouse.  I figured they were too big for him.  When I wanted my other bigger dog to fetch back grouse I ‘trained’ him by wrapping a grouse wing onto a piece of wood which I threw time and again. The dog went on to be a great retriever.
Well this hunt Gilbert outdid himself.  I was with Laura and Gilbert driving through deep brush in the truck when I saw a grouse dash across the road.  I stopped and got out of the truck. I took the 20 gauge over and under shot gun and loaded it as I walked forward.  Gilbert had jumped out of the truck and was following me. When I’d loaded the shot gun I called Gilbert forward pointing to where the grouse had run into the bush.  He was immediately on scent. His tail wagging as he ran back and forth looking for  trail they heading straight under the bush into the thick of the forest.  Moments later a grouse rose on thumping wings above the 8 foot bush. It was an easy shot not 20 yards away even if it was almost from the hip.  The bird fell and I began to stumble  through willow wall.  As I was doing that I looked down and there was Gilbert with the bird in his mouth going the other way.  I turned around and followed him to the road where he dropped the bird at my feet.  I got a picture.  Everyone I know has seen that picture.  If he’d  graduated Harvard University that weekend I couldn’t have been more proud.
The other thing I learned about Gilbert is that he’s not a pervert. For several years I’d arrived on him holding a bird down with his paws while biting at the bird’s bum. I thought he had this thing for bird shit. He rolls in cow shit and sniffs asses whenever he can. It’s not surprising I thought that.  But then I saw him facing a bird still alive trying to peck and claw out his little cockapoo eyes.  I couldn’t blame the bird but quickly got a hold of it and wrung it’s neck nonetheless.   That’s when I saw on the next bird that he was using his paws to hold the head down and away. He trying to kill the bird by opening it’s belly with his teeth.  We’d seen him going at squeaky toys in the very same way.  I can’t say why but I felt better with him fending off the claws and beak of Big Bird some weird  dog predilection for grouse shit.  I guess  I didn’t want my dog to be a canine Cheech and Chong.
Laura and I loved the country.  9 grouse over a couple of days of hunting. Another half dozen got away.  We saw rabbit.  Some 20 doe.  A couple of young bear. I could have shot the bear and they’d have been good eating but I would rather wait for an older bigger black bear.  The doe were illegal and I didn’t see any buck. The rabbit almost ended in the pot because it stopped and waited till I got the 20 gauge out. Then as I was loading it took off like Speedy Gonzalez. I let Gilbert run after him for a glorious race in which the rabbit definitely had the lead.
We stopped at Merritt. I love the high cowboy country and ponderosa pine. The air was still fall with just a scent of snow. I swam in a lake the first day but by the second with the cloud covering I was noticing the chill.  Still it was God’s country. The trees were dressing up in fall colours. A few more weeks and the land will be white with winter.
Autumn in Canada is my favourite time.  As a child I hunted prairie chicken and ruffed grouse with my older brother Ron, my dad, and Sonny, our springer spaniel dog. Later my dad and I borrowed Ron’s red setter, Tartan when we went hunting, he as an older man, I as a young man, my brother home with a wife and babies.   Later I’d hunt alone with Shinto. Shinto was the great setter cross springer I hunted alone with for countless years. Gilbert, Shinto, Tartan, and Sonny would all have been great buds.