HOME AGAIN

So I am back home in Kingston, Ontario after my little adventure.  I suspect this will be my penultimate posting, with the final one in a week or so after I think about the trip as a whole.

Just shy of fifteen thousand kilometres, and two days shy of eight weeks, I drove more than I figured that I would, and got home about two weeks earlier than I had anticipated.  I almost said "earlier than I had PLANNED," but my planning was haphazard at best, and highly dependent on the schedules of other folks whom I was meeting along the way.  And of course in many cases, NOT meeting along the way, much to my regret!

And I may have already written this thought, but this hunting and fishing trip turned more into a driving and visiting trip.  Not so much shooting or catching, in spite of my best efforts and those of my various hosts along the way.  I have valid fishing licences now from Ontario, Manitoba, Alberta, BC and the Yukon.  I have hunting licences from Ontario, Saskatchewan, BC and the Yukon, plus a "WIN" card from Alberta that constitutes a hunting licence if and when I buy the appropriate tags to go along with it.  I must be one of the most regulated anglers and hunters in the country right now.

Anyways I am home in time for October bow-hunting for white-tail deer, goose hunting, maybe some grouse and small game hunting if this cursed rain and wind ever stops, and with lots of time to prepare for our November gun seasons and December muzzle-loader season.  And then the final bow-hunting until 31 December, then ICE FISHING!  You gotta love retirement........

More thoughts (and pictures) in a week or so after I have had a chance to reflect a bit.  In the meantime, it's been a slice!

Doug

ONE LAST PUSH

When last I scribbled an entry for this blog I was at Nipigon, just west of the intersection of Highways 11 and 17.  I headed out west via the 17, which is something of a spiritual experience with its hills, construction, twisty turns and such.  Coming home, I was going to visit folks in Atikokan, Wawa, Sault-Ste-Marie and Elliott Lake, all of which are on the southern route.  BUT!!! Since none of them were available to come out and play during this time frame, I took the northern route, which is a MUCH gentler ride.  Of course, it can be a couple hundred kilometres from one town to the next, so one wants to have a dependable vehicle with a fairly large fuel tank.  The F-250 qualifies on both counts.

As I have previously mentioned, I am bringing east with me some monsoon rains, which the local folks have embraced, but which make for pretty crappy driving, especially since they have been accompanied by gale force winds most of the time.  Thus it was yesterday when I got up to an inch of standing water in the RV Campground, and braved heavy weather most of the day.  I almost gave up at Hearst, where I should have stopped for the night, but by golly I was determined to make it to Cochrane.  Sustained by wayyyy too much Tim Horton’s coffee, I did make my destination, exhausted and caffeine jittery for sure.

As I went past the Hearst Air Services HQ, I could not help but wonder what poor suckers are out in their outpost camps right now, like the one I stayed in at Lake Manzatika some years ago.  That would be the one with NO firewood cut, NO meat pole and winch, LOTS of mouse shit throughout the cabin, the boarded-up window through which the bear had recently broken in, and all of the other amenities one hopes for in a fly-in moose hunt.  Charming.  Can`t imagine why I never went back, nor would I......

So I made Cochrane, where I did NOT choose to take the Polar Bear Express to Moosonee.  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  Their business model counts on heavy advertising to lure first-time tourists to take the train north to Moosonee, where they can spend MINUTES until the train turns around to grind along the same crappy track, at almost twenty miles an hour when they turn up the speed, through interminable muskeg vistas.  And YES!  You can have a taste of the north with their incredibly awful fish dinner while you are slowly rotting away in their uncomfortable, noisy antiquated rail cars.  They have a captive audience in the poor souls who inhabit Moosonee and Moose Factory, for whom there is no viable alternative to go south to civilization, but their gravy train is gullible tourists like me that succumb to their slick advertising.  I am betting that no southerner (or foreigner) EVER EVER goes for a second helping of misery with those folks.  And BTW the absolute defence against a libel suit is the truth.

Cochrane has a pizza place, in the grocery store, and if you want it delivered you call a taxi.  If you want to pick up your pizza, it will be ready in 40 to 50 short minutes.  I have been to Cochrane three or maybe four times, and if I never ever ever visit that God-forsaken hole of a town it will be too soon.  But I had a nice dinner of liver and onions at the restaurant beside my hotel, and hit the hay early.  Of course, my body was highly unhappy with me about my caffeine intake, and it was about 4 am when I awoke, wide awake and jittery.  This is NOT a good way to start another long day in the saddle, but........on fait son possible, as they say en francais.

Yesterday I bit off more than I can chew for a day’s driving.  I did the same today.  So I left Cochrane, where the Lord would put the hose if He were going to give the Earth an enema, and headed for Chalk River.  I REALLY did not think I would make it, and in fact intended to stay at a campground before I hit town, but they are all closed.  So I am now at the home of Dan and Maryanne, the latter of whom I had never met and was beginning to think was a figment of Dan’s imagination.   For the Gun Nutz amongst us, Dan is DizzyDan1.  The rig is parked beside their garage, and I need to get my head down.  Tomorrow I hope to get home!

Doug

PS)  I am home now and posting this from my home network, how novel!  More later.

HOMEWARD BOUND FOR SURE

Well, it’s TIME.  I have been on the road for over seven weeks, over thirteen thousand kilometres, and the planned stops for the next few days all just went out the window.  I am about a week early on this portion of the journey, and my planned victims just aren’t ready to be victimized just yet.  So I am bypassing a bunch of the folks I had hoped to see on the eastbound leg of the trip.

When I wrote my last update, I was at a Walmart parking lot in Winterpeg.  I went from there to the home of my buddy Ken, who was a recruit with me back in 1973 at the Royal Roads School for Boys in Colwood, BC, and his wife Barb, whom I know from somewhere in that same time frame.  They got married in 1976 and are still enjoying marital bliss, how about that!!!!  Ten years more than a life sentence!

We enjoyed a marvellous meal, and were joined before dinner by another buddy from the same recruit flight (The Lasalle Animals), name of Piet TenB.  Piet is a pilot, drove a CF-18 for many years, and is still flying.  As we loafed around during and after a spectacular feast (oink oink), we reminisced about the good old days when we were young, fit, hirsute, virile and basically invincible.  And where the hell did the time go anyway?????  We were playing my buddy Ray’s CD (did I mention that he is a musician?), and the title track is all about growing too soon old and too late smart.  I think.

Piet’s wife Anne has just recently been diagnosed with a lymphoma, and is about to undergo some chemotherapy, so I would ask those of you who are religiously inclined to say a prayer for her complete recovery.

Ken and Barb:

The three amigos:

Ken:

Piet:

I stayed in Ken and Barb’s driveway overnight, and after the morning Winnipeg traffic rush I headed the rig east on the Trans-Canada.  The rain is STILL following me, and I only made it as far as Dryden when I was seeing double and stopped for the night at an RV centre just west of town.  Nice spot, and I enjoyed the opportunity to play with a big whitetail doe’s head just as it was getting dark.  I was bleating like a fawn, and she was definitely interested.  But when she flanked me and was out of view, I decided that I would rather be in my DRY, WARM camper than outside in the rain facing a seriously pissed-off doe, so I went back into the camper.

It rained HARD all night, and there was about an inch of standing water everywhere when I got up Thursday morning.  But by all accounts the rain was sorely needed, and apparently the good people of Dryden are erecting a craven image of me in heartfelt appreciation for bringing the rain to them.  I left before the crowds of rapturous people could interrupt my eastward voyage.  The IGA in Dryden has Wonder Bread at only $2.99 per loaf, so much better than Fraser Lake, so I re-provisioned with (brown of course) Wonder Bread, salami, mozzarella cheese and Diet Ginger Ale.  Ready for three meals a day for the rest of the trip, probably!

Last night I made Thunder Bay and stayed once again with my buddy Bob and his Ukrainian wife Nellia.  They met over the Internet.  Neither of them speaks all that much of the other’s language, but they seem to get on OK.  I had been hosted by them when I was westbound, so I took them out to a local steak-house, which has EXCEPTIONAL food.  If you are in or near Thunder Bay, you MUST check out Prospector’s Restaurant.  Our waitress had advised us that we really should sample the fresh, home-made buns, which were delicious.  And when I told her, in a very loud voice, “YOU HAVE NICE BUNS” she turned as red as a beet.  The prime rib is pretty fabulous too!

It was raining yesterday, it rained pretty much all night (heavy at times), and it was still raining this morning, BUT!!!!!!!  We were planning to go for a hunt, so we did.  We spent a very wet, windy, miserable day looking for moose and deer, but to my not so great surprise, saw nothing.  We got back to Thunder Bay, I checked my e-mails and found out that all of this week’s planned possibilities had gone out the window, and so I decided to head for home.

So I made it as far as Nipigon with the wind trying to put me into the ditch, and I am holed up for the night at an RV campground near the highway.  They have Internet (YAYYYYYYY!!!!), electricity to run the heater, and I am given to believe that they also have showers, so I may check that out tomorrow morning.

As it stands now, I could be home in three days, ie two weeks earlier than planned.  I might have to get creative about why it is taking me so long to get there!

Doug

MANITOBA MEANDERINGS

On Saturday of the Thanksgiving weekend, I left the home of Ray and Judy near Saskatoon, headed for Grandview MB.  It was a fairly uneventful drive, albeit long, and I enjoyed watching the tens of thousands of geese and ducks along the way.  One spot I could see literally thousands of ducks circling in great huge circles, and wondered why they were not committing to land.  A couple kilometres later, I saw the reason:  they wanted to get in to a smallish lake that was absolutely covered with ducks, probably ten to fifteen thousand of them, maybe more.  There was not so much as a small puddle of water that was not already occupied, and clearly it had to have been the most desireable water in the area, since two nearby lakes had only a few scarce flocks on them.  Oh, to be a waterfowl hunter living here!!!  And of course it reminded me that this week is the annual Maxville Gentlemen’s Hunting Club Goose Extravaganza, which I am unfortunately missing.

I got to Grandview just before dark, and set up in the municipal park.  Hmmm, I recall having typed that already I think.  So if there is some overlap with my last entry, please put it down to my brain having turned to mush after all these miles on the road.  Sunday morning dawned clear and warm, and I went to the home of my old friends Doug and Joan.  I had worked for Doug back in Petawawa in the early 80s, and he was our Colonel Commandant for a very long time.  He is widely known, highly respected, and much loved.  I joined he and Joan for the Thanksgiving Sunday service at the Grandview United Church, and enjoyed a lovely lunch thereafter at their home, then it was back on the road.

Doug and Joan:



If I had performed anything more than a perfunctory map recce, I would have noted that Richer MB is not all that close to Winnipeg, indeed it is almost closer to Kenora.  But I had told my friends Geoff and Andrea that I would be at their home on Sunday evening, possibly in time for dinner.  Fat chance!  I stopped to refuel late afternoon at Neepawa, and was told that I was still three hours from Richer.  That would have been three hours if Highway 1 had not been closed at Portage, and traffic detoured for a hundred kilometres or so.........I got there after dark and was most pleased to park the rig and enjoy a cold glass of wine, and some time later a bite to eat also.

It was a short night, even though Geoff did not knock on my camper door until 7:30 am, at which point I was still solidly asleep and dreaming an interesting dream.  After coffee and loading up the truck and boat, off we went to Lac Du Bonnet for a walleye fishing trip.  I purchased my fifth fishing licence, and we launched into the teeth of a very brisk southeasterly breeze.  Going out from the launch, we were treated to a good soaking with spray washing over the bow, but eventually we found some relatively sheltered water and got fishing.  Fishing ain’t catching, and we tried a number of spots and a number of techniques and baits, but all of our offerings were spurned by our pisctorial prey.  The wind had dropped briefly, swung around to the east, then starting building steadily.  I did not have to be asked twice if I thought we should haul up the lines and head for the launch ramp.  I am getting sick and tired of forgetting my camera in my truck when these Kodak moments happen – but anyways we got thoroughly drenched to the skin on the way back, and the look on Geoff’s face during the ordeal was just priceless.  We barely avoided having the boat dashed to pieces against the dock, and eventually got it trailered and off the water, somewhat the worse for wear but in one piece.

Then the rain started in earnest, and continued most of the afternoon, into the evening, and overnight.  Seems I pull this stuff with me wherever I go on this trip.  Next stop I understand my services have been requested at an out-of control forest fire northeast of here.......

Andrea:

Andrea’s son Noah:

Geoff:

Geoff and I:

I drove BACK to Winnipeg this morning and enjoyed a lunch with my old colleague Lloyd, who had been my sergeant-major back in Petawawa, and whom I last saw some twenty years ago or so.  Lloyd had a heart attack a couple years ago, and moved from his beloved farm near Anola MB into a condo in the city last year.  As he was letting me in to the building, he remarked that it was like living in a jail.  But he looks GREAT, has not been surprised by any other health curveballs, and we had a grand reunion chatting about the old times and old colleagues, many of whom are no longer with us.  He is on duty this afternoon baby-sitting his two grand-daughters, so we shook hands and agreed that he NEEDS to get hooked up with e-mail so we can catch up more often on the gossip.

Lloyd:

This afternoon’s plan had been for me to drive to a couple large sports stores in the other end of the city (Wholesale Sports and Cabela’s, for those of you who might be interested), then return to the south part of town to join some old friends for dinner and overnight.  I am no great shopper, and my taste of Winnipeg traffic getting to Lloyd’s place this morning was quite sufficient, thank you very much, so I am parked in a Walmart parking lot doing some interior economy and some Egyptian PT.  And of course typing up this blog entry which I will post once I have WiFi connectivity again.  I am unable to steal anybody’s unsecured signal from my current location, what is this Nazi Germany or something????

Because my schedule has been abbreviated a couple times, I am further east earlier than planned, and now trying to contact folks whom I hope to see in the days ahead enroute home to Kingston.  Still hoping for a moose hunt, walleye fish and bear hunt, but we’ll see..........

Doug



TO MANITOBA VIA KANDAHAR

Where the heck does the time go? It seems like just yesterday I was writing my last entry about my Saskatchewan buck, and now here I am in Manitoba. You know, I think that WAS yesterday. Or was it? I have been on the road for over six weeks and just shy of twelve thousand kilometres, and my brain is pretty much fried. Of course, that could be due to those cursed jello shooters at Cold lake.........

I think that WAS yesterday. For sure, it had to be yesterday, when it rained about two inches at Ray and Judy’s place. That part of Saskatchewan generally measures its rainfall in tenths of an inch, but I am bringing all sorts of oddball weather with me, clear across the country. In fact I think I should be getting a government subsidy for bringing hot sunny weather to the western provinces and the Yukon, and for bringing life-giving rains to Pump Handle MB and Saskatoon SK. I must look into what govt programs exist to reward endeavours such as this. I might need to claim that I ride the special bus, or am a member of an abused minority. Heck, that is TRUE!!! I am a middle-class older white Anglophone male with a large belly and thinning hair, but who wants fat hair (as Spike Jones used to say). We are probably the MOST abused minority in Canada. Note to self: write a letter to Stephen Harper about this.

Anyways, so it was yesterday. We butchered up the buck, and I left most of it with Ray and Judy, taking only the loins with me for future enjoyment. I pan-fried the liver for last night’s dinner, then also stuffed and baked the heart (wrapped in bacon, of course), made a venison barley soup for my hosts with the neck, and today cooked the tenderloins for brunch. All as it should be, and those of you who have been deer hunting with me lo these many years will recognize the pattern. Except for the giving the meat away part. But the freezer onboard the camper is not big and I was running out of time, so I passed on doing a pressure canner load to bring home. If we get to 31 Dec and the Ontario deer season dies without me putting any venison in the freezer, “I surely will regret it.” (quotation from Robert Otis, aka Tex).

There is no particularly good way to unload a muzzle-loader except by firing it, and both of us had loaded guns, so Ray and I decided to shoot each other’s smoke poles at a couple water-filled jugs on his back forty. Score: Jugs 2, hunters 0. Now Ray is quite an accomplished shooter and indeed biathlete, but he was not hanging on to Old Betsy when he shot, and he punched a pretty spectacular hole into his forehead when my gun’s scope kissed him. As in blood gushing down his face, and me with no freakin’ camera again. Ray correctly predicted that Judy would NOT inquire about his well-being once she saw the gash, but would rather remark on the fact that the family picture was to be taken this afternoon, and what did he think he was doing opening a gash the size of a coke can in his noggin. Old married couples can often predict their partner’s probable words and actions, and Ray hit a home run on that one. Before I left their place, I took a few pictures:

Ray and Judy

Ray and yours truly

Judy and Mister Universe

Emma the wonder dog

And so I was off to Grandview MB, where I eventually arrived this evening and where there is no WiFi connectivity in the municipal campground where I am staying. But I DO have electricity so am scribbling this blog in Word, and saving it to post when I can.

Enroute, I detoured through Kandahar. So like my oldest son and many other friends and colleagues, I too have spent time in Kandahar. I reckon my tour in Kandahar lasted about five to ten minutes, so it just might be the shortest recorded Kandahar tour. I wonder if I can get a medal for it. Probably yes, who was that Canadian General who admitted he was not eligible to receive a medal for some theatre or other but they gave it to him, so by golly he cant give it back! Kandahar:

I almost forgot, I promised to post pictures of my Saskatchewan record book buck. Here he is:

Buttons and I

Alas, poor Buttons, I knew him well

As you can see, he is one for the record books as Saskatchewans SMALLEST ever buck taken with a muzzle-loader. Now those of you who read my last entry and thought I was talking about a BIG buck should go back and read my words carefully. I never said he was big, just that nobody had seen one this size before. Small is a size. And I did NOT count his antlers until he was dead and I saw that he was a button buck. Buttons was born, and died, in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eleven. And yes, if you think I was deliberately playing with your head, I stand guilty as charged. But I sure enjoyed doing it.

Doug

FINALLY, A RECORD BOOK SASKATCHEWAN BUCK!

I believe that in my last blog entry I noted the fact that I am here near Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, at the home of my old friends Ray and Judy.  They own a rural property comprising eighty acres of land, pretty much ideal whitetail deer habitat:  lots of bush for security cover and bedding areas, open areas for browse, close proximity to grain fields, and a small creek nearby for water.  No reason for a deer to move anywhere else, except during the rut when the bucks roam large areas looking for receptive does.  Ray told me he figured that the rut was starting here, but I did not think so – no sign of rubs or scrapes, etc.  But maybe he was right.

This property is only an hour or so from Biggar, Saskatchewan, where Milo Hansen shot the WORLD record whitetail buck a number of years ago.  I have heard about the monster bucks in this area, for many years, and of course always hoped I might get an opportunity to hunt them.  Never did I really believe I would get one, but a fellow can always dream............and the icing on the cake would be to take one with a muzzle-loader.  I have owned a number of muzzle-loading rifles over the years, and once did shoot AT a deer, but never shot a deer with a front-stuffer until yesterday.  And what a buck he turned out to be!  For those not familiar with the smoke poles, a muzzle loader is loaded from the business end rather than the breech, as in a modern rifle that shoots cartridges.  So one pours a measured amount of gunpowder down into the barrel, then pushes a bullet down on top of the powder using a ram rod to seat it properly.  Depending on the type of muzzle-loader, the ignition source can be more gunpowder and a flint, or a percussion cap on a nipple, or a regular primer as one would use in a modern rifle, pistol or shotgun.  My rifle is a modern, so-called in-line muzzle-loader, and it uses .45 calibre bullets seated in a plastic sleeve called a sabot, and the ignition is a shotgun primer.  I have a very good quality scope on it since my eyes aren`t what they used to be.  It looks, feels and handles like a heavy bolt action rifle.  So I suppose a purist would consider my rifle to be cheating – you know, nothing primitive at all about this shootin` iron.  BUT!!!!  It is a single shot, by necessity for a single-barrel rifle, and one just does not get a follow-up shot if one misses on the first shot.

All of these thoughts were playing through my head yesterday when Ray and I went out for an afternoon hunt.  We still-hunted to the end of his property, passing some really spectacular deer habitat, with deer trails beaten down in numerous spots.  Ray has not been using ladder stands or tree stands, but there was one spot I told him that would be a FABULOUS location for an elevated perch.  It would command a field of view of perhaps a hundred yards or more, and overlook probably eight major deer highways.  In this part of the province there is no rifle season, so a five hundred yard shot isn`t going to happen anyways.

When Ray and I arrived near the end of the property, I thought I saw antlers in the far tree line, and immediately hit the dirt, rolled onto my back to remove my pack and rifle sling, then crawled on my belly up to a slight rise to get a better look and take a shot.  When I put the scope on the antlers, it turned out they were actually branches on a birch tree, something of a let-down, but then  after six weeks of not seeing any legal and shootable animals it is not exactly a novel experience for me either.

The slightly elevated piece of land gave me an excellent view over a hundred  yards or better of pretty deery-looking terrain, and I set up against an old weathered fence post while Ray went to push the bush in hopes that a deer would spook and run in my direction.  As it turned out, for once a plan came together as it was supposed to.  I had removed my pack, took a location  fix with my GPS (YES, I was optimistic), and was glassing the tree line with my binoculars, confirming for example that the antler tree was still there and had not grown fur in the meantime.  My rifle was across my legs, safety on but ready for action.  Fortunately I had not leaned the rifle against the fence post or similar............as I was glassing the woods I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and there he was, bounding out of the patch of scrub into which Ray had disappeared perhaps five minutes earlier.

Those of you who are hunters know how everything kind of kicks into high gear and slow motion all at the same time.  Within perhaps a second of seeing the movement I had dropped the binos and had the rifle in my hands, hoping for a shot.  Initially it looked like there would be no opportunity for a shot, since he was bounding at top speed through scrub trees and tall grass, headed to an impenetrable thicket perhaps a hundred yards to my left.  Suddenly he changed direction and began charging directly at me.  I shouldered the rifle, slipped the safety off, and put the scope on the speeding deer.  I have shot a LOT of deer in my life, probably around a hundred or so, but have not made many successful shots at running deer,  But by golly if that was the shot I was going to get, I was going to take it.  At this point, I had not even attempted to count the points on his head, I was just concentrating on the buck who was now closing on me at top speed.  At less than 25 yards, heading directly at me, he put the binders on full, obviously concerned about the odd looking camouflaged lump against the fence post.  A full frontal shot is not the best possible scenario, but it beats the snot out of a running broadside shot, and the instant the buck stopped I dropped the hammer.  He flinched mightily, turned tail, and ran back towards the direction from which he came.  His tail was down, and I had felt confident about the shot, BUT!!! He ran at least a hundred yards that I could see.

My hands were shaking as I reloaded the rifle, and I settled back against the fence post to wait for Ray to return.  Within about five minutes Ray was back, and congratulated me on taking the shot.  Well, I have been hunting long enough to know that a shot does not always equal a dead deer, and I had not SEEN the buck keel over, so I was only cautiously optimistic.  After all, my record with the smoke-pole was not exactly stellar, and I had taken a shot at a pretty small target, as far as making a fatal shot goes.  So I had Ray stand where I was, as a reference point, and went out towards the path I had seen the deer take after I shot.  Quite soon I saw blood, and followed a good blood trail to just inside the woods, where my Saskatchewan buck lay dead as a doornail.  Ray joined me, and exclaimed that he had NEVER seen a buck this size in all his time in Saskatchewan.  And I was mighty pleased with myself, as a matter of fact.  But where was my camera?..................back in the truck at the house.  Story of my life.........anyways no hero picture of the buck in his final resting place, with my rifle across his antlers, or similar.

Ray owns a small farm tractor, and we were directly beside a trail, so off he went for the tractor while I gutted the buck and tagged him.  The shot had been slightly right of centre, and the bullet had created a dreadful entrance wound that I could put my hand into.  I suspect that the bullet had hit a small twig or similar before it hit him.  And as it turned out, the bullet had continued through the body cavity and exited near his hind leg on the opposite side, which made for a slightly unpleasant cleaning job, but that is not too unusual either.  I had done my part of the job when Ray returned and we trussed up the buck for him to take it back to the house.  I walked back, feeling the usual emotions one often has after killing such a magnificent animal:  gratitude for the opportunity for the shot and for the successful conclusion, exhilaration at the size and shape of the buck, wonder at the ability to take an animal with a muzzle-loader, and of course a certain amount of sadness for the creature's life that I had taken.

Temperatures here are unseasonably warm, so we hung and skinned out the buck before supper and left it to cool overnight.  A couple people have dropped by to look at him, and they have all said they never saw a buck this size out here.  We are about to butcher the buck this afternoon (since the celebration last night went a tad late), and I will get Ray to take a picture of me with the head, so I can post that.  Obviously I have not had the antlers scored yet, and for sure he is not going to top the Hansen buck, but he is one for the record books, no doubt in my mind.

Doug

GUN GUY DETOUR

Those of you who know me well know that I am something of a firearms enthusiast, and have been a member of an Internet forum called ``Canadian Gun Nutz`` for quite a number of years.  I have met, in person, dozens of folks from this forum, and have corresponded with many hundreds more.  And if you had told me twenty years ago that I would be ``Pen pals`` with a bunch of folks I never met, and corresponding by computer I would have told you that you were smoking cheap dope.  But here I am...........

So there are three gun guys I REALLY wanted to meet in western Saskatchewan, all within an hour or so drive of each other and only about a three hour detour from my planned route to the Saskatoon area.  I had forgotten that there are indeed parts of the Prairies where one can watch one`s dog run away from home for three days.  Photographic evidence:

First stop was Rosetown SK where I had a brief but thoroughly enjoyable chinwag over a coffee with Jim, aka 44Bore on Gun Nutz.  Jim is still employed as a professional and sometimes his time is not his own – and one of his staff booked a client for him shortly after I was due to arrive.  (Or at least that`s the cover story!).  He has a family member who lives in Ontario, and I hope that he and I might get together back there the next time he visits.

Jim and I in the Rosetown Coffee Emporium:

Next I drove to Plenty, SK, over some of the roughest roads I have travelled this trip, with more of those prairie breezes pushing my rig around.  Plenty is right next to that famous town to which I have often heard reference made, first name of which is BUTT.  There I met Rich aka RR on Gun Nutz, and his wife Nancy.  I had an extensive tour of his shop, before we hit the Plenty Hotel for wings, only 45 cents each on Wing Night and very tasty.  Too bad you have to drive over the anti-tank traps to get there.  After dinner, Rich showed me his gun collection, and then off we went to meet his buddy Garnet, aka Dusty61 on the Nutz.  Between the three guys I was visiting, I have done dozens of deals back and forth, and it was like Old Home Week when I visited Garnet`s Gun Room.  He has at least half a dozen rifles that were formerly mine, and I rather suspect that once I get home he will have another one, and I will have a custom Sako in 6.5 Rem Mag.  As was the case with 99trix in Hinton, Garnet had some work cut out for him after I left, to clean the drool off his shootin`irons.

Garnet and Rich

Garnet and I

Rich and I

I spent that night in Rich`s driveway, and got away yesterday morning to Biggar (New York is big, but this is Biggar) and then on my old buddy Ray`s house on a large acreage outside of Saskatoon.  I have known Ray since 1973, and his wife Judy since about 1977 or so (IIRC), and have only seen them on our RMC Class of 1977 reunions every five years, so it is great to have an opportunity to catch up.  They have a gorgeous home that they built themselves, and a garage that any person of the male gender would be delighted to call his own.  (I hasten to add that there are no doubt persons of other genders, neither gender, transgender, gay, lesbian, antediluvian stick-worshippers, whatever, who would also enjoy a HUGE garage.)

Speaking of which, I now know that the people who live in Fallis pronounce it ``fall`` as in the season, plus ``is``  like fawlis.  Who knew!  (A:  Judy knew.)

So I have a licence to hunt whitetail deer here, with my Muzzle-loader, and we have been out yesterday and today with murder in our hearts but nothing in our sights.  I am sure that the sixty kph gale and lashing torrents of rain have nothing to do with the absence of deer.  By now on this journey, I know that I have lost my status as a game magnet.  In fact, I think I must have received a negative charge last time I was at Camp Swampy.  I may have to resort to some of those weird things Suzy and I did when we were trying to conceive a girl once upon a time.  HAH!  Fat chance!  In the entire 20^th century, there were only two girls born in my family on my father`s side......  Anyways, Suzy read this book about how to influence the gender of your child, right there when you were trying to make the little person.  Some of the lurid details are not fit for publication in a family-oriented blog, but amongst them I do recall having to soak my (ahem) jewels in a puddle on a rotted stump, then wave a bag over my head whilst clucking like a chicken.

Actually, some of those details may not be exactly what the book prescribed, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  You know, like using a feather is kinky, but using the whole chicken is perverted.  BUT!!!  If it brings back my hunting luck, it`s worth a try, right!

Anyways, Ray is off doing some chores whilst I am allowing my exterior hunting garments to drip somewhat drier so they are merely damp when we go out later this afternoon.  And it is a good chance to catch up on my blog too.  Please wish us luck!

Doug

BACK IN SASKATCHEWAN

Well, here I am again with a few days worth of adventures to report.  I think I filed my last note from the Longriders RV Campground just outside of Edmonton, on Friday evening.  This is Monday evening, and I am in Lloydminster SK at another RV Campground – but I am getting ahead of myself.

On Saturday I drove up to Cold Lake, AB to meet a couple buddies.  Marc is the middle son of my buddy Marcel, and I have known Marc since he was two.  He is now thirty and works as a civilian employee at the Air Base (4 Wing) at Cold Lake.  He lives on base with a military house-mate, and I parked my rig beside his house.  Just down the street is another old hunting buddy, Ian, whom I know from his days as a Royal at Meaford, ON.  Ian left the infantry for greener pastures, became an air maintenance guy, and does not regret the fact that now when he travels he stays in a swanky hotel, not a trench.

The plan had been to do some fishing up there, and indeed I bought a licence on Saturday.  I now have current fishing licences for Ontario, Yukon, BC and Alberta, and current hunting licences for Ontario, Yukon, BC and Saskatchewan.  My bit to add to the provincial treasuries of the places I am visiting.....  But the wind has been howling out of the East for two days, and there are at least two things to be said for that.  First, ``when the wind`s from the east, the fishing`s the least.``  Second, if one is in a fourteen foot tin boat, six foot waves are not a welcome sight.  Oh for sure if a person was starving and had to catch fish to survive, one might be foolhardy enough to do that, but I am definitely not starving.  And today when I drove south from Cold Lake, the crosswind was as bad as anything I ever encountered.  It was basically impossible to travel at the posted speed limit of 100 kph, or I would have been upside down in the ditch I am sure.  But again I am getting ahead of myself.

On Saturday afternoon, Ian took Marc and myself on a good tour of the surrounding area where he hunts and fishes.  He was astounded that he saw practically zero game animals during the trip, but I informed him that this is the luck I am bringing along on this trip.  I am having exceptionally good luck on the roads, and so I do not get depressed about a lack of huntable critters.  A safe trip is a lot better than a trip with a lot of game kills!  That evening Marc and I had a grand visit, and also entertained a couple local folks who dropped by for a drink.

Sunday morning continued the rain and high east winds of the preceding night, so we scrubbed the planned fishing trip.  After brunch, I looked up an old buddy of mine, who was a jet jockey for thirty years or so.  Dan flew fighters and other fast air pretty much continuously from 1979 to 2004.  SIX THOUSAND hours, mostly in CF-18s, and now he is a civilian employee teaching jet jock wannabes how to fly via simulator, but still at Cold Lake.  He and I were recruits together at the Royal Roads School for Boys, back in 1973, and we reminisced about those days, mutual buddies, the joys of getting old and infirm, etc etc.  It was only the second time I had met his wife Kathy, and thoroughly enjoyable to get some one-on-one conversation with her too.  Before I left, Kathy dug up some fresh red potatoes from her garden, and I had one tonight.  DELICIOUS!!!!  (AFTER the scrumptious gourmet meal of Mister Noodles chicken curry flavour of course)  Maybe for a bedtime snack I will have some Wonder Bread (Only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake), some lunch meat and some processed cheese, my fat and sodium reserves are getting depleted.

Dan and I:

Last night Marc and I were invited to the home of Ian and his wife Tamara, both of whom originally hail from Newfoundland, and both of whom are fond of rum.  I am not a rum drinker, but when in Rome....................  I was also introduced to a concoction called a jello shooter, which is jello made with vodka instead of water.  I am here to report that the person who invented that should be drowned in a vat of bile and stomach acid.  It was a wobbly walk home to Marc`s house, but thankfully only a couple hundred yards.  This morning was fairly rough, but Ian had arranged for us to do a tour of the CF-18 hangars where he works, and by golly we got up close and personal with a couple of these fighter jets, VERY impressive.

Late this afternoon, it was time to hit the road, and I drove with that ferocious crosswind as far as Lloydminster, which was plenty far enough.  Speaking of Plenty, that is my destination for tomorrow, and then Wednesday to Saskatoon to meet my buddy Ray (also a fellow recruit at RRMC back in 1973) for a muzzle-loader hunt for whitetail deer.  I do have some optimism that we might actually shoot one, which would be a novel experience for me on this so-called HUNTING and fishing trip..........

Marc and I

Ian and I

In the cockpit of a CF-18

After the vodka jellos

Doug

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Yes indeedy, more saddle time.  Yesterday I went to Edmonton and met a fellow firearms enthusiast, Greg aka fassteel on Gun Nutz.  We had a coffee and shot the breeze about important things like guns and hunting, and I drove off through that TERRIBLE Edmonton traffic, and into the beautiful prairie country to the north. I was hoping to meet up with Arch1965, another gun nut  who lives in this area, but could not get ahold of him on the phone or by e-mail. Arch is a farmer and undoubtedly very busy at this time of the year. Too bad, I would have liked to meet him, and so many other area Gun Nutz, but...........I have to be in Cold Lake this evening for some fishing with old buddies.

Here is a pic of fassteel and myself:



When he met me, he said he had always envisaged me being bigger than I am. I am a man of normal stature - Greg is six foot five!

Last night I stayed in a lovely RV park near Gibbons AB, and Wifi has been excellent.  Funny how clean washrooms used to be the barometer of how good a campground was.  Now it is WiFi connectivity............

Yesterday, I drove past a town called Fallis.  I wonder how the good people of Fallis pronounce the name of their town.  Just curious..............

Doug

HOMEWARD BOUND

Well, I have been told that once the horse is dead, one should cease to flog it.  We were not finding any legal elk or mule deer, and my host Larry was getting behinder and behinder in his farm chores, so I reckoned it was time to cut my hunt short and head back east.  I still have a number of planned adventures ahead of me for the next month or so, and a bit more time for those is not a bad thing.

First day out I stopped in Prince George BC to get the oil changed on the F-250.  Larry chided me for not having done this previously on the trip.  The owner's manual (YES I am a male person, but YES I did read the manual!) says to change the oil every 15,000 km.  Seems they are talking about regular driving, in warm climes, and without a ton and a half of camper onboard.

Yesterday the odometer rolled over the ten thousand kilometre mark since I left home five weeks ago.  Ten thousand klicks, about 2000 litres of diesel fuel, roughly three thousand bucks worth, and a few callouses on my pink little bottom from the hours in the saddle.  "And miles to go before I sleep."

Last night I stopped in Hinton AB to meet a fellow firearms enthusiast, Blair P aka 99trix on Gun Nutz.  We had a marvellous time looking at his extensive collection of old Savage lever action rifles and associated kit.  Here we are:

That's a couple old Savages with a couple old Savages......

And today I am headed to Edmonton and then afterwards on to Cold Lake.

A couple more pictures:

That is one of the squawfish er I mean Northern Pikeminnow that I caught on the Nechako River in central BC.

My new buddy Blair with a (VERY Rare) Montreal Home Guard rifle from WW I.

Doug

THE CLOCK IS TICKING....

In BC, an out of province hunter may be accompanied by a BC resident who has held a BC Resident Big Game licence for at least three years.  The non-resident Canadian may only do one hunt in any year, for a period not exceeding 21 days, which must be consecutive.  So my hunting licence here is good for the period 10-30 Sep.  I started with Larry on the 10^th (Opening day of elk season), then went to the Yukon because temperatures here were unbelievably warm.  Now I am back in BC and it is the 27^th, kind of getting down to the wire.

Yesterday we went down along the Nechako River, with rifles and fishing gear.  We did not have occasion to use the rifles, but we did catch some nice rainbow trout, which are on tonight’s menu.  I also caught half a dozen squawfish, which put up quite a good fight but are apparently not very palatable table fare, so all of them went back into the river.  I had caught my first ever squawfish on the Nechako last time I was here a couple weeks ago, and made it my business to find out a bit more about this species.  As it turns out, the American Fisheries Association or some such body decided that the name squawfish is politically insensitive to some folks, so the new name for this species is Northern Pikeminnow.  (Which, frankly, is a ridiculous name, since the fish is neither a pike nor a minnow.  But then again it isn’t a squaw either, I suppose.)

We returned to the house for a bit and had intended to go to another spot for the late evening hunt, when a torrential downpour changed our plans.  Our evening meal was a glorious pan-fried pike, with fries and salad.  And some wine.  (And today’s lunch was pike sandwiches)  Larry and Mary had caught the pike up at Chetwynd, and the flesh was quite pink in colour – and very tasty indeed.  And since I need an inordinate amount of beauty sleep, which nevertheless seldom achieves its purported raison d’etre, I turned in early.

Larry banged on my camper door early this morning, and after a coffee we were off in search of game.  We saw one good-sized bull elk, but he was short on antlers.  A legal bull needs to have at least six points on one side, and this guy was a very large spike-horn, so he walked.  We also saw a goodly number of mule deer does and fawns, but no bucks.  We did a circuit down near the river, and got thoroughly wet from the vegetation, there having been quite the frost last night.  And now we have had our pike sandwiches and a cup of tea, my boots and pants are hopefully drying out somewhat, and a bit later we will be out again for another attempt to fill at least one of my tags.  Please wish us luck!

And here are a few more pictures from the trip so far:

wood bison alongside the Alaska Highway south of Liard Hot Springs

on top of one of Keno's mountains

my first ever grayling

with my buddy Phil the Whiskey Pig

Doug

Finally, a photo

My son Eric is a computer guy, has a diploma in Interactive Multi-Media Development, which is to say, how to do things with the Internet.  I had been unable to figure out how to post pictures to this blog, but Eric figured it out in no time.  Here is me and the rig back in Kingston, Ontario.

BACK FOR MORE PUNISHMENT

Well, this was another day spent driving many miles, including some fairly challenging bits.  Last night I stayed in Fort St John, BC at the Blue Belle Motel, which has its charms, but reliable Internet is not chief amongst them.  I spent a couple hours this morning trying to do some e-mail, and during a rare period when I had WiFi for more than a few seconds, I posted my last blog entry.  I have two e-mail accounts, one with gmail which always works, and one with Cogeco which usually works when I am at home but which has been completely problematic whilst I have been on the road.  One time I managed to get it working, it ate my in-box which had at that point a dozen or so messages.  Gone, forever.  Even when it apparently is connected, it refuses to send out e-mails from my out-box.  In other words, it really gets up my nose, big time, and it was cogeco that I was using to set up a lot of this trip with various friends and contacts.  This morning I was trying to coax it into allowing me to see the messages in my outbox, so I might perhaps copy them into gmail and finally send them.  No luck.  I eventually gave it up as a lost cause, and cleared out of my motel room.

I needed fuel and coffee, and not necessarily in that order.  My motel was just across the Alaska Highway from Tim Horton’s, so of course that was where I went.  The drive-through line-up was about thirty vehicles (NO, I am NOT exaggerating), so I squeezed the truck and camper into the last available parking spot and went into the Timmy’s.  The line-up inside was about thirty people long, and no, I am not exaggerating.  I went back to the truck in search of Rotten Ronnies, where I found even longer lines, and an unhappy chap behind me when I had to turn around in the very full parking lot to get the heck out of Dodge.  One might think he could see that an F-250 heavily laden with a camper could not exactly do a three point turn in something like two feet more room that my total length.  And he was in the drive-through line-up anyways, which was going nowhere fast.  I restrained an urge to make a rude gesture at the inconsiderate chretin, and decided that I would get diesel fuel somewhere and maybe make coffee in the camper (which of course I could have done at the motel). 

The Petro-Canada station in town had Ultra Low Sulphur diesel fuel, mirabile dictu!  So I filled the tank to the brim, and whilst so doing noted that the gas station also had a “Dumpty’s Family Restaurant.”  I mean, who could resist such an alluring spot?  So I parked the truck and went in, only to find that there was a line-up here as well.  BUT........the smell of bacon and eggs, etc overwhelmed my feeble ability to resist, and I waited.........and waited...........and, well you get the idea.  Breakfast was actually exceptional, and with excellent coffee, and the reason people have to wait in line to get in is you have to tell the waitress six or seven times that you want the bill so you can pay and depart.  I waited......and waited.................etc.   I tipped the waitress handsomely anyways, being in a fine mood with a belly full of good grub, and took my departure.

Larry had advised me the previous evening that I should take the scenic route through Hudson’s Hope, along the Peace River, so I re-traced my steps back up the Alaska Highway a ways to take Hwy 29 down to Chetwynd, where I would re-join the Alaska Highway.  Indeed, this is gorgeous country, and the Mighty Peace is an awesome sight, as is the fertile Peace River Valley.  I had not previously driven this stretch of road, and am pleased I did so today.  Even with the white-knuckle bits.

At Chetwynd I got back on the now-familiar Alaska Highway, on which I have now driven a couple thousand kilometres or better.  There was one section of washed-out highway just south of Chetwynd, where we were piloted through the clean-up efforts for about a half-hour or so, then a ways south we had the truly execrable mess of the Pine Pass re-construction, for a very long ways indeed.  When you are going ten kph over potholes, mud, washboard, ferocious bumps, etc etc, it does not take many miles to make for a long and arduous journey.  But eventually I reached the end of that, and after the Northeastern version of the BC Grand Prix, southbound, I had good going and was able to make very good time.

Those of you who know me well know that I drive like a little old lady.  I am very cautious and do not drive quickly, don’t take chances, and so on.  BUT!!!  I had to make some good time these last couple days, when the roads were good, and so many of you will be astonished to learn that I was routinely clocking 120 kph through the mountains, with  the camper on of course, and passing “slower” vehicles much more often than I was being passed.  At one point I had Nelly doing 140, which believe me, was a fairly spiritual experience.  But I had to get past a guy (or gal) who would do 120 in the good spots, then slow to 80 where there was no passing.  At 80 kph, the truck drops into low gear for every little change in elevation, which is highly annoying when one is trying to make good time.

Did I mention that these northern highways are seriously under-policed?  I think I have seen perhaps a dozen police officers in the last five or six thousand klicks.  So the locals drive like fiends, and after a month I guess I have gone native.

Tonight at about 7:30 I arrived back at Mary and Larry’s place.  To say the least, they were astounded to see me, based on my trip today.  But I still hope to shoot an elk, and perhaps a mule deer, and my licence expires on 30 Sep.  It’s do or die time now.  Unfortunately, Larry has been hunting hard for the two weeks I have been away, and he has yet to see an elk.  So we really need to pull a rabbit out of a hat in the next five days, please wish us luck.

It is unlikely I will post much more this week, unless we shoot something, so if you need a daily fix of Doug’s wit and wisdom, please re-read my earlier posts.

Doug

ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT AND I AIN’T GOT NOBODY

That is a song title, I think, for those of you born after about 1960 or so.........

I will endeavour in this update to cover two days and thus bring me (and you, my faithful readers) up to date.  My last post covered the trip to Whitehorse, with some excited side comments about the moose in the swamp behind my camper whilst I was hacking away last evening with two fingers at this less-than-friendly laptop keyboard.  It is indeed Saturday night, and I am all alone here in Fort Saint John, BC in the Blue Belle motel.  I spoke earlier this evening, by phone, with my long-suffering wife of some 31 years, and unfortunately Suzy has one of her terrible migraines and has been in bed most of the last three days.  During those three days I have driven about two thousand kilometres, and frankly I would rather have been behind the wheel, with all its challenges, rather than suffering as Suzy does with her migraines.  But at least when she is not nauseous and throwing up, she can eat some good food that I prepared for her and froze in single and double serving sizes, so she will not starve while I am away.  Me, I have been eating a lot of sandwiches, made with Wonder Bread (Only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake), salami and processed cheese.  In fact, that was tonight’s supper too.  Good thing I like sandwiches!

Yesterday morning I left Whitehorse for a serious drive back to central BC.  I found out that the Stewart-Cassiar Highway was flooded out yet again, and decided to take the Alaska Highway instead, even though this would add many hours to the trip.  It took about five hours to reach Watson Lake, YT, which is quite a pretty little town and where I replenished the diesel tank before pressing on down the Alaska Highway.  Just south of town there was a large sign warning motorists to beware of wildlife including bison along the road.  Not two minutes later, there was a large bison bull right on the shoulder.  My camera, of course, was in the camper, so some minutes later when I found a suitable spot to stop, I got the camera and put it in the cab with me.  I then passed a half-dozen bison, all but one of them bulls, but none of them presented an opportunity for a picture.  A LONG time later I came across a herd of about a hundred, and did take some pictures.  I also spotted a pair of moose when I was descending one side of a mountain valley, on the far side of the valley, and when I got there a few minutes later the cow crossed in front of me and the bull stopped in the middle of the road to menace me – perhaps he thought I was after his girlfriend, but to be honest I found her rather homely and I suspect she didn’t smell all that good either. By the time I had the truck stopped on the shoulder and the camera turned on, he and she were up a hillside and it was a longish camera shot for my el cheapo digital.

Janice had thought I should probably stop at Liard Hot Springs for the night, which was about seven hours or so from Whitehorse.  But when I got there I was still feeling OK to drive, so I pressed on.  Unfortunately, I forgot that it had been my intention to refuel there as well.  Much to my chagrin, I realized this error some 60 or 80 km south and was NOT going to re-trace my route.  Then I found that all of the formerly open fuel stops were closed, boarded up, lean years did them in, like so many tourist operations I have passed this month across the country.  The poor economy has devastated the tourism industry pretty much everywhere that I have been travelling, and there is not a heck of a lot else for folks to do.  It has to be devastating for most of them, and I do pity all the hard-working folks who went under with the downturn.  I do have some personal experience with going bust, since my dad went bankrupt (how many times was it, Chief?) more than once when I was a boy growing up in Forest Ontario.  Dad owned a feed mill and grain elevator, and when the farmers had a bad year, Dad went under too.

Anyways, there is a resort somewhere south of Liard Hot Springs, owned and operated by a couple who I believe hail from Germany (Hans and Helga Giesbrecht or similar), and who sell diesel fuel for ONLY $1.89.9 per litre, as in fifty-six cents a litre more than I had paid in Watson Lake.  At that point I was (foolishly) thinking I might be able to make Fort Nelson, and I needed fuel, so I bought a hundred bucks worth.  When I was paying for my purchase, the madam told me that I could have a discount of twenty cents a litre if I stayed there the night.  For only $49 plus tax for a CAMPSITE.  I declined her kind offer, noted the sand in the Vaseline as she put it to me, and moved on.  That was the second time I was screwed by a German, the last time was in Hamburg on the Reperbahn (sp?) when Suzy and I got screwed for forty bucks each.  And there was no sex involved, I might add.

Some time later I saw a sign for the Toad River Lodge and RV campground, and decided to stay there for the night.  That was where I saw the moose and was trash-talking with the bull.  This morning I got up about 0700, heard steps in the swamp, and there were the pair of them, feeding in the swamp.  But this time, he would have no part of my trickery, and both of them left for safer pastures.

After coffee and Internet connectivity in the lodge kitchen, I hit the road again.  I am pretty sure that the most spectacular scenery I ever saw in my life has been yesterday and today on the Alaska Highway between Watson Lake and Fort Nelson.  And I have seen a lot of spectacular country here and there and everywhere.  Not QUITE like Johnny Cash (I’ve been everywhere man”), but a lot of places in North America and Europe.  Rare for me, I reckon I would actually like to come back here and see this all again.  More critters alongside the road, including caribou and south of Prophet River a whole herd of domestic goats.  I was cruising along at a good rate of knots and saw “something” on the road, so started to slow down immediately.  When I got closer I wondered what the heck I was looking at, and finally when I was almost onto them I saw that they were goats, with one big billy wearing a collar and bell herding them all.  I could have had at least twenty if I had maintained my speed!

I realized when I hit Wonowon (Mile 101 of the Alaska Highway) that one of my Gun Nutz buddies lives near here, and I sent him a note when I finally had some WiFi connectivity.  Long story short, Kurt aka BC Bigbore does indeed live near here but has been working long hours in the gas and oil fields, and we had  a marvellous chat on the phone but unfortunately did not get a chance to meet in person.  So I got here to Fort St John, knew that I was pretty much hooped, and decided to take a motel room for the night.  You know, direct dial phone, hot bath (WHAT A LUXURY!), wireless Internet that works for about ten minutes per hour, all the comforts of home, and PLUS a microwave to heat my delicious supper (Wonder Bread, only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake, salami and processed cheese).  I have had a few phone calls, had enough WiFi connectivity to send a few e-mails, and maybe I will even be able to get this blog posted too.

Tomorrow I am going to try to make it to Mary and Larry’s place, which should be about 7 to 8 hours drive from here.  BUT!!!  The Pine Pass was all washed out and is under construction, so Lord knows how long it will take.  I might have to visit my buddy Glenn again in Prince George, and get the photo taken properly this time – last time I cut off my head in the self-timed snap.

Until the next instalment, keep yer stick on the ice (whatever that means)

Doug