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

Lick the Toad, Man!

Two days and about thirteen hundred kilometres ago I was in Keno City...........

We interrupt this blog to bring you the news that I was just trash-talking with a BIG bull moose about a hundred yards away, or less, across a small swamp from where I am staying tonight in Toad River, BC.  I heard what I thought was a bull grunting outside, and by golly there he was in the water, grunting away.  His cow is about fifty yards from him, contentedly chewing on tender shoots or something, and it looks to me like romance is in the immediate future for the happy couple.  But I sure had his attention for about ten minutes.  I will probably awaken tonight to the sounds and feel of my camper being mauled by an unhappy bull moose.....

Oh, this is SO COOL!  I just heard him again, grunted at him, and now he is thrashing branches over there.  I can just barely see him with the binos, it is almost dark.  WHY could he not have been up at Keno!!!!!

For those of you who are not hunters, it is hard to explain the exhilaration of calling a wild animal to come to you.  Tonight I was just using my hands and my voice/throat to make guttural bull grunts, and a couple winsome cow calls, just in case he might leave his lady friend to investigate the new tart in town.  I have no moose tag here in BC, but it is just absolutely incredible to see a big bull this close and to have him interested in my calling.  Without question, I could shoot him dead as a doornail if he (and I) were legal game right now.  Well, not RIGHT now, it is after legal shooting light, but you get the idea.  I have been on the road for a month now, and this is one experience I will never forget – those of you who are hunters will understand.

Anyways, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, it has been a couple days hard driving since Phil and I were on Brokeback Mountain with Tinkerbull.  When we finally got back to Keno that evening, all I wanted to do was to inhale the last of my Robaxecet, have supper, take a shower, and put my back horizontal for ten hours or so.  I accomplished the first three aims.  (And those of you who are military, or ex-military, know the importance of a single aim, AMOS SCEFCA and all that).  BUT!!!  The horizontal bliss of resting my aching back whilst I was unconscious was not to be, alas.  It had started to rain, and at the higher elevations, to snow, when Phil and I were still out on Mount Mordor, and the rain continued pretty well all night, sometimes harder and sometimes almost stopped, but pretty constant.  The Yukon exists on the premise that it has a sub-Arctic desert climate, with little rainfall.  So, for example, mining companies are allowed to employ a method called “dry pack” for their tailings.  If there is no significant precipitation, there is no significant leaching of anything from the tailings.  However, comma, this is not a usual year, and there has been a LOT of rainfall.  And from anything I can figure out, I had brought about 200% of the normal annual rainfall with me, that fell when I was there.

WOW, this is cool, I just called that moose again, he sure is persistent!  I heard him grunting again outside, and I had him at least half-way across the swamp – even with my deaf old ears I can hear him wading around out there.  It is pretty much pitch black out, so I cannot see him..........heck, this is about as much fun as a fellow can have with all his clothes on!!!  (as my old friend Doug Fraser used to say).

Sorry I keep getting distracted, but this is a highly novel experience for me – I have never trash-talked with a bull moose before.

Anyways, there I was up in Keno, about to drive back to Whitehorse the next morning, and we are having a steady rain.  In Keno, the end of the road, there is only one main road back to Whitehorse, via Elsa, and that road is made of dirt, which when mixed with rain becomes a muddy gumbo.  Two days previous, Phil and I had driven up that road on our way moose hunting after a night’s rain.  He drives an F-250, pretty much the same as mine but without 2500 pounds of weight on the back end to push it around, and we were sliding around in that gumbo every which way but loose, even in 4 wheel drive.  And on the way out of Keno, the mountain is on your left, and a sheer drop to certain death is on your right.  If the gumbo steers you on to the right shoulder, you are dead, period.  If you have 2500 pounds of ballast, the gumbo grabs you all that much harder.  These thoughts came to visit me around 0040 hours (Twenty to one am for you non-military folks, the big hand is on 8 and the little hand is between 12 and 1 for you air force types)  or so on Thursday morning, and the trepidation I felt about the ride home was beginning to gnaw at me, to say the least.  Normally the sound of rain on a tin roof is a wonderfully soothing thing for me, but in this case it was more like Chinese water torture.  Around first light I had a thought, for which I thanked the Good Lord, that there was in fact a back route around that mountain.  I had a few minutes of very broken sleep before I finally got up, stiff in all the wrong places, sore, and tired.  Just the recipe to drive 500 km to Whitehorse!

Geez, I am long-winded, aren’t I!!!  Anyways, Phil was staying in Keno to do a few chores (and I hope he shoots his moose!), so Janice and I drove back together to Whitehorse, leaving their truck with Phil in Keno.  I took the alternate route around the mountain, where the up-slope is on your right and the drop to doom is on your left, gives you about eight more feet of manoeuvre room.  I was in 4 wheel drive for about an hour, including some very spiritual parts, but we finally got out onto the main road and then six hours after we left we were in Whitehorse.  On that first route (in 4WD) we saw 12 spruce grouse and a HUGE moose of indeterminate gender, I guess they know when one is not armed and with malice aforethought. That moose was an extremely large animal, and when I first saw it standing in the middle of the road, I could have sworn that I saw a bell (beard) on it.  But neither Janice nor I saw any antlers, so it was probably a cow.  Maybe a bearded cow, like the bearded lady in the old freak shows.

I originally thought I would be able to scribble two days thoughts on this note, but I am a two-finger typist, I have been typing for an hour, and this LICK THE TOAD RIVER LODGE does NOT have the wireless Internet they said they did, at least not here out with the moose.  So I will describe today`s adventures some time later.

Doug

SCORE: MOOSE TWO, HUNTERS ZERO

Well, I am back in Whitehorse again and tomorrow will head back to central BC for elk and mule deer.  These have been two very interesting days to say the least.  And my body is somewhat the worse for wear too.

Yesterday we went out, two of us on one ATV that is built for one rider, a long ways back into the mountains around Keno.  The ATV was unhappy, as was my bad back, being jolted around for about an hour of pretty rough tracks and trails.  For the final assault on the summit, Phil kindly volunteered to walk while I took the bike up the very steep slope.  He said he could walk up in about fifteen minutes – fat chance!  It took me that long to coax the bike up.  Three quarters of an hour later, Phil met me at the summit, overlooking a high alpine meadow where we had seen moose previously, and where Phil and another buddy had played hide and seek with a small bull before my arrival.  Things were pretty quiet, but after a while I spotted two, and then three moose – a small bull, a cow and a calf.  But they were about a mile away..........and the bull was not apparently interested in a cow in heat bawl.  The wind was in our favour, pretty well straight from them to us, so we put a stalk on the bull.  Crouched over, carrying our rifles but no packs (I KNOW BETTER!!!!!), we covered about a thousand yards or more of pretty broken country, pausing from time to time to see if the bull was still there.  Now in my pack I carry things like water, a compass, a GPS, a whistle, you know – the usual stuff a hunter wants to have handy.  But my pack was on the ATV, at the top of the mountain.

Eventually we reached a spot where there was no real cover in front of us that could conceal our approach.  We were still a solid 400 yards, probably more (my laser range finder was, you guessed it, in my pack).  Phil offered me the use of his monopod shooting stick to take the shot if one offered itself.  I could not get a steady rest with it – whether this was due to exhaustion, dehydration, excitement, or infirmity I know not – and I refused to consider taking a shot, telling Phil he could try one if he thought he could make it.  The bull then gave us a very good glimpse of his rack, which was pretty small, but definitely confirmed that he was the bull and not the cow or calf.  I was watching through my binoculars, and just finished saying to Phil that it was a damned long shot, when a .300 Weatherby Magnum went off in my ear, causing me some disorientation, blurred vision, concussion and deafness even more than my usual.  Phil apologized for shooting about a foot from my ear, and said he thought he had hit the bull.  When I re-focussed my eyes and put the binos back on the spot we had been watching, I saw the bull with his head up, running around in circles, and through my nerve-damaged ears also heard him bawling like a lost calf.  I then lost sight of him.

I suggested that I stay in place, with my eye on where we had last seen the bull, while Phil went forward to check it out.  He said he thought he could get the ATV down to where I was, and off he went back up the mountain to retrieve the bike.  Did I mention that my water, range finder, GPs, whistle etc were in my pack on the ATV?  Quite some long time later I heard Phil yelling at me.  He was on the opposite side of the valley, on the side of the next mountain, probably six or seven hundred yards above the spot we last saw the bull.  He wanted me to come to him – which of course meant that I would lose the eyeball on the aforementioned spot.  Conversation was essentially impossible, us being the better part of a thousand yards from each other.  So I picked up my rifle, Phil’s rifle, his shooting stick and hunting coat, and struck out across some truly nasty terrain, eventually joining him at the ATV.  My throat was dryer than a popcorn fart, and I inhaled half a bottle of water when I finally got to my pack again.

Phil announced that he had good news and bad news.  The good was he figured he could get the ATV down this very rough track all the way to the moose.  The bad was I would have to walk.  So off we went, he atop his bike and me on shank’s mare.  He had not made much progress when the terrain forced him to abandon the bike as well.  By now we were in hellish country, moss-covered rocks with deep holes that would snap a leg in half instantly if a fellow stepped in one, with tag alders and thorn scrubs, all on a fairly precipitous downhill slope.  We finally made it down to the spot where we thought the bull should have been.  No blood, no bull, lots of fresh tracks, and after a couple hours of fruitless searching we decided that he must have missed after all.  I think the bull was probably bawling for his mother, as in “Where the heck did you go, Ma?  There’s some crazies shootin’ at me.”

At this point we were near the bottom of the valley on the wrong side from the mountain where the trail led back to civilization.  Beyond this mountain there is literally nothing but wilderness.  So of course we needed to re-trace our steps to the ATV and then back to where we had started.  I got on to a very good moose trail and was soon about a hundred yards above Phil, who was having trouble finding the ATV.  Fortunately I could see it, and was able to direct Phil to the bike.  I asked him if he wanted to follow me up the trail, since I was on his downhill track.  He assured me that he would be able to back-track, so off I went again up the mountain.  I was probably three hundred yards above him when I heard him yelling for help.  Wearily, I turned around and gave up that hard-earned altitude, only to find Phil with the ATV on its side on quite a considerable slope, nowhere near the track.  I have a bad back, and righting an ATV, uphill, is not something that I would normally contemplate, let alone attempt.  With some help from the winch, but ferocious effort from the two of us, we finally righted the machine.  After that I had Phil follow me, as I kept on the trail and he navigated the ATV through the rougher bits.  This became something of a death march, and eventually I collapsed.  Regardless of any other consideration, I had to get on to that ATV with Phil, and brave the brutal beating on my battered body to get back onto the trail.  Many hours had elapsed since Phil scared me out of my wits with his .300 Weatherby.

It was not a big bull – in fact we had seen it a total of three times, and my name for it was Tinkerbull – but it would have been fine table fare if ever we could have got the meat out of that hell-hole if it had been shot.  It is a heck of a thing to admit, but I am GLAD that Phil missed that moose.  Otherwise we would still be on that mountain – Phil carrying out moose meat and me in a shallow grave.

That was the end of my moose hunt, and next time I write up one of these posts I will describe the harrowing journey back to Whitehorse.

Doug

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE GRIZZLY KIND

Most of my hunting buddies know that I am highly respectful of bears, and grizzly bears in particular command my full attention and respect.  I feel very naked indeed when I am walking in bear country and do not have a gun with me.  Last year when my wife Suzanne and I were in the Yukon and Alaska, I often felt the hairs on the back of my neck go straight up when we were walking around in close country, unarmed.  So carrying a rifle chambered in the potent .35 Whelen  gives me some comfort when I have been hunting these last couple of weeks, in central BC and the Yukon.  I reckon that if a bear decides that I should be his dinner, I should send him to his Maker, with certainty and extreme prejudice.

Yesterday Phil and I got a fairly late start, waiting for some nasty weather to blow through.  It eventually moved on, although we were blessed with showers half a dozen times during the day, sometimes when we were in the truck and often enough when we were out to do some hunting or fishing.  We had gone down the South McQuesten Road, named after the river which the road follows in spots.  On the way in, I shot a couple spruce grouse, and after an hour or so we arrived at a bridge over the McQuesten River, where Phil parked the truck and we broke out the fishing gear.  The river flow in this area is quite fast, certainly faster than most of the Ontario steelhead rivers I have fished.  I had read the Yukon guide to sport fishing, which stated that one should look for grayling in slow or still waters, and use small spinners or flies.  So of course, armed with that advice, I followed Phil’s lead and tied on a half-ounce Pixie spoon to cast into the rushing torrent.  Phil was wearing rubber boots and waded out to a gravel bar, where he could cast into a deep pool.  Fairly soon he caught a lovely big grayling – the archetypal fish of the north with its brilliant colours and huge dorsal fin.  He has caught lots of these fish during his years here in the Yukon, but had never eaten any of them.  In fact he had no idea what they taste like.  So I convinced him to keep this one for the table.

I did not bring rubber boots or waders on this trip, and wading in my hunting boots was not an attractive option.  I walked about a hundred yards downstream from Phil, and eventually caught my very first grayling.  I was highly pleased, even though my fish was of average size at about a pound or so.  Phil’s prize was better than two pounds, I would say.  Anyways, we kept the two of them for dinner, and of course recorded the moment on film or whatever it is that they put in cameras these days.  I was fishing in some brushy alders along the river bank, about a hundred yards from my rifle, which was locked in Phil’s truck, and of course now I had some fishy smell on me from handling the grayling.  I thought at the time that this might be fairly unwise.  Some time later I thought I heard something moving around in the woods, and decided that discretion is the better part of valour.  If one is possessed of a fertile imagination, as I am, it does not take long for the old noggin to conjure up thoughts of grizzlies the size of locomotives.  So back I went, with some haste I might add, to the truck, where I got my rifle and loaded it, then slung it across my chest where it was handy if need be.

In the meantime, Phil was nowhere to be seen.  Had a bear gotten him???  Through the tag alders I went with the rifle at the ready, to a point about a hundred yards or so upstream, and found to my relief that Phil was taking a break onshore.  But it was time to hit the road for moose, so I cleaned the two fish along the river and away we went.

We hunted quite a few locations the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, and along the way bagged three more spruce grouse.  We were in some mighty moosey-looking country, including a few spots where the ground was covered with fresh tracks – but came back to Keno with no moose, five grouse and two grayling.

Janice did not have any cooking oil, flour, bread crumbs or similar up here, and I had none aboard my camper, so I improvised a bit with the fish.  I have heard repeatedly (including from a YT fisheries biologist) that grayling is “mushy” and not all that good as table fare.  Well, I did not find it mushy, but I would not be keeping grayling again unless I was mighty hungry.

And no, we did not see any grizzly bears, so the title was intended to mislead you.

Doug

UP THE DEMPSTER HIGHWAY

If I have my days right, today is Tuesday (so this must be Belgium, right?).  We are still in Keno and the weather this morning is rather crappy – rainy and windy – so we are taking things easy for a bit before we head out in search of Bullwinkle and his great-grand-daddy.  This gives me a bit of time to scribble a few recollections of yesterday’s adventures, or to prevaricate a bit about who knows what.  And later today if I can steal a signal from Mike Mancini’s Snack Bar, I will post this entry.

We are unlikely to see any caribou here in the Keno area, and I would like to shoot a caribou (never did that before), so yesterday Phil indulged me and away we went for a serious road trip.  Janice joined us, since she enjoys caribou hunting (and caribou meat), and our first stop was the town of Mayo, where they have a government office that includes a place to buy hunting licences.  In fact, that is one brilliant arrangement:  the govt building has a Canada Post office and mailboxes, a Yukon Liquor Commission outlet (open Tuesday to Saturday, so no good for us!), a social services office, a probation office (for those who spend too much time in the YLC store), the Yukon Ministry of the Environment office, and a few other services.  PLUS clean washrooms and real porcelain toilets!!!

Anyways, as Janice was buying her caribou tag, we asked the helpful lady at the office about the caribou along the Dempster Highway.  The news was not good, after she phoned the territory caribou biologist.  Most of the herd was up near the NWT border, which is to say about 700 km from Mayo.   But there were scattered groups of caribou all over the place, so we decided to keep going.  For several hours.............and up the Dempster we went.  At about Kilometre 18, Phil and I saw a large moosey-looking object off in a clearing near the road, so we pulled off to see if we might have some luck with a moose.  We went into the bush in the same general area as we had seen the aforementioned possible moose, and Phil did some cow calling.  Not cows as in cattle, but cow moose of course.  Quite soon, we heard crashing in the woods, which then went downwind of us, and then was gone.  Seems we were outwitted by a bull moose, who no doubt thought the lady of his fancy had a terrible odour, not at all like a cow in heat but more like sour sweat and genuine human body odours.

So on we went, up past Tombstone Park, into some very spectacular back country, but no caribou were evident, and around 2:30 pm or so, we turned around to head back to Keno.  We did stop at Kilometre 18 and tried to lure the bull moose into a honey trap (with me a hundred yards downwind of Phil this time), but had no success on our second try either.

So back here we drove, with a short stop at Crystal Lake to see if Emma the cow moose was in her usual spot and perhaps had a visiting paramour.  She was not in her usual spot, so perhaps she was off in the bedroom in her negligee, grunting dirty sounds into a bull’s ear or whatever.  (“Oh, Bullwinkle, you’re so BIG!  Ungh ungh mah mah).  Crystal Lake is named after a fellow who mined in this area, name of Billy-Bob Christal.  So either Billy-Bob or the folks who named the lake had spelling problems with his last name.

Grouse was on last night’s menu again (gee heck!) and I did have enough time to walk over to Mike Mancini’s to check my e-mail and post my last blog entry, before the power went out, and with it Mike’s wireless network.  Hopefully it will be up again today and I can send this missive out to my scores of faithful readers so they can get their fix of Doug’s latest adventures.  TTFN.

Dou

The End of the Road

Keno City, Yukon is about as far as you can go North from Whitehorse if you hang a right after Stewart Crossing.  If you hang a left, you end up in Dawson, which is also a fabulous destination town – and where you can drink the sourtoe cocktail, as I did last year when my wife and I visited Dawson for a few days.  I continue to be amazed by the number of Canadians who are unaware of this important part of our national heritage.  But if you are one of the great unwashed who does NOT know about the sour toe cocktail (and shame on you!), here is the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version for your edification.  There was a lad in Dawson during the gold rush who claimed to be a real Yukoner, but people had their doubts about him.  So that winter when an old sourdough lost a toe to frostbite and pickled it in alcohol, the Dawson folks figured they would present it to the would-be Yukoner in a drink, and if he drank his whiskey, by golly he must be one of them.  He did, and he was.  The original sour toe has long since been swallowed by some drunk, but they continue to find new digits to put in your drink if you have the parts to drink the sourtoe cocktail.  The one that I soaked in some Yukon Jack before I rolled it around in my mouth to terrify some young German tourists, was from an older diabetic lady who had it amputated.  It was still fairly challenging to drink the sourtoe cocktail......................

Anyways, here I am in Keno, we are seeing lots of moose including bulls, but no opportunities yet for a shot.  We did shoot four spruce grouse today, so we are not skunked, but a thousand pounds of moose is not quite the same as three pounds of grouse.

Tomorrow we are going to mix things up a bit and try for woodland caribou, please wish us luck!

Doug

YUKON TALES FROM YUKON TRAILS

I have not been a faithful correspondent of late.  And unless my memory fails me on this point, I was along the shores of Boya Lake, BC, when I last sat down to whale away at this laptop.  That was probably Tuesday or so, and today is Sunday.  Lots of miles on the truck and on this old body of mine since then.

On Wednesday I awoke to glorious sunshine on the shore of the aforementioned Boya Lake, brewed up a pot of Tim Horton’s coffee, and enjoyed a mug with a dollop of Carolan’s irish cream.  Then it was off to Whitehorse via the Stewart-Cassiar Highway and then the Alaska Highway.  The top end of the Stewart-Cassiar contains some more white-knuckle stretches, some truly gorgeous scenery, and dome promising-looking water that pulled me over to fish.  I must admit that so far on this trip, the only GOOD fishing (as in, I was actually catching what I was after) was back on Lac Seul.  Of course, there I had a professional guide whose business it is to put folks on to productive water...........  I have yet to hook a fish in any of the roadside lakes, rivers, and streams where I have stopped along the way.  Hmmmmm....

The Alaska Highway is an excellent route, lots of space and with broad shoulders, and I was able to drive the truck at 110 kph no problem.  Well, not quite NO problem.  After I got out onto this highway, having survived the Stewart-Cassiar, my truck has developed a high-pitched and exceptionally annoying whistle, which is most evident between about 102 and 112 kph, that is to say exactly the speed at which I wished to travel.  I could drive at about 98-100, without much of a whistle, and the same at about 120, but neither speed particularly suited me, nor the driving conditions.  My solution was to open my driver’s side window about an inch, creating a loud noise which masked the whistle.  (“Remember, if the women don’t find you handsome, they might as well find you handy!”)

I finally got to Whitehorse late Wednesday afternoon, did some necessary chores (dump the black and grey water tanks from the camper, take on fresh water, re-fuel, buy supplies, etc) and got to the home of my friends Janice and Phil shortly after supper.  Phil had been up to Keno already, and had driven back to meet me and also to be present when I bought my Yukon hunting licences and tags.  I recorded the cost of my BC licences and tags, IIRC that was about $560 for two big game animals and fishing.   Cost for the same thing here in the Yukon was $115.50.  Royalty fees (if one shoots an animal) are similar in both jurisdictions.  Guided hunts in both places are relatively expensive, so I am not complaining about the licence fees!

Thursday morning after picking up more supplies, Phil and I departed for Keno City and had a fairly uneventful trip up here.  My solution to the truck whistle problem was not popular with Phil, since he found the loud air noise to be worse than the whistle.  We both surmise that the windshield got rattled loose somewhere and it is air coming in through a small opening along the seal which is making the noise.  If you see a red F-250 with a white camper on it, and the front windshield framed by duct tape, please wave at me.   (“Remember, if the women don’t find you handsome, they might as well find you handy!”)

I have been to Keno before, and was warmly greeted by a number of the local folks.  Phil and Janice have purchased some cabins up here, and make the trip (500 km from Whitehorse) quite regularly,  so a town with a population of perhaps 50 regular residents quite soon knows that there is somebody new in town.  Indeed, a number of people dropped by Mike Mancini’s snack bar (the social centre of Keno) to have a chat with Phil and his buddy Doug.  We enjoyed one of Mike’s home-made pizzas, had a few drinks with a few folks, and hit the sack fairly late.  Phil is staying in his regular (residence) cabin, and I am staying in a rental cabin.  They are beautiful cabins, and business has been brisk, to the point that they have to turn down some requests from folks wanting to rent the cabins.

Friday morning we met our friend Gord from Whitehorse/Keno (he and his wife Sharon split their time between the two places), and off we went on ATV’s up into the mountains in search of moose.  We saw a goodly number of moose, including two legal bulls.  (In this area and at this time, all male moose are legal game, although a person would need spectacular eyesight to pick out a male calf from a female calf....)  We spotted one small bull with a large cow, so he was probably her yearling calf.  We put a stalk on him for a couple miles, including some hellish bogs, but never saw him again within gun range.  During that stalk, we also saw a magnificent bull with massive dark antlers.  BUT!  When I first spotted him, his head was down and he was facing away from me, so I could only tell that I was probably looking at a moose (ie not a bear) of undetermined gender.  When I could see the antlers, he was still facing away, and Gord agreed that it was about a 400 yard shot.  Neither of us felt comfortable attempting the shot, not only because of the range but also the difficulty of taking a humane shot at an animal facing away.  (For non-hunters, that shot would be the neck/head, which is a very small target indeed when the moose is facing away from you.)  He slowly moved away up the mountain, presenting one broadside exposure lasting about 1 second on a moving moose at about 400 to 450 yards.  I have friends that could and would have successfully made that shot, but I am not here to wound game, and the work to have tracked and retrieved the meat out of that swamp would have kept us busy for a couple days.  Phil is adamant that we should have taken the shot, but I did not even consider doing so.  “A man has got to know his limitations.”

We were out again yesterday bouncing up and down mountains on the ATVs, saw more moose including one good bull, but had no opportunities for a shot.  And last evening Phil’s wife Janice drove up for a bit of a vacation herself, so we had a nice relaxing evening in their cabin (where I cooked up a couple spruce grouse that Gord had shot, first time Janice ever ate them, and according to Gord, the best grouse he has ever eaten.)  Then we also visited another local couple who were having a bonfire in their yard.  When I could not get a sing-song going, and being bone-weary from the ATV riding, I decided that I would hit the sack.

And now it is Sunday morning, I do not believe I will attend church, and I am hopeful that I will be able to establish connectivity at Mike’s Snack Bar to send this out and to check my e-mail etc.

Phil just informed me that the hunting truck is leaving shortly, so I will end this.  Wish us luck!

Doug

Oh Boya Oh Boya

This reminds me of one of my favourite songs, and which I have taught hundreds of people to sing.  You know, often enough folks complain to me that they can’t remember the words to any songs, and I tell them I will teach them a song and they will remember all the words.  It goes like this, to the tune of “Oh Danny Boy:”

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy  

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy

(then with gusto):

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy  oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy

(Plus or minus a couple oh boys.)

Brings a tear to yer eye, doesn’t it!?!?

Anyways here I am at Boya Lake Provincial Park in Northern BC, about 60 or so km from the Yukon border.  I drove about another  140 km after Dease Lake, where I wrote the last note to this epistle.  So today’s journey was 640 km, one of my longest on the trip for sure, and the truck rolled over 6000 km today since I set out 20 days ago from Kingston.  “We ain’t in Kansas any more, Toto.”

There was some more white knuckle driving after Dease Lake.  You KNOW it is going to be somewhat hairy when you have been gritting your teeth because the road is so freakin’ narrow and the shoulder consists of six inches of asphalt and a sheer drop-off to certain death, and THEN you get a warning sign that the road is going to be narrow and twisty for the next 7 km or whatever.  Thank God I did not meet a loaded logging truck in those sections!!!  And I am here to tell you that the good folks who put up road signs for the BC Highways department generally UNDERSTATE the challenges a driver is about to encounter. 

I also wet a line in quite a number of rivers and lakes along today’s route, but alas my offerings were spurned by my piscatorial quarry.  Neither Brobdingagian behemoths nor Tinkerbell teenies took the slightest interest in becoming my dinner.  And, proud angler that I am, fish was on tonight’s menu.

Instead I had groundhog.  OK let me explain.  There was a movie called Groundhog Day (I think) and the star was somebody famous like Tom Hanks or Jimmy Hendrickx or Red Green, anyways he starred in a bunch of other shows and is well known to people who watch movies.  In this particular show he lived the same day over and over as a weather forecaster and could not escape.  Everybody got the picture?

So yesterday, as I explained somewhat breathlessly in my last post, I had a feast of Mister Noodles (Curry chicken flavour, yum yum), a summer sausage sandwich on Wonder Bread (only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake), washed down with pinot grigio and rye, what more could a gourmand ask for.  My sodium level was getting dangerously low, since all I had to eat today was a brunch of a sandwich on Wonder Bread (only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake) with summer sausage and processed cheese, then an afternoon snack of a Cup-a-Soup, less than 2000 mg of sodium in each case (I think???)  So for supper tonight at this fabulous Boya Lake Provincial Park, with real pit toilets and no other amenities (but it is cheap), I had the same scrumptious feast as I did last night (Mister Noodles (Curry chicken flavour, yum yum), a summer sausage aand processed cheese sandwich on Wonder Bread (only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake), washed down with pinot grigio and rye, what more could a gourmand ask for.)  They could mine my arteries to give Sifto their salt reserves for the next three years.

Of course there is no WiFi access here, so what I am trying is to type this in a “Word” document which HOPEFULLY I can find again – after all, it is the first one in my laptop – and then when I can connect to the net again I will cut and paste this to my blog.

Tomorrow, Whitehorse or bust!

Doug

Through the Stewart-Cassiar

Well, it seems like only yesterday I was hunting with my buddy Larry in central BC.  In fact, it WAS only yesterday.........I left there shortly before noon and drove to the town of Burns Lake, usual driving time one hour.  Right.  Two hours on the road put me there, although to be truthful there was one exceedingly long stop for highway paving and other spots under construction.

BUT!!!!  There in Burns Lake, on the way out of town, was a highway sign advising that Hwy 37 North (my intended route) was CLOSED due to flooding, please get more info from www.drivebc.ca or whatever.  So I set up my laptop, and Praise The Lord I had a good connection.  THANKS SUNSHINE INN!!!!  Well, the info was not encouraging - the highway was closed in both directions, but they intended to attempt to pilot a northbound convoy through at 9 am, precious good that did me at noon.  There were no guarantees, but there was the possibilty of piloted convoys today (Tues 13 Sep), blah blah blah, typical government bureaucrats covering their well-padded bottoms.  The alternative was to turn around and go back through Prince George and up the Alaska Highway, about another ten hours of driving and Lord knows how much fuel.  But I was committed to meeting Phil in Whitehorse, so I resigned myself to retracing my steps.  I got back into the truck and saw immediately that the scrolling sign had changed the wording and was now saying that piloted convoys WOULD happen today.  Hallelujah, Praise The Lord!!!!!

So I drove on to Kitwanga BC, at the beginning of Highway 37 and decided to camp there at a lovely campground run by an older couple.  They have salmon fishing right on their 360 acres of paradise, but there are several grizzlies around that had been terrorizing guests in the last few days - including a mother and two cubs (grizzlies, not guests).  So I decided that discretion is the better part of valour, cooked a delicious gourmet meal of Mister Noodles (curry chicken flavour, yum yum) and a summer sausage sandwich on Wonder Bread (only $4.29 a loaf at Fraser Lake).  Fortunately I also had some pinot grigio to wash down the sumptuous feast, and found a bottle of rye in my fridge as well.  By shortly after 9 pm I was sawing logs in the camper.

Even with the early bedtime, 7 am seemed like an uncivilized hour to rise.  It may have been that the temperature of about 4 or 5 inside the camper contributed to my reluctance to toss aside the covers.  But I needed to make the RV with the pilot vehicle about three and a half hours north, by 11 am.  I had a lovely Tim Horton's coffee, prepared in my mother's ancient potato pot that she bought when I was still a boy living at home, and which once upon a time had real teflon in it.  Now it has poisonous flakes of teflon-like material that add flavout and minerals to my camper cooking.

It was an interesting drive, and I made it with plenty of time to spare to "Bell II" where a convoy formed up and were piloted up the road for about 50 km or so.  After the pilot vehicle left the convoy, the Nascar Northern Grand Prix happened, as if my magic.  I had no idea that motorhomes could do 130 uphill with oncoming traffic, for example.  I found a roadside "pullout" after a few klicks of madness, and waited for the gong show to pass me.  Much to my surprise, I did not subsequently see any of them upside down in the ditch.  I stopped a few times to stretch my legs, cast a spoon into a likely looking lake for half an hour, and generally made it with only fifty percent white-knuckle conditions to the village of Dease Lake BC, where I am currently enjoying a wireless connection courtesy of the Dease Lake Institute for Learning or similar.

I have driven 500 km today and I am a bit the worse for wear, but I might give it a try to put another hundred or so km on the rubber before I rest for the night.  Tomorrow evening I have to be in Whitehorse to meet Phil, and Google Maps just advised me that I have nine and a half hours of driving ahead of me.  (I think they are likely on the high side, but maybe they know how slowly I drive, since they know all about me because of my gmail account and this blog...........)

Anyways, I will send this out now and start again next time I am plugged in, probably in the Yukon.

Doug

The buck stops where???

Well, Larry and I have been hunting hard since Saturday morning, and have seen exactly zero elk and no legal mule deer bucks.  The weather continues to be unseasonably hot, and the critters are not in their usual locations nor habits.

So I am heading the truck towards Whitehorse this morning, hoping to arrive there Wednesday some time.  It is a 22 hour drive, so that is about three days for me - plus I hope to do some fishing in the Dease Lake area along the Stewart-Cassiar Highway.

I rather suspect that WiFi access will be slim to non-existent, so it might be a few days before I scribble any more thoughts.

Doug

No Bull!!!

This morning was the season opener for elk and mule deer here where I am in central BC.  We had bunked out early last evening, in anticipation of an early start.  As has been the case for me for many season openers, sleep does not come easily, and frequent awakenings (is it time to get up yet?) are not conducive to a decent night's sleep.  Larry had the same experience.

Anyways, legal shooting light was 0610, but we left here on quads at about 0445 to make our way via narrow bush trails to a spot we had scoped out yesterday.  Lots of elk sign, but no critters, and the only elk bugling and chirping was done by Larry.

We were back here by shortly after 1000, and I enjoyed a short nap.  This afternoon we are going to a different spot to see if we can find a mule deer buck (at least four points on one side!!!) and/or a bull elk with at least six points on one side.  They don't make it easy for a person to shoot an early season animal!

Anyways we will be off shortly in search of game.

Doug

Hunt about to start!

Well, no Internet connectivity since the Valemount RV campground..............

After Valemount I drove to Prince George BC, for an overnight visit with my old friend and army colleague Glenn P.  His wife Gwen had gone away for a family emergencey, leaving Glenn without adult supervision.  So we had a lovely steak BBQ, a few glasses of wine, reminisced about the old times, and generally (mis) behaved as if we were young army guys again.  Glenn is 65 now, in amazingly good shape, and it was great to see him again.  He is seriously into flying model airplanes with wing spans up to about eight feet, with engines and any amount of electronics onboard, incredible technology like one might use to fly an actual airplane.  Fortunately there are no human casulaties when he crashes them - which I understand is not uncommon.  I do not think I would get into an actual plane with Glenn at the controls.................

From PG I made the quick trip over to Vanderhoof, met my friends Larry and Mary, got my BC licences ($561.00 I think was the total), and drove out to their home about three quarters of an hour out of town.  Between Vanderhoof and here the truck rolled over the five thousand kilometre mark since I left home.  In two weeks..........that is a lot of time in the driver seat for somebody that doesn't actually like to drive.  I have not decided if I am just nuts, or masochistic, or both................

Set up the camper, met a bunch of the neighbours, took things easy, and thankfully the 30 degree C heat had pretty much dissipated by bed time.  Today we have done some preparations, some more reconnaissance, and shortly we will go out on the quads to check out tomorrow morning's likely hunting spots.  Elk season opens tomorrow, there is some evidence that they are in the rut, and Larry has seen lots of animals around.  BUT!!!  It is unseasonably hot, and it will be a real crap shoot to see if we can find the bulls tomorrow.  Wish me luck!

Doug

Rocky Mountain High

Well, THAT was quite the day in the rig!!!

I had a nice leisurely coffee and breakfast with Gabrielle and Clarence, watched a great slide show of the family rebellion from which they just returned with my wife and their side of the family (including our three sons), and left Calgary headed for Jasper.

There is a lot of GORGEOUS country through there - but if one is driving through it in a fairly heavily loaded F250 there is not much time for rubber-necking.  Not everybody had that figured out, judging by the number of roadside crosses, wreaths, and other memorials along the way.  At one point, I had pulled over to the right to allow a faster vehicle to overtake me, and not three minutes later saw his tail lights at the top of a hill.  I am not one to ignore such a warning and immediately began to slow down.  Just over the crest of the hill were about twenty vehicles, on both shoulders and IN THE MIDDLE of the road, all stopped.  I assumed it must be a dreadful accident, probably a head-on, and hit my four-way flashers.  Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was a bunch of morons all stopped on a blind hill looking at something (maybe a bear???) off the side of the road in the woods.  An eighteen-wheeler coming onto that scene would have killed at least a hundred people, and would have been utterly unable to stop.  Restraining my urge to stop and tell these freakin' idiots just what a bunch of fools they were, I gritted my teeth, threaded through the mess of vehicles, and got the hell out of there before any eighteen wheeler might arrive on-scene and count me amongst the casualties.

I am DELIGHTED with my truck - it has been marvellous going up and down the mountains, always lots of power, and excellent engine braking on the long downhills. 

So I finally got to Jasper, and discovered to my surprise that the huge RV campground was FULL.  Almost a thousand sites, and no room in the inn.  The town of Jasper had HUNDREDS more RVs, trailers, etc, and I am guessing most of them just parked on the street overnight, which a LARGE sign coming into town had clearly stated was a hanging offence.

At that point, I decided that I would just keep trucking and drove another hour and a half to the town of Valemount BC, through the Yellowhead Pass, more beautiful scenery that I did not get much chance to see.  There is a "full service" RV campground here, bald as a baby's bottom, full of rigs that cost more than my house, but a pretty good place to stay and WOW!!!! reliable WiFi internet!

BUT!!!  Check out time is in half an hour and I have about an hour's worth of stuff to do before I saddle up, so I will end these scribblings now.  If my math is correct, today is day 13 and I have covered 4600 km give or take.

Doug

Calgary Stampeding

Yesterday morning after a leisurely cup of coffee and chat with Matt, I climbed back aboard the rig and headed out onto the Trans-Canada westbound once again.  Brooks beckoned, and as I mentioned in my last note I had a stop at Rotten Ronnie's for a taste of their free WiFi.

Phoning home later in the day to get the street address for Gabrielle and Clarence, I learned that their ETA in Calgary was 9 pm.  This was not too congruent with my ETA of 5 pm or so, but I figured that I could call a couple old friends who also live in Cowtown.

IMAGINE my surprise when I learned that, first of all, pay phones are a dying breed, and secondly that pay phones, if one is fortunate enough to locate one, do NOT have local phone books any more.  Seeing as I did not have phone numbers for my friends, that made it somewhat tricky to call them.

So I found the home of my sister-in-law and her husband, and decided that pizza would be a good idea.  I "COULD" have called with my cell phone for delivery to my camper.  Indeed I SHOULD have done so.......but instead I drove, with Bitchin' Betty the GPS voice screaming directions at me.  She took me directly into the aftermath of a Calgary football game at McMahon stadium.  THOUSANDS of pedestrians clogged the streets, even the four lane 80 kph main roads, and vehicular traffic was INSANE.  The Calgary Stampede, I have deduced, is what happens after a football game.  I very nearly avoided half a dozen collisions, all of which would have been a lot more than a fender bender.  So I got the hell out of Dodge and waited an hour before I ventured back out to the streets.

Returning to the street outside my SIL/BIL, I found that my extension cord DID reach their external plug-in, so I had shore power, and awaited their return whilst reading and enjoying a couple drinks.  They arrived home around 10 pm, and we had a camp-fire in their back yard, enjoyed a few stories, and I had a MARVELLOUS sleep on an MAGNIFICENT bed.

My laptop once again had no connectivity here - what's up with everybody securing their WiFi signal, anyways?  So I am using Clarence's machine to dash off a few notes and scribble these thoughts while they are fresh.  Shortly it will be saddle time and tonight's destination is Jasper.

Doug

In the badlands

Well, here we are on Labour Day, and I am not attending a parade nor a memorial service for fallen workers, as some of my old colleagues undoubtedly are doing.  I am back on the road, about 3800 km now since I started out a week and a half ago.

Yesterday I drove from Moose Jaw to Medicine Hat, and where the heck do these places get their names anyway?  LUCKILY, my old buddy Matt K or "Klim" to many of us who know him, was home for the long weekend and we had a marvellous visit.  He is as hilarious as ever, busy in his retirement writing books, reading volumes of history, acting as secretary for the local USI, and enjoying life.  Other than thinning hair (and who wants fat hair), he looks GREAT.  His Polish grandfather lived to be 104, so he has good genes.

I am in Brooks AB at a McDonald's restaurant, enjoying a pretty good wifi signal along with my coffee and double cheeseburgers.  My laptop has not been performing flawlessly, and so if I get a half-hour of more or less trouble-free Internet I am a happy camper!

This afternoon I hope to hit Calgary, and if I EVER get my sister-in-law's street address I hope to visit Gabrielle and her husband Clarence.  They have just been back in Ontario with my wife's family for their annual family rebellion.  (Heck, I missed it!) And I have no idea what time their flight arrives in Calgary, etc etc.  During my military career we tried to plan things in somewhat more detail............

In two days I need to be in Prince George, and then on to Fort Fraser for the elk and mule deer hunt.  Wish me luck!

Doug

Moose Jaw happenings

Well, Moosomin is in my rear view mirror and I arrived here in Moose Jaw yesterday afternoon to visit old friends Gary and Veronica B.  Gary and I had served together back in the 80s at Borden.  We caught up on the old times and recent stuff (including Veronica's stroke and subsequent open heart surgery), and away we went to a retirement party for one of Gary's sisters.  It was a big family gathering, lots of laughs, a few drinks, loads of munchies, and more than one person was curious as to who the bearded guy was.  Two of the guests are sausage and smoking experts, and I had grand conversations with both of them.

We came home fairly early and I turned in soon thereafter.  It was chilly in the camper last night - went down to about plus six or seven, and I had three blankets on the bed.  Reckon I will have to re-learn how to start the propane furnace and all that!  Fall is coming...

My plans for the Labour Day weekend were to do a gopher safari here with Gary on farms owned by his family and friends.  Three of the farmers who were at the family celebration last evening mentioned that the cold, wet weather of late has put the gophers down their holes and unless things warm up significantly, one will not see them up above ground.  Indeed this was the case, as we covered a lot of territory this afternoon and did not see a single gopher.  In one field it was like an artillery impact zone, holes absolutely everywhere and not a gopher to be seen.  Too bad, so sad.

I will probably move on tomorrow rather than stay here in Moose Jaw - no gophers, no safari, and I have a few miles to cover before my elk and mule deer hunt in BC.  In the meantime it has been a very enjoyable visit, and also an opportunity to do up some laundry and put things back in some semblance of order in the camper.

I am typing this on a real computer at the home of my friends, and it sure is delightful to be able to type (with two fingers) at a somewhat normal speed rather than the PAINFULLY slow process of using that laptop keyboard.

So far I have driven over three thousand kilometres, bought maybe a thousand bucks worth of fuel, and for the most part have been very pleased with the F250 and the camper.  There are some excellent highways, and some that were not so much so.  Probably the worst so far was the Trans-Canada west of Winnipeg, which has washboard asphalt, NOT FUN to drive on.

I am heading to Calgary, will take two days to get there, and hopefully will catch an old buddy tomorrow in Medicine Hat.  (Matt K or Klim for those who know him, class of '77)

Doug