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
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