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
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