An Okanagan Wedding and A Yoho Camping Trip
I was cordially invited to be Erin’s plus one at her cousins wedding in Kelowna. Me, not being a fan of work, opted to take an entire week off. Erin did the same so her and I could make the most of our trip. We arrived in Kelowna on Thursday, around dinner time, after making the drive from Edmonton all at once. We enjoyed dinner with Erin’s parents, who had arrived earlier that week. We then promptly went to bed.
The next day, the wedding was scheduled for 4 pm, so in the morning we hiked up Knox Mountain. We got thoroughly lost on the way to the mountain and ended up parking in a nearby suburb and hiking to, then up the mountain. The way up served as a pleasant reminder that I was out of shape. Once at the top we met a nice couple who was kind enough to take our picture for us.
I Crossed Tongariro Without Issue, Now I Struggle Against Knox Mountain.
After Knox Mountain, I was invited to accompany Erin and her family to a few local wineries for tastings. I came along but didn’t taste much, due to my strong disliking of wine. I did however take the opportunity to grab a few bottles of wine for various family members. Come hunting season I may need the brownie points.
Eventually the time came for the wedding. It was an outdoor venue at the golf course, the bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome, and the ceremony was excellent. Then while the wedding party took photos, I somehow found myself at the bar, drinking gin and tonics for the first time since the Yasawas with the singing Aussies. The dinner was delicious, the speeches were heartfelt, the MC made Erin and I, as well as many others, play some silly games as part of the entertainment. I continued to drink gin and tonics as though there was a competition, and I was going for a landslide victory. Eventually the night wound down and the wedding ended and we all shuffled out, content with the events of the evening.
Not My Usual Attire, Especially On This Blog
We had originally intended to drive to Yoho national park the day after the wedding. We decided, possibly due in part to the bar at the wedding, that we didn’t feel up to making the five hour drive to go camping that day. So we book another night in another hotel and Erin went with her family to a few more wineries. While Erin was doing more tours, I decided to go check out the local museums. As luck would have it. The two museums I wanted to see, The Okanagan Heritage Museum and The Okanagan Military Museum, shared a parking lot. I was impressed by both and highly recommend them. After all that Erin and I spend a little time on the beach and then joined most of the wedding party and family for a small barbecue that evening.
The next day we made the lengthy drive to Yoho. Due to several stops to grab supplies, and some time slowing construction zones, we arrived at our trail head late in the day. We also made a point of stopping at a place called “The Log Barn.” On the way to Kelowna we kept seeing bizarre billboards for the place and when we drove passed we saw a big main building, a few small ones and a lot of strange statues that didn’t appear to have a main theme… So we still had no idea what it was, so we figured we’d better stop in on the way back. After going there and looking around I’m still not entirely sure how to describe it, it is a takeout restaurant/candy shop/gift shop/Mennonite butcher shop/petting zoo/tourist attraction IS the simplest way to put it. Not making sense? OK heres some pictures.
Entrance
Still No Theme
Found My Retirement Home.
The Goats Also Worked A Pulley System To Get Feed Above The Parking Lot.
After thoroughly inspecting the establishment and not making much sense of it, we grabbed some food and headed to Yoho. Our plan was pretty simple, drive to Yoho and hike to our first camp site at Yoho lake, about 4 km in on the first day. The second day make the 11 km hike along the scenic Iceline trail to Little Yoho for our second night. Then on the third and final day make the 10 km hike back to the truck and drive home to Edmonton.
We arrived at the trail head at about 5 PM and packed last minute on the tailgate of my truck. I was rather grumpy at the time because I hate being in a rush, especially for something like back country camping when its getting this close to winter. Luckily Erin’s sunny disposition got us through and onto the trail. The hike was 4 km of what felt like straight up, I sweated and wheezed my way to the top, all the while wondering if maybe a ladder would have been an improvement to the uphill character of the trail. Eventually we made it to the top and set up camp and were able to cook and eat a can of stew just as daytime hid behind the mountains. That night Erin and I slept inside our sleeping bags with a survival rating of -6 Celsius. Keep in mind those ratings are survival ratings and NOT comfort ratings… also they’re usually theoretical. Erin had a sleeping bag liner to help, and had fashioned her buff into a toque for extra warmth, and I had packed a fleece blanket. It hit nearly zero that night and I am prone to tossing and turning, the fleece blanket quickly fell off and I froze. Despite going to bed in fresh dry clothes and being cold all night, when I woke up in the morning I still felt damp and a little miserable, but that’s part of the fun of camping. I got dressed, we made some oatmeal for breakfast, then we packed up and headed out.
Erin Grabbed This Excellent Photo While I Got My Beauty Sleep.
In the morning mist and shade of the trees, the hike was initially a bit chilly. We gained elevation quite quickly and pretty early in our hike we found ourselves just above the treeline.
Early In The Day, At The Treeline.
As the hike progressed we gained even more elevation and found ourselves walking along the rocky slopes with little to no vegetation in the area. The hike was very scenic, we took a lot of breaks for beef jerky and trail mix, and bumped into a surprising amount of hikers considering the time of year.
Just Above The Treeline And Exhausted.
Well Above The Treeline.
We Made Good Use Of The Various Glacial Streams Intersecting The Trail.
The trail was long and scenic, it occasionally jutted out to a higher vantage point, most of which I declined to climb due to my crippling fear of heights. Eventually our trail dipped back below the treeline and along the various switchbacks that lead us to a bridge across a wide, shallow, fast moving, gravel bottomed stream near the Alpine Club’s cabin which was only a few hundred yards from our campsite.
Always Bring A Map.
We found the campsite and I was happy to see we were the only campers there. We set up the tent and made our bed then went off to cook some rice and chicken. I cooked mine first and discovered that the camp stove runs too hot and burns the rice on the bottom of the pot while still leaving the rest of the rice crunchy in the middle. I started to choke it down while Erin cooked hers, she opted to add too much water and make it more of a soup to prevent the burning, she claims it was actually pretty good. I guess looks can be deceiving. After dinner we sat on the river bank and enjoyed a chocolate bar we smuggled into the food bag. The weather looked like it was about to rain so we retired to the tent to chat and play games on Erin’s phone. Just before dark I decided I better go to the food bags and grab a quick granola bar for a snack before bed. I tucked my pajama pants into my socks, so as not to get mud on them, put my boots on and stepped out of the tent, I wasn’t going far so I didn’t bother to put on my glasses. Ill bet I looked good sweat pants tucked into my socks and squinting at everything, good thing we were alone. While I was Grabbing some snack action out of the food bag I saw a blurry looking man walk into the common area of the campsite, so I shouted a hello to him. He then froze on the spot, looked at me, said nothing, then walked away into the bush… If you’re ever back country camping and want to creep out other campers, just do exactly what that guy did. It was so strange I was wondering if my eyes were just so bad that I imagined a person there. After my snack I went back to the tent and grabbed my glasses before heading to the outhouse. On my way too and from the bathroom I looked around and didn’t see any other tents set up… It was the strangest thing, where did that guy come from… or go?
That night Erin traded me the sleeping bag liner for the fleece blanket, and we both fashioned our buffs into toques. It didn’t get quite as cold the second night and I slept substantially better. Unfortunately when we awoke in the morning it was raining quite steadily. We packed up camp in the rain, Erin dawned her rain gear, and we fashioned me some rain gear out of garbage bags because I have been continually neglecting to buy some. We decided to skip breakfast and eat snacks and granola bars on the trail.
Erin’s Boring Rain Gear.
My Awesome Custom Rain Gear, Its Called Fashion. Look It Up.
We made the soggy hike out, all the while I was day dreaming about gin and tonics. The 10 Km hike was mostly downhill and not too rocky so we were able to hike it in just under two hours. We made it back to the truck to discover that in our rush I had left a soft sided cooler in the box of my truck. Some birds were kind enough to empty it for me, but it was up to Erin and I to pick up all the garbage they had spread out. We unloaded our bags into the truck and headed out. We hit the first fast food joint we could find, and on the drive back we stopped at the tourist office and bought a map for the area I plan on hunting in a few weeks… But Ill tell you all about that later.
Eventually we made it home, unpacked our gear and dried out tent out in the garage. I have decided that maybe I should buy some rain gear… maybe.
Posted in Hikingwith 2 comments.
Blast From The Past
I have always had a soft spot for antiques and just generally old stuff. Some people, who I may or may not be dating, sometimes accuse me of hoarding. I like to think of it as preserving history and like all hoarders I fall back on “its all good stuff”… old coins, books, and various odds and ends. I have a real tendency to lean towards more historical prairie items like my used day planer from 1912, its interesting to see the price of cattle back then or old school books from small towns where the only thing left of the school, is a patch of grass that grows a little darker where the frame used to be. Mixing this with my love for the outdoors, and possibly idolizing Jed Clampett when I was younger, I often find myself drawn to old guns, especially a nice double barrel shotgun. I have stumbled across a few older doubles, the first I found was a 12 gauge made by “Tobin” as best we (by which I mean my step dad and all his books on the subject) could tell, it was made somewhere around 1910. The next was a .410 labelled as a “El Faison” a beautiful little gun that I certainly didn’t pay much for and according to the internet was made in Spain and is worth between $50 and $1500. So hopefully someday someone with too much money will want to buy it from me.
The last old double I purchased was a “New Haven Arms” in 12 gauge with a Damascus barrel meaning it can only use old style black powder cartridges. These cartridges now have to be hand made, luckily for me I bought the gun off of a coworker who threw in a few shells he had made. Some are a nice full length brass cartridge just like it would have shot when it was new, and some are modern plastic hulled shells that have been cut down, refilled, and glued shut. Its a rather hodgepodge looking affair but they fire every time, so who am I to question his methods.
Left: Remake of a Brass Cartridge. Right: Modern Cartridge Cut Down and Refilled.
Shortly after purchasing the gun I did some research on it and turned up very little information. As best I can tell it was either made in or imported to Portugal at some point in its life, based on the stamping under the barrel. Lastly it is at least 150 years old. It is also labelled “Interchangeable” on the side which tells me that somewhere in its long life it has lost a few barrels.
This passed week I was lucky enough to have some time off work, and this time of year that means only one thing… grouse hunting. Grouse hunting has got to be one of my favorite forms of hunting, its usually during relatively warm fall weather. Grouse typically spend their time in the ditches along gravel quad trails which means they can be hunted by walking and looking for them or driving a quad to cover more ground. The trade off with the quad is that you cover more ground but are more likely to drive right passed them as their camouflage makes them the envy of the hunting industry. The last reason I am so fond if hunting them is that they are a small animal that is easy to clean, its not a large time, space and labor commitment like with big game hunting. Its just a much more relaxed form of hunting, you walk around in a fall jacket looking at the falling leaves. If you’re lucky enough to encounter what you’re after, it doesn’t result in a lot of hard work, and if all else fails, you went for a lovely fall walk.
I decided to take the old “New Haven” shotgun out with me hunting this time, I hadn’t shot it much since I got it and I figured my dad would like to see it. Him, Rose the pug, and myself loaded into his side by side quad and started driving down the trails. The leaves were still on the trees which gave the birds a lot of cover, its a pretty safe assumption that we drove right passed a few and didn’t even realize it. Finally after only a few hours of touring the country side our trail came to a dead end as the result of a large downed tree. We stopped to take a break while my dad answered some phone calls, when you run a business you’re always on call. While he chatted away about various lengths of light bars available I grabbed my old shotgun, scrambled over the downed tree and wandered up the trail on foot. A few hundred yards down the trail I heard the quiet yet unmistakable gobbling and clucking of a grouse. I froze and slowly turned, there it was, perched on a log, slowly wandering away from me. There was a lot of brush and branches in the way so I slowly moved forward to find a shooting lane. I found a clear line of sight and the bird was only about 5 meters away, it hopped up on a log and started to bounce like it was prepping for takeoff. I shouldered the old gun and cocked back the hammer and fired in one smooth motion. That old gun spit fire, thunder, and smoke, a lot of smoke, the kind of smoke only black powder and high performance diesel trucks can produce. After a few long seconds the smoke cleared and there it was, my first grouse of the year, taken with a shotgun older than Alberta’s provincial status. I was happy to see it was a quick clean kill and I had managed to not hit the breast meat. I picked up the grouse, threw the shotgun over my shoulder and headed back to the quad. I could hear my dad yelling to his dog to go see, needless to say the dog was pretty interested.
She’s Not Much Of A Retriever But Shes Got Spirit.
The rest of the day I couldn’t help but wonder how much game that shotgun has taken in its career, and what variety. I usually have a tendency to baby antiques and keep them in storage, after this hunt I’m starting to understand what an old coworker said to me. We were talking about hunting rifles and he mentioned that he still used an old Husqvarna rifle that his grandfather had given him. I joked that it should be in a museum to which he quickly replied “no, it should be out hunting, that’s what its built for, and that’s what it wants to do.” In a lot of way he has a point, how would you rather be treated? Left in storage and taken out only on sunny days or out proving you’ve still got what it takes to get the job done?
So what can we learn from this old shotgun of mine? Firstly, a gun will last a very long time if you take care of it, so do your maintenance and buy a gun that you like not just one that you need, because you and your great grand kids might have it for a very long time. Lastly, just because somethings old doesn’t mean its not useful or able to kick some butt, so go visit or call your aging relatives. My guess is they can still do things that would surprise you, or at the very least tell you something worth hearing.
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An Ill-conceived Adventure
I only wrote the italicized portion of this post, the rest is done by Erin, I think its great. You can easily skip over my writing and just read hers without confusion or disappointment… I just like to add because its my site and I’m selfish.
A few weeks ago Erin had a few days off and I was going to meet up with her in Jasper. I was told her and a friend would be hiking from Cadomin along the Fiddle River Trail to the Miette Hot springs. I finished work much later than I had intended and arrived at the hot springs at nearly six pm. I was worried that they would have finished the hike long before I arrived and I know how bad Jasper is for cell reception, honestly I consider poor cell reception a good thing when it comes to camping and hiking. When I arrived at the parking lot I quickly found Erin’s car but not Nicole’s truck. I immediately began to panic… what can I say? I’m a high strung fellow. I pulled out my set of keys for Erin’s car and had a look around, it was obvious that she was still on the trail since none of her hiking gear was in the car. For the life of me I couldn’t remember the name of the trail they were taking and I vaguely recall Erin telling me that they MIGHT be leaving from the hot springs instead of hiking to them. I found the guide book in the car and found the few hikes that ended at the hot springs and FiddlePass made the most sense. Its times like these that I really remember the old hiking rule of thumb: have a plan, tell someone your plan, stick to your plan. According to Erin she did those and I just dont listen… that um… sounds about right actually.
After a lot of pacing around and debating options, I left a note in her car explaining that I was hiking forty five minutes into the Fiddle Pass trail head to see if they were there or if someone had seen them. I figured they were exhausted or someone rolled an ankle and needed help with gear, or they had hiked the other direction and someone coming out would have crossed paths with them. After losing and re finding the trail several times I finally found a couple that was carrying more than a camera and a water bottle, if anyone had seen those girls, it was them. I asked if they had seen two girls on the trail at all and they both said “no” and looked at me funny, then I remembered I had just come off night shift and had been awake for over 30 hours at this point. I rephrased the question with more details and a description of the girls. The girl lifted her hand over her mouth in shock or amazement… either way it scared the hell out of me. Then she said “ooohh wait, are you the guy that they were talking about?” not helping me feel better here lady. Then she explained that the girls were headed the other way and had run into some trouble and she was so glad someone was looking for them. She informed me that they had also left the keys to Nicole’s truck in Erin’s car at the start of the trail.
I hiked out and made casual conversation with the couple… and shared some beef jerky, nothing brings people together like beef jerky. I rifled through Erin’s car and found Nicole’s keys, jumped in my truck and possibly set a speed record for the hill down from the hot springs. I was driving when I noticed I had an incoming call from a long complicated number… I’m in no mood for telemarketers but I better answer it anyway. I missed it by seconds, checked my voice mail and it was Nicole explaining what I already knew so I just kept driving right on out of cell service. I arrived to find two soggy women who were overjoyed to see me. Erin then told me her story… and here it is, written by her, complete with a bit of profanity (you’ve been warned):
I lay on the side of the rocky trail, resting on my backpack and closed my eyes. My feet felt as if they were vibrating, raw and soaking wet. Pain shot through my right knee and I wondered how much farther we had to hike. There were only a few hours of daylight left, and I had no idea how much farther we had to go. If I had to guess – less than three hours, but I had no way to know for sure.
I took a moment to take in my surroundings. To my right, evergreen trees sloped downwards, overlooking Whitehorse Creek. Behind me stood the front ranges of the Rocky Mountains. The evening sun was casting a warm glow over everything, and glinting beautifully off the creek below. I breathed in the fresh mountain air and thought to myself “God dammit this is beautiful, and I’m fucking miserable.”
I thought about the last two days that had led me to this moment. I had been looking forward to a trek through the mountains for weeks. I had just finished up my summer classes and was in desperate need of a getaway. Because Tyson’s work schedule is so unpredictable, I had planned to head to Jasper for a 2 day hike with my friend Nicole, followed by a week of solo vacationing. Tyson would join me if he had any time off.
On the recommendation of a friend, we decided to hike from Miette Hot springs to White Horse Creek campground. It’s 37 km one way. Both of us were a bit nervous about the distance (neither of us are expert hikers), but the friend assured us it was “no big deal” so we decided to go for it. We parked Nicole’s truck at our endpoint, about 6km south of Cadomin, and drove my car to Miette to begin our hike. Before we began Tyson sent me a message to say that he would be done work the next day, and would drive out to meet us at the hot springs for a soak after our hike. Deal.
Due to various annoying circumstances and a bit of bad traffic, we began our hike shortly after 1 pm – way later than we had planned. We hiked merrily along, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, happy to be off on our adventure. There were supposed to be a couple of river crossings along the way, and a few times we ended up loosing the trail at the river bank and wondering if we should cross, only to find it pick up again a ways down the bank. Aside from a few nearly errant river crossings, the afternoon passed without incident until it began drizzling. It looked like it might pass quickly, and it was a hot afternoon so neither of us elected to put our rain jackets on. The next thing I knew, the sky was cracking and booming above us, and it was raining so hard that our trail had become a river, flooding over the tops of my hiking boots and soaking my feet.
Nicole and Erin at The Start
We kept trudging along in the rain at a snail’s pace until around 7 pm when our trail stopped dead at the edge of the river. We stood looking at the murky brown water, rushing quickly over the sharp rocks. This looked nothing like the gentle babbling brook we had crossed several times already that day. Surely this wasn’t a crossing. This had to be one of those cases where the trail picks up again just around the corner. We scoured the river bank in search of our trail, and finally admitted that this was our crossing point, and the trail clearly picked up on the other side. The hours of pouring rain had made it fast flowing, and murky brown. “Well,” I said to Nicole, “Should we try and cross it, or should we set up camp right here?”
“There is no way we are crossing that” she replied. I was inclined to agree with her. While I couldn’t possibly get any more wet than I already was, I could easily be pushed over by the rushing water. I probably wouldn’t be carried too far down the river though; there were too many rocks to smash into that would stop me from being washed away. “Still” I thought, “not an appealing option.”
Not an Encouraging Part of The Trail
We sat there on the riverbank in the rain for a while and had a snack, whilst trying to decipher our soggy map and determine where on the trail we were. There had been no signs or mile markers to speak of. With our map completely shredded, we gave up that fools errand and began looking for a place to put our tent.
“The rain has almost stopped”, Nicole said, “and look, the water even looks a bit calmer.” She was right. The water was noticeably less rough and scary. “I wonder how deep it is in the middle there.” I said. If it was less than knee deep, I was sure we could cross without issue, but it was impossible to tell with the thick brown water.
“I’m just gonna go test it out, I’ll be careful.” And with that I found myself knee deep in the river, testing the depth with a big stick before each careful step. The next thing I knew, I was on the other side, guiding Nicole across with the help of the big stick. We had made it!
A few hundred meters beyond the river we came upon an empty campground. Slide Creek. Shit. We were still 7 km away from where we where supposed to spend the night. There was no way were going to make it there, so we decided to spend the night exactly were we were.
As we set up camp, Nicole searched her backpack top to bottom and informed me that she didn’t have her truck keys. You know, the keys that we needed to get into her truck once we were finished the hike. Well shit. What now? Stupid city girls that we are, we came to the conclusion that there would probably be cell reception at the campground where the trail ended, and we decided to hike onwards come morning. We would just give Tyson a call when we got there, and let him know what happened.
Before bed, I was dismayed to find that I had forgotten to wrap my sleeping bag in a plastic garbage bag before I stuffed it into my backpack. It was now soaked. Oh well, at least my clothes were dry. I ended up sleeping in my raincoat, with my legs in a garbage bag and the wet sleeping bag over top. It wasn’t half bad. It was a warm night and I slept like a baby.
The next morning we regretfully put our nice dry feet into our soaking wet boots and hit the trail again. It was a beautiful sunny day, but it was slow going, mostly because we are slow. We also had an extra 7 km to hike that we didn’t manage to cover the day before. Despite having wet feet, and facing the possibility of being stranded upon completion of the hike, I was in a great mood. I love this kind of thing. I really do. We hiked up to Fiddle Pass, which is surrounded by a beautiful alpine meadow. At this point I was really truly enjoying myself. The decent from the pass to Whitehorse Creek campground is about 13 km. After a brief snack break at the top of the pass we began our descent.
Fiddle Pass
After my first few steps downward, I felt my knee twinge. It had given me absolutely no trouble at all up to this point, and now it was twinging with every step. “Shit,” I thought, I hate downhill. I can go uphill all day long, but when it’s time to go down I turn into a wobbly-kneed newborn foal. This was going to take a while.
Roughly five hours later, I found myself lying on the side of the trail in the evening glow, pain radiating in my knee, contemplating the absolute beauty of my surroundings, and finally admitting defeat. I was supposed to be having fun and I wasn’t any more. Just then, Nicole came hobbling around the bend with a look of pure misery on her face. I looked at her knowingly and said “Me too, man. Fuck this shit.” We laughed/cried, and massaged our sore feet while we debated whether or not we would make it before dark. Then, we sucked it up and kept on walking.
About 20 minutes later, I had fallen behind Nicole, limping and shuffling as fast as my knee would allow. I was a woman on a mission and I was gonna finish this damn hike if it killed me. Just then I looked up and saw the strangest sight. Nicole was RUNNING, towards me. “WE MADE IT! OH MY GOD ERIN WE MADE IT!” she squealed.
Last Photo Taken On The Trail
After the initial elation of being finished the hike wore off, we glumly realized that we still had no reception. Shoot. How could we call Tyson? He must have been at Miette waiting for us by now; it was past 8 o’clock already. All we had to do was get a hold of him. Nicole approached some other campers and found that they had a satellite phone. We borrowed it to call Tyson and he didn’t pick up. We left him a message and asked the campers if we could use the phone again in a little while. “Sure,” one said, “but we’re packing up now, not sure how much longer we’ll be here”.
We parked ourselves on a large rock near their campsite and tried not to be creepy as they packed up their gear. We needed to use that phone at lease once more. After a while, one of the campers took pity on us and said, “Hey, you girls look thirsty, do you want a beer?”
“You have beer?” I exclaimed, “Yes, yes, yes, I need a beer right now.” I don’t know if I have ever enjoyed a beer so much.
We called Tyson one more time before they left – straight to voicemail. Could this mean he was nearby and coming to get us? We had no way to know. We were sitting by Nicole’s truck debating if we should set up our tent and scrounge some food from other campers, when I saw a big white chevy coming down the gravel road. “Is that Tyson?” Nicole asked me. “I think it is,” I said. Tyson pulled up beside us, leaned out the window, and asked, “You ladies need a ride?” We were saved! But how in the heck did he get here so fast? If he was at Miette when he got our voicemail, there is no way he could make it here by now.
Tyson explained to us that he had arrived at Miette and noticed that my stuff wasn’t in my car, so we must still be hiking. He thought we were hiking in the other direction, towards Miette (because he doesn’t always LISTEN when I tell him things), and he was starting to get worried, so he decided to hike in from the Miette trailhead to meet us on our way out. He didn’t run into us obviously, but he did run into another couple who we had crossed paths with on the trail that morning. Nicole had told them of our snafu with the car keys, and the other woman relayed this information to Tyson, exclaiming, “Thank goodness someone is looking for those girls!” So, Tyson hiked back to my car, found Nicole’s truck keys in the glove box (really Nicole?), and raced down to Whitehorse creek to rescue us. He was already on his way to get us when we called from the satellite phone, and had missed the call by seconds.
Nicole and I both gave him big bear hugs and gushed appropriately, thanking him for saving us. Parting ways, Nicole and I agreed that after some time had passed, this would make for a good story… but let’s be better prepared next time.
I initially opted to decline explaining how I had figured out what was going on and gotten there so fast, but Nicole figured it out pretty quickly. After I arrived Nicole grabbed her keys and headed home while Erin and I headed back toward Jasper, we decided to just get a hotel for the night instead of setting up camp with wet gear and sore everything, plus it was nearly ten pm when I found them. On the way to the hotel we side tracked to the hot springs so Erin could grab some fresh clothes. On the way down from the hot springs we were flagged down by a family stranded on the side of the road… well, when you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll. The father of the family, Pat was his name I believe, jumped into the small space we could clear in the back seat and we drove him to the end of the road where he could get enough service to call a tow truck. We arrived at the hotel just after midnight and while Erin soaked in the tub I ran downtown to grab a late night burger for myself and some pizza for Erin, because what good is pretending to be a hero if there isn’t pizza and burgers to celebrate? We barely woke up in time for check out, then picked up Erin’s car, and found a nice camp site. We spent the next few days doing shorter relaxed hikes, a bit of biking, and a lot of resting.
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Photo Drop Part 3 (Fishin’ Buddy and An Old Hiking Photo)
Hey, this week I was camping in Jasper so I didn’t get much time, or internet access, to write a post for this week. I don’t want to leave my faithful readers high and dry (I can’t risk losing all 6 of you). So here’s a few old photos that just never could find their way into a story but I still feel merit some exposure to the world.
It’s Important To Have A Fishing Buddy
Everyone who knows me has likely met my dad and his dog, Rose. She goes with him everywhere, that includes hunting and fishing. This picture more or less sums up every fishing experience they’ve had: my dad catches a fish, and gets Rose to inspect it thoroughly before he throws it back… every single time. Believe me when I tell you that Rose is a fishing fanatic, you can’t hold a fishing rod in that boat without hearing her bark and squeal with excitement, its a bit annoying, but at the same time anyone who fishes can understand her excitement.
Carefully Stacked Rocks Work Almost As Well As A Camera Tripod
Shortly after Erin and I got back from our big New Zealand Trip, in 2011, we had started to do a lot more hiking. If I recall one of our first day hikes was up Bald Hills in Jasper National park. It was a nice hike, but nothing worth writing a long story about, so here’s the highlights. We hiked through some beautiful trees, then up a steep hill and used my cameras timer to take this photo of us next an inukshuk we found and added a few rocks to (I had to Google the proper spelling of inukshuk). We then hiked to the top where the winds were amazingly strong, then we hiked a little way down, had lunch, and then found our way back to the car. I highly recommend this hike.
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Hiking A Yasawa Island
Lately I’ve been spending all my time at work, but I would still like to post somewhat regularly. As is part of my writing tradition I often complain to Erin about having nothing to write about, then she’ll say “Why don’t you write about that time we _____” Some of my stories aren’t exactly fresh, but usually they’re at least funny.
Erin and I, as part of our Fijian tour, did a trip along the Yasawa Islands. The Yasawas are a chain of islands off the coast of Fiji and many companies have small hotels on the little islands.
When I Say Little I Mean Little!
We got a package that gave us, if I recall correctly, five days on three islands, none of which were quite as small as the one pictured above. Of the three islands I can only remember what happened on two of them, I completely forgot about the first one we were on and so has Erin, we don’t even have pictures from it. The other two islands I don’t remember the name of, instead I just remember the accommodations and activities.
The first of the two, remembered, islands was quite large and seemed to really stick high out of the ocean it had nice private bungalows and terrible food, a common combination in Fiji. On the first day Erin and I kayaked to a very nearby island in two clear plastic kayaks. I was very excited to see all the marine life below me, but was quickly disappointed when I saw the kayaks were far too scratched up to see through. I still enjoyed myself but Erin, who often complains about lacking upper body strength, seemed to have a very hard time kayaking on a windy ocean, I asked if she wanted me to tow her home she replied with “No its fine! Leave me alone” my relationship senses tingled. To my knowledge “its fine” is usually my cue to get as quiet and far away as possible. We next opted to relax and do some reading while lounging in the hammocks… because life is so hard when you’re on vacation, its important to relax. I had long since finished my Capstick book, but I was unwilling to trade it in in the book exchange. Luckily Erin had an old book for me to trade in, the selection was limited and a lot of it was German, but I picked the best of the worst, a book titled “Perfume” and it was certainly…. not something I would read again. The next day we headed to the final island where we would spend the majority of our time, and make the most memories.
We arrived to find we were staying in undoubtedly the nicest accommodations I have ever received. This was the first time during our trip that we stayed in a place that looked like a post card from Fiji. It was a large private bungalow with a small main room at the front and a large bedroom and bathroom at the back. We settled in, grabbed some borderline OK lunch, and read our books at the beach, I finished that terrible book and was thoroughly disappointed. Erin started reading my, now favorite book, “The Last Ivory Hunter.” We then had some dinner and made plans to go on a short guided hike in the morning.
We arrived where they told us to meet the “guide” and found that Erin and I were the only two people who showed up. We paid our guide his fee, about $3 each, and we headed up. As soon as we started walking the guide started talking on his cell phone, this would continue the whole hike. I brought my backpack and Erin and I both wore our hiking gear. Our guide brought his cell phone and machete and climbed this mountain barefoot, it was very impressive. A few minutes into the hike I saw what I think might be the most frightening thing I can think of, off in the distance in a small clearing there was a spider web that had been built horizontally, it was about 6 feet in diameter and what ever was in the middle of it was heavy enough to pull the trees in towards it. I didn’t go investigate, in fact I picked up the pace a little. Just as we came above the tree line we found ourselves walking through some very tall, lush grass, about 10 feet tall. I read a lot of safari books and they always talk about long grass and the dangers of following a wounded animal into it, until this time I had never fully comprehended the lack of visibility and just how tall this grass really was, I just couldn’t picture it in my mind.
After the grass it became much rockier, and elevated. I didn’t really think about all the elevation we gained while walking through the heavily treed areas. Suddenly the trail ended, but the guide kept walking, right across a sharp ridge with a nice steep smooth rock face down each side. Erin, without flinching, walked right behind him and then remembered my dislike of heights and looked back and if I recall she offered some encouraging words. I wasn’t about to quit, but like I always do with heights, I crawled slowly across on all fours while calculating what events and time frame would be required for me to get to the hospital if I fell. At least I knew for sure the guide had cell service. On the other side of this knife edge walk-way was a large natural platform at the top of the island and the official end of our hike. Erin and I took a lot of pictures and she went on and on about how proud she was of me for making it across that rock… I then realized I had to go back over it..
That’s Our Resort At The Bottom
Erin And I Just Climbed A Mountain On A Fijian Island!… Our Guide Had Just Another Normal Day.
Erin and I were taking in the view and talking about how glad we were that we took this trip and various other lovey dovey things when it happened… Possibly the longest and loudest fart either one of us had ever heard! We looked at each other, with eyes wide open, then looked at the guide 20 feet away from us, chuckling on his phone. This hike will forever be known as “the Fijian hike with the farting guide” and we laugh about it all the time.. even years later we still laugh about it.
I crawled across the rocks and we made our way down, all the while trying not to burst into laughter about what happened. We made it without breaking into hysterical laughter like teenage girls, barely, we thanked our guide and returned to our bungalow to shower, laugh, and then grabbed some lunch.
A lot of other interesting things happened on that island, we saw a man climb to the top of a very tall palm tree and cut down coconuts, he went up without any harness or safety gear and those coconuts came down like cannon balls, luckily no one was hurt. On another of the nights we met a nice group of Australians wearing sailor outfits, they seemed intent on perpetuating the stereotype of attractive Australians, they were very successful. Before the night was through we ended up somewhat befriending them, we ate together and got very drunk. I remember at one point they were all singing a drinking song to me while I was chugging a beer, it was great. A few also did a very impressive choreographed dance to a Taylor swift song. I wish I had gotten some contact info for them, Erin and I are planning a trip to Australia and I wouldn’t mind bumping into them again.
The next day I was a rather slow moving unit, on account of my recently discovered enjoyment of gin and tonics. We decided to spend the day reading and recovering by the pool. I took in that awful book I had finished and looked for something to trade it off on. I combed through the collection and the only thing that seemed to stand out to me was an old dime store western. It was titled “Longarm and the frenchmans gold” or something along those lines. I like westerns, so I figured I would give it a shot. I sat beside Erin at the pool and began reading. The first few chapter were slow and poorly written, so I assumed it was a book for young teens, that would explain the rather… ahem, chesty woman, depicted on the cover. I was wrong, very wrong. Around chapter three it turned into a very graphic adult novel. I suddenly felt very embarrassed, like when a sex scene comes on in a movie you’re watching with your parents, kind of embarrassed. I slowly closed the book and set it down, I must have had a strange look of surprise on my face because Erin took one glance at me and asked “Whats wrong?” I casually picked up the book, opened it to the appropriate point, handed it to her, and said “here, read this.” She thought it was hilarious, so did I, but I was annoyed that I had to go try and find another book. We also still laugh about this and occasionally joke that we should have kept that book as a memento for such a funny story. Good literature is hard to come by when you’re travelling I guess… So hopefully when you go out into the world you can still access my site, right?
On this trip I learned the importance of bringing a good book, otherwise you end up with some mighty strange stuff. Also if anyone knows some goofy, attractive Australians who visited the Yasawas while dressed as sailors during 2011, send them my way. Honestly even if they aren’t the people we met, if they meet that criteria I want to be friends with them.
Posted in Hiking, Travelwith no comments yet.
The Bird Feeder Incident
Most people who know me will likely agree that I take pride in the fact that I’m pretty handy with a rifle. Also pretty awful with a pistol… luckily I’ve never had much use for one. Where was I going with this? Oh right, marksmanship! I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately, also I’ve been working a lot so I haven’t had much time to go out for new and exciting adventures. Being an adult is way less exciting than I thought it would be.
I come from a house that really promotes firearms and firearm safety. My dad had a rather genius approach to firearms safety. Instead of hiding all his guns and keeping them secret hoping we would never find them, he kept them safely locked and would show them to us and take us to the range every chance he could. That way they weren’t some big taboo exciting secret, they were just those things that we could only use when dad was around. I also remember my dad showing us pictures, in a gag calendar, of gophers that had been shot, and saying things like “that’s why you’re always careful with guns.” It was pretty gross and maybe a bit extreme but it sure was effective and even to this day I’m one of the most anal-retentive people I know when it comes to firearm safety. But more to the point of our story, we also always had air guns, and we had a pretty big back yard which meant we had our own little shooting range. We were even occasionally trusted to be out there shooting on our own and it all happened without incident… well except that one, let me tell you about it.
I believe I was in about 1st grade at the time, and my older brother and I were shooting his crosman airgun. For the most part we would shoot at soda cans and milk jugs. Years later I was informed, by my mother, that the bottle depot guy would often give her dirty looks when she brought in these shredded remains of cans. By some twist of fate or onset of boredom my brother left me alone to keep shooting his BB gun all by myself. After a while I got tired of hitting the same cans at the same distance over and over, and like many cases of boredom I’ve had in my life since then, this led to a bad idea. My mother had a clear plastic bird feeder on an aluminum post,that sat just above my eye level, but more importantly, it was just a few yard behind my target. I assessed the situation and made sure there wasn’t anything fragile or expensive behind it, like a window. I loaded the gun, steadied myself on our shooting bench/picnic table and let loose with a small steel BB. I heard a delightfully loud “tunk!” as it hit the nearly empty octagonal feeder, and I felt very satisfied. I looked at it through the scope and saw no damage, so I walked up and had a look. Sure enough it looked just fine, so I fired a few more from the table each time being rewarded with that same fulfilling plastic thud that made me feel like I could probably shoot just as good as my dad. For the record, I still cant out-shoot my dad, and I hope I never have to get into a competition with Kyle, my older brother… maybe it’s something in the blood. Eventually I got tired of hitting so easily, so I moved back a bit to our little trampoline and thought, “going that far I better use pellets since they shoot better” I loaded up the gun, lied flat, took aim, pshhk and thunk, I hit it again.. and again.. and again. After a while I moved back to the tree line and found even more success. Eventually I figured I may as well go in, I walked up to the bird feeder and sure enough it was trashed, riddled with entry and exit holes. I can still picture myself looking up at it and feeling the terror of ruining my mothers bird feeder. For those who need a visual, it looked kinda like Bonnie and Clyde’s car.
I did what any 8 year old boy would do. I put the gun away same as always and didn’t say anything to anyone. Of course, someone noticed almost immediately that our bird feeder had been ventilated, maybe they heard it whistling in the wind? It also wasn’t really a case for CSI since I was the only one using the BB gun all day. That said, I wasn’t admitting anything to anybody.. deny.. deny.. deny. That was of course until my dad had a chance to cross examine the defendant during dinner. After some tricky questioning, I was still able to keep my story straight. Then out of nowhere came some classic fatherly trickery. It went something like this:
“well whoever hit that bird feeder must have been a pretty good shot to be able to hit it from the picnic table”
“No, I hit it from the trampoline and then the treeline!”
I realized what just happened and my eyes forced themselves wide open. Everyone looked at me and grinned, it was in this moment in life that I first realized I may not be a particularly clever individual. It was then decreed that I had to apologize to my mother for wrecking her feeder, I also recall emptying out my piggy bank and offering it to my mother as compensation for damages. No surprise she didn’t take the, what I now assume was about eight dollars in loose change. My private range privileges were also revoked indefinitely and my family still likes to reference “the bird feeder incident” from time to time.
The bird feeder incident taught me a few important things about firearm safety, and it not being worth it to lie about your mistakes. I also learnt an interesting child interrogation trick that I feel will come in useful someday if and when I have children.
P.S. Mom, I still owe you a bird feeder and since I now have slightly more than $8 in my piggy bank do you like this one? Its a little fancier than the one I perforated but you’ve got almost 20 years of accrued interest on that debt.
Posted in Marksmanshipwith 3 comments.
Reflections On A Fijian Mud Bath
As many of my friends and family are well aware, and tired of hearing about. Erin and I took a trip to both Fiji and New Zealand in 2011 and I am still telling stories about it. Occasionally in the wee hours of the morning, when night shift has a firm pull on my eyelids, my gaze finds its way to my computer screen saver, and I am reminded why I subject my body and my sanity to this job. One word: Adventure.
Erin and I, in our ramblings across Fiji, found ourselves at a small hostel in a town who’s name I cannot remember. In fact I remember very few details about the hostel we were at, but here they are:
1. There were a lot of cats and dogs, especially cats that had suffered some form of trauma, I vividly remember at least one cat with only three legs. I remember one of the workers there telling me he had rescued several of the dogs from kids who kidnap stray dogs in the city and sell them to rural villages to use as bait for boars. One can only imagine the story behind the cats.
2. I was amazed by the pool table, the balls were about half the size of the ones I was used to. Using it was a bit of a pain because it required Australian quarters which were sold (or possibly given, I dont fully recall) to us by the front desk. When travelling I am always interested in the different types of electrical outlets, light switches, placement and organization of bathroom fixtures, and other small details of daily life… look I rarely claim to be an interesting guy.
3. They had a room filled with dozens of bikes for rent.
One of the few days we had spent there, we had heard from the staff that there was a hot spring and mud spa a few miles down the road. Being on vacation and having nothing else occupying our time, we decided to go check it out. We rented the bikes for a very minimal fee, somewhere in the neighborhood of $5 Fijian per bike for the day, I’m not sure the conversion rates to Canadian or US dollars but trust me that’s not much.
Erin and Our Trusty Steeds
The bikes were nothing special, which was clearly reflected in the price and honestly I often find myself drawn to old banged up modes of transportation anyway (as my car ownership history will show). We grabbed our bikes and headed down the typical rough and potholed Fijian road. After a short, and very pleasant, ride we found our destination. It was a small fenced in area that to my rural Albertan eyes looked an awful lot like two dugouts and an old barnyard shed. All at once, in that moment, looking at what was in front of me. I felt I was home, on a warm summer day, looking out at an old farmyard that time seemed to have forgotten. I had spent so much of my youth rummaging through and admiring the old books and rusted tools, all the while hoping to find something that resembled treasure…but I’m getting off topic now.
We paid our $2 each and wandered into the structurally questionable shed to get changed. I was glad to see they partitioned off separate sides for guys and girls but I was a little concerned that you could see daylight between, literally, every plank on the sides. As I was changing out of my shorts and into my… swimming shorts, three Japanese men struck up a conversation with me. Well it was more of them talking at me and asking some questions.
“you’re so tall!”
“uhh thanks”
“wow you have green eyes! what color are your mothers?”
“umm blue?… I think”
“and your fathers?”
“kind of grey… maybe”
“Whats your name?”
“Tyson”
“ooooo big strong american name! Twyason! Like the boxer!”
“Well I’m Canadian, but, yeah I guess”
“What about your girlfriend? how tall is she?”
I raised my hand to just above my eye level.
“oooOOOOoooo. And what colour are her eyes?”
“Green”
“oooooo”
“well I’m done changing so I’m going to head out, you guys have a good day”
A lot of big smiles and hand shakes etc. Erin had overheard a bit of the conversation through the “walls”, and thought it was hysterical but she was kind enough to not laugh about the adorable grown men until later in the day.
We then were escorted to the first station at the “spa”, a mud bath, again… essentially a muddy hole in the grass about the size of a good swimming pool. The hole was about five feet deep with about three feet of muddy water in it with a very muddy bottom. We climbed in, and so did the person working there, he dunked a bucket in and scraped a pile of muck off the bottom and told us to rub it on ourselves. It seemed kinda hokey to me, but what ever, I rubbed some on my arms etc and so did Erin, of course our guide tried to help Erin rub some mud on her arms and other places but she was quick to politely refuse his help. I then realized that this is probably a sweet job for that guy, helping (mostly female) tourists in bathing suits coat themselves in mud. We then, via the assistance of our guide and a nearby tree root, made the difficult and slippery climb out of the mud hole. The guide then showed us the outdoor shower where we could rinse the mud off before climbing into the hot spring hole. He offered to snap some pictures of us covered in mud. We got some funny shots of us with mud mustaches and other funny face “paint”, showered off and then headed into the hot spring.
That’s The “Mud Bath” Behind Us
I Mustache You Not To Draw On My Face.
From the showers we walked across the grounds to a smaller slightly cleaner pool fed by a little spring. We swam around a bit and tried to wash the last bits of mud off, I didn’t really feel clean until I was back at the hostel and able to have a more thorough shower, but that’s besides the point.
At Least This One Had A Set Of Steps
After what felt like the necessary lengths of time, we pulled ourselves out of the pool, dried off and got changed. We biked back to the hostel, I honestly preferred the bike ride over the mud baths. It was a long time ago now so I dont fully recall what happened to the rest of the day but its a pretty safe guess that we showered off, played some miniature pool and petted a bunch of formerly stray dogs…. but that’s just an educated guess based on my personality and our circumstances.
When looking at old pictures of my various adventures I often like to ask myself “what would I have done then, if I was the person I am now?” Try it sometime, it can illicit all kinds of emotions. In this instance what stands out to me are the bikes and just how much fun I had on them that day, and how much I enjoy cycling now. It makes me think that I may have missed a golden opportunity for us to buy a couple of cheap bikes and pedal our way around that little island. Maybe someday I’ll get another chance to, or maybe I’ll someday find myself on another small island nation and have the ambition to see how far my legs can take me. Worst case I can still tell myself that I did technically go biking in Fiji.
Posted in Mountain Biking, Travelwith no comments yet.
Canada Day Tradition
I firmly believe that every family should have one weekend a year where they all get together. My family has the Vermillion fair, and Erin’s has Canada day. I think its a great idea because then every year you know, all year, that you need that same weekend off, and you know not to make plans. I also think its important to see your family more often than Christmas.
As per the family tradition, the plan was for all of us to meet up at Lesser Slave Lake for some camping over Canada day weekend. Friday after Erin was done work, we packed the gear into the truck. I was amazed at how fast it had started raining and how hard it was raining all through this process. Needless to say I was starting to get a little grumpy, but we loaded up and headed out anyway. It was about a four hour drive, Erin somehow managed to do homework for most of that time, while I drove and watched for wildlife, we saw a cow moose and her calf.
We arrived at the campsite a few hours before sundown, up north sunset is about 11:30pm that time of year. The family rents 3 large cabins that are all attached together and share some wonderful lakefront real estate. From there a few family members stay in campers on the lot, Erin and I sported a lovely little tent we set up in an area with an excellent view. It still amazes me how easy it is to set up a modern tent, I remember when I was a kid my parents had those old tents in the garage which were essentially a mess of random poles and musty fabrics. After setting up the tent, we plopped ourselves down beside the fire for a spell and then retired to our fresh air, nylon chateau complete with a queen size air mattress.
The next morning I over slept, but that’s what camping is for. Shortly after I got up, someone came up with the plan for pretty much everyone, under the age of 30, to bike to town… for no particular reason. We had a real convoy of roughly 10 people from about age 8 to about age 25, on all type, age, and condition of bike. It must have been quite the sight, especially since, the one leading us most of the way was the youngest. While in town we stopped at a fast food joint and I bought everyone ice cream, I figured I could use the brownie points.
Upon arriving back at our campsite, we found that Erin’s parents had arrived, they intended to come the night before but were held up by the poor weather, as they were hauling a trailer and carrying a boat. They got set up and we got the boat in the water. I noticed that the strong winds coming off the lake were attempting to borrow my tent. I moved it to a slightly more sheltered area and actually pegged it down this time. Instead of lifting up and curling, it was folding in… well at least it wasn’t going anywhere.
I’m Impressed That It Survived The Wind
It was then decided that, despite the wind, Erin, her dad, and I should all go fishing. We grabbed our gear and loaded up the boat. At the last minute, Erin, in a moment of pure selflessness, gave up her spot in the boat to her young cousin who was itchin’ for some fishin’. Erin’s dad was happy to accommodate him. We loaded up and headed for the small island, named Dog Island, at the far side of the bay to look for walleye. We got out there, slapped on some hooks, did some trolling, and ate some chips. Erin’s cousin caught the first fish, a nice walleye, just barely big enough to keep. We decided to throw it back, since it was the first catch and surely we’d catch bigger (often famous last words). Erin’s dad was the next to catch a fish, a smallish pike, then he caught a small walleye. I managed to wrangle in a ok sized walleye and we decided to keep this one, for safety’s sake. Then it was Erin’s dad on again, then the young cousin… those two were out fishing me six ways from Sunday, but I was the only one with a keeper in the boat. Erin’s young cousin had something special take his line. After a spirited battle, he had at the edge of the boat a very nice walleye, certainly the biggest I would see all weekend. I reached over the side and grabbed the line to haul it in, with a great thrash from the fish, it, in one motion, both snapped the line and cut my finger, and just like that he was gone. Everyone was a little sad and I certainly felt some guilt over the loss, but at the end of the day at least we know there’s still at least one big fish in that lake. It was getting to be about supper time, so we headed back to shore. Another of Erin’s young cousins and her friend were mesmerized, and a little afraid of the fish. We could hear them giggling and screaming from where we left it hanging while we stowed away our fishing gear and rounded up filleting gear… ok so just a filleting knife and beer, but that still counts as “gear” if you ask me. I watched with fascination as the fish was cleaned with a level of skill that is only granted with time and experience. It was thrown in the refrigerator for later. We helped ourselves to some dinner, then we all sat around the campfire enjoying each others company until every person had reached their own idea of what the wee hours of the morning means. There had originally been fireworks planned for that evening but we were informed they were to be delayed due to wind, and I could understand why.
The next day, Sunday, I overslept yet again, and nobody seemed to mind, maybe I’ll make that my tradition. It was far too windy for any kind of fishing that day, so some people opted to relax, others opted to go golfing. The rest of us went to a nearby hike. The hike was pleasant enough, though I could have lived without the mosquitoes. I was surprised to find that at the end of the hike there was a little lake that someone had somehow gotten a small rowboat into. Then there was what felt like a frenzy of photographs, and some cookies handed out… I thoroughly enjoyed the latter of the two. We then hiked out and headed back to camp. In the evening it rained quite hard which lead to two things. The first was a lot of me hurrying and panicking inside our cheap tent trying to get everything away from the edges to prevent any more water from coming in. The second thing the rain had instigated what was a rather sizable cribbage tournament, I had played before, but it was a long time ago. Erin and I played as a team and I feel that despite a lot of losses we played well and were close each time. The rain finally quit, and the cribbage tournament was over, and somehow the music got loud and everyone started dancing. I left at the first opportunity, on account of my two left feet, and found myself as part of a growing crowd by the fire. That day also ended just the way I like it, relaxing by the fire in good company.
On Monday, it was again windy but we opted to go fishing anyway, this time It was Erin, her dad, and myself in his boat, and then as many people as they could fit in her uncles boat. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 people, but I dont ever recall doing an official head count. The plan was for us all to catch some fish and have a great big fish fry for dinner. We battled some sizable waves to get to the island, but once there Erin and her dad started catching like it was going out of style. I, as any fisherman who isn’t catching tends to do, tested nearly every hook in my tackle box. In the end Erin had offered me a duplicate of the hook she was having such success with, reluctantly I accepted… and wouldn’t you know it, I caught a fish first cast. It always hurts to borrow a hook from someone because yours don’t work, but I’m pretty sure I bought that hook for her, so that makes me feel a little better.
I Feel No Shame In Being Out-Fished By The Walleye King Or His Daughter
After we hit our limits, we did a bit of “bonus fishing” beyond the wind block of the island, we did some of our best catching while drifting and rolling over the giant waves that only strong wind across a very big lake can create. Eventually we realized it was getting late in the day and headed in to meet up with the other boat and assess the results of our makeshift fishing derby.
Our Combined Total
If memory recalls, we had six walleye and one pike (not pictured). It was now up to Erin’s dad to fillet them, I think that’s worked its way into tradition over the years. I asked if I could help, since I really wanted to learn how to fillet fish, not surprisingly he agreed to let me assist him. We rounded up our knives and headed to the fish cleaning shack. He re-showed me the basics on the first fish, then we proceeded to start filleting. In a fury of swinging knives and flying fish parts we had made short work of our bounty, I worked as fast as I could but was only cleaning about one fish to his three… but I guess that’s the kind of speed experience affords you.
The Chandelier Really Makes The Cleaning Shack Looks Fancy
Doing My Best
We cleaned all the walleye, while each strategically avoiding the pike that neither of us had a clue how to fillet, until finally he caved and did his best to clean it. We returned to the cabins as heroes hearing many a “thanks for cleaning those” “wow, that was fast!” and “I cant believe how much fish that is”.
Shortly after our return everyone got to work filling the deep fryer with oil, making beer batter and preparing salads. This was going to be the kind of feast that wont soon be forgotten. I opted to stay out of the way and watch the deep frying process at work, while chatting with the expert cooks. The fish disappeared onto the plates of bystanders just as fast as it came out of the fryer, after almost everyone had dished up I was excited to grab my share… and then another share… followed by another… then a few more nibbles. What can I say? It was delicious and there was a lot of it. To my surprise I only found a single bone, and I know it was from that pike! I also inquired around and only about three other people admitted to finding a bone, not bad for my first time cleaning fish. After some sitting and digesting it had become rather late and it was now time for the Canada Day fireworks display put on by the campgrounds. We all wandered down to the beach to watch. Just before the fireworks started another family tradition took place… a very loud group rendition of our national anthem, which was met with a lot of cheering and applause all down the beach, and one gentleman replied with part of the tune from “Hockey Night In Canada” and of course we all applauded that guy. The fireworks display was impressive, bright, and very loud. Sunday ended much like Saturday, pleasant conversation around the campfire until one-by-one everyone found their way to sleep.
The next day everyone was up a little bit early, we needed to be out by 10. Erin and I packed up our gear and took down our tent, but left it out for a bit so it could dry. We then headed into the cabins where everyone was showing a great display of teamwork in cleaning all the cabins from top to bottom… especially bottom since the rain and sand had led to a lot of grit being left on the floors. Everybody got stowed away, acquiring help when needed and offering it when available. In what seemed like no time flat we were stowed away and pulling on to the highway leaving the weekend in our mirrors. All that was left now was to make the long drive home, unpack our vehicles, and to start looking forward to next year.
Posted in Fishingwith 2 comments.
Saturday Night Lake Loop
A few weeks ago I was fishing for walleye off of my dad’s dock. It was getting late in the evening and I was curious to try out fishing in the dark, I had heard that due to a walleye’s excellent vision they are more of a night predator. I did catch a decent walleye on a bright white rubber fish, but I feel I must test this theory further. The entire time I was absolutely swarmed by mosquitoes… as can be expected at that time of day. It got me thinking of possibly my worst experience with mosquitoes and quite possibly my worst experience in hiking. It was back in 2012 when Erin and I decided to try back country camping, we bought a tent and two small mummy style bags, and headed to Jasper. My brother drove us there as he had a fancy new truck and felt like seeing the sights, he opted not to join us on our hike… in hind sight that was a smart move.
We departed from Edmonton early in the morning with all of our gear and headed directly to the tourist information office in Jasper, that’s usually a good first stop. Erin and I asked about hiking trails and overnight camping while Kyle inquired about the local sights. After much deliberation it was decided that Erin and I would set off that day to do the “Saturday Night Lake Loop” which is considered one of the easiest overnight hikes in the park (I recently found out it also doubles as a mountain bike trail, though I haven’t been back since this trip). While we would hike and camp, Kyle decided he didn’t feel like camping alone, so we suggested the local hostel. I’ve been a fan of hostels since my New Zealand trip, they just sort of force you to interact with people who are generally in a good mood from traveling and sight seeing. We drove to the hostel and took a short tour, my well dressed clean cut brother, in a brand new truck didn’t exactly fit in and I honestly think that played a role in his decision not to stay there. We offered to help him find other lodging but he said he would be fine and dropped us off at the trail head. We planned to call him the next day, toward the end of our hike, so he knew when to pick us up.
We began our hike full of ambition, excitement, wonder, and I was also a bit nervous. We found ourselves on what I think was an old logging road along side a sizable lake.
Our View From The Trail
Toward the end of the well traveled gravel road, just before it turned into a trail we saw an adorable black bear. I was quick to whip out the bear spray (Quick PSA! Always carry bear spray!). Lucky for us, the bear, and my nerves, the bear kept its distance, looked at us, and with little thought or concern walked away and carried on with its life, I like to think it lived happily ever after.
Last Time I Was This Close To A Bear I Got A New Rug, But That’s A Different Story
As the trail went on, I started to realize a few things: we were hiking in a valley, it was spring time, and it was an especially wet spring. The mosquitoes were starting to get more and more frequent. After much casual chatting, swatting, repellent spraying, and scenery enjoyment we side tracked off of the trail up a few switch backs to our campsite.
Made It!
We set up camp in our stall as fast as we could, since the mosquitoes were even worse there. We then went out into the more open dining area, which had fewer of the blood thirsty insects, and began prepping dinner. On the menu we had canned stew heated to perfection on a mini camp stove, with a side of soda crackers. There was one other couple camping there, we exchanged greetings, but other than that they weren’t too chatty.
Mom Always Said It Was Important To Be Able To Cook
After dinner I washed the dishes in a clear mountain stream, which I think is pretty awesome, to me it always feels like a throwback to the pioneer days when I do stuff like that. We then walked and looked out at the small lake. It was pretty, but the shoreline was muddy and the mosquitoes made it hard to stick around.
What I Assume Is Saturday Night Lake
Then we went to bed and attempted to sleep. We had purchased two mummy style bags which could be zipped together, what we had never been told is that while they’re zipped together, if one person moves it creates a vacuum that pulls cold air in between the two people. Calling me a fidgety sleeper is a bit of an understatement. Calling me an unpopular tent partner that night is also an understatement. At this point in our hiking careers we had yet to buy any form of sleep mats, so there we were, cold and uncomfortable on the hard ground.
After dropping Erin and I off at the trail head, Kyle, in a rather James Bond kind of way, walked into one of the higher end hotels Jasper had to offer. He asked the going last minute rate of an empty room then offered them that for the suite and it worked. He hauled his things in, went to a pub for dinner and to watch some TV. He then retired to his suite and soaked in the Jacuzzi tub, he would later remark that his only complaint was that the tub was almost “too hot.” I however think he may have just said that to bug me.
The next morning came and I awoke to a loud hum that resembled electricity travelling through wires. It didn’t take me long to realize it was a swarm of mosquitoes, I was concerned they intended to haul us away, tent and all. We packed up as much as we could inside the tent and got dressed lying down, for fear of exposing ourselves to mosquitoes… and fellow campers. Erin went off to make us some oatmeal for breakfast, and I tore down the tent as fast as I could. We enjoyed breakfast and I decided to use the toiled before we headed off. This would prove to be an unfortunate time to need a washroom. As I approached the toiled the mosquitoes got more frequent and the hum got louder. I saw the toiled and remembered the lady at the tourist center trying to explain to me that they dont have outhouses or porta-pottys they have “green thrones” which well, looks like a throne. Imagine a three or four steps leading up a to a platform with a toiled seat on top. The toiled seat was somewhat enclosed in a semi circle that only ran about half way up my back. It was about as open air as you could get while still technically using a toilet. It was the perfect place for mosquitoes to ambush me… and did they ever. Lets just say I had bites in the tender areas and was really starting to not enjoy the hike.
We set off and the mosquitoes were unbearable, hands down the worst I have ever seen. They were so bad they effected visibility. We walked along beautiful log bridges and passed amazing waterfalls, at top speed to avoid those darn bugs.
One Of The Few Photos That Day
We only stopped at the tops of hills where we could feel a breeze and only for long enough to catch our breath and re apply as much mosquito spray as possible. I remember my shoe coming untied at the bottom of a hill right beside a nice infested swamp, I stopped went down and inhaled no less than four mosquitoes. I was also introduced to the pleasures of a mosquito bite on the edge of my lip, kinda like a bite on the knuckle but worse. We kept walking and swatting and my patience was running low. Finally and embarrassingly… I cracked. I had what Erin and I call a “temper mantrum” I remember throwing off my pack to grab some water and going on a rant along the lines of “THIS BACKPACKING IS HORRIBLE, YOU CAN JUST KEEP THIS TENT AND USE IT WITH YOUR FRIENDS OR WHATEVER, BUT I’M JUST NOT INTERESTED IN DOING IT AGAIN” Erin now finds it funny but at the time I think she was about ready to crack too. I put my pack back on and we continued.
We eventually found our way to higher and windier ground which caused the mosquitoes to disperse and suddenly the trail became much more pleasant. We rounded a corner and in the distance I saw something tan in colour jump into the woods. From where I was standing it appeared high in a tree, I panicked as my mind immediate thought “Cougar!” I grabbed the bear spray and pondered just how good my reflexes actually were. As we walked closer I felt very silly, the trail went up a steep hill and what I had actually seen was a beautiful bull elk jumping from the trail up a small berm. I kept the bear spray out and decided to see how close I could get. I got to withing about 40 yards and snapped some pictures before it eventually got annoyed with me and left.
A Good Size, Especially For So Early In The Year
We were getting near the end of the trail so I pulled out my phone to call Kyle, only to discover that the battery was dead. I must have bumped the power button and turned it on in my pack. Luckily for me, Erin’s phone still worked and I had submitted Kyle’s number to memory. No answer, I tried a few more times, with no luck. We eventually walked out into the parking lot to see Kyle there, he was simply amazed at his timing.
He explained that his phone had met with his temper when it was failing to work. I saw the “smart” phone in the back of his truck and it appeared to be folded in half (he seems to go through a lot of phones). So he ended up calling my phone from a pay phone, which ended up not working since my phone was dead, maybe this phone trouble is a family thing. In the end he just guessed what time we would be there and as luck would have it, he only waited about ten minutes for us to show up.
It was undoubtedly the worst hike I’ve ever been on, based slightly on the poor sleeping conditions and overwhelmingly on the mosquito infestation. I now really enjoy back country camping, and I would even do the Saturday Night Lake Loop again… if it was during a drought.
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Last Chance Cleaning
It seems my last chance buck is staying true to its name. After two years of alternating between the barn in winter and an ant hill in summer, it appeared I needed a more drastic solution to cleaning it. Given that I plan on putting my possessions in storage and leaving the country next year, it appears this summer is my last chance to turn this skull into the european mount that I intended.
I had already taken the first step and cleaned off as much of the hair, meat, etc. that I could from the skull. The problem is that I did that last year, so by now it was very dry and slightly rotten, I opted not to post a picture of this, but trust me, it was bad. I then assembled my cooker, and installed the head, all while holding my breath.
The Setup
I used a propane tiger torch propped on a rock as a burner, which then heated an old wash basin sitting atop two cinder blocks. Any large pot and burner will do, as long as it will fit the skull and heat the water to near boiling. After much research I have found that actually boiling the water is bad for the skull. Finally I wired the antlers to the edges, some people tie them to lumber, the key is to keep them out of the water to avoid discoloration. I opted to put the skull in before the water started to get hot so as to avoid burning my hands while wiring the skull to the right depth.
Initially I had just used plain water but once it was hot I decided that a grease cutting dish soap might be a good plan, it seemed to work well for me. While the water heated I gathered up some tools to help scrape and clean off what I could. I used a long set of pliers, a putty knife, and a heavy bristled dish scrubber. The dish scrubber can no longer be used on dishes.
Essential Tools
This was my first attempt at cleaning a skull so I wasn’t sure what would work, in the end I found that the putty knife worked best, while the dish scrubber was just shy of useless. The technique I used was simple but time consuming. I heated the large basin to a simmer and every few hours I would pull the head out and scrape, brush, and grab at it with the pliers… in no particular order.
Elbow Grease Turned Out To Be A Key Ingredient
In total it took somewhere in the neighborhood of nine hours and five beers to complete. That said it didn’t require constant attention so I was able to do some yard work and visit with a friend while I cleaned it.
All Cleaned Up
All said and done, I think it looks pretty good cleaned up. It has a bit of a natural yellow colour to it and I am told that many people opt bleach or paint it for that bright white finish. I may in the future paint it, but for now I do believe I’ll leave it.
Posted in How-To, Huntingwith 13 comments.