The Iceland Saga Vol. 1
March 2019, Erin had a birthday. For many years leading up to this birthday, she had always expressed a desire to go to Iceland. I remember her talking about it back when we were in New Zealand. So, I worked as much overtime as I could for a few months leading up to her birthday. I lied and told her I wanted to save all my overtime for a new rifle or possibly a new vehicle. I told her she should probably save a bit too as our car was starting to act up. When her big day came, we were on a ski trip to Golden and went to a fancy restaurant. While Erin couldn’t hear, we told the waitress it was her birthday. She suggested we really surprise her and do cake first. We were shown to our seats, served our drinks, and had our orders taken. Shortly after the waitress came up, apologized and explained that the restaurant was build in a converted house that’s just over 100 years old. She further explained that they were having some electrical issues and needed to flip the breaker and shut the lights off for a moment. We all shrugged a “whatcanyoudo?” Suddenly, cake and candles rounded the corner. We were all surprised for some reason, but we quickly helped sing. Erin was handed her gifts and I gave her an Iceland guide book and wrote “let’s go here” on it. In a note, I explained that I saved money for the trip, and that was her gift. I then realized I had failed to plan the trip… so I guess it was half a gift…. classic men… get it together. Anyway, Erin and I (mostly Erin) planned the trip in short order and in late August we took to the air to get to the ice.
Our flight landed at 6 am local time. As our bus took us into town I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the landscape. It seemed little more than moss and rocks. It was beautiful but truly empty. We found our campsite and got settled in. Food and accommodations can be quite pricy in Iceland, so many people, like Erin and I, opt to bring a tent and camp the entire time. Our initial itinerary was to catch a bus to Landmannalaugaur (a hiking hub/basecamp) and hike the Laugavegur trail. We expected the hike to take 4 or 5 days. Then we would rent a car and explore the towns along the coast. BUT FIRST, I needed breakfast. Thanks to the conveniences of modern technology, my phone was able to point us to a bakery. We bought ourselves some ham and cheese-filled pastry, light and flakey like a croissant. Upon returning to our campsite we saw a severe weather warning for the hike we were intending to do. When it comes to changing plans and rolling with the punches Erin is a champ, and I tag along. Her plan was simple. We would flip our itinerary. Travel the coast first in a rental car and, time and weather permitting, do the hike at the end. We took the remainder of the day to explore Reykjavik, as blind luck would have it, there was a large cultural festival happening. Along the streets, there were theater-style plays, a rock concert, art installations, street vendors, and all the shops had sales on. I had fish and chips from a street vendor and they were amazing.
The following morning we went and retrieved our rental car. Turns out there was no issue picking it up a few days early. We tore down our camp and struck out west for adventure. We spent the day driving into the West Fjords. No small task, I must say. It was a long journey full of sharp twists and turns in the rain. All done heroically in a very small hatchback that was making some very troubling noises from one of the rear tires… glad I got the extra insurance. Along the way, we made several stops at roadside turnouts to see various craters and waterfalls. We eventually found a campsite we liked, in Isafjodur, unfortunately the weather left something to be desired. It was raining, still. We set up our tent and hid in the little common area to cook some supper. We chatted with the other campers and enjoyed the heater on full blast. We then went back to our tent and did something wild and new… we had snacks, in bed, in our tent. It was amazing, you simply cannot do that in Canada or you’ll be a snack for a bear, or wolf, or cougar, or some other large predator. To me, its the hardest part of camping, I love a midnight snack.
The next morning we decided to do a little hike. It was straight up from our campsite along a waterfall and actually crossed it a few times. It was a real hard push but the view at the top was well worth it. It was also a good opportunity to test out my new hiking poles. I somehow seem to keep ending up taking untested gear on big trips. After the hike, we went into the town. We hit a small museum in town before leaving. It was primarily the history of the village and its fishing but I also came across a polar bear hide and an old Brno .22 similar to the one my step-dad has. The story has it, that in 1963 a polar bear drifted from Greenland on an iceberg and a local out collecting duck eggs was able to successfully shoot it. I also learned that for many centuries Iceland’s primary building material was driftwood that made its way to Icelandic shores all the way from Siberia. Both of these fascinate me equally. I feel like, had he not shot the polar bear, no one would have ever believed him. I also doubt that either Siberians or Icelanders knew the relationship they had. We then drove to Akureyri, far east of the West Fjords region. We would have loved to stay and explore the Fjords more but travel was quite slow in that landscape and we had limited time. Once we arrived I was treated to a real Iceland delicacy, a hotdog cooked in Pilsner beer and wrapped in bacon. Served on a soft bun with crunchy fried onions. It was amazing. We ended our day with a soak in the local pool.
The next day was to be our biggest. We drove straight to the hot springs in Myvtan. We were told they were a less busy version of the famous blue lagoon hot springs. The water was hot, and the facilities clean, it was a good way to start our big tour. In the area there was a lot to see:
Pseudocraters (created by water escaping through lava flows)
Grjótagjá (which was featured in Game Of Thrones… we did a lot of quoting)
Hverir (boiling mud pools that constantly change a small portion of the landscape)
Viti crater and accompanying geothermal powerplant (it looked like a space station)
Dettifoss (the most powerful waterfall in Europe)
We then made the long drive to Asbyrgi it was a long drive down a one-lane gravel road. When we set out we did not realize how long it would take us. It was still worth the visit though. It is a huge valley created in a matter of days, thousands of years ago, after volcanic activity broke an ice dam and several large glacial lakes drained into the sea and eroded the landscape along the way. Inside the valley, the walls were steep and jagged, the trees inside were thick and lush, at the end of the valley was a pool of still water. Erin and I walked in and there were a few other tourists looking at it in total silence. No one said more than a gentle whisper. Something about this place demanded silence, no one dared question it. We walked back to the car and made the long drive to our campsite in Egilsstader.
The next day was our last day to really explore with our car as we had solidified our plan to start the hike the following day. By this time in our trip, we had circled back to just east of Reykjavik, so the sights became a little busier. The first stop of the day was Iceberg lagoon, full of seals, icebergs, kayaks, tour boats, tourists, and photoshoots. It was quite a sight. Across the road was Diamond beach, in fact, Iceberg Lagoon drains onto Diamond Beach. It gets its name from bits of ice washing up on the black sand and sparkling like diamonds. One thing I insisted on seeing was a crashed airplane on the beach. The story has it that the plane ran out of fuel and the USAF didn’t bother to come to pick it up. It was about a 45-minute hike each way to see it. It was very crowded and, despite the posted signs, people were climbing all over it. I found it a touch disappointing but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, its an interesting attraction that’s relatively easy to access. We then checked into a rather run-down campsite in Hella and booked a bus ticket to take us to Landmannalauger. The following day we would start our Icelandic backcountry hike, but I’ll save that for my next post.
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The Gift of a Mule Deer
This story takes place in 2018 and was originally published in the July 2019 issue of “Alberta Outdoorsmen Magazine” the published version is much shorter.
6 weekends, each bracketed by a fifty-hour work week, in a machine shop, a job I was new to, in a new career field. Thousands of kilometers driven to my parents’ farm and back, all on the tail end of a very mentally stressing hike on the West Coast Trail. Every muscle in my legs hurt, I had, what felt like, a permanent dehydration headache compounded by exhaustion.
My usual routine was that I would drive straight from work on Friday to my parents’ farm and hunt until Sunday afternoon. I always wanted to stay for the Sunday evening hunt but I knew it would make me too tired to drive home safely. I was especially motivated this season because I was awarded a draw tag for an Antlered Mule Deer. I intended to fill that tag or die
On the first weekend of rifle season, I took a walk to a far corner of the property to see if there were mule deer where I had seen so many the previous hunting season. I had avoided the area during archery season, as it’s very open making a stalk or an ambush nearly impossible. If there were deer, they would likely be sunning themselves high on the hill and watching the field, I elected to take a long way around. This allowed me to stay hidden in the trees. As I broke out of the bush along a narrow game trail I spotted a small group of mule does, up on the side of a hill, where I hoped they would be. They spotted me immediately, to my camouflages disappointment, from nearly 400 yards out. They didn’t run, and I did not move. It was a silent stalemate, both parties quite interested in the other. Eventually, my mannequin training paid off and they lost interest. I took a few steps closer, my goal being to get behind cover and get comfortable. My theory was: if there are does here, there will eventually be bucks. The sound of my footsteps in the snow perked their ears, so I slowed. When I crouched, the water bottle in my pocket betrayed me. They got up and ran down the hill, somewhat parallel to my spot into a separate patch of bush. Seemed to me, their goal was to get around me and see what they could smell. As soon as they fell out of sight I laid flat on my back and watched for them. Sure enough, they stuck their heads out of the tree 20 yards away from me and searched around. Eventually they must have caught a sniff because they made that sound every hunter hates, they blew their noses and ran off.
I stood up and dusted the snow off. I congratulated myself on the small victory, now I knew where they spent their time. Mule deer tend to be pretty predictable. I decided my best bet was to make my way up the hill and hide in a small patch of shrubs up where there’s a better view. I slowly worked my way up and had a seat. After a few hours of sitting and watching an empty field, it was starting to get into the afternoon. I decided it would be best to head back to the house to have some lunch and prepare for an evening hunt. I had a good sitting spot in mind for whitetail, another tag I was hoping to fill. As soon as I stood up and turned around there
I got home and told my parents all about the excitement. I then headed out for a cold and unsuccessful sit for whitetail elsewhere. The next morning, Sunday, I was back on mule deer hill. By the time afternoon had arrived I had nothing to show for it and was starting to nod off. I decided I best get a move on and get home, it was still over a mile walk to the house and a 3 hour drive home. On, about, Tuesday I got a most upsetting text from my step-dad. It seems the neighbour had given someone permission to hunt on his property next to ours, this hunter had taken that deer. My step-dad had spotted it in the box of the truck pulling out of the neighbour’s field. It really threw my entire week off.
Big buck or not, I was back out hunting again the next Saturday. I
After sitting and watching long enough for my backside to go numb in the snow. It started to become obvious the big old boy just wasn’t going to come out. I guess it takes a dose of caution for a deer to get that big. Suddenly, like lightning, a deer ran out on my left, over a hill and into the middle of the field below. He stopped and turned broadside to me. His antlers were nice, but he wasn’t in the same league as the deer I was watching. He stood there, broadside, for a moment and it gave me time to think. I realized, I had my entire life to chase a monster mule, but this, this was my chance to get my first mule deer, on my first antlered draw. If ever there was a gift from above, or from the earth… this was it. A respectable mule deer standing perfectly broadside. I figured he was 200 yards out, based on my previous ranging. I made the decision to shoot. As soon as that mental switch in my head flipped, the circuits in my brain went wild. Immediately my heart rate increased. It’s hard for anyone to describe this sense of excitement, finality and yet uncertainty rolled into one. All of which desperately being stifled in an attempt to keep your hands from shaking. For every hunter, I am sure this is different, for me, it feels like my chest is imploding and building up for an explosion like a train is about to fly off the rails and its boiler is glowing red and starting to rattle. Yet in my mind, I have perfect clarity, like a runner’s high. I took aim, I lined up the
I checked my watch and made a mental note of the the minute hand. I like to wait 10 or so minutes before approaching an animal to ensure it is bled out. If I run up and scare it into the woods, its now a game of hide and seek and I risk losing the animal all together. After I checked the time, I noticed I was shaking really hard. I had officially been hit with buck fever. I pulled my phone out and took a video of it. I thought maybe it would be funny to share with my friends, but watching it I
After about 5 minutes, I pulled out my range finder and checked the actual distance, it read 160 yards. Immediately I questioned the integrity of my shot. I pulled off my binocular harness and
We got the deer home, skinned it and hung it up. To my everlasting shame, my initial shot had hit far back and high. I have no excuse for the poor shooting, on a normal day I can hit a “kill zone” sized target at 500 yards no question. All I can say
The following day I fried the tenderloin in a cast iron pan with onions, garlic and morel mushrooms. It was delicious, but the thought of that pulled shot made it feel half earned… Like the greed and desperation that wrecked the shot had gotten into the meat, and only I could taste it. The following weekend I went back to my parents to butcher and pack the meat. I also turned the head in for CWD testing, after removing the antlers. The results, luckily, came back negative.
I am glad to have gotten my first mule deer and I am glad it is such a great example of one. But I am quite saddened that things didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. Everyone who has hunted for any length of time talks about how eventually you wound one, or lose one outright. I guess it was just my time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Posted in Hunting, Published Workwith 1 comment.
The Shape of Waterfowl
I am only at the start of my second season as a waterfowler. This affords me leeway in folly, and wonder in discovery. It is truly a great time to exist, as I know enough to be able to go but still feel the need to learn. Though, like most hunting, I have no doubt it will be easy to learn and impossible to master. I still find myself fascinated by the art behind a good decoy spread, and an art it is. There are rules, yes, but they can all be broken. No two landscapes are ever going to be similar enough for a person to be able to share more than an outline. All I know is birds like to land into the wind, they don’t like to land over top of decoys, and do your best to place decoys four to six feet apart. The rest is experience and imagination that just can’t find its way into words, or so I get the impression.
My primary focus has been geese, they provide more meat, they prefer the open farm fields of Alberta, as opposed to ducks who prefer swamps. The biggest and most important factor is that geese are what my friends chase, and they have all the gear to do it. I just have to show up. Amazing the guided hunting trip a case of beer will get you in some parts.
My most recent trip brought a strange memory back to me. I have hunted a wide range of animals and as a result, have shot a lot of animals. Only geese have reminded me of a story I read in elementary school. I was in the blind with Tyler and his girlfriend, Kendra, when a lone goose flew close enough for a shot. In my hour of amateurism, I stood up and took a shot, spooking another, larger, bunch on the way in. It was a selfish maneuver and inexperience was my accomplice, it was a lesson in communication. My 10 gauge split the cool morning air and hit its mark. The goose instantly, mid-air, curled its wings in, locked its neck down, and fell to the ground like a feathered cannonball. At that moment all I could remember was sitting in my 5th-grade classroom hearing the teacher read ” He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered.” I searched around recently and found it is from “Shooting an Elephant” By George Orwell an anti-imperialism essay that’s worth a read. At the time of reading that story, I thought it a touch silly and perhaps a case of the author dramatizing. Animals almost always react to being hit, but I have never seen such a fast, dramatic, and all-encompassing change. Maybe only some animals do it, or maybe only some people see it. So I have to ask myself, is it me or the goose?
Of my total of 2 trips this season (there are many more on the way, don’t worry). We were in no danger of limiting out, by which I mean we did not come close to getting the maximum daily amount allowed by law. Limiting is always the goal and certainly a feather in the hat of any hunter. We did, however, get enough for me to test goose meat in my burger recipe. They work great if you just substitute ground goose for venison or if you are extra sensitive to that gamey taste or are cooking for someone who is… picky. Just up the bacon to cut down that wild flavour. I made a YouTube video chronicling my first goose burger attempt. If you want to see some footage from last year’s hunting, look here.
Posted in How-To, Hunting, Recipe, Videowith no comments yet.
Jacques Lake Hike
Friday after work, Erin and I caught a ride with our friends Kate and Alex. We were headed to Jasper for a quick front country camp that night, and a backcountry camp the following day. It would be Kate and Alex’s first backcountry camping trip. They were due to start the West Coast Trail about a month later. I admired their ambition.
Our Friday night camp was quite straight forward. We set up our tents, made a fire, sat around it and I even enjoyed a beer. The following morning we met two more friends, Marc and Chelsea, in town. Everyone grabbed something from the cafe to start the day. I was feeling unwell so I declined any breakfast. We headed to the Jacques Lake trailhead, where Nikki (remember her from that time I was a hero?) was waiting. We got set up in the parking lot and headed in. I noticed Marc’s pack was quite big. I would later learn that had packed in a lot of creature comforts as the trail was not particularly demanding, and this turned out to also be Chelsea’s first backcountry experience.
Very early in the trail, we encountered a wide, shallow, fast-moving creek. There were two split logs acting as a bridge that led across it, but after that, the trail seemed to disappear. As luck would have it, there was a parks employee in the vicinity. She explained the faster water had washed out the bridge that cut back across the creek. Our only option was to kick off our shoes, roll up our pants, and walk across. It was quite refreshing. Further up the trail, we detoured slightly to a large meadow by a lake with low water. While eating we picked some wild chives to add to dinner later. While the others were eating I walked closer to the lake and found what I believe were wolf tracks in the mud at the edge. They could have been dog tracks, but there were no people tracks and dogs are not permitted off-leash. Still a possibility I suppose. Our hike continued.
After lunch and further up the trail we crossed paths with a man and a woman. They appeared to only have day hiking gear. She said there was a black bear on the trail ahead and that they were headed back as a result. I was not dissuaded, or even concerned. My years of hunting have inflated my ego and reduced my fear of wildlife. I had also recently finished an Andy Russel book on Grizzlies which had also relaxed me about bears. I have no doubt this confidence will be my downfall someday, but for now, I’m pretty fearless with wildlife. At any rate, we pressed on. Sure enough, on the trail, there was a bear… Actually, it was just off the trail ahead and to our left. Marc was at the front of our group and yelling to make noise to scare it off. He had his bear spray out, I drew mine and joined him. The bear was 50 to 100 yards ahead of us and the remainder of our group was about 25 yards behind us. Our noise was successful in scaring the bear, unfortunately, we just scared it up the nearest tree. It would come down, get scared, and climb back up. We called Alex up, he had mentioned earlier that he had some bear bangers. We were hoping they would do the trick. Alex seemed pretty excited when we suggested he fire one in the bear’s direction. He assembled the small pen-like device, took aim, and let loose a perfect shot. Straight-line to the bear and detonating just in front of it, which is exactly ideal. If you shoot over the bear, you could scare it to you. The bear barely flinched, climbed down the tree, gave us a long hard look and ran off the opposite direction. We all cheered Grizzly Alex. Marc continued to lead the way. I stood still watching the trees until the group passed. I then took up the rear and kept an eye out.
Eventually, we hit the camp and got situated. Tess (you may remember her from our West Coast Trail Hike) and her friend Jade were hiking in later. That weekend was Tess’s birthday so I packed in a loaf cake… It sort of a cake with the shape and texture of banana bread. They pack very well. I let everyone know I had it and to be ready to sing happy birthday at some point. During this time the reason for the size of Marc’s pack became clear. He had brought all the comforts of home. He packed in a full-size saucepan and made spaghetti in it. Afterward, he produced a washbasin, filled it with hot water and proceeded to wash dishes… he actually did bring the kitchen sink, so to speak. He also packed in two bottles of wine. In fact, funny enough, we all packed a lot of liquor thinking we were the only ones who would. By the end, we had; 2 bottles of wine, a mickey of rye, a bottle of gin, some vodka, and a 26oz of jack daniels. Shortly after we ate, Tess and Jade arrived. They made themselves some dinner and we all sat around and chatted. At one point we talked with some of the other campers. During this exchange, a woman had stated “I’m so impressed with all the stuff you guys brought in! I was watching you guys unload pots, pans, sinks, liquor, and even a cake!” as she said it, Marc waved his arms to shush her… Tess spun around with a big grin “I GET CAKE!?”. Thanks, lady. She was mortified when she realized what she had done. Personally, I found it hilarious, but I still gave her a hard time, in jest. We continued to socialize, people came and went to their tents to get bedding set. At one point when everyone was there, I dug out the cake, stuck some candles in and lit them. We all sang happy birthday and I cut the cake. There was just enough for everyone, including the couple that spilled the beans.
That night Erin and I slept in our little tent for the first time since west coast trail. It is a dual entry (door on each side) and she left the fly open on her side. All that separated us from the night air was a thin layer of mesh to keep the bugs out. It was just a small change, but it really changed the atmosphere of the tent. It made it feel like I was even more open and exposed to the wilderness. It was pleasant but a little strange, it surprises me how a few millimeters of nylon can provide so much more security in my mind.
The hike out was surprisingly uneventful… aside from the swarm of mosquitos, I suppose. The bridge was repaired so we didn’t need to kick our boots off. I was able to round up some of the garbage I had spotted on the way in. I have a habit of picking up litter on the trail. I always try to come out with full pockets. At the trailhead, we all changed out of our sweaty clothes and searched our coolers for cold drinks. We then decided to hit a restaurant in town to grab some greasy pub food before heading home. Not sure why, but my body craves greasy food after hikes… of course, I always crave greasy food.
Posted in Hiking and tagged Alberta, backcountry, backpacking, hiking, Jasper, Outdoorswith 2 comments.
Types Of Gun Owners
This article was originally published in the May/June 2018 National Firearms Journal which is published by the NFA (https://nfa.ca/)
I was recently at my friend Brad’s house for what turned out to be an unsuccessful coyote hunt. While there I realized he and I both had 243 Winchesters that were very different firearms, almost comically so. Mine is an old Ruger M77 international that I had purchased used many years ago and have babied ever since. Brad’s was a spray-painted Savage model 11 that I doubt has ever seen the business end of a bore mop. It got me thinking – to him that gun is a tool, a dedicated truck or quad gun. It’s not meant to be pretty, it’s meant to perform. To me, my gun is a work of art or a piece of history and something that needs to be taken care of. I hand load for it, clean it after every use, and show it off proudly. I even went out of my way to find a high gloss scope to put on it to match the bluing. I have a real soft spot for its full-length mannlicher stock… even if it likely is the cause of my 2 MOA groups.
Two Very Different .243s
This topic of tools versus collectibles got me thinking about other people I know. My brother, for example, is more minimalist, you see it in his home with his sparse and well-placed furniture. My house has the cozy and full feel of a used book store, or a hoarders garage, depending on your taste. Our interior design styles are also reflected in our gun collections. My brother owns about a half a dozen guns, all with very different and specific purposes. I, on the other hand, own nearly thirty firearms. I love to find an obscure caliber and research all about it. I was tickled pink when my Great Uncle gave me my Great Grandfathers Savage 99 in 250-3000 (now referred to as 250 Savage), in large part because that cartridge is so fascinating to me. It came out in 1915 in the model 99 and was able to deliver an 87-grain bullet at 3000 fps, hence the 250-3000 but it was found that a 100-grain bullet was more effective for deer. I hope to use it on a deer this coming fall, for old time sake. I intend to use a modern well-constructed 87-grain bullet. Needless to say, rarities and oddities find an easy home in my safe. One of my first guns was a Savage 29B rimfire 22 LR, I found it in my father’s garage in pieces with a few bits missing. I managed to round up what was needed and turn it into a wonderful little rifle. It’s iron sights and oiled wood stock are a stark contrast of my brothers Ruger 10/22 in a Tapco stock with all kinds of bells and whistles bolted on. Both great guns, but I wouldn’t trade him.
Many of my firearms, to me, seem to represent a strange optimism. Perhaps I read too much Capstick, but years ago I got it in my head I needed a 375 Holland and Holland for my “someday” trip to Africa. I ended up getting my hands on a CZ 550 magnum with a beautiful wood stock. It was one of the only guns I could find that had a set of sights on it, a requirement for my romanticized version of a safari rifle. I’m still saving for that trip to chase a big duggaboy through the brush, but truth be told, I think my gun is worth more than I’ve got in that piggy bank.
I know I am not alone in my craziness. I once had a friend tell me, he hates using a new deer rifle for hunting. He likes to have an old one, preferably one that HE has shot a deer with before. Its got that good deer hunting mojo to it, which I totally understand. Its a strange kind of worry when you take a new deer gun into the field. What if it doesn’t know what it’s doing? I also once worked with an old man that said: “I don’t collect guns, I collect works of art, Roy Weatherby is my favorite artist.” I dare you to take a look at a Lazermark and tell me he’s wrong.
So what happens to people like us? To people who have a penchant for all things obsolete, forgotten, broken, or bruised? To be honest it will be our spouses and our wallets that suffer. I know I have never turned down a cheap gun in need of restoring. My collection has now justified its own room in our home. Maybe we can’t let these guns go because they remind us of ourselves, old relics the world has deemed obsolete and moved on from. Or maybe we are just hopeless romantic contrarians who read too many damn books.
Our stuck side by side that gave me time to think
Posted in Hunting, Published Workwith no comments yet.
West Coast Trail: Part 2
This is the Exciting Conclusion to our West Coast Trail Adventure. Part 1 can be found here.
Day 5- Walbran to Campers
Another overcast morning with very light rain. Another morning sliding into cold wet clothes. My poor mood from the previous day had somewhat returned, and I was still interested in pushing a little harder to try and shave a day off. We realized doing so may require us to skip a major attraction, Owen Point, which can only be passed at low tide. Again we left it at “see how we feel at the first campsite.”
I skipped breakfast, as I usually do. I find I prefer to eat after being up and moving for an hour or two. I decided to start the day with some tea, as I was cold and wet everywhere. I asked Tess to add some of the whiskey we packed, for good measure. She handed me some whiskey with a hint of tea. I drank it down and we headed off, at which point I realized, not only had I not eaten yet, but that was the only thing I had drank that day. I was feeling pretty good suddenly, and the weather was clearing.
The day was all bush hiking. It was rough going, lots of mud and slippery roots. There were a few sections of boardwalk, and some ladders, but for the most part, it was a swamp, hopping from
While crossing a swamp, I spotted the lower section of a hiking pole. I grabbed it and asked Erin and Tess to stop so I could catch up. It took some finagling but I was able to use one of the screws and a piece of plastic to replace the missing bolt from Tess’s hiking pole. Just call me MacGruber.
Then we came out of the trees to the edge of a large valley and I saw it… three long ladders down, a long narrow suspension bridge, and three long ladders up the other side. All bolted to a rock face that went straight down to a depth sure to kill a man who dared to fall. It was a shame I couldn’t feel that whiskey anymore, I think I could have used the courage. I went first down the ladders, watching someone else cross was liable to make me panic. I then crossed the bridge alone, it was all less terrible than I had expected. I turned back to watch Erin cross and noticed a sign saying “max 6 hikers on the bridge at a time”. So I turned back to join Erin and waved Tess on, we took a few pictures and I turned to walk off and suddenly it hit me, the terror of heights.
I still had 3 ladders to go up. The first wasn’t bad, a reasonable lean and no left-right tilt. The second was
While hopping along roots over mud and water, I slipped and landed shin first on my hiking pole and putting a slight bend into the end of it. My shin was throbbing but nothing was seriously hurt. On the next section of boardwalk I was able to bend my pole back close to straight by wedging it between two boards.
As we reached the first campsite, “Campers”, the sky cleared up substantially. We checked out the campsite and realized we were the first ones there. We got an amazing spot in a sheltered clearing, and decided not to push further that day. Instead, we set up camp and I built the biggest fire I could.
As more and more people showed up, I made more and more friends. Everyone appreciated the fire, and slowly a ring of soaked boots materialized around it. After days of rain, it was nice to dry off around a fire and chat with all the friends we had made. It was also a little funny to see a bunch of hikers on day two while we were on day five; we felt like hardened warriors looking at new recruits. It is amazing the air or arrogance three hard days of hiking will give me.
We discussed the following day’s hike around Owen Point. Our options were to get up very early in the morning and hike in the dark to catch the morning low tide, or we could get a late lazy start, catch the evening low tide and risk setting up camp in the dark. Our party decided to get a late start and risk setting up camp in the evening. It seemed safer than hiking the rough bush trail in the dark in the morning.
After the point, we were told, is some serious bouldering and log clambering. We were up for it and asked another hiker, Lianne, whom we actually met on the bus ride, if she wanted to join up with us as going it alone didn’t seem safe, and four people struck me as more fun than just three. Our group of four also joined up with two other friends we had made on the rainy nights, Eric and Jarek. After a late night of chatting and enjoying the fire, we turned in knowing we had no reason to be up early the next day.
Day 6- Campers to Thrasher
I woke up early, for no particular reason. I moseyed around the campsite, took in the view, packed up slowly, and had some breakfast. Once everyone was ready, we slowly left camp. We all ended up leaving camp around the same time. It was Erin, Tess, me, Lianne, Eric, Jerek, and a group of four from Saskatchewan, whom we referred to as “The Prairie Boys”. I have to give them credit. It was an older gentleman, his two adult sons, and his son-in-law, and this was the first big hike for most of them. The patriarch, Tom, had bad knees with a limited range of motion, but that didn’t stop him. I think he pounded out that hike by sheer force of will. It was impressive and I hope I can do that when I find myself at his age.
As we hiked, we slowly separated apart, as we all hike at different speeds. After a bit of bush hiking, our group met up with Jarek, Eric, and Lianne on a large rock shelf on the beach, where we would wait for the tide to go down. At this point the weather was amazing, the sun was shining and heat was really coming off of that rock. We pulled our gear out and spread it to dry in the sun. Erin came over and informed me it was time to wash my shirt. I knew she was right because I walked upwind of one of the guys and he exclaimed: “Wow, someone smells ripe!” I gave Erin my button up shirt and she took it to the shore for a wash, I then decided I best wash my t-shirt too. I wrung them both out as best I could, I hung my button up on my hiking poles to dry and slid into my wet t-shirt. The
The ladies went for a swim in a little pool a few hundred feet down the beach, and I tried to start a little fire, with no luck. While we sat and waited, the patriarch of the Prairie Boys came down to say hello and have a look at the sea. They had decided to take the bush trail to the campsite instead of the beach as the bouldering struck them as inadvisable for a man who’s had two knee replacements. After he left, everyone just laid around.
Tess and Erin had a bit of a nap (as I mentioned in Part 1, those two can sleep anywhere). I sat on a log that did a great impression of a bench, put my headphones in, and drifted into some deep unknown level of relaxation. It was just amazing, I had been so tired, wet, and beaten down, and sitting in that sunlight, on that log, listening to music, was the most relaxed I had ever felt in my life.
Suddenly, a whistle cut the silence around me. We all jumped to our feet. We could hear yelling, whistles and air horns. Everyone who
Suddenly we heard yelling from where we just were. We bolted back down the trail to find we had missed the action all together. It turned out that the bear had been scared off the trail above (by the Prarie Boys, we would later learn), and wandered down to the beach. When it wandered out onto the rock shelf, Erin, Tess, and Eric made enough noise for it to go away. I was told didn’t seem afraid or angry… more
After that excitement, Erin and Tess made some coffee and we waited a little longer for the tide. Finally, it was low enough to be passable. It was a short hike across hard, flat, occasionally slippery rocks to Owen Point. Upon arriving, we had to wait a little more for the tide to go down. Once it was low enough we walked through a beautiful cave. Many photos were taken.
Shortly after the point, we reached the bouldering section we had heard tell of. It was rough going, but I found it fun. I put my hiking poles away and put on some gloves and really went for it. The guys had really pulled ahead of us at by this time. After a lot of climbing rocks and logs, we finally saw it, a campfire on the beach.
We arrived about a half hour before sunset. We set up our campsite at the last stop on our hike, the campsite “Thrasher”. We joined the guys at the fire, and shortly after that, the Prairie Boys came rolling in off the trail. They regaled us with their version of the bear encounter. We had a good last night, talking and making friends.
This day was undoubtedly the highlight of my trip and the best day I had had in a very long time. We all agreed, the rain was a good thing. Without it we wouldn’t have appreciated the day as much, and it gave us a real feeling of earning that hike. That night, Erin and I slept with the tent fly open, so we could look out at the ocean. The moon was full and bright, and a sailboat had anchored just off the beach, it was the perfect end to an amazing day.
Day 7- Thrasher to Pub
We all agreed it would be best to get up early to make sure we didn’t miss the ferry back to the end of the trail. We said our goodbyes to the Prairie Boys who had places to be after the hike, while our three remaining trail friends informed us their vehicles had beer in them. It didn’t take much for us to agree to meet up with them at the end of the trial for a tailgate party.
The trail was another slog through the bush, with quite a bit of climbing up and down, but it was an easy trail to see, even if a bit tricky at times. At least it wasn’t raining. On the hike out, I managed one last slip and fall, this time, bending my other pole nearly 90-degrees. It was somewhat comical but quite embarrassing as it happened while I was trying to get around some hikers going the other way.
We hit the last ladder at the end of the trail. It was tall and almost perfectly vertical, somehow that really makes it scary, like you’re being pulled off of it. We laid down on the pebbled beach and waited for our friends to join us. They weren’t far behind. I put on some music for us all to listen to while we waited for the ferry. Eric, after climbing down the ladder, pulled a rope that raised a float to signal the ferry… good thing someone reads the signs, who knows how long us goofs might have waited there.
While we waited for the ferry, I got everyone’s social media contact so we could be real life friends. Then, there was nothing to do but skip rocks, a skill I have clearly let diminish over the years. I was also introduced to “Jack-Knifing”. The goal is to throw a rock into the water with as small of a splash as possible. Typically you throw the rock high with a lot of backspin.
At long last, the boat came and took us to our waiting vehicles. We drove to the trail office to let them know we had survived. I informed them of our bear encounter she replied “Oh, he’s usually not dissuaded that easily”… comforting. We enjoyed a drink in the parking lot and agreed to meet at the local Port Renfrew pub for some food. I had been dreaming about that chicken burger all week… It was everything I thought it would be, as was the company and conversation.
We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, all of us having grown, I believe, as people for completing this hike. I also think that having made friends on the trail added significantly to the experience. I also have to note that I am very glad we didn’t shorten our trip by a day. We would have missed a lot on those last two days. I guess there is something to be said for toughing it out and
For those that are curious, this is what my trail journal looked like; just basic point form highlights. The writing is rough because I already have ugly writing, and because a lot of it was done in a tent, lying on my back, writing against my palm for stability.
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West Coast Trail: Part 1
Many years ago Erin decided she wanted to do The West Coast Trail, sometime in March 2018 she decided she wanted to do it after her CFE exam. The original plan was for her and our friend Tess to go, an invite was extended to me, I was a solid “maybe”. After our multiday hike through Wilmore, I was a “for sure”. As the hike approached, Erin inadvertently threw herself into quite a whirlwind of a week. She was writing her CPA exam on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday… that’s correct, a 3-day exam. Saturday she was a bridesmaid at a friends wedding, then Sunday we flew out to Victoria, Monday we drove to Port Renfrew to the end of the trail, the next morning we caught a bus to the start and began our hike. I took basic field notes every day, so let’s try telling this story in order. Lastly, I apologize for the quality of some of the photos, many were snapped with a wet cellphone that has a bad camera at the best of times.
Sunday
Our flight left Edmonton about an hour after it was scheduled to. I was somewhat thankful because it gave us time to sit in the airport and get a meal… for the first time in a long time, neither Erin nor myself had anything pressing to attend to. I didn’t have homework, she didn’t have any studying to do, we weren’t at home so we couldn’t even try to clean our basement, our rushed packing had left it looking like a riot had befallen a flea market. All we could do was eat our food and wait, and it was exactly what I needed. I could feel the tension melting out of my body. Eventually, we all loaded onto the plane and headed west. We hit some serious turbulence on the flight, but I seemed to be the only one worried, so it was probably fine. We were picked up and taken to the rental car agency where, through a series of fortunate events, our rental for a small hatchback was upgraded to a fully loaded SUV, including a nav system. Off we went quite pleased with how that worked out. We found our way to the hostel and got some beds, we then decided to take in some of Victoria’s nightlife… by which I mean, go get some food. We found a neat little pub where all the food on the menu was $5.95, I was surprised by the generous portions. While eating, I recalled seeing a homeless man and his dogs about half a block from our hostel. I couldn’t handle it, I ordered some chicken and fries to go, on our way back I handed them to him.
Monday
The hostel had a free breakfast, in classic hostel fashion, it was just toast and coffee or tea. I could tell it was going to be a good vacation, I was really getting into it. Somehow I was just so very pleased with breakfast and found myself in an unusually good mood, it started in the airport and just seemed to carry forward. From there we made our way to Port Renfrew, which would serve as the end of our trail. The drive was amazingly scenic and our rental car was much nicer than my car at home, so it was extra enjoyable. Erin and Tess missed the entire thing, they slept for most of the drive. We hit the only restaurant open, a pub, we then went back to our hotel to repack and make sure we had all we needed.
Day 1 – Trailhead to Michigan
An early start, we drove to the trail office and found parking. Turns out, a local resident rents out the yard of a burnt down house to hikers as parking space. At $30 for the week, it didn’t seem too bad. While waiting for the bus I made friends with some of the people waiting with us, I get the habit of talking to strangers from my mom. Eventually we jumped on the bus and off we went. Leading up to the hike the bus ride is what scared me the most. I have a bad stomach, and I knew it wouldn’t be a charter bus with a bathroom. I had been assured by a friend that the bus makes regular stops at bathrooms along the way. As we piled on the bus, the driver announced “There’s construction along the usual route, so we are going to have to take the back way, it’s a four-hour drive. I’ll stop half way so we can jump out and take a pee in the trees.” My stomach immediately churned. We started down an old beat up row of potholes held together by ribbons of road. The drive itself was uneventful, I listened to podcasts while Erin and Tess slept… seriously, those two can and do sleep anywhere.
By the time the bus arrived, I had a headache from the rattling and the dust. We sat through the trail orientation, which was basically how to use a tidal chart and to not feed the wildlife. We then began our hike. The first bit was on the beach that quickly turned uphill into the woods. Once in the woods, we decided to start using our hiking poles. It was then that Tess realized that her new poles were missing a tension screw that held the lowest portion in place. Luckily Tess isn’t particularly tall, so she was able to just extend the middle section to get the necessary length. A little further on, we came across an old dirt-bike on the trail. Erin informed me that there was time that people would try to run the trail with bikes and that some ended up abandoned on the trail.
Some distance after the bike we heard a strange barking noise. I was pretty confused until I saw on the map that we were near “Sea Lion Rock”. We came to a lookout from the ridge over the beach, and sprawled out on a nice big rock outcropping were dozens of sea lions. I can’t help but wonder how they got up there, they seemed to high above the water and the rock looked pretty steep on all the sides I could see.
Farther on down the trail we came across a lighthouse. The caretaker was friendly and he asked if we were on the first or last day. When we told him “First” he replied “Oh boy, have fun.” It struck me as ominous. Eventually, we arrived at our campsite, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was on an amazing beach and all the trees were full of floats. They must have washed up on shore and people strung them up It was quite beautiful.
We filtered some water from the nearby creek, it was dark red, like tea. Undoubtedly stained by the leaves on the ground. It tasted fine but was a touch concerning. By this time of day my headache had become somewhat debilitating. Luckily Tess had some painkillers in her first aid kit. It turned out that in the pre-trip chaos of weddings and exams, Erin’s carefully packed first aid kit had been left at home.
We built a small fire and cooked some supper, Erin’s famous Mac and Cheese with summer sausage. There were some other hikers camped beside us who were on their last day. They came over and said hello and offered us some of the extra food they didn’t need for their last day: five high protein granola bars. I was worried that had I under-packed my lunches, and these things ended up saving me. Eventually, the day turned to evening and as evenings tend to do, it turned to night. It was Erin and my first night camping in our new tent. It was a dangerous decision to use untested equipment but we simply had no time to take it out before then. All we had time to do was set it up in the yard.
Day 2- Michigan to Tsusiat falls
I woke up early and had a walk around while the tide was low. I was able to walk out to an outcropping of rock and get a closer look at an old boiler from a ship named “MASCOTTE” that burned up in a fire in 1893 after it was sent there to salvage the “MICHIGAN”. The campsite is actually named after the “MICHIGAN”. Once Erin and Tess were up we had some breakfast and began hiking.
The morning had some light rain and it was quite humid. It was during this days hike that we started to see some taller ladders and our first cable car. The wooden ladders were scarier than I thought they would be; they were nice and tall, and had been worn nice and smooth from all the use. They also had a nice layer of water on them to make them perfectly slick. It was like cowboy boots on ice.
Along a section of beach, we stopped for a break on a washed up log of the largest tree I had ever seen in Canada. On an island of big trees, this one was noteworthy for its size. I wonder how long it had lived, how long it took to fall down, how long it took to wash away into the ocean, and how long it took to come back to shore… boggles my mind to think about the things this tree was around for, the changes it was a witness to.
Eventually, we found our way up into the forest and back down a tall set of ladders and onto a beach. This campsite was Tsusiat falls, named for the nearby waterfalls. We wandered, looking for a good place to set up a tent and saw that the campsite was very crowded and by rather young people, we later found out it was an outdoor education class… but, at the time, I worried that it was a Junior B hockey wind up party… some of you might get that joke… let’s just say Junior B hockey is, in my experience, known for fights and drinking more than its known for hockey.
I set down my pack and began rounding up rocks to set up the tent. In that nice soft sand, our tend could not be pegged into the ground properly so we were using rocks to hold the pegs in place. I had just started actually setting up the tent when Tess came back from gathering firewood and informed me that they found a much better, and more secluded campsite.
I put my pack on my pack and bent forward to grab the tent, and the worst thing I can think of happened… I had left my rain cover on my backpack which had filled with sand when I set it down, then that sand fell, with great precision, down the back of my pants, into my underpants, and right between my cheeks… I hate to tell this story, but its almost funny in hindsight. Just imagine being tired, sweaty, and a little chilly and having about 3 handfuls of sand shoveled where the sun don’t shine… We headed to the new campsite, and I grumpily set up the tent while we still had light, I then went straight to the outhouse and did my best to get sand off, and out of me… It has been a few weeks since and I think most of it is gone now.
We then did our best to round up firewood and made a fire. While I got the fire going, Tess and Erin waded into the pool under the waterfall. I ran over and dipped a toe in and decided it was far too cold. We then enjoyed a delicious supper of mashed potatoes and sausage. After we had sat for a bit, a group of 4 came and set up nearby. I wandered over and let them know they were more than welcome to join us at our fire, I used the logic of “one big fire is better than two little fires”. After their camp was established they came and cooked on our fire and we became friends. They were headed the other direction and were from England. They were pretty fun people, and one of them had said that this was his first hike ever. One of the friends chimed in a corrected him, they had taken him up the Grouse Grind in Vancouver to test his tenacity. I cant think of a better trail to test grit. I have actually done that hike and found it pretty rough. So good for him for handling it.
Day 3- Tsusiat falls to Cribs Creek
In the morning, along our hike, we passed under an outcrop of rock that formed a short tunnel. The spirit of vacation overcame me and I climbed up to the top for a photo op. It started to drizzle rain and we put on our rain gear for fear of getting wet, shortly it turned into pouring rain. The gear was a bit of a useless gesture as we were hiking through wet trees. We reached the edge of the Nitinat Narrows around lunch time and waited for the boat to take us across. By this time our rain gear was soaked right through.
It was a short boat ride and ended at an amazing little seafood restaurant. We stopped in for lunch. We also huddled around a wood stove and hung our rain jackets, desperately trying to dry off. While we ate lunch, we were informed that the local band that owned the area rented cabins, just basic 4 bunk cabins with wood stoves for $100 per night. I thought that would be nice, Tess also mentioned she would be ok with it, but for some reason, neither of us really put it forth as an option, all kind of assuming no one else wanted to.
After lunch, we continued our rainy walk along the beach. It was along this stretch that Tess noticed some beach glass. We had been told at orientation that we could take anything man-made from the beach, so beach glass is fair game. I collected beach glass for the rest of the hike, it seems many people have no idea what it is or how to spot it.
We nearly missed our campsite as we were walking along a bit of rocky platform away from shore when we ran into a group coming the other way. They were looking for the same campsite, “Cribs Creek”. Both groups panicked worried that they had severely overshot their destination. As luck would have it, it was right where we had met, and just kind of hidden into the trees a bit. We walked along the low tide and made it to shore to find that everyone had set their tents up in the shelter of the trees, right next to the outhouse and bear boxes (food storage bins). We all kind of shrugged and set up our tents in the group, hoping that so many tents would dissuade a curious bear. We also cooked right next to our tent, another camping faux pas. While setting up to cook, we discovered that our soaked lighter no longer worked, luckily other campers were more than willing to lend us a lighter. Safety in numbers I guess.
We took a look at the map and discussed the possibility of pushing to a farther campsite than originally planned for the following day to try and shave a day off of our hike. It is a very bizarre feeling that I had never experienced before, no matter how bad things were we were minimum 2 nights away from the end. All the other multi-day hikes I went on, there was never a time you couldn’t just hike out in a day. It was a frightening “trapped” feeling. We left it at “we will see how we feel when we get to the next campsite, if we are up for it and the weather is still bad, we will hike to the next.”
At 6:30 after cooking and eating in the rain, we were ready for bed. We climbed in our tent and stripped out of our soaked clothes, wrung them out outside of our tent and set them in the fly. I used my soaked shirt to try and squeegee up some of the water in our tent floor but it more just spread it around. I then hung it up inside the tent in hopes it would go from soaked to soggy by morning (it did not). We then set out our bedding and changed into dry sleep clothes. It is a great feeling to go from cold and wet to dry and warm in a sleeping bag. For as bad as it was, our sleeping gear was still dry and that is worth more than you can imagine until you are there. I laid there wishing I could go back in time 7 hours and rent one of those cabins. We read for a bit and went to sleep, somehow I managed to sleep from sometime between 8 or 9 until 7 am.
Day 4- Cribs Creek to Walbran
The rain had nearly stopped by morning, which was a lucky break Setting up or taking down camp in the rain is miserable and really opens the door to soaked gear, though most of our gear was soaked anyway. Getting dressed in the morning was something akin to torture. ALL of my clothes were sopping wet, including my underpants that had spent the night in the fly of the tent getting nice and cold. I slid them on while making a variety of interesting noises and faces. Erin saw the humour, and I do too, now that some time has passed. Don’t worry, they still had some sand left in them.
There was a river running right beside our campsite and into the ocean. I watched as some hikers attempted to cross it via the rocks we had hiked on the day before, but it appeared just too deep and too wide to jump or rock hop. I decided the smartest way to cross was over a large slick log running the width of the river.
I explained the plan to everyone and said I would go first, to prove concept. I unbuckled my pack so it wouldn’t drown me if I fell. It was a slow cautious walk, but I made it without incident, as did Erin, Tess, and several other hikers. Shortly after that came another ordeal, and outright scramble over a pile of logs that looked like a lumber mill accident… or ambitious beavers, but we made it over. Our trail continued with a lot of beaches. The highlights of the day were seeing another lighthouse and a lot of bear signs, had that bear poop been any fresher we would have seen it being deposited.
We crossed two more rivers via cable car. The rain began again in the afternoon. The last stretch of trail up to the last cable car was all bush, and undoubtedly the worst excuse for a trail I had ever seen. It was not uncommon for the trail to be rough and muddy up to this point, but this was on a whole new level. I would look at the bush closely and see a boot print in the mud 15 feet ahead and know that’s where the trail was. I was essentially acting as a tracker following previous hikers, it reminded me of tracking animals while hunting. At times there would be a bit of trail, that would end abruptly at a deep swamp that we had to scramble around. All while in steady rain and on slippery tree roots. It was at this time that my attitude really fell apart, I didn’t have a big flip out, but I think it was obvious to my companions that I had started to breakdown.
There was nothing to do but keep pushing forward. We were coming up on the campsite and pushing on to the next one simply wasn’t an option, that last push through the woods was too taxing physically and mentally. Again we set up a small tent city in the campsite, this time at Walbran. There were fewer people and the rain had let up somewhat while we set up camp. We borrowed a lighter and made some supper.
We began chatting with some of the hikers we recognized from previous campsites and actually the bus ride to the trailhead. It was nice to talk to some other people and hear their thoughts on the weather. Misery loves company, but I still think I had the worst attitude about it, or maybe we all hid it well from each other.
After supper, I decided to try and light a fire to boost morale. After nearly an hour of making nothing more than smoke, it had gone to the hardest rain I had seen all trip. I was thoroughly soaked, Tess came and informed me that she and Erin had actually gotten a fire going on the other side of the campsite. The spot they had found was a little more sheltered, and the underside of one of the previously burnt logs was still dry when they flipped it over. They then found kindling under some large fallen trees and used some wood shavings from the composting toilets as fire starter. By the time I got to it, it was a true roaring fire.
We stood around it for quite a while, steam rolling off of our sopping clothes. So much steam that it was a little hard to breathe at times. I didn’t care, I’d rather suffocate on steam than freeze to death in wet clothes.
It was another soggy night in the tent, but again, we had the amazing luck of still having dry sleep clothes and sleeping bags. Someday I’m going to write a book about hiking, half stories and half instructional. Rule number 1 will be: ALWAYS keep your sleeping bag and sleeping clothes dry, no exceptions.
Make sure you bring your butts back for part two, coming soon!
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Waterfowl Hunting, and The Delicate Art of Long Term Planning
I would like to say this is the story of how I went goose hunting. About how we canceled their flight plans, then gorged ourselves on goose jerky and cheap beer… but deep down, that’s only half the story. To me, this story doesn’t start in a goose blind at 5 am. Being the cheesy romantic I am (don’t believe me? read some other stories), maybe this story should start nearly a decade ago.
Many years ago, when the Canadian long gun registry was in full swing, the people that didn’t want to deal with registration either hid or sold their firearms. Those that chose to sell were often, in my experience, older gentlemen who hadn’t hunted in many years and who had kids who weren’t into it. It was a complicated situation for a young, gun hungry, boy like me. It was sad to me to see people getting out of it, but it was nice the guns were going back onto the market. The firearms were often quite inexpensive, but they were still more than I could afford given the cost of my education combined with my part-time employment. One instance, that is relevant, is when my brother and I bought some shotguns in this fashion. I walked away with a bolt action Marlin 12 gauge with a comically long barrel and an H&R 10 gauge single shot break action for $60 a piece, a comically low price for comically unique guns. My brother came away with a side-by-side .410 for about $100 if memory serves, I would later purchase it from him and use it for many years for grouse hunting. Years later, someone I had met through my work at Wholesale Sports bought one of the shotguns, the bolt action, from me for $260. He wanted it bad and I was hesitant to sell until he told me the price. I think that is the only time anyone anywhere has made money via guns. Its been nearly 10 years and I have gotten a lot of offers for that old 10 gauge, just a basic cheap single shot shotgun, but in a gauge that people want, just so they can say they have it. I always declined because someday I might want it for goose hunting. A pastime I had never participated in, but someday hoped to.
In 2016 my brother and I finally went goose hunting, with my friend Brad. We laid out in coffin blinds and froze our cheeks off, listening to geese in the distance and saw exactly one bird, a crow. So two years later when Brad offered to take me again I was hesitant, but I was also a few drinks deep at a wedding so naturally, I agreed to go. When I sobered up and thought about it, I decided I best go do it. For one, I do believe you should do sober what you said you would do drunk, two, I needed to justify keeping that gun all those years, and three, goose hunting still, genuinely, looked like fun.
Friday I packed up and headed to Brad’s. I loaded up two shotguns: my 10 gauge and a semi-auto Benelli 12 gauge my uncle had given me. My plan was to use them both and see which I liked more. Some small part of me wanted the $60 single shot H&R to outperform the $1600 Benelli. Deep down I had a suspicion that the single shot would come up short. I arrived at Brad’s late in the evening. My intention was to go to bed immediately but Brad insisted on a few beers and some TV first. By the end of it, I had gone to bed at 1 AM. At 5 AM he woke me up for hunting, how he looked so crisp and ready for the day eludes me, I guess welders just know how to burn at both ends.
I drug my sad slug of a body out of bed and got dressed. Our friends, who were also brothers, Tyler and Dylon, were already there and starting to load their gear into the trailer with the blind and the decoys. We finished loading up and headed to our spot, a field by Brad’s parent’s house. We found a spot that looked good, it had a bit of a headwind and some short trees near a fence where we put our blind. It was a big homemade contraption made of rebar and burlap, it looked somewhat like a hay bale and comfortably sat the four of us on chairs. While setting out the decoys I couldn’t help but marvel at the stars shining through the early morning darkness, you just don’t get that in the city. We set out the decoys in a big L shape to give geese a pocket to land in, and then we sat and waited for daylight. We sat and chatted and generally enjoyed ourselves. Deep down, my hands were cold and I feared this hunt would be a repeat of my last attempt at goose hunting.
Daylight slowly broke and there wasn’t a bird in the sky. I started to wonder if I was bad luck. I sat with the butt of the Benelli on my thigh and the barrel rested against the blind. When suddenly I heard it, we all heard it, geese in the distance. All three of my companions started hammering their goose calls. We watched the group fly over, circle behind us and come in to land. Dylon, on my right, whispered “wait, wait, wait, wait… now!” we all opened fire and birds fell. A wave of emotion flooded over me, I was relieved that I wasn’t some bad luck charm, and I was nearly giddy at the thought of finally getting my first goose. We ran out and collected the geese and set them out of sight behind the blind. We had a few more waves come in and managed to get a few more geese. Dylon and Tyler also got lucky on some ducks that passed by.
We started noticing Geese were coming in but backing off last minute or simply flying over with no interest in landing. Dylon made the call the rearrange the decoys, his thought was that the area for landing was too small so we needed to split the decoys into two groups. We rushed out and did our best to rearrange. Just as we were finishing up, we could hear geese in the distance. We B-lined for the blind, half crouching, half diving through the small door at the side. In minutes the sky was black with geese, I had never seen anything like it. As they started to land we were afraid to shoot and scare off the geese behind them. There were enough that when groups flew over I could feel the wind from their wings push down onto us. Between being in awe and not wanting to frighten away other birds we did the hunting equivalent of painting ourselves into a corner. All the geese had landed… This left us in a bit of a spot, shooting waterfowl on the ground is a somewhat debated topic in hunting. There’s no doubt it’s effective, but there is a question of ethics. We decided meat was our goal and decided to go for it. On the count of three, we jumped up, fired a shot, and tried to hit a few more flying away. It worked and worked well. We rounded up all the downed geese and were nearly at our limit. I swapped shotguns to the 10 gauge, but sadly, nothing more came. We decided to shut it down for the day and head to Brad’s to clean the geese.
Benelli in the Blind
Tyler and Brad Watching Geese
The Aftermath
Our Haul
That day of hunting was so fun we decided we best go again the following Saturday, just for good measure. So, just like we planned, I came back out the following Friday, this time with another case of beer AND a bottle of wine for Brad’s wife… since it was so kind of her to put up with me invading two weekends in a row. This time I was smart and went to bed at midnight instead of 1 AM, by 5 AM wakeup I was fresh and well rested. Comparatively. This time, Dylon couldn’t make it.. having a job is really cutting into his hunting, poor guy. His spot in the blind was filled by Tyler’s girlfriend Kendra. We loaded into the truck and hit a different field this week. This time we set up near a patch of bush that sat like an oasis in an overturned field.
We assembled the decoys and set them out in the split pattern that was so successful the previous week. Then we sat and waited for daylight, and all made fun of Tyler a bit. It was mostly Kendra, but we all pitched in. The sun arrived and the geese came with it, and much like the sun, they stayed high in the sky. It would seem they were afraid of the trees we had set up beside. Lesson learned, keep away from the bush, it makes sense, that’s where predators hide, also hunters, I guess. We sat and called and eventually got a small group or two to come in, this netted us a goose or two. The geese, for the most part, were landing on the other side of the field, I hatched a plant to try and sneak up and scare them, maybe they would circle and land by our decoys, or maybe I could snap a few out of the sky when I spooked them. I was wrong, I got to within 200 yards, maybe, and they all flew away, and were just gone. I wandered back to the blind and we continued calling. Then, we saw a group of ducks coming in nice and low toward us, Kendra and I took aim and fired. A single duck fell out of the sky and landed just a few meters from the blind in the trees behind us. Tyler was kind enough to go grab it. Kendra informed me that it was, in fact, my duck that fell. I think it may have been hers, but since I had never shot a duck before, I claimed it. We called some more and had one more string of geese come in, we fired, I have no doubt one of those geese was mine. After that, it was late in the morning and there didn’t seem to be any geese in the distance. We packed up and headed back to Brad’s to clean up our bounty. While we were cleaning, Kendra went into the house and helped Brad’s wife, Alyssa, make an amazing breakfast. Eggs Benedict is now my new favourite way to end an already successful hunt.
My first Mallard
The end goal
It took two days, but I got to try both my shotguns, and it answered none of my questions. I still don’t know which gun I like more, but for the price of ammo, I’ll likely stick to the 12 gauge. Guess I’ll have to save that old 10 for if I ever get a chance to go turkey hunting. Now that’s what I call a plan.
P.S. I had my camera with me on the first day and got some footage. I did my best to edit it together for my Youtube channel, see it here. I hope you enjoy it, I am trying to expand my youtube channel a bit.
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Erin’s Cafe
Erin had a brief break between classes (shes headed for her CPA in September, so send some good vibes), so we decided to take a long weekend off of work and head into the mountains, along with our dog, Jasper.
Start of the hike
One of my favorite restaurants is Erin’s Cafe. It’s a bit hard to get to and its always moving around, but the food and the atmosphere are hard to beat. The Chef is cute too. This time, I was informed the Cafe would be popping up in Willmore Wilderness Park. We drove there and started hiking in, our first meal was lunch, a light snack, if you will, of dried fruits, nuts, and a hint of chocolate (regular trail mix with the addition of almonds and dried apricots), our lunch dessert was chocolate drizzled over nougat and peanuts in bar form (snickers) it was delicious. The hike in was fraught with rain and river crossings, the deepest being somewhere just below knee height which did require me to carry my dear companion, Jasper. He was less than impressed with the idea. I, on the other hand, was really enjoying myself, I had never really hiked in a heavy rain before and found that it was not the hindrance I thought it would be. Turns out having a good raincoat and rain cover for your pack works as well as advertised. We also got very lucky and didn’t have to set up our tent in the rain as it died down just before we got to our campsite.
River crossing fun. Seriously though, this is my favourite picture of myself.
Jasper wasn’t big on the rain.
At the end of our 20km hike in, we set up our hotel room (tent) and I watched the expert chef prepare the first supper of the trip, a single course meal of Rotini with fettuccine sauce and summer sausage. Literally just boiled noodles, with a pack of knorr soup mix and some cubed summer sausage, it was good but made me… flatulent. After supper entertainment was conversation around a campfire. The sky was overcast and threatening to start raining again, we laid our gear out to try and dry it a bit, but shortly after supper, it started to rain. We retreated to our tent, read our books and went to sleep. Jasper curled up in Erin’s sleeping bag with her.
Our campsite
Making a fire
Day two, breakfast was a medley of fruit, granola, milk, and some hints of chocolate. It was granola cereal with dried fruit, chocolate chips, and dehydrated milk (it works great, just add water and go). We then proceeded to hike up a mountain on the south side of the pass. On top of the mountain, we found some sheep sign (poop) but no sheep. We were fortunate enough to spot a ptarmigan, it was the first time I had seen one. Once on top of the mountain, I glassed around and we decided to go down and back up the next one to have a look around. Besides the view, it seems all there was to see was a curious marmot. We stopped for a repeat of lunch, complete with another snickers bar, and then headed back to our base camp. On the route back we spotted 7 marmots in a group, two of whom were wrestling each other, must have been brothers. Once back at camp I looked at the menu and ordered the garlic mashed potatoes with summer sausage with an extra dash of olive oil. It was powdered garlic mashed potatoes that Erin made, she then added a bit of olive oil for calories, some Parmesan cheese and again some summer sausage, it is one the best meals I have ever eaten… it is very likely my hunger made me bias. The day concluded with us sitting around a campfire. I took an occasional break to look at the mountains with my binoculars in a vain attempt to see wildlife. That night I decided to try and let Jasper cuddle up with me. It turns out we are both too fat to share a sleeping bag. I ended up stuck on my left side all night, I barely slept and awoke with a sore shoulder.
Attempting to dry our gear before heading out.
Jasper looked chilly so we put Erin’s bandanna on him.
Erin having a nap after our trail lunch
That Island in the middle is our campsite
Me glassing for sheep
Alpine flowers
there was still snow in many places
Jasper tired out from a long day
Supper. Dehydrated garlic mash potatoes are the best ever.
Dis mine
Cozy
Day 3, we looked for a trail up a mountain on the north side of the pass but were unsuccessful. We instead did a lengthy walk through the valley. It was a nice and gentle walk on a nice wide trail. Which was just too simple for Erin and I so we attempted to blaze a trail through the bush… It didn’t go well, but Erin did find a huge morel mushroom. We gave up on blazing the trail and headed back to our base camp, the way we came in. We made it back to camp and for supper enjoyed conchiglie pasta noodles with an amazing cheddar sauce and just a hint of summer sausage… We just packed in some macaroni and cheese and added the remainder of our cubed summer sausage. For dessert, in honor of Erin’s late grandfathers birthday, we had a lavacake and shot of whiskey. The lava cake was just a dehydrated one from the camping store and we packed in my flask. It was all quite good. We then had another campfire and sat around a chatted. I filled up our water bottles from the stream and then we went to bed.
Jasper borrowed my jacket
Lots of animal tracks
Erin Climbing
Found this at a campsite
Giant morel in July
Erin Climbing
Erin Climbing
me, from Erin’s climbing spot
our trail
one of the many campsites
mid-hike nap
tired and cuddly
family portrait
Mac and cheese is already dehydrated so it only make sense to bring it hiking
no time for pictures when you’re eating cake
scenery
Day 4, the last day, we got up a little bit earlier than usual and packed up our camp. We more or less retraced our trail in, this time the weather was amazing and the barefoot river crossings were more refreshing than torturous. That said, I found that the blisters I had started to develop at the end of day 3 were starting to really ripen during the walk out. We stopped along the trail around 9 am for some breakfast as I prefer not to eat immediately after waking up, I find it upsets my stomach. On the last, and widest river crossing, I decided to just let my boots soak, they were already quite soggy as I had to cross the rivers barefoot and my feet didn’t dry completely before putting my boots back on, so over time they got wet. This decision was likely a mistake as my now sopping wet boots really made my blisters come to life. Blisters are a rarity for me, typically my feet are very forgiving. On one of our stops, Erin was kind enough to bandage my foot for me… Hey, this cafe has a nurse too!… wait, I hope she washes her hands before preparing food. We finally limped our way to the trail-head, Jasper immediately ran under the car to get in the shade. Erin and I changed out of our sweaty clothes and I began working the water pump in the parking lot, after a few minutes I started to think maybe it’s just decorative, as nothing was happening. A stroke before my surrender, I heard that unmistakable sound of water coming up the well. It was ice cold, I pumped it while Erin splashed some on her face, then we switched.. it may be the most refreshing experience of my life, that ice cold well water helped peel the layers of sunscreen and bug spray off my sweaty face. Glad I didn’t give up on pumping.
Our campsite had a “green thrown” (open air outhouse)
Breakfast
The crossings were much nicer on the hike out
We loaded our gear and our dog into the hot car, rolled the windows down and headed out. Erin had to drive because I was too burnt out and my feet hurt. We stopped for pizza on the way home and it was everything I thought it would be. Erin calculated all our walking, we did 72km total those four days… no wonder Jasper was so tired out, what a trooper.
Posted in Hiking, How-To, Photo Drop, Recipewith no comments yet.
Cannon Shoot
Every family has strange traditions… one of my family’s particularly odd ones is attending the annual cannon shoot. I was lucky enough to have this story published in the NFA’s firearms journal, their bi-monthly publication that they send to members. For more information on the NFA (and how to become a member) visit their website here.
My parents have the second weekend of September booked off indefinitely for the annual cannon shoot. Its a full weekend event, most folks drive out Friday and camp out until Sunday. I have attended it a few times over the years and have seen my step-dad’s cannon do a lot of shooting over the years, he’s had it for about as long as I’ve been alive and definitely as long as I can remember. In 2016 I went and assisted my friend Brad who had made his own cannon and mortar, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. What I enjoy most about the competition is that its not really that competitive, I think there’s more competition on who can make the best joke on the firing line… in fact there is a trophy for that, called the “Screw Ball” award. Another aspect that I always find a bit interesting is that my step-dad and his friend Germain, who run the cannon together, are usually the youngest guys there by about 25 years. So naturally there’s a wealth of knowledge there but also there’s just something about old black powder guys that just makes them fun to hang around with.. maybe its the sense of humor required to use a dirty, smoking, outdated method of propulsion, or maybe there’s just some chemicals in that smoke that cross your wires. Either way, if you ever get a chance to spend time with a group of old black powder shooters, do it, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
Darrell and Germain’s cannon
Well, last year one of the old guard of the group had off-hand mentioned that he wasn’t sure he was up to coming out this next year. Running a cannon alone is a lot of work, in fact doing it with two people still constitutes a good workout, if you ask me. At any rate, my parents did what any parent would do… they volunteered a child as free labour to a cannoneer. I just realized that statement probably hasn’t been relatable for over 100 years. Furthermore, I am always interested in things that go boom, and learning, so I was on board immediately. My original plan was to help Brad with his cannon too, as I had the year before. However, he ended up not coming due to work obligations.. can you imagine being such a workaholic that you miss a cannon shoot? Poor guy needs help.
This year the cannon shoot was in Athabasca, which is lucky because my dad lives near there so I was able to sleep at his house over the weekend. I arrived Saturday morning and was introduced to Dan, he was an older fellow and was dressed pretty much how you’d expect a seasoned cannon shooter to be dressed. Blue jeans, a button up western shirt, suspenders, cowboy boots, and a hat that has seen more miles than I have. We hit it off immediately, we headed to his cannon and he gave me a once over of it and walked me through the procedure. Ill give you a quick step by step with some side notes here.
- MAKE SURE NO ONE IS DOWN RANGE ( he didn’t tell me this, but its just common sense that I feel is important to drill into everyone)
- Grease and load a led slug into the barrel. The most common projectiles are lead cylinders between 1 and 2 inch diameter, ours were 1 3/4 across I believe, and typically about 3 inches long or so. Guys make them by melting and pouring lead into a mold, the most common way to get bulk lead is weights from tire shops. We would also usually grease or lube a few slugs at a time and just set them aside. The slugs where placed into the rear of the cannon and tapped all the way in with a metal bar and a hammer until flush.
- Next we take the breech and fill it with black powder (about a prescription pill container full.. that was our unit of measure), place some wadding on top and then insert a fuse into the side.
- Screw the breech onto the back of the cannon (where you had just put the lead slug) usually we had to use a bar as a snipe to get it on all the way.
- Aim the cannon at your target, typically cannons use a peep sight on the rear and a post on the front. Left and right is adjusted by moving the rear of the cannon along the ground, often a tap with a hammer is enough to shift it. Elevation is adjusted with a screw gear between the barrel and the carriage, allowing the barrel to pivot up and down on its mounts.
- Announce to the line that you are ready, we were station two so we would yell “Ready on two!”
- Once all cannons on the line were ready we would fire in turn “Firing on two!” light the fuse with a propane torch, announce “fire in the hole!” and watch your target and hope you hit it.
- Once everyone has fired, the breech is unscrewed and a wet rag is pushed down the barrel to clean it and make sure there’s no smoldering bits of black powder or wadding that could set off the next load of powder. A dry rag is then run through.
- The breech threads are wiped with a wire brush.
- The cannon is pushed forward back to the line, the shot pushed it back about a foot
- Back to step 1.
The Shooting line. We are second from the end (white chassis)
Black powder is very dirty to work with. I was wearing rubber gloves but they would just rip from handling bits of metal and tightening the breech on and off. I tried leather work gloves but found I needed a bit more dexterity for loading the slugs in so they were constantly on and off. By the end of the day I admitted defeat and just let my hands turn black.
Our reloading bench, that is the breech and you can see a lead slug in the lower left
Back to the actual event. Dan was giving me a quick once over of his cannon and as I bent down to have a look at the bore, my nose started to bleed. It was off to rough start today, I quickly grabbed some paper towel and plugged my nose. Its rare for me to get a nose bleed but it inevitable happens at the worst times, of course.
Our first shoot of the day was at metal pipe at about 100 yards. We loaded up and aimed the cannon. Dan said that his gun usually shoots a bit to the right so lets go a touch left of center. I sighted us in and he bent down for a final inspection, said “looks good” and we were ready to rock. Station one, a very funny man named Henry, fired and missed by millimeters. Dan handed me the torch and told me to light it. I fired up the fuse and hoped for the best. The cannon let out a crack and a whole mess of smoke and the pipe did a back-flip. We hit it a little low of dead center. It was going to be a fantastic day. We had two more shots at the piece of pipe “where it lays” we hit it once more. The next event was stumps, same distance, hit the stump and then try and hit the largest piece that’s left, 3 shots. Our first shot split the stump and the second one cracked what was left, we missed the third. The points were, I believe 1 point per hit, the rules were kinda made up immediately before we shot. This part of the event was referred to as “the junk shoot” so it was pretty free and easy. The next junk shoot was an old fire alarm bell on a 2 inch stake, about 4 feet tall. It was decided, 3 points for hitting the bell, 1 for hitting the post and 2 for cutting the post. Our first shot rang the bell and sent it sailing 40 yards down range, our following two scared the post but never connected.
Dan making sure we are lined up
Stumps before
Stumps after
I was wondering if a slug would go through or just deform the bell. Now I know.
My favorite event, which was something new they decided to try this year, was “The Post”. Each cannon would take a turn shooting at the same post, it was a point for a hit and 2 points for cutting the post down. Cutting it down would also signal the end of the round. With 7 cannons we did three rounds. Several of the teams hit it and gave it a good wobble, and you could see a lot of kindling fly off of it, but it just didn’t want to go down.. that was until, Dan and I managed to bull it over with a shot that may have been more luck than skill, but keep that under your hat for me. We decided to break for lunch, some sandwiches, chili, and a variety of other snacks. My mom is the raining champion of cannon shoot food, every year its the highlight of the event… she does the same thing at the annual DMay fun shoot too. Im sure half of those guys arent into cannons or guns, just good meals. While having lunch a few people, including Dan had mentioned that his gun was shooting very well this year. There was some joking debate about if it was fresh eyes or beginners luck that made the difference. Either way I was happy with how the day was going.
After lunch we went back for the official shoots. There were two, one shooting at individual targets at 100 yards, and we were given points for however close were were to the bullseye. This shoot was called the “Roger Cadeaux Memorial” in reference to an older member who had passed away. Dan and I did ok, but Darrell and Germain tied with another team which lead to a shoot off, one shot, closest to center wins. That last event of the day was everyone shooting, in turn, at a large bulls-eye at 200 yards. This was again a memorial shoot named after Mr. Andy Wood, who had also passed. We did manage to connect but we did not shine at this event. I was still pretty pleased with the results of the day. After that we had supper, another staple of the event. We had some meatballs in mushroom sauce, amazing homemade chicken wings, a variety salads and some very noteworthy desserts. By the end of the meal I was worried I would split open like those stumps we shot. We then sat and joked and told stories and just generally enjoyed ourselves. Dan wandered over and handed me a beer and we toasted the days success. When the daylight was far enough away, I headed to my dads and spent some time with him. Discussed the day and pet the pug.
Our results for the Roger Cadeaux event
The next morning we were back out with the cannons. The first event was tires. Truck tires were set perpendicular to the shooting line (so they could roll toward or away from us) and we had three shots to see who could get the most distance. After each shot we could go stand our tires back up. Our tire only rolled a few feet but, to our right, at station three, they managed to push theirs nearly 100 yards. Darrell and Germain had theirs roll back and fall over right behind someone else’s tire, effectively blocking them. It wasn’t intentional but we all considered it a personal favour anyway. Next, and my second favourite shoot, was water filled washer jugs and propane tanks. They were placed at random between 80 and 120 yards. There were seven cannons, so the jugs and tanks were spray painted with numbers so there were 3 with each number on them, then were drew straws to see what number you were shooting at. Dan and I got number 5. What made this fun for me was that because they were randomly set out, some targets were blocked by other peoples so you had to strategise a bit. Shooting a far target first would reduce your chances of someone else’s target landing in your way after it got shot, but it also, in our case, meant that a slight miss would mean hitting a competitors target and giving them a free point. We opted to work front to back in the hopes that people would knock their targets out of way. As luck would have it, we went three for three on our washer jugs. It is a great feeling to see those jugs explode when that much lead slams into them.
Up next were the mortars. This event was the Doc memorial. I had actually met Doc a few times over the years, to describe him as a character probably wouldn’t quite do him justice. Lets just say he was well liked and not the kind of fellow you forget meeting. In fact he was so dedicated to the cannon community that last year we had spread his ashes, via a mortar, at the cannon shoot. We also hung a picture of him at the firing line so he could watch.
The mortars are loaded and operated in a similar fashion to the cannons, though most people fill them from the top instead of having a removable breech like the cannons. For shot, some people use lead with a bit of a tail on it to help stabilize it and some people, like Dan, use cement filled beer cans. Darrell and my friend Brad (who got most of his designs from Darrell) use hockey pucks held together with an eye bolt which has a rope attached to it, this stabilizes and helps us find them when you miss and hit the trees. They all have their pros and cons, the pucks tend to bounce more which can sometimes help you get closer to target… or throw you away from it. Where as the lead and cement cans are more authoritative in their landing. Lead seems to get the least push from wind, and beer cans full of cement are typically the cheapest to make. Pick your poison, as they say. I like the pucks, personally, as they are the easiest to make and not too expensive. The goal when shooting a mortar is to get as close as possible to an object, typically a tire laid down at about 75 yards, and bounces count. Mortars are always a good time because its mostly guess work and something funny always happens, someone puts a half load and throws their shot 4 feet or doubles the load and loses their shot passed the end of the 200 yard berm. This year was no exception and Dan and I lost a can into the trees. I couldn’t find it, but I did find a different brand of beer can full of cement that someone had lost the previous year, so we came with six cans and left with six cans, who cares if they weren’t the same. We didnt do particularly well in this event but it was still fun.
After the mortars, it was all over. We packed up our gear onto trailers and into trucks. Everyone pitched in and helped everyone get packed up. We then had some lunch, leftover chili and some more sandwiches and what ever desserts were left. That chili was just as good second time around, no question. After we were all squared away we met up in the club house for the final numbers and trophies. The screw ball award went to Darrell who I believe had had and incident and dumped a breech full of black powder onto the ground. I dont recall the mortar trophy’s new owner or the proud recipients of the Andy Wood and Roger Cadeaux. Then to my surprise I was awarded “Best Effort” more as a thanks for all my running around up and down range and helping everyone load up. Its usually the award given to new comers so I kinda got it by default, but I was still more than happy to accept it. Then when they started doing the top 3 overall, I got excited thinking Dan and I may have squeaked into 3rd place. We were shooting well all weekend and I was half keeping an eye on the competition and I knew we were in the top half or so. Third place was announced and it wasn’t us, so I figured we placed 4th or so, not too shabby if you ask me. 2nd place went to Darrell and Germain, which isn’t surprising as they are pretty good with that gun of theirs. When they announced 1st place my hat nearly flew off. Dan and I had somehow accumulated enough points in the junk shoots and kept up well enough in the other events we pulled off 1st place! This gave us two trophies as there is one for overall 1st place and one for bore diameter over 1.5 inch which we also qualified for. Dan and I shook hands and celebrated our success. We each got a 1st place trophy to take home and put on the shelf to brag about to guests. Those 2 trophies (best effort and 1st place) are real conversation starters, I must say.
As we packed up and headed out I shook Dan’s hand again and thanked him for the cannon education. He thanked me for the help. Just before I left I said “do it again next year?” “yep” was his reply. I’m already looking forward to it.
It also occurred to me and made me chuckle… I have a trophy for winning a cannon shoot, and I dont even own a cannon. But never fear, I plan on building one someday, and dont worry, you’ll hear all about it.
The Illustrious Screw Ball Award. I feel like more competitions need this trophy.
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