THE BLACK CLOUD MOVES DOWN-ISLAND

So when I last typed up an entry for this blog, we had returned to Campbell River (CR) with our booty of one spring salmon and five vermilion rockfish.  The plan was to hang around in CR, maybe get out for another try for salmon, then I would head down to Sooke to meet up with some old friends.  We got back to CR on Sunday evening, leaving Jamie’s boat at his house, along with some of our gear as it later turned out.  Monday morning Jamie called, with news that some friend had boated a boodle of big beautiful salmon on Sunday, and would we like to go out fishing RIGHT NOW!?!?  Neither Marcel nor I felt up to the challenge of a long day in the boat, Jamie never being keen to return to port until darkness is arriving.  Or later.  So we declined his kind offer, but gave him a hand to launch his boat again and he had in the meantime invited his lady friend to accompany him, which was just fine by us.  Marcel and I took the opportunity to smoke and can some coho and the rockfish from the trip, pleased indeed when every single jar sealed properly.  (Yes I KNOW they call it CANNING, but one uses JARS not CANS, I am not responsible for this nomenclature.)  We had a lovely supper and a pleasant evening, and turned in early.

In the meantime, as we later learned, Jamie had encountered some gnarly weather, had travelled quite some distance trying out various spots, had caught one or two fish but nothing to write home about, and then got surprised when darkness fell earlier than it did in say June.  So he was out on the ocean in the dark and headed for shore at full speed, when suddenly a light that had seemed to be part of the skyline blasted a horn three times and turned on all of its deck lights.  In fact it was not the skyline, it was a large barge, dead ahead and closing quickly.  Jamie averted disaster and got back to port quite some time after dark.  Marcel and I were both quite thankful we had not been aboard for this adventure........

..........but we wanted one last kick at the can before I departed CR, so we made plans and preparations to head out the next day in Marcel’s boat, which is at a CR marina not very distant from his home.  It took some time to actually reach the boat, however, since we needed to retrieve one of Marcel’s downrigger rods from Jamie’s home, across the city, then it turned out the PFDs were still at Marcel’s, then we needed to pick up some fuel...........but by the crack of noon we were back out on the water, rigging for salmon.  The winds and tides being what they were, there was one small bay that was somewhat sheltered and a known hotspot for salmon this time of year.  Seems that everybody else knew that tidbit, and we saw sixteen boats in quite a small patch of water – including a bunch of boats from Painter’s Lodge, said boats not being known for expert handling nor common courtesy out on the briny.  Neither of us wanted to be part of a gong show, so we headed to another spot not far distant, where we set up to fish.  Except that one of Marcel’s releases was somewhere else............so we could fish with one rod down, or make a run to a marina in the same general area, which we did.  Customer service at said marina is not one of their strong points, and only half an hour after we tied up alongside, I was able to purchase a downrigger release from the unenthusiastic staff member who had come down to the (locked) store so I could buy said release.

And now armed with two releases, we set up repeatedly in search of salmon, or heck, anything that might bite.  This was not to be, and we wrapped it up to head back home.  Supper that evening was pizza from Pizza Hut, yum yum, and we discussed the next day’s schedule.  For sure, it was time for me to leave CR and head south,

The next morning I did some laundry, re-rigged the camper, and set off down the island highway towards Comox.  There I visited my old buddy Bill, and finally met his lovely wife Maureeen, and we had a grand visit for an hour or two, then it was time to be off again for a visit to family members in Parksville.  I asked Bill the best way to get to Parksville, and he suggested I take the SCENIC route, which would surely land me in Parksville in under an hour, and therefore on time to meet my next victims.

I KNOW better than to follow somebody’s directions for a scenic route, when there is a highway alternative................

...........but instead I followed said directions for the scenic route, which included fighting through downtown traffic until the road was blocked, on a blind downhill curve, by a police cruiser directing all traffic down a small road.  There was absolutely no place to turn around, and so there I was with stopped traffic as far as the eye could see, and the clock ticking for my next visit.  A couple hours later, I was finally at my next destination, that being the home of Mike and Colleen, who are family on my father’s side.  We had a good visit, and at Mike’s urging I also called my folks back in London Ontario to catch up a bit with them.  Then it was time to hit the road again for Nanaimo and my intended evening stop-over.

And I FORGOT to take pictures of Marcel and Diane, Bill and Maureen, and Mike and Colleen, so no pics for this blog entry, sorry.

I had reserved a spot at “Living Forests Ocenaside RV Resort and Campground” or some similar name, in Nanaimo, based on a recommendation from the Woodall’s Guide about where to camp in North America.  So far I would say Woodall’s is batting less than .500...........and after driving all the way around the park, I finally located the very well hidden site to which I was assigned, on a cleverly concealed switchback behind the pit toilets.  So I made camp, detected the fact there was no wifi at this quite expensive campground, and had a lovely supper of left-over pizza and a couple glasses of bingo, and enjoyed quite a good sleep back in my camper after a week and a half or so of sleeping elsewhere.

Next stop was to visit some friends in Victoria, who had suggested we meet at such-and-such a municipal parking garage, but once they understood the dimensions of my rig they directed me to a parking lot at a shopping mall, which was a MUCH better choice.  I met them there without major incident, got the rig parked, and off we went to some place in downtown Victoria.  Gord and Kim have been here for about ten years, and both are now retired and enjoying the change of pace.  We had a grand lunch, and a highly enjoyable visit, and I neglected to take their picture also.  At one point I inquired about Victoria traffic, rush hour, and such, and was assured that there was hardly any traffic and all was well.  Now, these folks live in a condo right downtown and so don’t drive much, and certainly not at 4 pm, so I surely do not blame them for the stop and go traffic that was my reality for the next hour or so.  I finally turned off for Sooke, with hardly a whisker of traffic, and breathed much easier.  Right up until I started driving the twisting, turny, hilly road out to Sooke, in the process thereof depriving perhaps a hundred would-be Mario Andretti’s from doing their thing behind the wheels of their much faster and more manoeuverable vehicles.  I finally spotted a decent place to get off the road, whereupon I was passed by quite a parade of folks, some of whom waved with all of their fingers.  From there it was a short drive to the magnificent home of old friends Scott and Anne-Marie.

That was a few days ago and I have had an outstanding visit, but my thumbs are worn right down to nubbins again, and it seems that the NEXT entry should portray the fine fishing and wonderful reunion that have taken up my time since that arrival.

And it would appear that The Black Cloud that had hovered over Campbell River, Nootka Sound and the Living Forests Emporium and Camper Maze disappeared somewhere south of Nanaimo.............

Until the next time.........

JUST FOR THE HALIBUT

One of my principal aims in undertaking this trip was to fish for halibut.  I have now fished for halibut a number of times, off Alaska and BC, and my previous efforts have always been in vain.  In fact, there have been only two main items on my “Bucket List” – those being to catch a halibut and to shoot an elk.  Thus two of the planned activities for this Great Western Road Trip were a halibut trip off the west coast of Vancouver Island, and an elk hunt in southeastern BC.

As noted in my last entry, I arrived in Campbell River on Vancouver Island a number of days ago, in fact two days earlier than planned after some long days in the saddle.  I was, to say the least, GREATLY looking forward to some time with dear friends and NOT behind the wheel of my truck.  I had a couple days upon arrival here to unwind and de-stress (is that a word?) from the road, and to prepare for an epic adventure to the “Outside,” that being the west coast of the island, next stop Japan.  My buddy Marcel has been reading up on halibut and buying every gadget, rod, reel, you-name-it that people suggest is needed to do battle with these fish, which can weigh hundreds of pounds.  The SMALL ones, known colloquially as “chickens,” are twenty to thirty pounds, and the tackle is also quite stout:  the rods are like pool cues, the reels much like the cable drums on a telephone truck, the lures heavier than the fish I normally catch back home, and so on.  It’s kind of like big game hunting, but the quarry is finned and lives many leagues under the sea.  One needs to gird one’s self for battle out on the open ocean where conditions are often frightful, and small mistakes can prove fatal.

So the last time I had ventured forth in search of halibut, in 2012, we were in Marcel’s boat, which is a very sea-worthy eighteen footer.  We were in Winter Harbour, on the northwest coast of Vancouver Island, but the SMALLEST seas we experienced were eight foot swells and indeed spent one day bottled up in port, where even the large commercial fishing vessels had come inside the sheltered waters to tie up alongside and wait out the typhoon.  So this time we were heading out in Marcel’s buddy’s boat.  Jamie has a lovely twenty-four foot boat with a high bow and wide beam, a cuddy cabin, onboard galley, and other luxurious touches including an onboard head.  Now Jamie is a plumber by trade, in fact he owns his own plumbing business, and the cobblers kids go bare-foot.  (If you are not familiar with that aphorism, please Google it.)  So of course the aforementioned onboard head is out of service, and a sturdy five gallon Home Depot bucket serves the same purpose, but somewhat less pleasantly so.  BUT!  A bucket beats out a gunwale, hands down, in rolling seas, and both are better than jumping buck naked into the briny to pump bilges.  But that is quite another story which, it must be said, has passed into the realm of legend.  And the statute of limitations on that kind of thing is “forever.”

But I am getting ahead of myself, which is not uncommon these years in my re-telling of a story.  Back in Campbell River (“CR”) before our departure, we made ready the boat, loaded up a goodly pile of fishing gear, and provisioned the craft with a month’s supply of victuals for a three-day trip.  Along with a small quantity of alcoholic beverages, so that in the evening hours onshore we might have some refreshment after a long hard day hauling monstrous fish from the deep fathoms.  Boy Scouts we are, as in Be Prepared!  All was in readiness on Friday morning when we departed CR in Jamie’s pickemup truck, hauling the boat across the island to the coastal village of Gold River.

At the launch ramp in Gold River, which is under First Nations management, we managed to avoid breaking any limbs on the rotted dock (watch your footing!) and also had the opportunity, it being low tide, to wait for people to launch and recover their boats in sub-optimal depth conditions.  (To wit:  If your boat has a two foot draft, and the depth of water in the launch ramp is less than that, it can be excruciatingly interesting to put in or take out.)  And so we had a chinwag with a group of anglers who were waiting to recover their boat and who had been staying at the same resort where we were headed.  They had quite a bit bigger boat than Jamie’s boat.  And for four days they had been unable to go to the Outside, because winds and waves had defeated them.  And the salmon fishing was extremely poor.  And so was the fishing for ling cod and other bottom fish.  NOT a propitious start for our grand adventure, but then of course these fellows were probably not made of the same sturdy stuff as we three.

We eventually got launched and away we went.  It was somewhat breezy, but we were in water that is fairly protected, and off we went towards Moutcha Bay and its eponymous resort.  We made a valiant attempt to go to the Outside, but perhaps one quarter the way to our destination it was evident that the waves would make fishing impossible.  In fact the waves, which were building steadily, made headway pretty much impossible, and we were getting a salty shower with every other crest or so.  And therefore we headed back into the shelter of the headlands, where we set up the downriggers to troll for salmon.

I am pleased to report that fairly soon we had a salmon on one of the lines, and my buddies graciously allowed me to bring it in.  We had been told a couple days before that the ONLY lure catching Chinook salmon in this area was a Gold Coast Kingfisher spoon in watermelon colour, so of course we went to a local tackle shop in CR and bought the last two they had.  Maybe the secret was out...........  Anyways, this lure was indeed the downfall of our first fish of the trip, and it was a nice “spring” as they call them out here, probably about eight pounds.  It was dispatched with the fish bonker, and placed in the hold along with the fourteen buckets of ice we had bought at the bulk ice store in CR.  Here is that fish:

And so we trolled for many an hour under the scorching sun, changing lures and trying out some of the known hot spots, but by the time we went ashore to register at the Moutcha Bay Resort we were pretty much sun stroke victims and very pleased to stand on dry land.  And we still had one salmon in the hold, with no company.  So Jamie has a nephew who works as a guide at the resort, and he had arranged for us to have a suite and a slip at a preferential rate.  It was a VERY nice suite indeed, with a full kitchen, so our plan to cook meals onboard the boat went out the window.  Marcel had brought lots of food including venison steaks, chicken wings, prawns, burgers, and some leftover hot dogs for our dining pleasure.  So I had a couple re-heated hot dogs, yum yum while Jamie and Marcel opted for Bacon Cheesburgers, fries, calamari and Caesar Salad from the restaurant.  I had supper at 7:30 or so and I am fairly certain that they ate around 10 pm by the time their orders were cooked.  We turned in, tired and sated, with visions of halibuts dancing in our heads.

The next morning dawned sunny and cool with a light breeze.  We did not, however, quite greet the dawn and by the time we were back out in the boat it was perhaps 8 am and the breeze had increased a bit.  Nevertheless, the plan was to try to make the halibut hot spot some distance offshore.  Once on the Outside, we worked into steadily building waves and decided when the swells hit about twelve feet that discretion was the better part of valour, so back into the protected waters of Nootka Sound we went and once again broke out the salmon trolling gear.  Bacon and eggs cooked on the onboard BBQ and served up on toasted cheese buns were pretty much the highlight of the day, as we trolled endlessly and caught three small (under-size) salmon, a hake, a copper rockfish and a sea bass.  Plus an underwater hump, which inhaled one cannonball, one snubber, and one downrigger release, total gone in a second about a hundred bucks worth of gear.  Seems the water in that location goes from a hundred feet to thirty feet deep in no time flat.............Downrigging:

We were ready to head for shore when Jamie noticed a large whale blowing and swimming around perhaps a kilometre away.  We went to investigate and were treated to quite a show of humpback whales blowing, sounding, and coming up with their monstrous mouths agape to take in a bellyful of krill or whatever it is that humpbacks eat.  There were at least two whales, probably three, and possibly more, and they seemed not at all disturbed by our boat being in the area.  It was only when another boat approached at high speed, and stopped pretty much directly over the whales, that the whales stopped their surface activity.  It is against the law to approach closer than one hundred metres to a whale, but that did not seem to bother the would-be whale watchers in the other boat.  We left the area, very pleased to have been treated to a show by Mother Nature but ready nonetheless to get off the boat.


 

We were toasted like our cheese buns had been by the time we went back ashore, and the lonely salmon in the hold was still without company.  We spent the evening planning our assault for the next day, helped in part by the appearance of Curtis, the nephew of Jamie who works there as a guide.  Curtis had some timely advice for us and said we had a good chance to get into the halibut if we could get out to such and such a spot, not too awfully far off-shore.  I do not recall my head hitting the pillow, nor do I remember any visions of halibuts dancing in my head, but quite soon after I went to bed it seemed we were getting up for Round Three.  Fortified by a bit of coffee, off we went again.

The wind was fairly steady, but we made decent progress and at last we were at the GPS waypoint suggested as a good bet.  We rigged the very elaborate “halibut anchor”, felt it catch and then hold, and set up our halibut rigs.  Marcel and I had “spreader bars” consisting of about a pound of lead weight and a circle hook with the diameter of a hockey puck, baited with a goodly chunk of salmon belly.  Jamie opted for a jig roughly the size of a tow truck hook, also baited with salmon belly.  And attached to the anchor, hopefully up current from us, was a mesh bag full of salmon heads, herring, and other halicacies, the idea being that any halibut in the area would pick up the scent from all of these goodies and come to investigate, finding our baits in the process.

Below the boat, down a couple hundred feet, swam a Brobdignagian Behemoth named Bertha.  Bertha BUTT, one of the Butt sisters.  Bertha’s family the Hailbutts came from the wrong side of the current and Bertha looked every one of her twenty-three years.  The family had changed their name when they moved into the Gold River area, but everybody knew very well that the BUTTs were furriners and not to be trifled with.  Bertha was in a foul mood:  her husband Bob Butt, the wastrel, had blown the family’s grocery money on cod cheeks at the Newfie Plaice, that new joint near the island that had servers with fin clips and pouty lips.  “What do those Atlantic floozies have that I don’t?” thought Bertha.  The kids would be whining about Tuna Helper AGAIN, and it had been ages since they had eaten a nice meal of squid or octopus.  Suddenly Bertha detected a delicious aroma:  could that actually be salmon heads?  Yes, for certain!  And also salmon belly and maybe a bit of rotted herring!!!  Bertha quivered with delight and started to follow that delectable trail of scent, salivating at the thought of it all.  Suddenly she saw not one but THREE lovely servings of salmon belly, waving seducingly on the bottom.  She approached the first salmon belly, gave it a loving sniff, opened her mouth and BANG!

Where the hell did that salmon belly go?  Was she just imagining it? NO!  It was fleeing away at high speed, far too quickly for her to catch it.

Topside all was pandemonium as we watched our anchor buoy bob past us and we realized we were now unmoored, buffeted by wind and waves and sideways to most of them.  Up came the lines as fast as we could crank them, then raced back to our (floating, thank goodness) anchor rope which was well and truly anchored to the bottom with a thirty pound anchor and twenty feet of logging chain.  Eventually we were able to wrestle the anchor back into the boat and set off in search of our buoy, which we did sight after some sweeping of the area, and got into the net on only the second attempt.  Bertha alas went home hungry and I wrote off the chance to catch a halibut this trip.

“Close, but no cigar.”  Curtis had also remarked that sometimes when the Outisde is too sloppy, people could catch halibut and other bottom fish by running their lures close to bottom.  This we did, and were rewarded with several vermilion rockfish, which are apparently delicious, and which we kept.  They look like this:

By now the wind was getting downright ignorant and we called it a day, as we still had to return to Gold River, recover the boat, and drive back to CR.  Many hours later that was where we were, tired but happy.  Oh yes, while we were away, the salmon fishing in CR had been excellent, with lots of twenty plus pound springs being caught.  “You should have been here yesterday!”

FROM HOPE TO HAPPINESS

It seems to me that I neglected to mention, in my breathless telling of my Saskatchewan travels, that I was in Kandahar again this year.  When I was in Kandahar in 2011, I thought I should probably get the Afghanistan campaign medal, having spent about as long in Kandahar as a certain general did, and he was awarded the medal.  Of course, he only accepted the medal because it would have been wrong to refuse it, said nose-stretcher being widely reported in the media.  And that same fellow is now a federal Member of Parliament in the government of Justin Truedope.  I guess they have compatible values.  Anyways I think I am due the Afghanistan medal, with rosette, for TWO tours in Kandahar.

The other observation about Saskatchewan is some of the place names.  Last time I noticed FALLIS and wondered how the good people of that hamlet pronounced the name of their municipality (turned out they say FALL as in the season, IS.  So this time I noticed Colonsay.  “OK your mind thinks it knows what to do, but what does your Colonsay?”

So when I last added details to this blog I was leaving Creston BC and foreshadowed the fact that I wound up at Hope, also in BC.  What I did not tell you was that this drive, between Creston and Hope, was INSANE.  You all know that sometimes the smallest decision will lead to consequences that one would never dream could happen.  The idea that I would proceed via the Crowsnest Pass to meet Bruce in Cranbrook pretty much dictated that I would follow the southern route through BC to the coast.  Well, if any of you in the future decide that you should drive to the west coast, my very strong advice is to avoid the southern route unless:

1.  You drive a motorcycle

2.  You drive a sports car

3.  You are a masochist

In the first two cases, you will probably enjoy all of the technical driving with turns, curves, hills/mountains, etc etc and in the latter case you will probably enjoy all of the PAIN.  In my case it would be fair to state that none of the three apply, but there I was anyway due to circumstances that had conspired to put me on this VERY aggressive road.  And to be honest I did not at all enjoy this drive, in fact it was too damned hairy for my liking and I spent much of the time praying fervently that I would not wind up churning the rhubarb alongside the road.  Or much more spectacularly, driving my truck off a zillion yard drop to certain death.  If you are asking where I put my sense of adventure, the answer is NOT HERE.  And to your very practical question as to why I decided to attempt this feat in a single day rather than tackling it over a couple days, well you see I wanted to visit a couple of friends in New Westminster for lunch on Tuesday.  New West is part of Vancouver, and from Hope it should be about two and a half hours to get there.  And so I passed the Sunshine Valley RV Campgound, where any sane person would have parked their rig for the night, and pressed on to Hope Valley RV Park.

By the time I actually got to Hope, it was evening and the sun had been  pretty much directly in my eyes for the last hour or so, but when the road was close to a mountain it was quite dark.  So I was going from darkness to brilliant and blinding sunlight, squinting through my not-so-clean windshield, and kicking myself for not stopping somewhere before then.  There was a Flying J service centre at the turn-off, and they sell Shell fuel products, which are my preferred brand, so I decided to fuel up.  Except that the pump would not accept my Flying J loyalty card (discount one cent per liter) nor my Air Miles card......but fifteen minutes later I was fuelled up and quite soon thereafter arrived at the aforementioned campground.  Fortunately, I had called from Princeton and left a voice mail asking them to please reserve a spot for me, which they did.  I got the very last site available for that night, and the lady at the office told me that she had been turning people away every day all summer.  I would not have the free wifi in the back corner of the park, and no, the campground did NOT offer the two discounts listed in Woodall’s Camping Guide (CAA and military), BUT I had a place to stay.  And plus, I had basic cable TV plug-in at the site.  But who on earth goes camping and watches TV??????  (Answer:  amongst others, the long-term occupants of the site beside me..........)

So I fired off a couple texts, to the folks I hoped to see the next day, enjoyed a splendid supper of salami and cheese microwaved on whole wheat bread, a couple glasses of bingo, and turned in fairly early.  I was up early the next morning, slammed all of my truck doors several times to return the noisy favour my next-door neighbours had given me the previous night, and headed out to the highway.  I did stop near the gate, rang up the Internet, checked my e-mails, and got a text back from Keith and Sonia in New Westminster, looking forward to lunch in a few hours.

I had been told by several people that traffic in and around Vancouver was pretty awful between about 6 and 9 am daily, so had planned to hit the outskirts of Vancouver around 0900.  But nobody told the folks in Vancouver that their traffic problems should cease around 0900, and I was fighting increasingly larger crowds of vehicles the closer I got to the Big Smoke. 

It has been pointed out to me that I call the voice in my GPS “Bitching Betty” and my mom’s name is Betty, and my mom might therefore be insulted.  I had not thought of that, since I stole the term Bitching Betty from the fighter jock community, who used to call the cockpit voice by that same name.  “ALTITUDE!!! ALTITUDE!!!” and so on.  So I will try to remember to refer to my GPS voice as Bitching Betsy instead.

Anyways, Bitching Betsy was shrieking at me about traffic congestion, as if I could not see for myself that the roads were crowded and eventually stop and go.  In fact ole Betsy would change the screen to one that gave me alternate routes.  Delay on present route fifteen minutes, delay on alternate route seventeen minutes, wow I think I will get off the highway I am supposed to take and instead detour by some unknown route.  Ummmm, no.

My phone went off in my pocket a couple times when I was on the road, so somewhere in this mess I pulled off to see what texts I had received, suspecting that it would be either Keith and Sonia, or Barry (whom I hoped to see also), or both.  Well it was two messages from Keith, waving me off.  Sonia has chronic medical conditions, including severe pain, and she was having a flare-up, unable even to get out of bed.  So my heroic efforts driving through multiple mountain passes and for hours behind the wheel, all to make this lunch appointment, were all for nought...........and I was in truly awful traffic westbound.  My plan had been to back-track to Abbotsford to meet a couple with whom I have had several gun deals, and then stay in Abbotsford overnight.  The next morning I would head to Vancouver to catch the ferry over to Vancouver Island.

The prospect of turning around to go back to Abbotsford, only to face the same kind of traffic, or worse, the next morning, was not appealing to me.  So I tried to phone Marcel and Diane on Vancouver Island, with my cell phone.  “The person you are calling does not accept anonymous calls” OK so for once I had actual cell phone connectivity but could not call the people I needed to contact........and decided I would just proceed to the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal and take my chances that Marcel and Di would be home two days earlier than my planned arrival.  The last thirty or so kilometres to the ferry took me just under two hours, and thankful indeed was I when I got into the ferry line-up, bound for Nanaimo.  And wonder of wonders, there were two pay phones at the ferry terminal!  So I got out my phone card and tried to make a call.  “Your call cannot be completed as dialled.  Please hang up and try again.”  Times three.  OK, why not read the instructions on the pay phone and oh yes, I see that if I am using a calling card I should dial zero first and then the number.  Very smugly, I did so.  “This service no longer accepts calls using a calling card, try using a credit card or call collect.”  OK it has been a few years since I made a collect call, but I do know how to do so,  and thankfully Di was at home, accepted the charges, and told me they would look forward to my arrival.

The ferry ride was unremarkable, and the drive up to Campbell River was also without incident.  Sometime around 4 pm, I pulled in to the driveway and was greeted warmly by dear friends Marcel and Diane.  I was VERY pleased to park the rig, and hope not to get behind the wheel again for a number of days.  And so I have spent a couple delightfully restorative days doing a lot of nothing and catching up on family news, housekeeping chores, and SLEEP!  Tomorrow we depart for our halibut adventure out on the west coast of Vancouver Island, north of Tofino, please wish me luck!

Doug

HOPE FOR THE FUTURE

I need to check to be certain, but when I last sat down to add a blog entry I believe I was in Calgary awaiting the return from a week in the mountains  of Gabrielle, one of my sisters-in-law (one of Suzy’s two sisters) and her husband Clarence.  They are exceptionally active folks and do stuff like camping in a tent in the mountains for a week and other excruciatingly painful activities in a similar vein, and think they are enjoying themselves.  I think in another life they might have enjoyed being airborne troops.  Which reminds me, Gabi did the Canadian Army basic parachutist course, she was the only woman on the course, she was the only reservist on the course, all of the other course members were regular force soldiers from the Canadian Airborne Regiment, and she still was awarded top candidate.  Seems that at the end of each day when everybody else was exhausted from all of the gruelling activities, she needed to stretch her legs a bit and went for ten mile runs.  But she did the running in real running shoes, not combat boots so maybe she isn’t that much of a hard-ass.  (NOTE:  she is and always has been a SERIOUS hard-ass....)  A LOVELY person, but still an Olympic class athlete, went to Everest once or twice, you know, just your basic MOUNTAIN WOMAN.  In fact if memory serves me, when she was getting married, the person who was going to do her hair and all that mysterious stuff that women do before getting married (unlike us men, who try to remember to wear fresh underwear and maybe also have a shower), anyways that person who was assigned to make Gabrielle look even more beautiful, said that she understood and she would make her up as a MOUNTAIN WOMAN.

I believe I have a fifty-fifty chance of Gabi either confirming all of the above or forsaking any future contact.  I am hoping for the former, because I still need to visit their Calgary B&B once or twice more before I head home.............

So anyways there I was at the home of Gabi and Clar, who were due home “later” on the Saturday.  I waited until 7 pm to eat supper, which I believe was a week-old soft white-bread Kaiser with a can of Maple Leaf “Chunks of Chicken” and a couple glasses of white wine with ice cubes.  Now for those amongst you who are foodies, I know it doesn’t get much better than that, but I am a pretty good cook so I know how to make such feasts, and with ingredients you probably have at the back of your pantries.  And if you don’t then you should.  I was amusing myself by reading a couple old copies of the Canadian Medical Journal (be still, my heart!) when the doorbell rang around perhaps 10 pm.  “They must have their hands full of gear and so can’t get their key,” thinks I, and opened the door to greet my SIL and BIL.  Imagine my surprise when two attractive young women were there instead.  So they introduced themselves as friends of Gabi, and the one woman Jessica was staying the night.  In fact she was planning to sleep in the bedroom where I had established camp, but I had stayed on an extra day.  Myself being the selfless person that I am, I told Jessica that there was enough room for her in the bed and that she should come right in and make herself at home.  She apparently thought my generous offer was a joke and she laughed at it.  The second woman Sonia (not sure of that spelling, nor for that matter how Jessika spells her name......) anyways Sonia was going to hit the road to return to Red Deer and there rescue her husband, who was at a wedding reception.  Now I hear all of you guys out there thinking that a man at a wedding reception does not need to be rescued unless the bar has gone dry.  You are correct, but who am I to argue with another MOUNTAIN WOMAN?  And so off went Sonja.

So with Sonia departed, Jessica had a shower, and she and I were having a chinwag (she’s living near Denver Colorado) when finally around midnight Gabi and Clar returned.  Much to their surprise, I was still there!  So we had a grand reunion, but by then it was well after midnight, my coach had turned into a pumpkin, and I needed to get my head down.  Thankfully I had a glorious sleep, and awoke fairly late to find a brunch in the making.  The day was gorgeous, the four of us had a fabulous brunch out in the back yard patio (including home-made blueberry pancakes!), and then it was time for me to pack up and head out again.

Now I am always one to consult people with real honest-to-goodness first-hand knowledge about routes to take.  The fact that I often decide not to take their advice is another matter entirely..........and so I asked how I should get to Cranbrook BC.

“Back up, Doug, why would you go to Vancouver Island via Cranbrook, on the southern route with all of the mountain passes and shitty driving?”  GOOD QUESTION.  Well, when I was doing my map recce I saw that this route goes through the aforementioned Cranbrook, home of a guy I have wanted to meet for years.  Bruce aka “hunterhenderson” or similar on Gun Nutz is there.  We talked on the phone and yes indeed he was going to be away Sunday morning, but would be back in Cranbrook around 3 pm.  PERFECT.  Bruce told me how to get there but I confirmed with Gabi, who said that I should absolutely go by the secondary routes through Nanton, past the Chain Lakes and so on, because there would be no traffic and the scenery is glorious.  Same route as Bruce suggested, so that’s a wrap.

WELL...................it was an INTERESTING trip and I believe there may have been some gorgeous countryside to see if a person could take their eyes off the road for more than a millisecond.  And then the very threatening  storm clouds opened up and suddenly it was like God was hosing down the highway with a twenty-inch fire hose.  Wipers at full speed ahead, but truck at about 70 kph and still in danger of planning out on the flood.............somewhere on Highway 22 south of the Chain Lakes I was somewhat perturbed to see animals marching two by two towards a towering wooden ship..........

And the “no traffic” turned out to be hundreds of people in camping rigs and the odd sports car driver.  In fact some of the sports car drivers are behind the wheels of trucks towing travel trailers............

Quite some time later I finally arrived in Cranbrook, an hour late for the RV with Bruce, and I gave him a call.  Left him a voice mail................half hour later sent him a text...................went and fuelled the truck and bought some groceries.............and an hour and a half later figured he was probably hung up on the road and I should make tracks, which I did.  Indeed, Bruce had been hung up on the road by a traffic fatality, which I am pleased to report was not him.

I have another Gun Nutz contact I hope to meet, who lives just north of Creston BC.  So I saw that Creston was about an hour or so from Cranbrook, and the “WOODALLS” camping book had a recommended campground (Pair-a-Dice) and I headed the rig to that location.  I am pleased to report that this campground is an excellent choice for the itinerant wayfarer, but my buddy was not at home.  In fact he was up in the Yukon, so I am not going to see “c-fbmi” any time soon!

I had a very good night in Pair-a-dice and after pumping bilges headed the rig west again this morning, and at a good hour.  That was three mountain passes and several lives ago.  I made it to Hope, BC where I am now, but without Internet connectivity.  More later...........

Doug

DOUBLE TAPS, BACK-TO-BACK

I had departed Grandview at 8:00 am, which was 7:00 in Saskatchewan, the latter province not being convinced of the use for daylight savings time.  I can see their point:  twice a year I am an hour early or an hour late for the day after the clock changes.  And the roads to Saskatoon were pretty good, with not much traffic.  Nonetheless, that six hours became about nine in the saddle, albeit with a few good stops enroute.  Ray and Judy live on an acreage that is part of the city of Saskatoon, but it is actually well out into the country, down a series of range (aka grid) roads.  As was the case in 2011, I am pulling monsoon type downpours along with me on this trip.  Kingston, my home town, could USE some rain, there being a severe drought there, but the rain is instead falling in great volume along my route.  So it had been in Saskatoon, and the grid roads were basically gumbo and washboard.  It took me three quarters of an hour to travel the last 15 km or so to Ray and Judy’s ranch, and as I told them upon my arrival, THEY WIN.  Their route 374 was the WORST road I have ever travelled in the truck with camper aboard.  I got up to 30 kph a couple times, but it was mostly 15 or so kph on the odometer, and sometimes slowed to a crawl.  And when I got to their place, I noted that there were obstacles to bar my driving onto the lower part of their stone driveway, given that my rig might thereupon disappear in the gumbo, waiting for winter so I could get it chipped out.  I was VERY happy to see them, not only because they are such good friends and for so many years, but also happy indeed was I to get out of the truck.

I had not intended to stay two nights at Saskatoon, but it did not require much arm-twisting to make this my course of action.  Or actually my course of inaction.  I enjoyed a couple blissful days filled with nothing much, with great meals, wonderful company, and RELIABLE INTERNET!!!  I caught up on my e-mail, scribbled the blog entry about my detour adventures, and generally relaxed.  On Thursday Judy was catching up with some Facebook friends, and somebody had sent a “Happy Anniversary” posting.  But it was NOT their anniversary, how very odd indeed.  Then Ray came in and said words to the effect of give me a hug, this is our anniversary.  OK........... Now I am confused, Judy says it is NOT their anniversary, and Ray says that it is.  

Well, it turns out that it was OUR (as in Ray and me) anniversary of arrival at Royal Roads 43 years ago.  How appropriate indeed that I should be there with one of my “rook” buddies!  To celebrate, we went out to lunch at a pub in downtown Saskatoon where Ray sometimes is the featured entertainment, and which was allegedly named one of the top pubs to eat at in Canada.  After announcing that factoid, Ray said he wondered how such awards are granted, and I suggested it probably depended on how much kick-back the pubs in question paid to the assessing agency.  Upon examining the menu, the one item that appealed to me greatly was the wings – I eat wings about once a year or so, and I had a powerful hankering to eat some in this apparently famous center of pub cuisine.  “Ah, sir,” says the waitress, ”you can only order wings after 2 pm.”  Nothing else on the menu was calling my name so eventually I settled on a dish of poutine, that also being something I eat once a year or less.

I suspect that my guess as to how this pub acquired its rating, ie via kick-backs, may have been relatively accurate..........

..................and since I rarely drink beer any more, Ray was wondering who took the Doug he knew and replaced him with this hairy stranger, who toasted the 43^rd anniversary with a glass of cold water..........

Back at the ranch later that evening, we had a feast of fresh BBQ burgers and corn on the cob, now THAT was an anniversary meal worth the name!  I asked Ray about the best way to get to Calgary and out came the map and directions.  Key amongst them was to stay the hell away from Drummer.  It is called DrumHELLer if you don’t stay the hell out of it, you see.  (If at this point you are not following me I apologize for shooting over your head.)

The roads had been graded and there had been enough traffic that the grid road down to the pavement was not bad at all, and then I headed the rig west again, destination Calgary.  I followed Ray’s route, which greatly perturbed Bitching Betty (PERFORM A U-TURN WHEN POSSIBLE!!!) but she came into her own once I entered the Calgary city limits.  Betty brought me right to the front door of Gabi and Clarence, my aforementioned SIL and BIL.  As I reported previously the house is a nice oasis and I decided to stay two nights instead of shoving off again this morning.  On another positive side, this second double-tap SHOULD see me greeting Gabi and Clar sometime this evening – they having said they would return home “later on the 13^th.”  And when they get here, I should be able to extract the wifi password from them and maybe post one or two (or three) of these entries which are now stored in my laptop waiting to pounce on all of the unsuspecting readers of this blog.  YES, BOTH of you!!!

Tomorrow, lots of mountain driving, I am hoping for clear weather and especially no snow, hail, sleet, etc.  Not that I expect it, I just hope it doesn’t happen.  I am not sure when or where I might pen the next edition of this epistle, so TTFN.

Doug

MANITOBA MEANDERINGS PART 2

When I finished the last entry I was headed for Winnipeg, where I arrived later that afternoon, at the home of old buddy Ken and his vivacious wife Barb.  We have all known each other since the 70s, Ken and I having been recruits together at the Royal Roads School for Boys, and so each time we get together it is just like we took a longish pause in a conversation only to pick up where we left off.  We got caught up on each other’s lives and families and were joined some time later by Piet, who had been a recruit with Ken and I.  We enjoyed a delightful dinner and evening, lots of laughs, interesting conversation, and for me later on a sleep in a bedroom, which was a nice change from the camper.

Now Ken is an engineer and he is very good at math, but when he made coffee the next morning he forgot how to count.  The coffee was therefore nuclear strength brew, just perfect for keeping me wide awake out on the road..........but I did not have to go far to meet another old colleague.  And even though I now have a functional GPS, the directions were so simple that I would just drive there with a map in my head.  Right.  Some number of diversions later, I found Lloyd waiting for me in the parking lot beside his place, and off we went for a brunch and a chinwag.  We had served together in Petawawa in the early 80s and of course we have hundreds of colleagues in common so we talked about who had died, who has what ailments, and how the world is going to hell in a handcart.  In other words, we had a glorious Grumpy Old Men’s Brunch.  He had to go to a medical appointment and so we parted “until the next time.”  Of course, one never knows if there will BE a next time, so all farewells are necessarily somewhat bittersweet at this stage of my life.

Both Geoff and Lloyd had told me about the new Cabela’s store in Winnipeg, which was in the same general area of town, and after getting lost a couple times trying to find the ENTRANCE to the place (HINT:  the entrance is nowhere near the big sign you can see from the highway...........), I did get to the parking lot and went inside.  Now for a person who hunts, fishes, and spends time in the outdoors, a Cabela’s store is like something of a shrine.  I went through the entire place, noting a few goodies that I would like to purchase – including a spare magazine for one of my rifles that I have along on this trip.  (For those who may be interested, it is a Tikka T3 Lite in 9.3 x62, quite a potent little package.)  I asked the fellow at the gun counter if by chance he had such a rifle in the store, (so I could confirm the magazine fit), suspecting that this was unlikely.  I was correct, but the fellow said I could bring the magazine back if it did not fit.  So I bought the mag and a couple trinkets and went back out to my rig. 

Now you would think that the sight of a person with a gun case, in the parking lot of a store that sells guns and gun cases, would be pretty much commonplace.  Instead I found myself the object of much attention when I removed the rifle case from the cab of the truck and took it into the camper.  I half expected to find myself surrounded by a tactical police team, chewing on the asphalt and enduring a pat-down and rectal probe.  Anyways, the magazine fit into the rifle just fine, BUT the ammo I had made was a hair too long.  When I made that ammo (at home some time ago) I ensured that it would chamber in my rifle, and also that it would feed reliably from the magazine.  But I had only loaded the magazine with a single cartridge to confirm it was not too long for the mag.  Now THERE was a senior moment!  My ammo that I have with me for two hunts is all just a hair too long to feed reliably.  So if I need a second shot at an unhappy bear, or whatever, the cartridge that SHOULD load into the chamber might just decide to stay in the magazine instead.  This is what is called, in technical terms, A Very Shitty Situation.  Somewhere along the road I am hoping to meet a fellow firearms enthusiast who has the reloading tools I need to seat those bullets a bit deeper.  I suppose I could just push them in with a hammer, like the frozen logger did with his whiskers, but it strikes me that doing so might not be a good idea.

I put the gun case with its secret contents back into the truck cab, taking great care to be as surreptitious as possible, then hastily returned to the store before the tactical unit might arrive.  Once safely inside, I bought a few more essential items and, seeing that the coast was clear, got back into the truck for the next leg of the trip.  There was a Shell station close by, with the best price on diesel fuel that I have seen so far this trip (92.9 cents per litre) and I topped off the tank.  Manitoba had the least expensive fuel on my 2011 trip and so far this is true this year as well.

I was heading to Grandview Manitoba and set the address in the GPS.  It would appear that the GPS was somewhat confused as to my exact location, and I turned onto the Sterling Lyon Parkway going exactly the wrong way.  After the GPS voice (Bitching Betty, I call her) had told me twelve or fifteen times to make a U-turn where possible, I was doing just that when she decided that there was an alternate route.  I should have done the U-turn, since I soon found myself on residential side streets and then into a road which was closed for construction, all of which delayed my departure from Winnipeg by about an hour......... Man, I love technology..............

Thankfully this day’s travel was not lengthy and by early evening I was finally in Grandview, where I looked up old friends Doug and Joan, whom I last saw in 2011 also. 


 


 






We had a good update, Doug took me on a tour of the town and especially its museum (see pictures above), but I was happy to crawl into the camper for a night’s sleep.  It chilled off nicely overnight and I even got my blanket to put over me.  I needed to put some miles on the truck the next day, so I got up and left fairly early, with just enough time to bid Doug a fond farewell.  The next stop was Saskatoon, which allegedly was six hours distant.  HA!

MANITOBA MEANDERINGS

OK so I am cheating, I used this same title for one of my blog entries in 2011.  But it was true then and it is true now, I meandered through Manitoba.  If you do not like this title, by all means just put on one of your own, like “homeless guy terrorizes prairie folks” or “gophers flee massacre in panic” or  “I can’t believe this guy does this stuff” or whatever.  You live your life and I’ll live mine, OK?

So several days ago (I have lost the bubble completely on what day exactly it may have been) I left the driveway at Chris and Jody’s place outside Fort Frances and headed west to visit dear friends Geoff and Andrea, who live “just south of Winnipeg.”  Never, EVER, trust a Prairie inhabitant to estimate times or distances.  I think it is because of the flat topography, where you can watch your dog running away for three days,  that folks living there are incapable of normal (ie Southern Ontario) estimations of time and distance.  I could tell somebody “It’s about a hundred kilometres or maybe an hour and a quarter” and my estimate will be pretty close to their experience, no matter how fast or slow they drive.  A flatlander will tell you something about it being just the other side of somewhere, and what they really mean it is about the other side of the freakin’ moon.  So REINFELD Manitoba is NOT just south of Winterpeg, it is about two hours south and almost to the US Border.  And as we all now know, I am NOT going to cross the US Border again any time soon.  (If you do not understand this comment, please read my last blog post.  Thank you.)

I phoned Geoff TWICE for directions and got pretty much the same vague instructions both times, for a town that is not even on the paper map that I own, compliments of CAA, whose maps of Canada could fit on a postage stamp.  And that is the deluxe large print version.  But in spite of his directions, and given that my GPS was not functional (did I already mention this?), I did in fact find myself in Reinfeld MB and stopped a fellow walking who actually knew where I might find Hazel Drive.  Soon thereafter I parked my rig at the home of Geoff and Andrea.

So I own a Magellan GPS which I bought from Canadian Tire a couple or three years ago, and one of the features that appealed to me was the LIFETIME FREE MAP UPDATES displayed in bold letters on the box, which I still own of course, since I never throw that kind of thing away as all of my friends (and my long-suffering wife) can attest.  So heck I was about to embark on a three-month cross-country odyssey and maybe, just maybe, some of the roads and such have changed since I bought the GPS. So, fool that I am, I decided to update my GPS with those free maps.

I am a man of mature years who KNOWS that Magellan exists to sell GPS units and other stuff to unsuspecting victims, and their business model surely does not include giving away stuff for free, no matter what those dough-heads in marketing put on the package.  And I KNOW that I should not be doing something with an item that actually WORKS, just before I take off for three months.  So I am not sure exactly what I may have smoked or otherwise ingested when I decided that it would be a Very Good Idea Indeed to update my GPS maps.  And when I tried to do this with my home computer and found out that the map update cannot be done on a computer with Windows 10, I should have clued in that this was A Very Bad Idea Indeed, in fact a Genuinely Bone-Headed Idea.  The capitals on those words are intentional.

So of course I just hauled out my laptop, which has Windows 7, in fact this same one on which I am whaling away wearing my typing fingers down to nubbins, and hooked up the GPS to do the alleged updates.  This did not work.  I re-started the laptop with the GPS attached.  No dice.  I re-started the GPS and waved a paper bag over my head, clucking like a chicken.  Nope.  I sat upside down, buck naked, and recited all the words to the Beatles song “Come Together” backwards, whilst keying the zero button on the laptop and holding down the search button of the GPS with another appendage, which finally worked.  I think this instruction was probably on the Chinese page of the manual, which I cannot read of course but I figured out this was the most likely course of action.  HOOOWAHHH!!!  But...............it turned out that the GPS could not possibly accept the new maps unless I downloaded the software update.  It took a while, but re-starting all of the bits and pieces while chanting Hare Krishna eventually caused the software download to complete.

So it’s time to load the new maps, right?  (You fool, you!)  Re-start the everything, hop on one foot while projectile vomiting lime koolaid into an Egyptian amphora from the time of King Tutankomenh, and make sure you hit the zero key with not less than one quarter joule of energy, and yes indeed it will work.  My koolaid was cherry and the amphora was newer, so that did not work and by golly there was now NO ROOM ON MY GPS for the new maps.  It would turn on, pretend to be a functional GPS, but in fact would provide no useful information at all.  In fact it thinks it might run for an elected office with the government of Justin Trudeau.  But I digress.............

So my GPS was non-functional, and could not assist me to find Geoff and Andrea, even as I pulled in to Reinfeld, says the author in a very fine segue even if I do say so myself.  And Andrea is an IT Guru and (God bless her!)  she was able to make my GPS unit work again, by ignoring every single direction that the Magellan people said to do to make it work.  HAH!!!!!!!  Andrea 1, Magellan no score.

So we exchanged greetings, after what turned out to be five years since we last saw each other (it did not seem that long to me), I inhaled a frosty beverage, and we set out to make mayhem on a field full of gophers some thirty minutes distant.  Enroute, Geoff and Andrea showed me where a tornado and hail storm a couple days previous had created utter devastation on the surrounding countryside, hundreds of millions of dollars worth of damage, what a mess!  We reached the alfalfa field, owned by a work buddy of Geoff’s, which the buddy had baled off just a few days ago and who had seen zillions of gophers while he was cutting and baling the hay.  The three of us loaded our trusty .22s and set off with murder in our hearts.

There were untold numbers of gopher mounds in this field.  Virtually every one had been battered by rain and no holes were visible, in other words the gophers were safely underground in their burrows because of the nasty weather that had been happening topside.  By the time dark fell, all of us had shot at a few gophers, but there was no great slay and my blood lust was not at all sated.  I am thinking a 2017 Great Gopher Safari may be in my future......................and Andrea, where is that gory picture of your head-shot gopher, that should be posted here for all to see?

We headed back to Reinfeld for a feast and a good night’s sleep, then another feast for brunch on Monday, then it was time to head out again.  I told Geoff and Andrea a true story that brought tears to their eyes, and, with a working GPS, headed to an address in Winnipeg.  I realized fairly shortly that I had left one of my “canning” jars behind and later, speaking with Geoff, was advised that I had also left behind the top to my one cooking pot.  Reminder to self:  do a sweep of host homes before departure...........but neither item was worth turning back to retrieve them. 

It is now Friday night, I am in Calgary playing catch-up at the home of my sister-in-law Gabrielle and her husband Clarence.  Gabi and Clar are out camping in the mountains right now, but left me a key to the house, which I am pleased to report has hot showers, a fridge full of goodies, and other amenities including wireless Internet.  I did not have the presence of mind to ask them for the wifi password, however, and so will post this sometime when I can access the net again.

Doug

INTERNET BUDDIES AND DETOURS

Well, I have remarked before, in various ways and means, that if anybody told me when I was, say, thirty years old that I would be pen pals, via computer, with a bunch of people I had never met, I would have told them they were smoking cheap dope.  Bur here I am, with my sixtieth birthday in the rear view mirror, with hundreds of “pen pals” with whom I have had many pleasant interactions, over the Internet.  I have typically “met” them via a forum for firearms enthusiasts called Canadian Gun Nutz.  But also others, including a couple fishing forums on the WWW.  When I travel, I try to meet some of these folks face-to-face, and over the years I have met certainly dozens, and probably hundreds of people in this manner.

So when I was about to embark on this trip, I contacted a bunch of folks to see if they might be in the general area through which I was travelling.  If the stars align, I make detours to meet them.  This year I wanted to meet a couple fellows who live along the Trans-Canada Northern Ontario “SCENIC” route, as in the one that is twisty, hilly, full of potholes and in many places also under construction.  But what’s a few extra hundred miles on the truck (and my body) when I am going to meet interesting people?

When I last posted to this blog I had returned from my walleye adventure, arriving onshore around 8 am if memory serves me, in the hamlet of Missanabie.  First planned stop was in Wawa, to meet gun buddy Charlie, aka “Chas” on Gun Nutz.  I have met Charlie before, as well as his wife and his late father, and I was looking forward to sharing a coffee and a chinwag with him enroute to Fort Frances.  Well, as I have previously alluded, technology has been an issue on this trip.  My cell phone, which pre-dates the Paleolithic Age, does not have any reception just about anywhere and certainly none in Wawa.  I have a Bell phone card, which one can use with a pay phone (or other land-line phone, for that matter), and the rates are very reasonable indeed.  Of course, pay phones are about as plentiful these days as hen’s teeth, and when one finally locates a phone there is generally no phone BOOK.  So I have Charlie’s phone number in my computer memory, but no wifi available, no cell coverage and no pay phones.  EUCHRED.  (For those who do not understand that last word, it is southern Ontario card game slang for SCREWED, more or less).  Sorry Charlie!

That day I got as far as Nipigon, where I crossed the famous new bridge that stalled cross-country commerce for some time last winter.  You know:

Engineer:  “Trust me, I have done the calculations and checked them several times, as have several of my esteemed engineering colleagues.”

MTO Person:  “But this is Northern Ontario, which gets colder than a whore’s heart, have you allowed for this?”

Engineer:  “Who are you, a non-engineer, to question my brilliance?”

And we all know how THAT worked out.................so anyways Nipigon has a nice grocery store with very nice staff, and I stocked the larder a bit.  Including the purchase of two store-made beef burgers with blueberries and maple syrup, yum yum!  I had booked a gorgeous campsite in the Stillwater Park just outside of Nipigon (and where I had also stayed in 2011) and got settled in there in the late afternoon.  I enjoyed a glorious shower, did a load of laundry, and decided to cook my fresh asparagus and burgers on an outside camp stove rather than inside the camper.  Being that my campsite was along a stream and heavily wooded, I thought that I would rather have the bears interested in my external cooking smells rather than inside the camper.............

The asparagus was really fresh and I ate a goodly portion of it, before I cooked my burgers.  So they were JUST about cooked when my propane cylinder ran dry.  Now of course I have three or four spare propane cylinders onboard, but heck that would be a PITA to find and install a new one, so I just covered the burger so that they would finish cooking.  And a wee bit of pink in a ground beef burger is a good thing, right?  <<<<<AHEM>>>>>> for anybody who may in the future decide to eat somewhat undercooked store-made beef burgers with blueberries and ,maple syrup, my advice is to just eat some EXLAX and get it over with.  I departed the campsite early the next morning, somewhat thinner than I had been the day before.

So on I went to the town of Atitokan to meet Darryl, aka madtrapper143.  Shortly after I got there, we were joined by Corey the Cowboy and his father Brian, who is also on Gun Nutz but did not remember his handle there.  We had a grand visit, and both Corey and Darryl knew one of my next intended victims, Chris aka gunrunner 100.  Darryl said he was fairly sure that Chris lived out west of Fort Frances near Emo, which would be perfect because another fellow I wanted to meet lives there.  Darryl and Brian agreed that the Emo Motel would be a good choice of location for me that evening, given that they would almost certainly have both vacancies and reliable Internet.  Another buddy, Joe aka MadDog, was supposed to be working at Fort Frances with his asphalt plant, and there was also a fellow in Emo I hoped to meet, and so there was at least the possibility that a bunch of us could get together for a bite and a beverage at Emo that evening.  PERFECT!  Especially the reliable Internet part, which has been highly problematic for me thus far.

So off I headed to Fort Frances, where I found that most of the town streets are under construction.  The highway west detour was well signed at the beginning, although I did see multiple vehicles peeling off on another turn rather than following the detour signs............... and eventually I lost the detour signs and instead was following the truck route.  Until I ran out of truck route signs.  So I proceeded along on the last road that had been part of the truck route, went through another area of construction, and suddenly found myself looking at an AMERICAN FLAG and an American Border Patrol agent.  There was no place to turn around and I was about to enter the US of A with multiple firearms, a boodle of ammo, and a bunch of alcohol on board.  I was, to put it mildly, in something of a lather.  I explained my predicament to the Border Patrol officer, who thankfully was quite a reasonable fellow but still found it rather unusual that a fellow who looks like a terrorist, that being the hairy, bearded, disreputable-looking author of this blog, would “accidentally” be crossing into the USA.  I made sure to tell him that I had firearms, ammunition and alcohol on board, because I was hunting and fishing my way to the West Coast of Canada and back.  I was by now sweating like a fire engine in heat, certain that at a minimum I would be sent to secondary inspection and at worst arrested for entering the USA with guns ammo and booze.  The guy took pity on this old geezer and told me EXACTLY how I should proceed to get back into Canada, which would involve paying a toll fee and clearing CANADIAN customs.  I was delighted to pay eight bucks to cross back onto Canadian soil, and the American officer had gone out to ensure I did as I was told.  He waved and shouted “Come back soon!”  WHEW!!!!  Good guy!!!  But I had some trepidation about the Canadian Border Crossing Agent.  Some of those folks have been known to eat a daily ration of corn flakes with urine, to give them a proper demeanour to deal with Threats To Canadian Security By Scumballs Crossing The Border.  And as previously noted, I do not look like a Sunday School teacher returning from a Bible Camp.............. 

“How long have you been out of Canada?”

“About five minutes, SIR.”

Long pause.

“Please let me explain, sir, this poor confused old guy got turned around and ended up in the USA, which I had no intention of visiting and no I do not have a passport.”  I thought I would be rather more circumspect about my cargo of guns, ammo and booze, since Canada Customs agents are not known for their comfort level with any of these.  So I hoped and prayed that I would not be referred to secondary inspection in Canada.  My prayer was answered, and soon thereafter I was back in Fort Frances, to which benighted city I shall never ever return, a pox on their houses!  At the far end of town I located a walmart and a single pay phone, which was in use, BUT I waited to use it and contacted Joe.  Turns out he was part of the construction mess and was staying back in the middle of town.  I explained to Joe that wild horses would not drag me back there, so we agreed that we would miss each other this time.  It was about a hundred degrees in the heat and sun outside the walmart and I was still somewhat rattled by my brief sojourn on foreign soil, so instead of phoning Chris I carried on to Emo, some thirty kilometres west.  After all, that was where I was told he lived, AND I was looking forward to an air-conditioned motel room with reliable Internet.

I got to Emo and fuelled up the truck, then tried to use the pay phone at the gas station, which the gas monkey had told me he wasn’t sure if it worked.  It didn’t.  So off I went to the Emo Motel, where I located a pay phone that was functional, and called Chris.  Turns out he lives just outside Fort Frances, as in thirty km back to the east.  No problem, says Chris, I will see if I can pick up Joe and meet you there at the motel.  PERFECT!  But just in case, I told Chris, don’t leave for five minutes while I confirm that there is in fact a vacancy.

You all know where this is going, based on the title of this chapter..................

NO, there was no room in the inn.  And at this point I had still not recovered from my adventure at the border, and somehow FORGOT about Rick, who lives in Emo.  (Two minutes away as I later learned)  So I called Chris back, who suggested that I could park my rig at his place overnight if I did not mind driving back half an hour.  AND he had a cold beer at his house.  SOLD.  Some time later I met Chris, who does not look at all like his avatar on Gun Nutz, and after following him into the back-country we arrived at his home.  I was very thankful to park my rig, and enjoyed an evening of getting acquainted and fondling guns.  Chris is a really great guy, we have a lot of common interests and background, and it was quite serendipitous that we had this chance to enjoy some time together.  And at some point I finally remembered that I had not called Rick in Emo, DUHHHHHHHH.  I phoned him and arranged to meet for breakfast at, you guessed it, the Emo Motel.

I had a good night’s sleep out in my rig, and bade Chris and his lovely wife Jody a fond farewell the next morning, then re-traced my route of the previous afternoon to Emo.  There I met the fellow known as manitoubass2, or m2b2, from the Ontario Fishing Community website.  Rick lives on the Rainy River First Nation, and back when I was first planning this trip, we were going to spend a few days together, fishing and cooking.  Both of us enjoy both activities, and we were looking forward to sharing some information about both.  Timings were perfect, Rick was going to be on days off from his work with the new gold mine in the area......................and then his shifts got changed.  That change of shifts meant that he would be working twelve hour shifts, plus an hour commute both ways, on the days I would have been there.  AND he has seven kids.  Fourteen hour work days plus seven kids equals no time at all to host itinerant vagabonds.  And so I booked that walleye trip at the lodge, which added a great amount of flavour to this blog, for which I am sure all of us are thankful.  And then Rick’s shifts got changed again, but by then I had booked the lodge.............

Meeting Rick was like meeting somebody I had known for years.  We had a grand breakfast and chinwag, then exchanged gifts – I gave him a jar of canned moose, and he gave me a bag of smoked sturgeon.  He took a photo of us, and if I can figure out how to remove it from that website I mentioned, I will post it here.  And we made plans to get together again, but next time with fishing rods.  But if I go there I will bypass both Fort Frances AND the USA............

And then I was off to Manitoba to visit some very good friends, with THREE objectives:

1.        Enjoy a good reunion with Geoff and Andrea.

2.        Experience some reliable Internet to catch up on e-mails and maybe write a blog entry.

3.        Murder some gophers

And I will describe how I accomplished all three, in my next edition.  Until then..............keep yer stick on the ice (whatever that means)

Doug

WHERE HAVE ALL THE WALLEYE GONE?

OK I FINALLY have reliable Internet, and will no doubt expand on this idea at a later time.  When I posted my last entry I was headed to Missanabie for a couple days at a lodge for some walleye fishing.  Well, Google Maps is a fairly reliable indicator of travel TIME in Southern Ontario, in my experience, and when I was planning this trip I used it to gauge reasonable distances for travel.  I do not prefer long days in the saddle, and I have lots of time, so I plan to travel maybe five hours a day on the average travel day.  As I said, that was the plan.....................and Google Maps is woefully inadequate for estimates of travel time in Northern Ontario – plus the shortest distance between two points is under construction.  All this to say that my estimates for daily driving were not even in the ballpark.

And so it was that, even leaving Serpent River Campground at Spragge at around 0800, my planned ETA for noonish in Missanabie turned into a late afternoon arrival.  Now part of that has to do with the lodge’s directions for how to find their place, to wit:  go to Chapleau, call the lodge, then continue on to Wawa by such and such a highway, turn north on another highway and so on.  Chapleau is actually a fair bit NORTH of the highway to Wawa, and so there I was, lost in Chapleau looking for Highway 101 West.  HINT!!!  When in doubt, consult a map.  My GPS was not functional and yes there will be more on this later also...........

I phoned the lodge as instructed, left a voice mail as instructed, and was assured that the lodge would meet me at the landing in Missanabie in an hour and a half.  I got there about three hours later, having driven the rig as fast as I dared over a highway that had been freshly macadamized.  (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?  Being macadamized does not involve buggery, it involves asphalt and gravel being added to the road surface.)  Loose gravel, fresh asphalt, a very narrow road, and yes you guessed it also some construction delays conspired to make this (very cautious) driver take his time.  But when I arrived at the landing, indeed the lodge owner Warren was there to greet me with a large boat, and we loaded my gear onto the deck and off we went up the lake.

So this was a substantial boat with a large motor on it and the waves were moving us around a bit.  Warren remarked that once we passed a headland the ride would be a bit bumpy, which indeed it was.  No sweat, I have never been sea-sick and am quite at home in boats.  We got to the lodge, I got installed in my cabin, settled my bill, bought some worms, and also got a map of the lake with some annotated “hot spots” to try.  Those of you who have fished out of small boats will know that boat control for a single boater, in heavy winds and waves, is somewhat challenging.  My efforts to get out of the home bay and out to the hot spots were thwarted repeatedly by the conditions.  And I even put on my life jacket for some of the attempts, it being somewhat reckless to tackle the waves solo without such a safeguard.  I fished in a number of fishy-looking spots, but without success.  After a few hours, well into the evening, the wind subsided somewhat and I made it out to a small island, where I set the anchor on its full length of line.  About ten minutes later, when I observed that the boat was getting closer all the time to the island, I pulled the anchor and headed for camp.

Now there is a cabin to the right of the lodge with a red roof, and I observed a cabin with a red roof where I supposed the lodge should be, and I got into some sheltered water enroute back to the lodge, where I decided to continue fishing.  Then I noticed that the water was MUCH shallower than I had been fishing, and there was a shoal that I do not remember.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm, and where the heck was the lodge?  And how did people build a brand new peeled pine log cabin on that head land, in the two hours since I was last here?  Oh yes I was definitely LOST on a fairly big lake that I had never previously been on, in a small boat with marginal weather conditions, and darkness not too long distant.  No problem, in my boat pack I have water, a couple granola bars, matches, a space blanket, flashlight, etc just in case I need to spend some time ashore when not intending to do so.  I ALSO have a GPS!!!  And Praise The Lord, I had actually remembered to mark the lodge location as a waypoint in my GPS before I left the dock.  So I powered up the GPS, found out that my batteries were low!!! And got a fix on the lodge, which was not at all where I thought it should be.  But when I followed the GPS, by golly there was the lodge, as if by magic!  I tied up alongside just at dusk.

Now I am an optimist, always have been, and my planned supper meal for my first night in camp was fresh walleye fillets.  Luckily, I had also brought some other rations and so had a can of soup and a sandwich for my evening feast before turning in for the night, with all of the cabin windows open so as to catch some bit of breeze.  In the middle of the night I awoke to find that bit of breeze at maybe forty knots, blowing rain in through three sides of the cabin with some vigour.  Batten the hatches!  And back to bed............

I awoke nice and early, made a coffee, and was delighted to see that the lake was flat calm.  So away I went in great haste to the mouth of Emily Bay (that sounds dirty also, but it is not at all so).  There I found a couple of willing walleye and also some snags, but enjoyed a few hours of exploring a long narrow bay.  I decided to check out another hot spot, went out into the main lake basin, and you guessed it, the wind had come up rather nicely again....................so I proceeded in the general direction of the lodge, where I could drop a line along the shores of Chris Island.  By this time the wind and waves made fishing pretty dicey, so I decided to head back to camp to fillet my catch and enjoy a nap and maybe get some Internet time.  But somebody had hidden the lodge again...............and by golly I had remembered to change the GPS batteries the night before, so I rung up the lodge and sure enough it had moved about 180 degrees from where it had been earlier that morning.  After a refreshing run into steady seas, I tied up alongside again and hauled my extremely heavy cooler of fish (HA!) up the hill to my cabin.  After filleting my brace of smallish walleye I made a sandwich for lunch and decided that a snooze was in order.  An hour or so later, I awoke to find the bay in whitecaps, or as we used to call it back in Meaford, beer clouds on the horizon.  No problem, I will ring up the Internet.  Umm, no.  So I loafed about the camp and enjoyed a couple cold drinks.

By early evening the wind had subsided enough that I could make my way to a close bay, where a couple anglers from Michigan had reported good success the prior evening.  Drifting with the wind was basically impossible, and back-tolling was fairly damp, so eventually I decided to anchor.  I caught several very nice rocks, part of the Canadian Shield, and one respectable walleye.  By the time darkness was falling it was high time to tail it back to the dock, where I decided to empty the boat completely of my gear, in case of inclement weather, which was propitious indeed.  I filleted my walleye and returned to my cabin, where once again I opened all of the windows to allow a bit of breeze to cool the place.  I did not mention that the daytime temperature was somewhere north of plus thirty and with a goodly dose of humidity to boot.

And now, the moment I had been waiting for during this long time since I have enjoyed a feed of fresh walleye!  I coated the fillets with some bread mixture that Gary my Owen Sound buddy had brought from Texas (very tasty on those whiting fillets!), and found to my great delight a nice CLEAN cast iron frying pan of exactly the right size to cook my first four fillets at the same time.  Hungrily, I added oil to the pan, set it on the rather venerable propane stove, and turned on the burner to “HIGH.”  Five minutes later, the oil was all the way up to “sweat” which is somewhat sub-optimal for pan-frying fish fillets.  But that was as hot as it was going to get, so I added the fillets to the pan.  You know that delightful sound when you add fillets to hot oil and it sizzles enticingly?  That did not occur in this case.  In fact I am distinctly certain I heard a sucking noise as the fillets absorbed most of the oil in the pan.  Quite some time later, after turning the fillets repeatedly in the vain hope of crisping them up a bit, I removed the fillets onto a waiting paper towel.  With a glass of white wine as an accompaniment, I lit into my feast.  Four soggy greasy horrible fillets later, my stomach declared that since I had declared war on it, I would be punished mightily.  Which was the case.

I went to bed with an unhappy belly, and tossed and turned until finally the stomach acid relented a bit and I found slumber.  Not very long thereafter I awoke to find a gale battering the camp, with rain coming in through three sides once again, and a blast of Arctic air for an accompaniment.  Once again I battened the hatches and returned to a fitful sleep.  The morning dawned cool and windy, and I decided that I should take the first available water taxi out of there.  Walleye fishing after a cold front moves through is tough work, and the wind would have been just plain ignorant.  So I cut my losses and caught the 0700 boat back to the mainland.  There I was reunited with my rig, loaded her up again and hit the road.

And this epistle is long enough, even though that was several days ago.  More later!