PLAYING TOURIST BETWEEN HUNTS

So at the end of my last entry I had returned to Logan Lake, south of Kamloops, to the home of old friends Gwen and Glenn.  I had told them I would like to take them out to dinner in return for their hospitality, and they said that a local restaurant put on a Chinese buffet on the weekend.  And they added that the wife of the couple who owned the restaurant was a lovely person, but the husband was a rude, ignorant, nasty piece of work and would surely treat us with contempt if we ran into him.  Well!  With that cheery news to guide a decision, of course we went to partake of the Chinese buffet.  Family back home will understand my reference to the Mandarin chain of very upscale Chinese restaurants with fabulous buffets and hundreds of choices of good, hot, succulent dishes.  This place was NOT a Mandarin Restaurant, but the food was decent and the three of us had our fill.  My fortune cookie said something to the effect that I would do a good deed for an old friend, and indeed I had been giving Glenn some advice that might help him out.  When I went to pay the bill, there was Mister Grouch at the cash register, so I struck up a conversation with him, had a grand chinwag, and he shook my hand and introduced himself.  Just a real friendly type.  With me.  My hosts were flabbergasted, neither had ever seen the guy crack a smile.  Guess it takes somebody with the “Gift of Gab” to soften him up a bit.

If you take a look at a map, the shortest distance between Logan Lake and Calgary goes through Golden BC along pretty good highways.  BUT!!!  I wanted to meet a fellow firearms enthusiast who lives in Boswell, north of Creston, which would be about an eight hour trip and would be a detour of perhaps six hours.  I called up Douglas, confirmed he would be home, and headed the rig south again to Osoyoos .  I had somewhat put the memory of the Osoyoos mountainous road with a zillion switch-backs somewhere in the back of my mind.  But when I got to the bottom of this hill I remembered it only too well!  Fortunately I was going UP the slope, not down like the last time, and was also lucky that traffic was pretty light for my ascent.  Many gruelling turns later, my truck was very happy to reach the summit.  And so was its driver!  Of course now I was back on the Crowsnest Highway, which I had sworn never to drive again.  (Note to self:  use soft words when you swear something, in case you need to eat those words later....)

That afternoon I got as far as Greenwood BC, where I saw a clean-looking place called Greenwood Motel & RV Park, alongside the highway.  I inquired about a room, which I thought was too pricey for a pretty basic unit, but they had a level spot where I could park my rig and have a 15 amp hook-up (enough to run my space heater) and for twenty bucks I took it.  Then began the hour-long saga of hooking up to their wifi, with multiple failed attempts, but at last I had connectivity and caught up on some e-mails and such.  Supper was re-heated KFC, YUM YUM, and a glass or two of bingo, and I was pretty much beat when I put my head down for the night.

I was awakened by the sound of transport trucks using their engine brakes on the hill in front of the motel.  MOST towns out here have great big signs asking or telling truckers not to use their engine retarder brakes, and similar admonishments.  Compliance does not appear to be universal, and surely was not so for the good burghers of Greenwood. I brewed up a coffee onboard, then hit the highway once again, headed for Creston in light rain and also light traffic.

Now at Creston I had to turn north on a secondary road to get to Boswell.  I had not actually contemplated the fact that I would have fifty kilometres of twisty hilly sheer drop to your doom type driving again quite so soon.  It took me about an hour and a couple panic attacks to accomplish this, but soon enough I was at the country acreage of Douglas, aka c-bfmi on Gun Nutz.  We had not previously met, but had a grand discussion and visit, starting with his “shop.”  Well, that “shop” is about the size of an aircraft hangar with about thirty foot ceilings, four or six vehicle lifts, at least half a dozen VERY cool cars including a Ferrari and several Corvettes, a machine shop, a welding shop............well, you get the idea.  Douglas had been going to buy all of Bevan King’s equipment and inventory when Bevan died, with the idea that Douglas would start making custom rifle barrels as his friend and mentor Bevan had been doing for decades.  This did not work out, which is a sad thing for Canadian rifle enthusiasts.

Then Douglas inquired if I might like to see his gun room, foolish question!!!  Let it be said that I hope he has completed the clean-up job after I drooled on so many of his shootin’ irons.  He has an exceptional Winchester collection, which was interesting to me but is not a passion for yours truly as it is for quite a number of folks.  What was HIGHLY interesting to me was the number of custom rifles in interesting chamberings that lined the racks in that room.  I have been in quite a few gun rooms and this one was surely amongst the most spectacular!  And we traded tales about various cartridges and guns, which was an educational experience for me, even if it was not so much so for my host.

And would I stay for supper?  Well, YES PLEASE as long as I can park the rig here overnight!!  Done deal!  Pamela, spouse of Douglas, arrived back home from a trip to Creston and we were introduced.  She is a lovely person and we had a great conversation sitting out in their screened-in porch looking up the mountain behind their home.   Then Douglas mentioned that he had a trophy room if I would like to see it, even though many of his mounts were not yet up on the walls.  But of course!

Now I have seen quite a few trophy rooms and quite a few game trophies, including full body mounts.  The one that sticks most in my mind was a fellow from Pennsylvania, whose name I have forgotten but who was a hunting buddy of my old friend Pat.  We dropped in on this fellow, who had a full-sized Alaska Moose mounted and standing in his living room – the only place in his house it could fit!  I inquired about whether he had a wife and if so what did she think of this.  Apparently the wife had left when the moose came to stay...........  Anyways, Douglas showed me into his cavernous trophy room, where I observed the most stunning display of game trophies I have ever seen.  I had known he had hunted in Africa, but had no idea he has travelled the world in pursuit of game.  Each mount had a story, where it was shot, by what rifle, and so on.  This man has truly “been there, done that, and got the t-shirt.”  Very unfortunately I did not even think to ask if I could take pictures, and indeed my cameras have stayed in their cases since elk camp.  What the heck, I cannot apparently POST the pictures to the blog anyways...............

We had an excellent BBQ Steak supper with baked potatoes and other goodies, a couple glasses of vino and then it was bedtime for Bonzo.  I needed some beauty sleep before tackling the road back to Creston the next day!  I enjoyed a coffee and a long chinwag with my hosts the next morning, then loaded up the rig and headed back towards Calgary.  Happy indeed was I when I turned off the secondary road and back onto Highway 3 at Creston.  Now I had caught the forecast in Greenwood a couple nights before, and it called for ONE HUNDRED millimetres of rain in some parts of BC, including parts where I was travelling.  YAY!  More rain!  More hydro-planing with the rig on scary roads, just what I enjoy so much!!!  Not. 

I had planned to stop in Cranbrook to meet Bruce aka “HunterHenderson.”  When Glenn and I had stopped by at Alpine Toyota during the elk hunt, Bruce (who is the owner) sent us back with camouflage ball caps for the guys.  Four guys, eight caps, being four each of Small/Medium and Large/Extra Large, and fellows could each pick one that fit.  If you are slick at arithmetic (recognize that quote?), that left four ball caps with no owner, so I wanted to return them to Bruce.  I was pleased to find him there at the dealership again, returned the caps, had a lovely gab session, and left with even more booty from Bruce.  THANKS BUDDY!!!!!  I did inquire about motels in Fernie and discovered that there were a goodly number but that should I overshoot Fernie, the next motel was in Sparwood and was NOT recommended!!!  OK, I get the message thanks guys!

I drove in and out of rain as far as Fernie, BC, where I determined that I would go no further this day, and found a clean-looking motel, Powder Mountain Resort I think it was, and checked in for the night.  I was going to go for a walk to a nearby restaurant when the monsoon hit.  I could see the rain cascading off the gutters of my camper in quite the display of mobile aquatics and decided that I would neither walk to a restaurant nor would I avail myself of the provisions onboard in the camper only perhaps forty yards away from the motel door.  No sir, it was time for order-in pizza and I am pleased to report that “Not Just Pizza” in Fernie delivers exceptional pizza, hot and quick, and I very much enjoyed a feast of this.  (Not quite salami and processed cheese slice sandwiches, but adequate given the circumstances......)

And oh yes, a long, luxurious, hot bath!!!  And reliable Internet to boot, but there was no particularly good place to set up my laptop with its keyboard and mouse, etc etc, and there was no chair in the room, just a bench.  Well I set the bench at the foot of the bed, perched the computer and bits up against the TV, and there whaled away for a couple hours.  It strikes me as likely that it was in that motel room that I wrote my last blog entry.

It was later than my preferred hour for slumber when I finally hit the bed, cleverly leaving a trap at the foot of the bed in the form of the bench, my computer, and all that stuff.  And some time later that night when my body decided to rouse me for a leak, my noggin decided I was in my camper, and off the end of the bed I went, just like I do in the camper.  Imagine my surprise at suddenly becoming somewhat awake and in a scuffle with furniture that should NOT have been in my camper, and where the hell did that TELEVISION come from?????  They should have night lights in motel rooms in case a person wakes up to take a leak and thinks they are somewhere else.  It would probably solve some interesting clean-ups for the custodial staff.  Reminds me of the time my buddy Phil was going to take a leak in a closet until the lady of the house found him there and took him down the hall to the bathroom instead.............

So when I finally awoke for good in the morning I found that I had pulled a muscle in my groin.  No, not THAT one, this hurt.  A lot.  And it was my right leg, which is the one I use to operate the gas and brake pedals in my truck.  I was a hurtin’ unit when I limped out of Powder Mountain towards a nearby McDonald’s.  On a positive note, the rain had stopped so the drive should be uneventful.

HAH!!!!  The “three hour” trip from Fernie to Calgary took most of the day.  Part of that was due to what appeared to be a complete gas plant, on dozens of flatbeds, snaking their way along the highway and presenting a fairly formidable obstacle to traffic in both directions.  They had a cherry picker out front, and when they were to cross under an overhead wire, the crew of the cherry picker would undo the wire, the convoy would pass, and the crew would re-attach the wire.  There were two-storey HOUSES on some of the flat-beds, with oil tanks hanging off the sides.  It was quite the sight.  And quite the delay.

But eventually I got to Calgary and returned to the home of Gabrielle and Clarence, my SIL and her hubby.  I have kind of lost the bubble on when that was, but they were here to greet me and we had another lovely visit right up until they had to leave to fly to Nanaimo to house-sit for one of Clarence’s sisters.  I drove their car back from the airport to the house here, stopping at Mecca aka Bass Pro Shops Calgary, which is an immense and delightful store which needed more time than I could devote, but it ain’t movin’!  There I met my old buddy Herb, who will be my “accompanying hunter” on my next hunt, and we got the requisite licences, tags, permits, and other bureaucrathings so as to be legal on our hunt.

It seems to me I had another day here in Calgary before I headed north to St Paul Alberta for a wedding... but I have typed enough to make this an entry in the blog.  This time I have no photos to attach, so everybody gets to look at the same absence of pictures this time, including myself.

Doug

ELK DOWN!

It seems like a very long time ago since I was writing an entry for this blog, but it was actually less than a week.  That would be a week with a LOT of driving, like a couple thousand klicks I think.  And some brain cells have been declared MIA in that time frame, mostly somewhere in white-knuckle territory along some very hairy roads and goat-trails.

So if memory serves me, it was day three of our hunt and we got a good early start, leaving the camp in pre-dawn darkness with a very frosty windshield on the side-by-side ATV.  We had seen some elk sign the previous day up a mountain some ten or twelve hard kilometres distant from the camp, and so returned to that spot.  Don and Dan were glassing the deep valley below us and we were about to head out for greener pastures when Dan spotted a couple elk, and one of them had antlers!  We walked up a trail to a better vantage point, where Don and Dan again had a look at the elk.  After several minutes, Don decided it was a legal elk, in that he had at least six points on one side.  I had not seen the bull first nor last, but was offered the chance to take a shot at him.

This was the moment I had been hoping for since a long time ago.  I cranked the scope to its maximum magnification of eight power and peered down the mountain to sight the bull.  Nada.  “He’s below that,” said Dan and so I pointed my rifle just about straight down and finally found the bull in my crosshairs at about 250 yards.  I could see part of his right front quarter, certainly enough for a shot, so released the safety, took the suggested aim at the top of his back, and fired.

I missed.  I know very well that shooting downhill I should have aimed LOW, not high, but in the excitement I took the advice being offered, and for sure shot right over the bull’s back, and then he was gone.  It was not one of my happier hunting moments.  In the meantime, Dan had worked his way up the trail above me, and luckily the bull headed in that direction.  Dan got down on his belly, set up his bipod, and took three shots at the bull.  Fortunately, the last one connected and the bull went down.  I was assigned sentry duty to keep an eye on the bull and guide Dan up the trail until he was above the bull, and then down the mountain until he could see the bull himself.

So this was fairly early morning, perhaps 0730, and we had a very challenging retrieve ahead of us.  We put down a two hundred foot climbing rope in the general direction of the bull, sent Glenn down with his rifle as grizzly bear over-watch, and told Dan that Don and I would return to camp for equipment and the truck while he field-dressed the elk.  Glenn is a very accomplished mountain climber and later recounted how he had rappelled down the rope, and at the end was still well above the elk...........

Don and I returned to the camp, where we retrieved his heavy duty truck, a chainsaw winch with 150 feet of cable, more ropes, anchors, carabiners and other equipment, then returned to the mountain where we had left Glenn and Don some time before.  Dan climbed back up the mountain to fetch the winch cable, while Glenn rigged the elk carcass for winching.  Some time later Glenn got back up to the top, where he was very glad to be off that very nasty and debris-covered slope.  He estimated the grade at over seventy degrees, more like eighty in spots, basically straight uphill.

Now a chainsaw winch consists of a heavy duty power head with a winch attachment instead of a bar and chain.  One anchors the rig to a substantial object, fires up the motor, and in theory winches the load up the hill. 







Let’s just say that we had a LOT of equipment failures and issues, and by the time we finally had the carcass up to the trail it was late afternoon and there were flies on the meat.  This is officially called A Very Bad Thing since it is always the hope that one will EAT the elk meat, which is delicious!



 




 




 Hours later we had the four quarters skinned and hanging in Don’s home-made refrigeration unit, which is the front part of his twenty-foot trailer and which he had hauled in to camp when we arrived there several days before.  The cooling unit consists of a window-style air conditioner wired with a gizmo that tricks the AC unit into thinking it is much hotter than it is and so the AC unit runs full-time.  This of course takes power, and so we fired up the 6500 watt gasoline-powered generator to run the reefer.  As a very nice side effect, it also provided power so I could run an electric heater in my camper and ward off the night chill!

The next morning Dan and Glenn took it easy while Don and I departed in search of a second bull.  We did find one, a magnificent animal that was probably a 7 x 7, but across the valley on the opposite side of the river from us.  That afternoon, Don and Dan set off in pursuit of the bull, leaving Glenn and I to our own devices.  And for reasons that are now less than clear, I decided that we might make our way down to Cranbrook in my rig to buy some provisions and to give me a chance to meet a fellow firearms enthusiast.  So we shook and rattled our way down the mountain and out to civilization, did our re-provisioning, and I did finally meet Bruce aka HunterHenderson from Gun Nutz.  We had a lovely visit, then it was back up the mountain pitching and yawing like a boat tossed in heavy seas and back to camp.  Once there I noticed that one of the rear turnbuckles holding the camper to the truck was in danger of parting company with the rig, and thankfully was able to rectify this situation before the camper parted company with the rig.  That would also be A Very Bad Thing.

We had another day of hunting, during which Don and I stumbled into the path of a very large grizzly bear in country that would have favoured the attacker.  Fortunately we were able to make a tactical withdrawal, and in some haste I might add.  When we returned to the camp, the interior temperature in the refrigeration unit was edging up into meat spoilage territory, we were almost out of gas to run the generator, and I suggested we end the hunt a day early, and on a high note.  So it was that we broke camp the next morning and finally got back to Logan Lake sometime after supper.  That was several days ago, many kilometres ago, and this is enough typing for this entry.

Until next time, keep yer stick on the ice.  Whatever that means.

Doug

THE QUEST CONTINUES

So I am fairly sure I posted my last entry, probably without pictures but I have no way of finding that out at this moment since I am about 4000 feet up in the Kootenays near the town of Fort Steele.  There is no Internet here, and that is not a bad thing of course.  But it has been a wee bit damp today and after the morning hunt we decided to do some interior economy (aka catch up on some chores).  Two of the fellows went to Fort Steele for provisions and a hot shower; Glenn and I stayed at the camp and had sponge baths.  In case inquiring minds want to know, we both had our bathing rituals in private.  And now I am whaling away at my laptop until the battery dies or my fingers get worn out, whichever comes first.

So I had left my comfy motel room with the luxurious hot bath and reliable Internet, and headed to Logan Lake to the home of friends Gwen and Glenn.  He and I served together a number of times and we have some fabulous shared memories, none of which I am going to post here.  The three of us had a nice lunch at a local restaurant, and a lazy afternoon (with some laundry, thanks Gwen!!!), and Glenn and I got our kit ready for elk camp.  That evening we enjoyed a delicious roast beef supper and it was soon time for bedtime for Bonzo.  And before I forget, that left-over roast beef came with us on this trip, was the basis  for two lunches for four hungry men, and the rest went into a beef stew, YUM YUM!!!!!  Thanks again, Gwen!!!

The next morning we left Logan Lake for an RV in Kamloops with Don, who is Glenn’s first cousin (not nephew, as I may have reported) and his buddy Dan, who is a healthy, strong young man, just the kind of person every  Grumpy Old Men’s Hunt Club needs.  Not that Don is an old fart like Glenn and I – he is 41, Glenn is 70, I am 61, and Dan is 29 if memory serves me.  A fair range of ages there for a hunt camp, but it has been all good so far.  We drove from Kamloops to the town of Fort Steele, which was a very long day in the saddle, and we still had to set up camp..............

Camp in this case is at 3942 feet ASL, according to my GPS, just over 4000 according to another GPS, and regardless of elevation is surrounded by mountain peaks that are certainly higher than us, and BEAUTIFUL!!!  They are especially beautiful when you can see them, which is not currently the case of course.

 

 




I am hopeful that my pictures of the camp, which I have taken when it was sunny, will show off this rustic retreat.  So there is the tent which could sleep about eight, a twenty-foot trailer with a refrigeration unit built into the front part for hanging game meat, a full field kitchen, and of course my camper.  We are very comfortable indeed.

We got here on Wednesday if memory serves me, in order to stake our claim to this bit of paradise, and spent a couple days getting the camp ready, cutting firewood, building a fireplace, building an outdoor privy, etc.  We also did a bit of scouting, although most of the scouting was done by Don and Dan, with Glenn and I kicking around camp doing a lot of nothing.  That is just fine by me, since doing nothing is what I do professionally these days.  I am not sure if it was the first or maybe the second night in camp, the temperature overnight plummeted and we had a very heavy frost.  The ice on the bottom of my truck windshield was about a quarter of an inch thick from condensation falling off the camper and such, and it was pretty frosty inside the camper!  Luckily, it warmed up during the day and I was able to air out all of the stuff that had gotten pretty damp the night before.

We hit the hay Friday night before the Saturday opening day, with visions of elk dancing in our heads.  It is a certainty that elk are and have been in this area, and we were and are hopeful that we can connect with one.  In this area, a legal elk needs to have at least six points on one side, so that is a trophy elk by anybody’s book.  If we find a hunting spot below 1000 metres, we could also take a bull that has a single antler, ie a spike bull.  But we are above that elevation most of the time here............and so far have seen no bulls.  The other guys have seen elk cows and calves, but all I have seen to date is mule deer does, a whitetail doe and fawn (right in camp!), a sow black bear probably two years old, and some willow grouse.  Other places and other times, I might have shot any and all of them!!!!!!  NOT here, no tickee, no laundry.

I have no idea when I will get this posted, but anyways it is now Sunday, day two of the hunt, and we still have the better part of a week to find that elusive bull elk, please wish me luck!

Doug

ABBOTSFORD TO MERRITT

So last time I was feverishly recording my various movements (that doesn’t sound quite right), I had arrived in Lillooet.  I kicked around town a bit, had a look at a campground and motel up on top of the hill, no thanks to the look of either, then eventually found a second campground down on the water.  Alas, all of his serviced sites were taken, and his non-serviced sites were in bright sunshine, no shade, and about plus 30, no thanks.  The owner of that campground told me about another one near town, and I found it, and decided to hole up for the night.  Fraser Cove Campground is a small place with smallish sites, but everything is clean, the owner is a heck of a good guy, and one can fish the Fraser River right there.  Open seasons right now are for whitefish and sturgeon, and I did give the former a try but only had a bite which I missed, and then a rock, which ate my rig and I gave it up.  I had a good sleep and there was wifi, but there I was unable to post pictures to the blog because the Internet was too slow or whatever.

My plan had been to go over to Pemberton to meet another gun guy for lunch, but the road from Lillooet to Pemberton is apparently fairly “INTERESTING” and I had enough of that driving from Lytton to Lillooet the day before.  So unfortunately I did not get to meet “Gatehouse” from Gun Nutz, maybe next time.

Instead, the next morning I headed out, through a series of mountain passes and valleys, to Cache Creek and then on to meet some friends near Savona.  Carl and Moe have a gorgeous home on a huge lot overlooking the Thompson River.  Carl and I worked together back in the 80s, and once we figured out when we last saw each other, it was probably 1989.  It did not SEEM like it had been 27 years......so we had a grand visit, enjoyed a steak BBQ and a couple beverages, and I camped out in their driveway overnight.  I even had the opportunity to do some laundry, which was quite welcome indeed.

 


Friday I headed to Kamloops to meet a fellow with whom I have had several gun dealings over the years.  Derrick aka mrpike is a fine fellow who has had an interesting life.  We had a good chat until his wife Rita came home, then decided that a pub meal would be a good idea.  Their favourite restaurant is an Irish place where the waiters wear kilts, which I found somewhat confusing, and our server “Cooper” had no explanation for it either.  He did allow that the ladies liked the kilts..........  The supper was very fine indeed, and I was ready for bed when we got back to the home of Derrick and Rita.

(above photo, Derrick is also a custom knife maker)

Derrick is an angler, his specialty being fly-fishing for pike.  BIG ones!  But there are no pike in the Kamloops area, so we headed out the next day to a trout lake in the hills.  The weather forecast had been for 70% chance of rain.  They were close:  we had 100% chance of rain about 70% of the time.  Launching and recovering the boat in a fairly shallow ramp saw me entering the water with my boots and clothes on, and with the rain pretty much constant we got a wee bit damp.  BUT!!!  The rainbow trout were plentiful and active, and we caught probably a couple dozen small ‘bows, all under a pound.  We kept one limit of five trout for a feed, and froze them back at Kamloops.  Rita prepared a lovely supper, after which I retired to the camper where I slung a clothesline and hung my VERY wet garments, then broke out the electric heater.  It has been a while since I slept in a sauna, and I do not wish to repeat this experience any time soon........

Sunday morning I loaded up the rig for a short hop across Kamloops to another gun guy, Luke aka kamlooky.  Luke is a lot of fun, tells great stories, and is also an angler.  So we loaded up his boat and headed out to another trout lake up in the mountains.  The drive up was fairly interesting and I was pleased we were in Luke’s 4WD pickup, not my rig.  We launched without getting wet, and commenced trolling for trout.  Luke likes to use a willow leaf with a flatfish behind it, and suggested I start with a willow leaf and wedding band (which is a kind of spinner).  I asked him if he would be terribly insulted if I went with my own choice and was told to go for it.  I clipped on a Little Cleo ¼ oz in fire tiger and had a strike immediately.  We landed that trout, re-set the lines, and I had another fish on.  It was pretty much like that for the whole time we were on the lake, and the rainbows were mostly in the one to two pound range.  I would estimate we caught thirty or so lovely plump trout, and we did keep a couple feeds of the larger ones.  Mine are frozen in the camper freezer, awaiting a time when I will be able to cook them up.

Once we got back to Luke’s place and had the boat and gear stowed, it was getting on for supper time and we hit his neighbourhood pub “Tumbleweeds.”  Both of us enjoyed HUGE burgers and sides, a couple cool beverages, and headed back to Casa Luke, where I turned in for the night in my rig.  Luke had warned me that it “might” be noisy out there, but I neglected to put in my earplugs when I hit the pillow.  So somewhere in the night I was awakened by a quite loud freight train that I believe probably went directly over top of my camper, judging by the sounds of it, and remembered at that point to insert said plugs in said ears.

There was one more gun guy in the same general area that I had hoped to meet, and so I drove to Salmon Arm, where I met Bruce, aka H4831.  He had sold his very first gun on Gun Nutz to me some number of years ago, which he remembered but I did not.  Bruce was born in 1925 and has had an interesting life, including quite a few years as a bush plane pilot.  I had previously owned a copy of his book but had sent it to a friend that I thought would enjoy reading it – so I took this opportunity to purchase a replacement copy.  We talked about Bruce’s youth when his family homesteaded in Northern Saskatchewan, he showed me some fascinating pictures from back in those days, and soon enough it was time for me to get back into the rig and back-track to Kamloops to pump bilges, take on diesel and propane, and commence the next step of this adventure.  I wanted to take a motel room for the night, so that I would have reliable Internet and could take a long hot bath.  I have accomplished both aims, and once I pack up this computer I will be heading to Logan Lake to meet my old buddy Glenn, and his nephew Don, who will be my “accompanying hunter” for an elk hunt starting Saturday in the Kootenays near Cranbrrok BC.  Please wish me luck!

VICTORIA TO ABBOTSFORD

So when I was still at Sooke and enjoying the Roadents mini-reunion, my old buddy John asked me if I might join him and his lovely bride at their home in Victoria the next day.  I have hardly seen John at all since 1975, and only met Christine at the reunion, so this sounded like a very fine idea indeed.  They had some other plans that would occupy them until about 3 pm on Sunday, but if I could find their home after that, I would be welcome.  PERFECT!

And it came to pass that Scott and Anne-Marie left Sooke on Sunday morning to go to the Royal Colwood Golf Course for a mixed golf derby, leaving me at their home in Sooke with RELIABLE INTERNET, which is fast becoming the barometer of how much I enjoy a location...........and it seems to me that I probably wrote and published a blog entry there, but which one that might have been is something of a mystery...........says he with not a seque in sight as to what I am writing about right now.  But I did leave Sooke under rainy skies, and made my way down-island to Esquimalt, where Bitching Betsy found John and Christine’s home without a problem.

Christine is originally from Germany, she has a brother who lives in Kingston, and after a couple glasses of wine I think I have convinced her to bring John to K-town for the 2017 reunion, yeehaw!!!  We had a delightful supper together, I had a GOOD sleep in the camper, and the next morning enjoyed a quick coffee before I headed to the ferry, via a back way that John told me about.  And for once, the shortcut actually worked out, HOORAY!!!!  But I stopped for a yellow light while several dozen vehicles came in from a side road, headed to the same ferry, and I was wondering if I would indeed make the 9 am ferry.  Then I chose the absolute WORST lane to line up for the ferry, with each of the people ahead of me taking minutes to pay their fare.  The vehicle in front of me was probably stopped for five full minutes while every other line was allowing oversize vehicles like mine to join the SHORT oversize vehicle lanes.  I was pretty much ready to go and slit his throat and push his van into the sea when finally he moved forward.  I paid my ticket and was told that I should “PROBABLY” be OK for the 0900 ferry.  With murder in my heart I joined line 2 of 2, swearing that I would never stop for a yellow light again, would try better to pick a line-up that looked like the vehicle drivers might speak English, and wonder of wonders, our line was allowed to board, Praise The Lord!!!

It was another routine crossing except for the Asian family outside against the railing a few feet from where I had made my perch, and the little girl kept climbing up to almost the top of the railing and trying to pitch herself up to see what was over the top. The answer, to what was over the top, was certain death by drowning, but her mother seemed unaware of this calamity in the making and I couldn’t stand it any more and went back inside.  In due course we disembarked at Tsawassen and I headed to Mordor aka Vancouver at some speed.

Amongst the friends I have in Vancouver are Keith and Sonia, who have been through something of a rocky patch for a while and I wanted to see them and take them out for lunch.  Another buddy Neil is somewhere in that same city, and so we made plans to get together for lunch, which in spite of Vancouver traffic, non-functional apartment building intercoms, and a few other obstacles, actually happened.  Keith, Sonia, Neil and I had lunch at the Thirsty Duck, corner of 6^th Ave and 12^th Street in New Westminster, swapped lies for a bit, and then I was back in the rig, desperately trying to beat the Vancouver rush hour out of town.  Wonder of wonders, I DID beat most of the traffic, and made it to Abbotsford, where I met Kevan and Linda, him being Kevan from Gun Nutz, with whom I have had many deals and always wanted to meet.

Back in Winterpeg, when I bought a spare magazine for my Tikka T3, that being my big-game rifle for this extended safari, I found out that I had loaded the bullets in my ammo a hair too long to feed properly from the magazine.  I had figured that Kevan would have the dies and press that would allow me to rectify my error, and indeed this was the case.  My ammo for the next two hunts is now short enough to fit and feed reliably in both magazines. 

That evening we went out to the Highwayman Pub in Abbotsford, and if ever you find yourself in the Lower Mainland, I would strongly suggest you take a meal there.  The food was excellent, with generous portions, service was absolutely top-notch, and the prices were very reasonable indeed.  In other words, just what this itinerant hopes to find in a restaurant!

Kevan and Linda live very close to the Trans-Canada Highway, and the traffic was pretty noisy for this fellow’s sleeping preferences, and it was something of a tough night until I decided that some chemical enhancement, and a pair of ear plugs, would help.  They did.

The next day we spent kicking around Abbotsford and area, and went out to see a local gun smith, who had two of Kevan’s rifles for some work and who fixed an ejection problem on a third rifle while we visited.  The smith had an interesting shop, and he also restores vintage vehicles.  We then returned to Kevan’s shop.  And him being a firearms enthusiast, we swapped stories and opinions about various rifles and chambering, and I fondled a number of lovely rifles, some of them chambered for serious big game, and big pain.  As my friend Burt at home would say, they kill on both ends.  There was a .404 Jeffrey, a .450/.348 Ackley Improved, a large calibre Gibbs (.410 maybe, I forget), a black powder .45/120 that weighed about fifteen pounds, and some other interesting pieces.  I am not certain that I would be in a hurry to shoot some of them, however......

Kevan and Linda are nature lovers, and their pets are a dog named Oliver and five or six cockatiels that fly around the house.  Most of the birds were quite wary about this stranger, but one did eventually land on my shoulder long enough for Kevan to take a picture. 

 


 

I had actually remembered to take some pictures while I was there!  And they feed ducks and other critters, some not by design, in their back yard, including some stellar jays that take whole peanuts and hide them in various spots around the neighbourhood.  Some critter evidently found my engine to be quite a fine place for a stash, as I would later find out, but did not notice when I checked my oil before my departure.

So it has been many years since I stopped at Hell's Gate and thought I should do so again this trip.  When I pulled off the highway, I smelled wood smoke.  "Must be somebody with a campfire or something," thinks I, and stepped out of the cab on the upwind side.  No smoke smell, hmmmm.  Oh my goodness, there is white smoke coming out from under my hood..............YIKES!!!!  Yes indeed something was smouldering away on top of the engine, not quite bursting into flame (at that point), but given that a diesel engine that has just toiled up to Hell's Gate is not exactly at room temperature, I was in no hurry to investigate too closely.  I did get out one of my camp chairs to stand on, and peered cautiously into the maze of wires and widgets that make my truck work - none of which I have the faintest idea as to its purpose or anything else.  I blew some ashes off my engine, and there was no sign of imminent ignition, which of course would be a VERY BAD THING if my truck caught on fire because some rodent or bird had built its winter food cache thereon.  I had no way of knowing if anything had burned, melted, or otherwise failed because of the conflagration, but decided that since I had no idea what to do, I would do nothing.

My target that morning, on departing Abbotsford, was to get to Pemberton by way of Lillooet.  It is shorter to go via Vancouver and Whistler, but I did not want any more Vancouver traffic, thanks very much......................so off I went.  I got to Lytton, where the opposite shore of the Thompson River was on fire.  Quite a good-sized patch of forest was burning out of control, with very strong winds pushing it north, in the direction I was headed.  Unlike the hundreds of folks pulled off along the highway watching the fire, I was in no hurry to hang around and get cut off if the fire jumped the river.  With memories of our Great Slave Lake trip still quite vivid (forest fires everywhere one would look, including spots very close to our camp sites!), I got the heck out of Dodge.

I had examined a paper map before I undertook this portion of the trip, and saw that one could get to Lillooet by a direct secondary road from Lytton, or via primary highways by means of a significant detour via Kamloops.  The GPS decided I should proceed via the direct route.

If ever you wish to travel from Lytton to Lillooet, I suggest you fly.  Or if you are in a vehicle other than a motorcycle or sports car, take the primary highway route.  The direct route was white knuckle all the way, wash-outs and slide areas quite common, pot-holes that could swallow a bus, no shoulders, and dizzying drops off the sides of the road if one averted one’s gaze for a split second.  Oh yes, and the one-lane blind switch-back through a slide area where you had no way of knowing if somebody was coming the opposite way.  By the time I finally got to Lillooet, where I was greeted on the way into town by a Rocky Mountain Big-Horn ram, I was POOCHED.

REUNION PHOTOS

OK here's hoping I can load some of those pictures.  I am at the home of old friends Carl and Mo, near Savona BC and they have good wifi.  Click on individual photos to see them (somewhat) bigger.




 









































































I "THINK" I have at least one picture of each of the attendees.  It was a fabulous gathering!

Doug