THE JET BOAT ADVENTURE!!!

THE JET BOAT ADVENTURE!!!

Back in the 80s I worked with a guy called Herb, and we also hunted a bit together.  I think both of us would agree that the most memorable hunt was when we were tracking a deer another hunter had wounded.  Herb had his German wire-hair pointer Britta the Wonder Dog, who had a nose for everything and so Britta was leading us to find the wounded deer.  The deer had been laying down and jumped up as we approached, then took off without offering us a shot.  Herb suggested we go after the deer at a jog and when the deer jumped up again, he would grab Britta and hit the deck and yell, “SHOOT!”  I was to shoot over his head at the deer.  As you may imagine, given that most of you have never tried such a shot, it takes a fair bit of trust on the part of both hunters (and Britta) that we would all do what we were supposed to do.  So off we set at a brisk little jog and soon enough the deer jumped up at about twenty yards, Herb hit the deck and yelled “SHOOT” and I put two slugs over his head into the side of the deer, observing the smoke where the slugs hit and the deer went down for good.  It was pretty exciting.

Now Herb has hunted all over the world, for quite a number of game species, which is to say that I am not in the same league as him.  So a few years ago he sent me a note about a place he had heard about that did jet boat hunts down the Athabasca River in Northern Alberta, and might I be interested in joining him for a moose hunt?  Well I could not go that year, but I kept the website of the outfitter for future reference.  So this year when I was planning this trip I contacted Herb and asked him if the outfit was still in business and if so, if he could find time for a hunt at a mutually convenient date.  This began a long series of e-mails but in the end we found a date that the outfitter, Herb, and I could all work towards and we booked a hunt.  In my case I got tags for whitetail deer and black bear.  Herb had already been allocated tags for various species in other parts of Alberta so he could only get a spare black bear tag, and he would act as my accompanying hunter for the trip.

So there I was up in St Paul AB for Marc and Michelle’s wedding, intending to visit old friends Dan and Kathy in Cold Lake afterwards.  But somehow my math was wrong and I did NOT have a spare day and so I missed them this trip.  I got back to Calgary, prepared for this hunt with Herb, and packed everything into dry bags since we had been warned that we would be in an open boat and it might get a wee bit “damp” enroute to the lodge.  Herb picked me up in his truck, we loaded up, and headed to the town of Athabasca AB about a five hour run from Calgary (but quite close to St Paul AB as it turned out).  That night we stayed in a motel in town, for an early morning RV with our hosts Darcy and Shirley Zelman.  We followed them to a site called Poacher’s Landing, where they launched the jet boat, we loaded it with an astounding amount of gear, and off we went downriver.

I should mention here that those good folks referred to our trip as going UP the river, as in heading North.  But where I come from, if you are following the direction of the current you are going downstream.  So we went “up” the river, downstream, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles.  My metric conversion is a bit rusty but it seems to me that 130 miles is about a thousand kilometres or so.  In North Norway it would be 1300 kilometres, since the Norwegians use an item of measurement called a mile to refer to ten kilometres.  So if your Norwegian driver says something is about two miles away and you figure it is just over that skarn, well no it is actually about twenty klicks away.  Interesting side-note for those who are in the category of “inquiring minds want to know.”

A hundred and thirty miles in a fully laden jet boat with four people onboard in addition to the gear, is an undertaking of some magnitude, which was made all the more interesting by the many sets of rapids we traversed – mostly class 1 rapids, but a few class 2 and a goodly amount of boulders, some barely submerged and around which we went at some speed.  Herb and I were wedged into a seat about midships, and when we went ashore at about the two-thirds point both of us were happy to stretch our legs and drain our kidneys.  This stop was at the Pelican Hilton, the site of an old cabin that is haunted by a banshee and which also has a newish log cabin built beside the old one, close to the cemetery.  Long since abandoned, Pelican at one point had a RC mission and a good number of permanent inhabitants, during the heydays of river transport (all the way to the Beaufort Sea).  We had a lovely lunch then re-embarked for the final leg of our downstream journey up  (down)to the lodge.

I am going to try to post some pictures of the SPECTACULAR lodge and the beautiful setting.  If all else fails, when I am back home I am going to try to figure out what the heck is going on that I cannot post pictures here that other people can see.  THEN at my home computer maybe I can work this out, so for the time being please believe me that we had an absolutely AWESOME log cabin, that would  have slept eight people comfortably, for the two of us.  And we had a very cheery wood stove to take the chill off, which was quite necessary since the temperatures dropped to about freezing most nights.

So Herb and I had come here to hunt, and we got ready to do so with a couple hours of daylight left.  It seems that Darcy has a very liberal view of distances, and we headed off to a certain clearing that was maybe three-quarters of a mile away.  Uphill.  With daylight fading and we are in serious bear country.  No sweat, we are loaded for bear as it turns out, but both of us I am sure would prefer to take an aimed shot at a bear some distance away that is unaware of our presence, rather than one at close range who thinks we are supper............and anyways QUITE some distance later both of us were somewhat fatigued and decided to spend the last bit of daylight in over-watch on a couple (very small) clearings.  I had counted our paces going out and then again coming back, and we took 1840 paces give or take, each way.  I do not have long legs, but 1840 paces is closing in on a mile (Canadian, not Norwegian), and we were still well short of the spot some ¾ of a mile away of which Darcy spoke.  It was quite dark by the time we got back to camp, where we found a very cheery wood fire blazing in the fire pit, AND a delicious hot supper waiting for us as well.

We arose early, had a delicious camp breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast, home fries, and some very tasty perked coffee, then we were off down the river shore line to the bait site at a distance of one kilometre.  That was a Darcy distance, and maybe a mile or so down the shore, walking in your choice of mud or rocks that will turn your ankle, in the dark of course, and in the “SHORT” path to the “LITTLE” mound overlooking the bear bait.  Well it was not that much of a trek in the trail, maybe three hundred yards, but it was very gnarly country, lots of deadfall and holes, and the mound was a fairly serious hill about eighty feet high with a sheer face.  Like eighty degrees, mountain climbing kind of thing.  I think Herb did claw his way up the face but I opted to go around the back and clawed my way up a gentle forty-five degree slope instead.  Drenched in sweat, we sat down to await the arrival of Mister Bear, who declined to show his snout.

As arranged, Darcy showed up some time later with a beaver carcass to add to the bait pile, and we got off the hill to return to camp for lunch.  Unfortunately there was a hole with my name on it, into which I inserted my left leg, and turned my knee quite severely, causing me to say some bad words and also to sweat blood directly through my forehead.  By the time I got back to the cabin I belt-fed a couple Naproxen and a glass of bingo and some of the searing white pain went away.  Lunch was perforce followed by a lay-down and Darcy kindly offered to DRIVE us back from the evening hunt if we could make our own way there, which we did but not altogether quickly.

This time, with the fresh beaver carcass on the bait pile and well-reconnoitred fields of fire, Herb and I were confident that we would take one of the many bears whose tracks were solidly in evidence along the river.  SOME of those tracks were truly impressive and belonged to big, heavy bears.  Unfortunately, comma, the track-makers did not appear in any of said tracks from which we could harvest their bounty and as darkness fell Herb and I decided to get out of Dodge.  As I may have mentioned, the front face of the LITTLE mound was about an eighty degree slope, and the rear approach was somewhat less daunting.  But the path to the rear was about an extra three hundred yards of nastiness, including “Doug’s Hole” just waiting to pounce upon an unsuspecting hunter and lay them low just in time for Mister Bear to come exploring as to what the heck the screams of pain were all about, but supper no doubt.  So I made my way over to Herb’s ground blind in the deepening gloom, intending to suggest that maybe we should egress via the direct route.  Thankfully, Herb suggested the exact same thing and furthermore said that if we went down on our ass we could break the speed of the descent somewhat using our arms and legs (and rifles, as it turned out).  So off he went, disappearing abruptly at the top of the hill and putting on quite a display of unarmed combat versus trees, rocks and vegetation.  He announced his arrival at the bottom with the comment that he had an atomic wedgie and was able to sing in High C.  I followed his lead, gracefully of course.  NOT.  I was thankful to collect myself at the bottom, pulled my underwear out of MY bottom, and both of us made our way to the beach.  Soon we heard the welcome sound of an ATV making its way towards us.

In view of liability and insurance issues I will not report how we three got back to camp on one ATV, but we arrived there safely and seriously in need of an alcoholic beverage.

We had another FABULOUS supper, washed back with a few glasses of wine, and planned the next day’s approach.  Before I forget, I should mention at this point that Shirley is an OUTSTANDING cook.  I have pretty high standards for what constitutes good food, and she consistently surpassed them.  Without a doubt, the meals were one of the highlights of the trip!  (Eggs Benedict for brunch, anyone?)  MMMMMMM!!!!

The next morning we would hunt the shoreline, which was littered with tracks of deer, moose, bears and wolves.  I was looking for a deer or a bear, and Herb was looking for a wolf or a bear.  The wind was pretty stiff out of the North, and Herb went into the wind and me downwind.  Because he was upwind of me, I went a goodly long ways downwind and found a little hidey-hole where I could watch both ways, but mostly upwind of course.  (And I had to be within earshot of him!)  It was a chilly morning and I was glad for all of the extra layers I had brought along in my pack. 

 




Some time later I heard a shot from Herb’s direction, and since it would be impossible for him to hear ME upwind, I went to find him.  There I found that he had seen a pack of three or maybe four wolves and had taken a shot at the one nearest the water – but the wolf was a LOT farther than he had seemed to be, and Herb missed.  So it was back to camp for another excellent brunch.  And the rain which had been forecast at 100% proved the forecast true...............

After brunch we went out for a fishing trip to the confluence of the Athabasca and House Rivers, inhabited by the Wendigo from the time when a couple native folks ate a missionary.  Long story.  Now it seems that the only way to catch fish here is by using a “pickerel rig” with dead minnows and half a pound of weight.  I did not do this of course, until Darcy had caught his third walleye, after which I switched to a pickerel rig, caught a pike, and that was all there was to be caught. 



We watched another pack of wolves go past us on the far shore, but I did not even attempt a shot because of the wind and distance. 



With the rain increasing, we headed back to camp, had a late lunch, and decided that getting soaked was not worth the hunt.  Instead we did interior economy.  (Those not familiar with the term should know it is an old army saying for catching up on chores.  Or in my case, catching up on my beauty sleep)

The rain had really settled in, so we asked not to be awakened the next morning if it was still raining, which was the case.  So it was a leisurely start to the day, and I elected to go out the trail to the clearings that I had not yet seen, and Herb would walk the shoreline again.  Darcy took me out the trail for about a mile, then turned the ATV around at a big blowdown and I continued on foot about another half-mile.  There were game trails everywhere, and two fresh deer scrapes!!!!  I set up a number of times, and still-hunted my way back for a few hours, but saw nothing living except grouse and squirrels.  Herb also saw nothing in his walk.  After another lovely lunch, we made our plans for an evening hunt and I put my head down for a bit.

I had JUST lain down when I heard BOOM!!!  And I went boiling out of the cabin to find that Herb had decided to go for a bit of a stroll and shot a nice bear!!!  (You snooze, you looze..........)  We took some photos of course and I will post them here but you folks won’t see them.

And Herb did not need my help to dress the bear so off I went again up the trail, returning at dark.  We still had the next morning, and both of us walked the shoreline, but with no success and it was time to come back to Calgary.  This was the last trip of the season for Darcy and Shirley, so they had a few extra things to bring home.  It was absolutely astounding to see the amount of stuff that went into that boat! 

 


With about a foot of freeboard, we bid adieu to the lodge and headed back upstream, DOWN to Poacher’s Landing. 


 

 


Lunch was at a cabin that had been built a few decades ago by a pair of brothers from Germany who wanted to spend a winter in the Canadian bush, and I guess they had their wish.  TOUGH fellows, evidently...............

Then it was back to Poacher’s Landing, unloaded the boat, loaded up the truck and moved from Tennessee.  No, that was the Beverly Hillbillies.  Herb and I went back to Athabasca, took a motel room again, and went back to Calgary the next day.

And my fingers are down to nubbins so this is enough for this entry.

Doug