IT IS THE SEASON
Tick tock from the woodstove as the camp tent goes darker than dark. The quiet cut by laughter at that crusty old bush pilot who called us princesses for our foamy sleep pads. Within moments of the lantern being snuffed, the wilderness is a cacophony of healthy and unhealthy snores amongst dreams of bull moose in the crosshairs. They are out there.
IN THE WILDERNESS
Wolves yip at dawn that first morning as we putt-putt across the lake to the choice spots. It is close to the highwater mark on the Shield rock, with lots of flow to get back into the beaver creek. Such a year with six types of unidentifiable mushrooms within sight on the forest floor, and squirrels that scold any glance at their stores that freckle the outstretched limbs of jack pines.
I follow along where he paused, his axe tore a strip of bark, the wound scarred, and then again years later he paused, his axe tore a strip of bark, and again. At every fork, I am reminded of Vince. Along so many great paths his marks persist to help guide the way to moose. I am coaxed along by echoes of his stories and their turns.
When hunting, there is no other place to be but in the moment. And ever mindful of the series of actions required to end that part of the hunt. It keeps you on day and night. It prods you to question yourself, and you will find plenty of quiet out here to amplify apprehension to fear. The mind can dare venture to territory unreachable within the confines of city life. It is the best of places to run yourself ragged and find yourself overwhelmed.
ROUGHING IT?
When not hunting, ours is an overindulgence in roughing-it. Dinner is that constant, very real comfort. Lobsters, deer stew, a fresh walleye feast, campfire-seared peppercorn backstraps, plus full bar service and other remedies, I gush. That warmth of the cook tent helps draw us in to talk strategy and coordinate the best approach to tomorrow’s successes. Vince was our leader here.
There was a night that the lightning seemed to lift the sleep tent upon impact. Sure, the tippy canoe is not so charming in the dark packed with guns and those grown weary, or after scoring two shoreline wipeouts and breaking a fishing rod in the process. What’s not to love.
All of the world’s horrors are forgotten with the whoosh of old man’s beard giving life to a fire. There is power to be harnessed when amongst stands of tamarack transitioning to yellow, birch and poplars already there, against the red alders and dogwood. Clockwork becomes the movements of a pair of tundra swans, and seven days fly by.
CLOSE BY?
As for the moose, the third morning starts with a dawn trek up the beaver creek to the open meadow and a soft cow call, just in case a bull is close. And he was indeed, grunting back and stalking around but never closing that distance, never revealing his size and character. Nearby, we find the beds of what appears to be a cow and calves. He was close again that same night, thrashing bushes within gun range but remaining a site unseen. That was a restless night.
Next morning, fresh tracks just inside the shoreline and travelling our cut, following Vince’s marks on the trees for a good half kilometre before slipping off. Each step and you expect that bull to be there, maybe an eye or ear or something brown, anything to go on, to see it before it sees you. We continue on around the clump birch at the old logging road, with limbs snapped fresh and bark rubbed by antlers. Massive antlers, I expect to be revealed. Further along, a wallow. This is getting good, but unfortunately as good as it gets.
We hunted hard and we played hard. We missed Vince at his finest, with the evening hot totty in hand, or in the field thinking like a moose and speaking his mind. On the Friday night, we made a special toast and moments later the northern lights appear. As hunters, you never know for certain where your next adventure will take you.
John is the writer and a producer of Giants of the Boreal Forest, a one-hour documentary film about Dr. Vince Crichton and moose in Manitoba that is available for free on-line at CBC Gem.