The Bear

I’m going to string a tale here about how I became an honorary member of the Sioux nation. I was out last month stealing horses from the Double T ranch just below the South Saskatchewan River in the Great Sand Hills with my good pal Johnny Two Fingers.

I started following a set of tracks down into a coulee, leaving Johnny up on the plains. I followed for quite some time getting all kinds of wet, when in the distance I hear this menacing growl. Naturally my pony was some kind of spooked but I had with me a spring bear tag and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

I weaved in and out of a grove of large birch until I could smell the beast. There in front of me was a mammoth 700 pound sow with cubs at her side. As the chill escapes my spine, I am brought back to realty by this yelling coming from above me. The bear had chased two men up the tree. I inched closer, trying to avoid the bear when I realized that I knew the two guys up in the tree. One was a Cree fellow, Gerald three pennies. Gerald is a rotten man that I know from my days on the powwow trail this past winter with the Prince Albert band Thunder Rolls. Gerald is the kind a guy that steals your truck and leaves you stranded without any pants in the Shelbrook hotel at four in the morning, but that is a tale for another time. The other man was Ronnie Runs With A Fist. Ronnie is a well respected man from the Sioux nation, cousin by marriage to Gerald. Old Ronnie is a descendent of the great warrior chief, Crazy Horse.

Anyway back to the story. The two start yelling at me to save them. Now under normal conditions it is highly illegal to put down a mother with cubs at her side, but I was pretty certain that bear was about two minutes from a Gerald Three Penny sandwich, so I pulled my rifle from its case, put up the cross hairs and click. Click….. click….. The thing doesn’t fire. Now were really fucked. The bear is still raging away and is now starting to sway the tree back and forth and the two up top are almost in tears. Ronnie yells down at me, "Jeff, if you get me out of this, I will make it worth your while."

"Jeff, Do you remember Genie from the Black Hills powwow…." Now I remember genie. Five foot six with the shiniest black hair down past the curve of her… well you get the picture. Genie is a fox, a woman with the grace of God and the tenacity of a wild filly. Just the thought that a girl with Genie’s beauty will even glance at me is enough to get me out of bed in the morning. Well low and behold Ronnie offers to set me up on a date if I can solve this bear issue. As for Gerald, well Gerald…. He’d never give anyone anything and besides, the fucker owed me 600 bones for that ol’ truck of mine he stole and banged up. But then again I don’t ever want to see anyone die so I decided I would figure him into my plan as well.

Right then I remembered about my peanut butter sandwich in the pack. I was hoping to have it stick to my ribs in about an hour or so but that peanut butter sandwich was destined for higher realms. I began to formulate a plan. I would go around to the opposite side that the bear was on and on my signal Ronnie and Gerald were to run as fast as they could toward me. I relayed the plan to the boys, and while they seemed a touch tentative, they really had no choice. So I wheeled up some courage and yelled NOW! The only thing between me and my date with Pocahontas was a peanut butter sandwich. Out of the tree come Gerald and Ronnie running straight toward me, eyes ablaze. I closed my eyes and pictured Genie’s soft hair blowing in the wind and with that I knew I would not let down Ronnie. With the bear nipping at their heels I wound up and let rip the peanut butter sandwich. All those years tossing rocks into open grain cars at the rail yard had paid off. The sandwich was right on its mark. Like a homer at Yankee stadium the PB and J smashed right into Gerald’s face. In a sea of bread, jam and crushed peanuts, Gerald lost his footing and the bear was quickly on top of him.

Ronnie and I scrambled to my mount, escaping the ivory white jaws of the black bear. Away we went, riding towards town, sunset bathing our shoulders. Now luckily Ronnie was not totally a fan of Gerald anyway and was in fact so grateful I had saved his life that he vowed not only to set me up on that date, but to make me an honorary member of the Sioux nation.





So as with any story, there must be a moral. And the moral of the story here is that if you are ever in a bear encounter, don’t get so concerned with the bear, just get concerned about whoever you have to outrun.

Casualties of the River

The following were casualties of the annual spring Wascana creek trip-

-One Wiser's special blend mickey bottle- This was shot to pieces by flashlight.
-One Hollywood trucker hat- The wind on this particular weekend was strong enough to not only force the weary paddlers to portage a Northward stretch, but it was also strong enough to blow my favorite hat into the drink. Oh well.
-One toque, camera and cell phone- All destroyed when the canoe rolled while running into a four foot hole of swirling flood water.

I hope that at the very least my memory card in the camera was not destroyed. Everything else is extremely replaceable. Moments captured in time by photographs are not so readily replicated.

Now for the story of how I was rescued by a dog, shortly after a dog tried to drown me.

As me and Tanner paddled towards the infamous curve towards the end of our journey, it became apparent that there was a reason this stretch of river had a reputation. I have only flipped a canoe three times in my life and it just so happens that all three have come at the exact same place.

The bank at this spot takes a very sharp curve at a point where a large piece of bank had fallen into the river years previous. This "island" in years when runoff is small forces a small stream to its outside bank. In this year of the flood, what it did was create a 4 foot swirling hole of water. There was no avoiding it, like gravity the river pulled us straight to the vortex. The right side dipped down, took on water and in the instance of a moment our feet were no longer touching anything solid. My dog, terrified of his first water experience, tried to climb onto my head, drowning me in the process. I would have more sympathy for the bastard except that he also had a life jacket on. I tossed him away to gain my composure but he simply swam over to tanner and attached himself to the back of his head instead. Luckily Tanner is a stronger swimmer than me. Somehow he managed with paddle in one hand, canoe in the other, to navigate the boat and the dog to shore while I floundered helplessly trying to figure out my next course of action. My once helpful rubber boots now became anchors and useless flippers. I drifted down river cursing the fact that I could not swim because I was wielding a paddle. Then it dawned on me... Why do I not pretend I am a boat and paddle myself to shore. As I finally pulled my lifeless body onto terra firma 300 meters downstream from the vortex, I realized I made to the opposite shore that Tanner did.

While catching my breathe, friends Avery and Brett who had been behind us, pulled up on shore where Tanner was wrestling the canoe to upright position. Walking along the bank toward me they yelled encouraging words, "your on the wrong side!" As if I was blindly unaware of the problem. Now this really was a predicament. The canoes were right full of gear and the current was the strongest I had ever seen it. There was no way we could fit three in a canoe and no way Tanner could navigate my big blue machine by his lonesome.

So we came up with an idea. They would throw a rope to me and pull me across. One rescue rope was not long enough so two were tied together. After 4 painful tries it became obvious that no one had the strength to toss that rope across the raging canyon. Meanwhile, Brett's black lab had been standing inquisitively to the side watching our every move. Like a faithful companion he trotted up to Brett and we realized that Harley was here to save the day. The rope was tied to the dog but it was obvious it would not be long enough. As the dog would float down the river he would take more line with him (A squared plus B squared = something something something... science... I don't know). Anyway while Harley traveled down river, someone would have to run as fast as they could along the bank so that the rope would remain parallel to the shore bridging the shortest distance. Harley jumped into the river and with every meter of progress towards me the river took him four more down stream. We were quickly running out of rope. Also running along the river was me, shouting encouragement to the hound, hoping he would make it before the end of the rope would reach Brett. True to form, as the last knot of the rope reached Brett's hand, I threw out an arm and dragged Harley from the dangers of the water. We had one hand on each end of the rope as we praised a very proud dog.

I quickly tied the rope around my chest and with the strength of ten men, my three friends played anchor while the river swung me into home shore. At last I was safe in the arms of my fellow travelers. Needless to say the rest of the trip went off without a hitch, and I'm sure damn glad that pooch was with us.

While you were playing call of duty today....

This was going on. I got completely soaked being at the front of the canoe. No wonder I always try to sneak myself into the back seat. There was some pretty slick rapids out and the element of danger was taken away by the high level of water (no rocks to bang into). The banks everywhere are eroding away where the water has ripped into the land. Tons of river rats and beavers were out, even a big old great blue heron was flying around. We even found an old plains bison skeleton in the bank, characterized by a very high blade on the lumbar vertebrae where the buffalo have that large hump.

Brett and I were lucky enough to run into some guys loading up their canoe. We convinced them to give us a ride back to the canoe after we dropped it off at the starting bridge so we did not have to end up walking back. Good guys just out to have fun. A few high school kids were our audience for one set of rapids. They had set some lawn chairs out and were slamming back a couple barley sandwiches at a particularly treacherous stretch of fun.

The river should be high for another month at least so get on out there and enjoy it while you can!

Flood Watch 2011

...I wonder how harbor landing is doing?

This is nuts! A once a life time occurrence. I did not think I would ever experience a flood in my lifetime but here it is. Today is likely going to be the peak flow in many areas around Regina. We went out to Lumsden and Craven today to check everything out and the Qu'appelle has breached its banks. In Craven the Qu'appelle is so high that the river that flows from Last Mountain lake is actually flowing backwards and water from the Qu'appelle is filling the lake and the surrounding flood plain. The grandstands at the Jamboree ground is under water and my favorite little snack shack certainly is not serving up any burgers this weekend. At Lumsden the bridge in town is being sandbagged to save the town. The bridge is the only low spot in the town's dike because it was built before the last flood. Lumsden would be fucked without the dike, the water is at least 3 m higher then the foundations of the nearby houses.

WHAT A TIME TO HAVE A CANOE

Me and a pal are heading out to run some rapids this afternoon so hopefully I will have some more pictures up after. The survivor man trip is planned for the last weekend of April and I can not be more excited. (The trip where last year we barreled down the Wascana, forgot sleeping bags and tents as it went down to -12 and where we ended up eating a porcupine). There still should be tons of water left for the trip.

Jeff and the Wolves

Canis Lupis is the most feared species of the Canine family. But is this fear justifiable? I have not heard of very many attacks on humans, but still, if a wolf really wanted to, it could sneak up behind you as softly as the sound of settling snow, and with one quick maneuver remove your trachea.

Saturday March 19th there was the biggest full moon in 19 years so we headed out to the national park to do some camping. I was pretty interested in seeing the big wheel of cheese but I was more excited at the prospect of seeing wolves.
During the day we got to check out some otters at the narrows and we fed the whiskey jacks, but the real fun came with nightfall. With the extra large moon out competing Polaris and lighting up the landscape, I headed out for a hike. The others opted to stay behind at camp and so I struck out by my lonesome.

I had not been gone ten minutes when I heard that familiar howl that coaxes your hairs to stand on end. As soon as the echo of the first receded, the chorus of death began. These were not distant howls I might add. They were close enough to produce a heart rate that would put a Charlie Sheen cocaine binge to shame. In false desperation I picked up a large stick to give myself the sense of having a companion for the walk. On we sauntered, this time in silence for a number of minutes. I was still on edge though. Always weary, always wondering, always turning my head towards footsteps already tread.

Off in the spruce I began to perceive moving shadows. At times I have a strong imagination, but at times I have learnt to trust that so called imagination. I darted through the trees all the while feeling as though hungry eyes were watching my every movement. I could not bring myself to look behind, but eventually sense overcame apprehension and I turned my head. Behind me stood Canis Lupis. There were two together, watching me, as tall as my shoulder, as white as the snow. I was frozen in time, my eyes did not move from the magnificent animals and I stood there, matching my heart rate with the fast panting of the beasts. Once again, sense entered my nervous system and I awoke from the standoff. I turned my body around and began to pick up my pace, not knowing my destination, but knowing that I wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Then to my right, I saw a quick flash against the white back drop. This time two others appeared, as dark as night, twenty feet away, teeth barred to the gleam of the super moon. I began to panic, I looked hopelessly to the left, only to see the white pair, turning around I was frighteningly surprised to find myself face to face with a third pair. I did a 180 and began to run. To my relief I spotted an old mature White Spruce and it took no convincing to get there as fast as possible. The sounds of hot breath and murder chased me up the trunk of the tree. As I clawed from branch to branch I looked down, only to see how close I truly had come to being dinner.

But all was not over. The wolves had located their prey. There was no reason to hurry off anywhere. They began to circle the tree, repeating their chorus of death for all to hear. It is at times like this that you really wish you had not forgotten your cell phone in the glove compartment of your 89 Volkswagen. You could tell the wolves were trying to figure out how to get me out of that tree. Their body language confirmed that I was certainly dinner. As I began regretting my stupidity, the large dominant white female, looked at the two younger black wolves and barked a quick order. At that the two left, leaving the four to guard my escape.

I must have logged half an hour in that tree but it was certainly the slowest half hour I have ever passed. Chronos Greek God of time had replaced the sands of Hydra in his hour glass with Alberta’s tar sand. As I sat there mentally preparing a last will and testament, I heard that familiar howl which signaled the return of the two younger wolves. With inquisitiveness, I heralded their return. Where had they gone? Are more returning? Suddenly I could see them once again. As powerful as ever they entered my line of sight but this time it looked as if the one on the right were carrying something on his back. Sure as shit, this wolf had returned with the means to manufacture my demise. As they neared the tree I could see that he was carrying another animal atop his shoulder. I could make out a head and a tail, but it was certainly not another wolf. The moon may have been bright but at that distance the false light adopted shapes and not details. Then as the wolf reached the tree, I saw what my fate had in store. I was doomed. The likes of JeffM would be no more. My bones would build the broth of a homo sapien stew. My fears were confirmed…. The wolves had brought a beaver to chop down the tree.


April Fools!

National Park and St. Louis Bridge

It was a full moon last night. Supposedly the closest one has been to our planet in a number of years as well. So we went out to the P.A National Park to listen to the wolves and check out the moon. We fed Whiskey Jacks and were flabbergasted by snow fleas. Obviously it was a good time. I will post about the wolves later as I have a story for you!

Bye Bye winter.

I can smell that crisp Western wind in the air. It is time to say goodbye to the coldest and longest winter that my memory serves up. Not that I'm complaining though because with each passing winter day my lust for spring has grown. The Cuckoo bird is soon to make its way North and the banks of the rivers will once again crumble against the rushing waters. One more month of school and it will be time to get work. There are nations to conquer and maidens to rescue. It is time for the sun to beat down my weathered brow.

YEAH TOAST!

This is how I make toast. Actually this post is not about making toast(rhyming intended). It is about my never ending tank of propane. Well at least I thought it was never going to end. For 27 dollars worth of C3H8 that I bought in America when me and my pal Josh went winter travelling last year, I was able to go through an entire BBQ season and 7 entire months of cooking every single day in the trailer. I'm thoroughly amazed. It finally ran out just last week.

The opportunity to become the wanderer has gone the way of the melting snow for me. Oh well, there are still adventures to be had and I certainly can't complain about being back in Regina for the summer. Thanks to everyone that was looking out for me.

Time to take this full time

Well there is a summer job opportunity for someone to blog about the amazing places Saskatchewan has to offer. Sounds like the job I was born to do. The ministry is going to come up with a short list of candidates and then the province will vote on who they want to be their wanderer. I will be sure to let you all know when the voting begins.

Here is the the video

Best of

With this job opportunity I wanted to take the time here to post my favorite pictures from the blog.

An entire week of learning and adventure

I just got back from winter camp today. We were privileged with accommodations at Christopher Lake for the last five days while we learned all about fish netting, water quality testing and wilderness survival.

Christopher is a gorgeous little lake about 40 minutes North of Prince Albert inside the Boreal forest. We were treated to three square meals a day and a cabin full of bunk beds. I was in a much more posh situation than normally. I had running water!

I never went to camp as a kid so this was a new experience and it truly ruled. I really did not want to leave. Good friends, guitars and lots of learning. It seemed like everyone at camp was a secretly a musician so we had five straight nights of campfire guitar playing and loud singing. There was one old toothless man who truly ruled the roost. His guitar playing was spot on and when he sung at your campfire, every camp for half a mile could hear his voice.

We learned how to net fish and classify the population. We learned how not to tie knots when using the jigger (used to run the net under the ice. I tied the one set of knots and our instructor tied the other. When it became apparent we lost the jigger I became awful nervous. But as we pulled the loose rope out of the ice the truth came out and my knot had stood the test of time. We also did a bunch of water quality testing on the surrounding lakes that we will take back to the classroom.

I also learned that I will never buy a power ice auger. A sharp hand held auger is just as fast and ten times as reliable. It is also lighter, gives you a workout and you don't have to waste money on the ever expensive gasoline.

Wilderness survival was once again a blast. Our instructor was far to easy on us and gave us tarps, extra blankets, poly and even an axe and saw. Our shelter had an awning! we set up the poly so we could roll it down when night came so we could keep in the heat and keep out the smoke. We hardly needed a fire it was so warm in there.
Give me a saw and a tarp any day and I'll build you the Vatican.

Play that little diddy

John is almost back from being in South America. I am very excited to be making music soon once again.

Ice Fishing

You can not go very far in this province without finding world class fishing. Sometimes the fish forget to bite though and so you decide to take a break for a photo opportunity with the dogs. Here we are at Echo Lake. Today I slept in and missed fishing with these guys again and it just so happened that Brett pulled up a fourteen pound Northern Pike in my absence. My loss. No sleeping in next time.

Here is a better picture of our camp. Note my handy cooking pole. It is tied to a nearby tree on an angle. Then I made a pot holder out of a forked sapling. Because the cook pole is placed on an angle I can easily move any pot up or down, closer or farther away from the fire.

Bush camping

My homework for the weekend was to go out and build a bush shelter. Excitement built in my head as my thoughts turned to the obvious idea, "If I build a shelter, I might as well sleep in it." So I rassled up 5 other friends from school and we went out winter camping. These are some pictures of the lean to I built. Hopefully I will get some more pictures of the camp from the others that went. The day was warm so we got a little bit wet but nothing a fire could not dry out. Everyone else opted to sleep beside a fire with their shelters but I decided it would not be cold enough to warrant a fire for myself. I think it only went down to around minus 15. I would have slept like a log, except for the creaking birch tree that loomed above my head and kept threatening to make a pancake out of me and my dog. Now that the shelters are built though we will probably head back there for some ice fishing and camping. this time round we only had enough time to build shelters until the darkness came and it was time to throw verbal bullshit at one another across the flames.

My lover, Helios.

It is all worth enduring. After two months of darkness, the sun has arrived to greet me once again on my morning traverse to school. It is a hard world to live in when you leave in darkness and come home to darkness. Not much room is left for playtime and happiness. But alas. Helios has finally brought the sun back to me. Spring is around the corner. I can smell it in the air. A perfect weekend for some ice fishing and a winter camp. Three cheers for the sun, and the life that it brings us.

Muskrat

This post needs a late pass from the hall supervisor, but regardless, here it is. We did not successfully harvest any beavers, but we did get a muskrat. It is possible that the beaver moved on from what looked like an active lodge. Muskrats seem to have filled the void where our friend from the nickel once played. There will be more lodges to try out though, in fact I stumbled upon one in the quarter section north of where I am living, I just need to try to get permission from the owner. This one is certainly active, so active in fact that the ice above a run was only an inch thick.

If all goes well I will get to try my hand at fleshing and tanning this month.

All Flesh is Grass

I recently finished reading a copy of The Broken Snare,the story of one man's deep end dive into the world of foothills ranching in the fifties. It follows the narrator's life from his escape to a romanticized world of simplicity and hard work, to the encroachment of mankind, progress, and it's quest for oil on the land that he worked so dearly to break and improve both for the benefit of his cattle and the surrounding wilderness. The man becomes heartbroken when he realizes that progress has no plan for him in its undertaking to subdue the natural world. He is eventually forced out and returns to the prairies, a broken man.

The intent of this post however is not a book review. I was particularly moved by one phrase the narrator kept repeating. "All flesh is grass." If you are not familiar, this is a passage from the old testament of Isaiah 40:6. Now I am not a christian man, but i do hold the belief that every religion may have something to offer if you look past its inherent flaw.

All flesh is grass, gives rise to the idea that man is simply transitory. He may be here now but he will not always be here. The grass however will. Nature will outlive us, just as it nourishes us and gives rise to our existence. Man is however often ignorant of this. The prevalent thought tends that we are the controllers of the world, that nature will crumble under our iron fist. Our plows and sheers are the creators of grain for the people of the world, but the real fact is that these same devices will reek havoc if allowed to function unchecked as commander rather than coworker. The rancher was able to recognize his place within the ecology of his land, and because of this, he watched over it, and took care of it, reveling in all its glory. It is an important lesson. Nature is here for us, but we also have to be here for nature.

Beaver

Yesterday after classes we went out to set some beaver traps. We ended up finding two runs leading away from a single lodge. To find the runs you drill holes with an ice auger until you find a spot in the water that is significantly deeper than the sorrounding area. This run is like a beaver highway, going from their lodge to thier food pile about 5 feet out from the lodge. You then slip a conibear trap into the run, fastened to a spruce stick, and wait. We are venturing out to the tundra once again this afternoon. Perhaps I will be munching on a beaver burger 8 hours from now. Hopefully!

warm winter breeze

It is nice that the cold snap is over and I can sense that a warm winter breeze from the west is starting its migration. I have been doing a lot of snowshoeing lately. Much more fun then skiing because you can go where ever you want and essentially get lost looking to pot something for evenings dinner. Yesterday I managed to find a treat.

Today the wildlife teacher is taking out a handful of us to go do some trapping. I think we will be setting up some power snares for coyotes and there are also a couple beavers on Ducks Unlimited land that the organziation wants trapped, so we will be doing some underwater sets for that. Maybe we will put out some muscrat sets as well. I forgot my fucking camera today though, but I will be sure to remember it when we check on the traps later in the week.

A story for the ages.

This is an old story, but it is winter, and thus I have no new stories.

The year was 2007, or was it 2008? Anyway, it was a few years ago, when I was just a pup. I had just bought a canoe the winter before, with great plans to go adventuring that summer. I dipped the paddle a couple times in a safe environment that spring, but never for more than a couple hours. This was the sum of my canoeing experience. The sum of my map reading skills were also at zero and so was the sum of my compassing abilities.

So with this basket of knowledge, I tied up my canoe and asked my roommate to drive me up to Besnard lake. From here I would navigate to the Churchill, hang around on the province's mightiest river for a week looking at the rock paintings, and then navigate back down into Clam Lake. So I took to the wide open waters of Besnard, barely able to stay afloat by myself, let alone navigate my big red buddy. But it was not all bad news, while the first part of the trip took longer than expected, the scenery was impeccable and I eventually made my way to the outlet of Besnard Lake. Here I expected a nice little river to take me into the Churchill. This is when I wish I had gained some skills in map reading. sure there was a river, but it certainly was not navigable for someone like me. Instead I faced a daunting, damn near 2km portage with a heavy canoe and a load of gear....alone. The next day though was not so bad. I woke up to a group of territorial hissing otters trying to scare me off their island. These furious beasts had no fear of me as they tried to frighten me out of their home.

So I spent the next week going around the Churchill looking at the paintings, doing some fishing, and just generally enjoying myself. I launched my first ever set of rapids, and got to view some other sets that I would not ever dare to challenge. I eventually neared the part of the trip where I would find the portage into a set of lakes that would take me into Clam. As my luck would have it (or more accurately, my lack of map reading skills), I could not find it. Just as I lost all hope of ever seeing the urban world again, I floated over to a set of rapids to do some fishing before the evening wore on. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw an 18 foot aluminum boat bound over this set of rapids that would strike fear into even Satan himself. They floated over to me.... "Where is your queen,?" a couple of elderly Cree men ask. "She is not crazy enough to come with me," was the reply. We exchanged some more small talk. they asked where I was headed and then invited me to their camp for some fresh moose burgers where they would take a look at my map. How could I refuse? So we pull the canoe helplessly crossways on top of the boat and I am told to hang on. An eagle would have reckoned from above that we were a small aircraft trying to helplessly take off, we must have been a sight for sore eyes.

One pull and the motor is up and going. We veer forward and in the distance looms another set of rapids that dearly frightened me. But my main man on the rudder held no such fear. He knew where the rocks were, he has probably taken this route 300 times in his life. I was totally flabbergasted, never had I seen such skill.

As I write this, I am salivating over those tasty moose burgers, so on to the feast. It was amazing, they threw me a coke and all the hamburgers I could shake a stick at. I was saved, mentally and physically. After some lie swapping and tall tales from a man who had been living and trapping in the bush for 60 odd years we pulled out my maps. "Oh!," he says, "that's where your trying to go...the trail is my trap line, and it starts right outside my backdoor here."

I'm not sure if a stroke of luck has ever hit me so hard. I would have never found this place if I had not found them. Not only was my trip saved but I had one of my most memorable feasts of my life and met an individual that I will never forget. When things get you down, right down to the ground, just remember, and I know this is cliché, but the only way from there is up.