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.

In the company of friends.

Back home for the holidays and I feel as if I am the great Atlas and have been relieved of my heavenly duties. Not that I have carried a great weight in the last four months, in fact you could suggest that I have carried no weight at all, but the amount of relief I feel to be back home is astronomical. It is apparent that I have missed all my friends, and that these people keep my mind and soul from escaping my body and heading for the loony bin.

How much of one's health is psychological and what is the healing power of the company of love and friendship. If I have learned anything in the past two months, it is that the mind plays very powerfully on the body. I have begun to notice that when I am among friends, my health issues begin to hide from me, even though I stay up late telling lies on bar stools and eat whatever is placed in front of me.

So here is to my friends. Know that I appreciate you. Happy holidays to all! The sun is about to make its fiery return as the days begin to grow longer.

Do you know what this is?

Hopefuly it will show up on your computer. Scroll down to find the answer!
















































This is where a bird has hopped along in the snow and then has taken off like a shot into the air, it's wings imprinting a perfectly symmetrical pattern onto the snow. I took this photo the other day along the back 40 while on a hike with the pup.

Man's best friend

In the border lands of the southern extent of the White Spruce, a man is liable to become lonely from time to time. The companionship of the trembling aspen and a six string guitar only takes you so far when the sun begins to elude the heavens for the majority of the day. It is this feeling of alienation that temps to drive a man within the reaches of neon lights, tumble down watering holes on weekdays and late night coffee shops in search of expression. Often however as soon as the expression is found, a wanting grows deep inside for what is held dear. The poplar trees call to the place where human intimacy hides but the romanticism of the wild flourishes.

So where does one begin to bridge the gap between these two worlds? Does he search the desolate streets night after night, hoping to find a like minded acquaintance? Or does he delve into himself for four cold months when joy is blanketed by snow? Does he simply push forth, waiting for the day when the blossom's of the Saskatoon appear. No this is not the answer. contemplation of the weariness of winter is not the answer. A man must find his place amongst the frosted twigs and occupy himself with the activities not found in summer. Ice skating, hard water fishing, snow shoeing. Winter does have its advantages. The cold is nature's deep freeze and the snow is the night light of the winter's dark. But these joys are not easily shared alone. They are much better with a friend. A friend that accepts you unconditionally. A friend that does not complain about the cold, or that time you hit on his girlfriend. A friend that is part canine part mystic. A mistreated friend rescued from the harsh realities of La Ronge.

I have adopted a four month old border collie cross from a rescue mission in La Ronge. my very own runty Rez dog. I travelled to Saskatoon this weekend intent on finding some fun and ended up finding my new best friend. My friend Jenna's mother runs a rescue mission in the North to help out all the little pups from the reservations and she had a little guy with her on her visit to the Paris of the Prairies. And I fell in love!

I have deemed him Le Petit, his name sake, the rifle shouldered by Gabriel Dumont that nearly defeated a fledgling Canadian military in the North-West Rebellion of 1885. I decided it was a suiting name as he is from La Ronge and will be growing up in St. Louis, both places being historically French..... And the name is hard as fuck...just like him;)

Who needs a hangover?

I don't. I think i far prefer waking up on a fresh Sunday morning in the middle of a forest cooking with a stick, a deer steak that was running around chasing does five days previous. I spent the rest of the day driving around the national park and following wolf tracks on a hike, hoping for a glimpse of the intelligent beast.


The sign is just something I thought was hilarious. I have never seen a sign on a river before. This was taken on the Sturgeon River which forms the South Western border of Prince Albert National Park.

Paying the rent

Who needs money?

Well I certainly do.

But sometimes it is nice to skip that aspect of society. I have payed the rent, hopefully for the entire year, with three hard days of manual labour. Having a trade is priceless sometimes. In exchange for the rent, I have re roofed my landlords house. tearing off two layers of the worst shingles I have ever experienced, and I certainly have not shingled by shop light at 8 o clock on a Sunday evening before. But enough complaining, it is done!

Well well well

well well well. I suppose I have neglected posting for a while. I also suppose that it is hunting season. I might just suppose that these two incidences are related. Anyhow, last week I went over to neighbour Dave's to do some bullshitting and ask him who the landowners in the area are so I could gain permission for hunting. Dave asked me what I was using for a firearm. I let him know that I was rifle less and would be shooting a shotgun. He then offered me one of his 270 and told me to go out with one of his pals the next morning. He would have shipped me out himself but he just got out of a debilitating hernia surgery.... Ouch. So up before first light and into the stand I went and harvested a young buck. Hung before 10AM. Two days later I borrowed the rifle again and went out at dusk and harvested a second deer(we are in a two zone deer). Then Dave let me borrow his meat shop. Dave is the ultimate man's man and four days after a hernia operation I still could not keep him away from helping me. The kind of man that is pained by even the thought of sitting down when there is work to do.

Man it pays to be friends with the neighbour. I owe them dearly. One long long day(sun up to sun down)and my winter meat is all nicely cut and packaged.......... right in time for the return of my ulcerative colitis. After being in remission for probably four years this is extremely dissapointing. Now as much as I want to gorge myself with red meat I have a feeling that it is not the best thing to do at this point in my life. So friends alike... let me know what is your favorite cut of meat and I just might have to swing it your way. As much as this pains me... it is going to pain me either way.

Eight hundred acres of on foot only hunting. Is a two minute walk from my house. This rules. Not just for hunting but for going on walks, pretending I am survivor man and plain old hanging out. Life in the parkland rules.

Wild Boar hunting was unsuccessful... If you call getting in a canoe for a short paddle and spending six hours in a beautiful poplar forest unsuccessful. I don't.

The best part about this program I am in is having instructors that are literally treasure chests of knowledge for everything I am interested in. Yesterday in maps class, instructor Phil was telling me about hunting for wild boar last weekend in my neck of the woods. Every so often a population of farmed wild boar becomes feral. When this happens their status turns from domesticated animal, to pest. Meaning anyone can hunt them, can hunt as many as they want, and should hunt them because they are an introduced species that does an awful lot of damage to habitat. So with some more poking and proding I have found out where a herd, supposedly sometimes reaching fifteen in number, hangs out. Sugar island, accessable by quad or canoe. I have a canoe. I have a shotgun. I have a friend with a rifle. I am going wild boar hunting this weekend. Wish me luck.

The Night Sky

Comparing the aesthetics of the night sky to daylight is like comparing Oreos and oatmeal raisin cookies. Sure they are both cookies, but one infinetly kicks ass. A couple weekends ago I went out to Wascana trails with my friends Mel, Jenna and Ali for some light recreation. Only a fifteen minute drive from Regina, you are out in nature but you are still ever conscious of the haze of the city. When I arrived, the night sky proceeded to enthuse me for the better part of three hours. It started out as a cloudless evening with an absentee moon so the stars were out in full effect. Stars are quite wonderful in their own right but when they start shooting around up there like a heated duel in an old spaghetti western, they take on a whole new level of awesomeness. If you watch the constellations long enough you get to see them move around in the night sky which is also pretty amazing. The North star will always stand triumphant but the big dipper who you can always count on to point you towards this beacon, will do summersaults in the Northern horizon if you keep one eye on it.
The stars hung out for a bit and then the clouds decided to roll in. Brightened from below, the daytime role of the clouds was reversed in the moonless night, as they reflected the collective glow of a million tiny lightbulbs rather than the powerful sun. The bustle of the city, canvassed across a sky of condensed water vapour.
Then my mind wanders for perhaps twenty minutes. I look up once again and the clouds are gone. I take another glance and I am greeted by my fellow Northerner, Aurora Borealis. From East to West she stretched across the Northern hemispher. Simply magnificient. Never have I seen a show such as this. Up, down, flash, subside, dance, inflame, fuck throw any verb or adjective in there and it would fit. Such an eerie green too. If there was a spirit world and this spirit world had a representative colour, it would be the green of the Northern lights. I don’t think I am doing a good job of explaining Aurora here but if you have seen it, you know what I am getting at, and if you have not seen it, get off your ass and get out of the city sometime this winter and you just might be lucky enough to gaze into the heart of a miracle.*

*sorry for the ICP reference but I had to.

Hippies

Are usually pretty awsome.

I had the opportunity today to visit my friend Dean and his aspirations of living off the land. A slow progression is being made here. First comes the house and the learning and hopefully one day a dive into the ocean of self sustainability. It is a goal that I echo within the deepest realms of my being. It was absolutly wonderful to have the opportunity to see someone's beginning attempts at going back to the land.

Dean has found a like minded compatriot in Kenny. Kenny is a retired man who long ago bought a quarter section in an area north of Shell Lake. Deffined by giant eskers left by the glaciers of long ago and bordered by limitless amounts of crown grazing land and provincial forest, this property is a little piece of heaven within spitting distance of civilization.

A few of the notable things that Kenny has created are:
-An orchard bordered by a beautiful fence made of willow.
-A contraption for catching fresh water coming out of the side of the esker to feed his garden via gravity flow.
-An underground fridge. Kenny dug a hole deep enough that maintains an ambient temperature of 5 degrees celsius. Simply amazing, essentially a free fridge.
-The water is free, clean and delicious. Oh and you get from a hand pump!


Kenny is a man who probably has ten thousand thoughts floating through his head at any given time and is genuinely interested in each and every one of those thoughts. As a result Kenny's "mansion" is somewhat of a convoluted mess. One bright summer day Kenny had an old winnabego dragged to his property. After slashing the tires he began the quest of building his freedom. Eight and a half by twelve feet at a time he constructed a building around this trailer. No foresite requires no limitations so the structure has continued to grow into a misconstrued maze. Wild weasels living in the house keep the mice away and the occasional salamander stuck in some plastic will stir Dean from his slumber. Wine and curried vegetables are served by candle light and the comforting glow of a wood stove keeps us toasty at night.

This is a place I must visit often.

Hunting season

It's the best.

I would trade a thousand diamonds for this Indian summer we have been having.
Its October, I go out hunting grouse in a fucking T-shirt with my friends. I come back after a long day of walking. I stuff some birds, put them in the oven, my pals come back over, I bring out the wine(which by the way turned out fantastic), and we feast like barbarians! No utensils allowed at my kitchen table! Seriously though, bird hunting is the best. It is an excuse to get lost in a forest all day long, scare deer, stumble upon a magnificient antler shed, collect wild mushrooms and just unwind. Even if I don't shoot anything I'm still as happy as the day I first discovered I could grow a beard.

Fish of a lifetime.

You know what is fantastic... Living in a city where you can go fishing after school. Living somewhere you can go fishing within city limits. Catching the fish of a lifetime and then being able to have a fire at a public park combined with an epic fucking fish fry. Prince Albert I salute you.

This behemoth was caught from shore last Wednesday where the bastard child of the mighty Red River, aptly called the Little Red River, meets the greatness that is the North Saskatchewan River. It was early in the evening and I was using a five of diamonds tipped with a worm when I got the strike. "I think your snagged on that log that we have been hitting," replied my fellow class mates. "Not unless this log moves," I snapped back. Pretty quick it was evident that I had latched onto a monster. Kevin, who guides up at Wollaston Lake Lodge, an affluent lodge which costs the small price of 1500 dollars a day per person to visit, helped me land this wonderful fish. Weighing in at 11.6 pounds it is probably the biggest walleye I will ever catch.

tonight

Tonight at 7 I get to go to a talk about mushroom of the boreal forest. This will be neat. Does Saskatchewan have an Alice and Wonderland mushroom? Hopefully I can figure out which mushrooms I should have picked to cook up with that Ruffed Grouse on sunday.