Weird tree

The top half of this tree must have broken off and it decided it did not want to die. Perhaps it is a magical tree and decided it could create more witchery with two terminal branches.

Stop stealing my grouse!

I suppose coyotes have to eat to. I just wish they would eat the less tasty animals. I found this along my usualy walking path. The victim was the ever so clumsy ruffed grouse.

Weekend fun.

Saturday
Ice fishing on the weekend greatly outweighs nursing hangovers in the fun department. I should probably learn something from this but it is likely that I will forget all common sense the next time someone issues the warning of a party. Sans hangover we managed to limit out on walleye in 45 minutes. I could tell you where we went fishing but you would have to supply me with the body bag. The fishing was so hot everytime someone would pull up a fish, their hole was stolen faster than a fifteen year old's virginity during frosh week. It made for a great morning of musical chairs and jousting comments about the lack of fish certain people had caught.

Sunday
Super dog managed to cut all that lumber himself! What a fantastic pooch. If I did not know any better I would say he is the bastard offspring of Lassie herself.

In actuality the dog just ran around licking his balls while I hauled some lumber(I think when I leave this plain in a whirlwind of fire I want to return as a dog).

No school friday afternoons. Must occupy fun.

Canoe trip? You mean how was my fucking sailing trip!

It is the July long weekend, the Canada day long weekend. I can distinctly remember spending this weekend trolling Regina Beach for fist fights and fun loving females in years gone past. I hope that I have slightly grown up from this, but as I think about it, I may not have digressed that far.

This weekend would however be different. It has now become the annual adventure weekend for me and my hillbilly friends. A weekend where cell phones are left in secret hiding places, fireworks are bought by the crate, paddles are broken and whiskey is drunk like water. If there is one weekend I look forward to all year long, this is it.

Last year we paddled a stretch of the South Saskatchewan. This year we would travel through the provincial forest down the North Saskatchewan from the Cecil Ferry crossing to Nipawin. Six men and three canoes would accept the challenge. Dogs were left behind as this summer would be particularly dangerous. With the flooding this year the river peaked roughly a week before we were to set our vessels in the current, and peak it did with a flow of over 2000 cubic meters per second. For comparison sake, Wascana Creek has an average peak flow of 16 cubic meters in the spring.

Aside from Joe becoming slightly upset when I threw a cup of pee at his truck, the trip up was relatively tame. We arrived late in the evening at what was supposed to be the ferry crossing. The high water had closed the road leading down to the crossing and as we walked up to the bank we could why. The torrent of water had turned the river a dark brown as whole uprooted trees floated past us like giant foreboding gestures.

Three of us would be in charge of driving to the Nipawin area to drop off a vehicle while the other three would be in charge of drinking and setting up camp for the night... but mostly drinking. I elected to stay behind and sent the others off with a somewhat non detailed map and a list of hazy instructions to find the shoreline in the middle of the night. As it would stand though, instructions were not followed and the vehicle was left somewhere down a road as far as the muddy surface of the bush trail would allow.

Eventually the weary travelers made it back to camp just in time to shoot fireworks in the direction of a group of high school kids frolicking on the opposite bank. Beds were then made as mosquitoes were avoided while visions of sugar plums and whitewater began to dance in my head.

We awoke to a dreary overcast day and set ship. As we floated from our camp we could hear someone screaming at us from the opposite bank in a panicked voice. Was he warning us of something? Was Wīhtikōw himself, eater of flesh, waiting for us in the shadows of the next bend. Hopefully not, maybe the old man was just making sure we were aware of the large tree headed in our direction. Regardless of what the warning was for, it was an unnerving start for the trip.

Now I had travelled the first section of the river before so I became the unofficial guide of the trip. I had been through the stretch known as LaColle falls before at much tamer water levels. I knew the boys were coming up on a challenge. True to form the falls produced swells twice the size of a canoe and one boat just about took on enough water to swamp it. When your canoe has six inches of water in it you lose all control and losing all control while you are hitting 20 km an hour down a 300 meter stretch of rapids does not exactly compare to opiate induced relaxation. Luckily they managed to float to shore and bail out the canoe while we travelled onto the abandoned Prince Albert Dam . When I had been at the dam previous it was possible to climb inside it and walk around. Now the water was so high that the entrance way was completely submerged. While waiting for the others we stumbled around, happened upon a geocache and ran into a couple of teenagers out for a stroll. The teenagers decided they were not interested in sticking around after one member of our party proceeded to get rip roaring afternoon drunk and shoot his WWI era rifle at the concrete dam. Not really sure what their problem was….

We proceeded to eat some canned ham tomato wraps while JJ bravely lit a live hornets’ nest on fire to entertain us. I don’t have balls that big. I was impressed. The would be members of Davey Jones' locker eventually caught up and after having our fill we shipped off once again into the wild blue yonder. The rest of the day was spent with a myriad of animal sightings. The first was a cow and calf moose that joined us, floating down the river just in front of us, racing towards the promise land for what must have been a solid 2 km. Following that we came up on a cow elk floating in the distance and later on even a bull moose showed up for a bath in the river. I’m really unsure why there were so many animals in the water that day. Perhaps they were due for their weekly cleaning or were simply escaping the wrath of the Saskatchewan mosquito. The rest of the day went on uneventful aside from some naked swimming at a sandbar just north of the forks of the North and South Saskatchewan Rivers and a ruckus camping adventure where we spent the evening being assholes to Jason who made the mistake of telling us about his dream of becoming a police officer.

Enter Awesome Day

This is the day that will forever be known as Awesome Day. This day, July 1, 2011 is now capitalized and forever will be. The government told us they would have issued another calendar holiday, except that it already is one. On Awesome Day, everything is wonderful. The sun decided to pay us a visit this groggy hangover morning. A beautiful day, we set forth for the horizon. The waters from this point on started to calm as the river began to widen in advance of the dam miles ahead. This afternoon four members of the party indulged while the other two were designated as baby sitters for the man children. The world was beautiful. We tied all three canoes together and simply floated our craft ever so slowly towards paradise.

Perfect, complacent, magical, the 7 wonders of the world have nothing on us....Suddenly though… Our world was shaken. Brett had an idea! “An idea” I ask? “Pick up your fucking paddle, were going to shore you useless tits.” Okay,” I thought to myself, “I can do this.” We all joined in and paddled our not so maneuverable raft towards a clump of aspen on the river bank. “Give me ten minutes,” demanded Brett. “Hey, you do what you gotta do man,” was the only reply we could muster. Brett left with a saw and an axe and true to form came back with 5 polls. Two were lashed across the thwarts and the other three were crafted with duct tape and rope into a mast. JJ offered up his tent (a small black tarp). Well in hindsight he did not really offer it up, it was more so just taken, however it was a very small price to pay for what would come next. With Brett’s ingenuity and my artistic ability, we soon had a Jolly Roger sail for our pirate ship. We called it the Docket Rocket.

“How was your canoe trip?”
-“You mean how was my fucking sailing trip!”

And yes… It worked. We were cruising down the river at 14 knots without even dipping the paddle. The only paddle in the water was used as a rudder by our esteemed captain, Brett “mother hen” King. For the rest of the afternoon we sailed on through the provincial forest riding our happiness vessel like a pinto pony sent from fields of Elysium. Eventually in the distance we spotted a large bridge. We had made it to the crossing at Wapiti ski valley. Cruising under the bridge we startled a few fishermen who were enjoying a leisurely afternoon of sturgeon fishing. After what we had been through thus far, I am not sure if we were more startled to see them or if they were more startled to see us. As we drifted past the valley we had a brainwave that we may be able to find women at the local campground.

With our brave captain in command we steered towards shore. Once we docked we realized that upstream paddling would be impossible. But not impossible would be a night spent at the campground! Once again with our brave captain “mother hen” at the helm (a large rope attached to the vessel, the other end to himself) we would make it back to the recreation site. Chest deep in the water, Brett trudged on with our shouts of encouragement from the comfortable seats of the best pirate ship Satan ever concocted. We would arrive just before Brett’s legs would give out in exhaustion.

ENTER THE HUMANS

We had only been bush for two days but it was enough that I really did not want to have anything to do with the normals. A few of the more gung ho sexually deprived individuals ventured up to discover a campground full of nice family types. We did not fit in, so we marooned our ship in a cove and set up our own little private campground. Of course in the haze of Awesome Day we managed to forget that it was also Canada day. And in the true spirit of continually making everything better on Awesome Day, we discovered that a firework shot under the water went in magical directions and could make a really neat noise. Also we learned that impromptu floating firework barges create a fire hazard. We would eventually flame out just as fast as the perceived fire hazard in anticipation for our final day on the river.

Words of wisdom from Awesome Day:
“Make it better, Make it work”
“Were losing time, but gaining fun”
“It’s getting better!”
Maybe you had to be there…….



Third and final day

Obviously this day was spent sailing. Why fuck with a good thing. We did add a windsock though so we could steer properly into the wind. The river now was really starting to widen and slow down so the sail definitely helped. The only downside of a slow wide river is the influx of normal humans. But hundred thousand dollar wake board boats proved no match for the Docket Rocket. Every time a boat would get to close, Joe would wave his “stick” at them. The stick was actually a loaded bolt action rifle, but who is counting. Anyway this day proved relatively tame until we happened upon Pabst Blue Ribbon camp.

You know those commercials where they rant and rave at you, tricking you into drinking really piss poor Budlight Lime just so you can have a chance to party at Bud Camp. Are people really stupid enough to forget that the bud girls are just sad renderings of the sluts from your high school that were not intelligent enough to pursue even a bullshit fine arts degree? Ignorant… Drink real beer. But enough ranting…. Anyway, while we were canoeing we kept talking about how we wanted to discover a mythical Pabst Blue Ribbon camp where silicone is restricted to a caulking gun and expectations just simply do not exist. (not that Pabst is a particularly good beer, but at least it is marketed to hillbillies instead of flatbrim nothings).

The verdict? Sadly I think we found it. We could see tents in the distance so we once again marooned our ship in the presence of the normals. A few members of the party walked off in search of Pabst Blue Ribbon headquarters while the rest of us lay on the beach for a well deserved nap. We did after all spend an entire day doing nothing while the wind did all the work. I was exhausted. Amongst the drift wood that had piled up on the beach the previous week I found what appeared to be.... a coconut? That really must have been some high water. What was a coconut doing here? Well me not knowing much about coconuts, or anything tropical for that matter, I decided to crack it open. It of course was rotten inside. ROTTEN. I have not smelt anything like that before. And If I can die without ever smelling it again I will have achieved my life’s ultimate goal.

While I was enjoying my nap someone had found the Pabst girls. True to form, JJ took off his shirt and began doing pushups to impress the girls. When JJ does this, I always think that he is more interested with impressing us by showing us how hilarious of a situation he can muster, but regardless the girls were also impressed. Groggily I surveyed the situation. We could sit here all evening, PAY for a camp site (an outrageous idea) and watch JJ perform the “mean lean” (this is where he puts one hand on his hip while the other is lifting himself off the ground in a display of panther like sexuality), or we could paddle the short distance to our end point, hope we can find the car and enjoy one more evening avoiding the normals.

It would take some convincing but we eventually shipped off and sure enough when we were 30 meters on our way down the crick, certain crew members of the Docket Rocket attempted to convince the Pabst girls to flash us. Being Pabst girls, they gladly took their shirts off. No thanks, my spectacles remained in my waterproof tickle trunk. In our final hour of paddling we managed to get into our first fight. Without wind we were hopeless. No one wanted to paddle. All I wanted to do was dive naked off our ship and swim around it annoying everyone. The front simply wanted to drink. The back wanted the front to paddle. It was a vicious cycle, a standstill would best describe the final hours of the journey.

We would though eventually make it to where we hoped the vehicle would be. After half an hour of outrunning the mosquitos we found it and retrieved it down the road we were supposed to have dropped it off on which would take us directly to the camp site. We set up camp and scrounged around for the last morsels of food we had packed. The presence of bear tracks near camp was slightly unnerving but I am not sure if I have ever slept so soundly in my entire life. Sailing is exhausting.

In the mean time.

Here are a few songs we recorded this past fall.

http://thewildmen.bandcamp.com/

Up and at dem.

Alright, so it has been a while since I have made any updates to this self absorbed blogger thing. This can be attributed to 30% laziness, 15% apathy, 50% of it goes to losing my camera twice this summer during adventures and not wanting to replace it, and the final 5% can be attributed to spending all my free time pretending to be Woody Guthrie these days. The plan is to buy a camera this afternoon and to post about the adventures I have been on during my downtime from the internet.

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.