The Wasteful Buck

2020 was an odd year for a great many reasons, the beacon that will mark these yet to be determined amount of years will be Covid-19 and how we did our best to navigate its ever-changing landscape. I, like many others, did my best to live a normal life, but sometimes that simply couldn’t happen. In this story, it’s relevant, and a mere inconvenience compared to what others have gone through. This story tells of a particularly difficult deer partly from covid, but there is no shortage of self-induced headache, there are lots of little lessons to be learned but I think the biggest takeaway is, sometimes, things don’t go your way.

The Hunt

Every year I try to add a little to my hunting skill. A person naturally learns just from being in the woods searching, but on top of that, I try to read a book or two on the subject and pick up what little tips I can. In 2020 one lesson I had to re-learn was to slow down. It’s human nature when looking for something to try to get to it instead of letting it come to you. With deer I find, that in my mind, the one I am looking for is just over the next hill and about to leave so I better get there.

After spooking a sufficient amount of deer with my size 14s crunching in the snow and leaves I decided to try doing what every successful hunter suggests, it’s called “still hunting”. I slowed down, way down. I would take a cautious step, take a breath, look around, listen intently, wait a moment, then take another step. Two things about this technique, first, you see a lot of other wildlife like squirrels and birds, second, it’s a good leg workout, they are sore come the end of the day.

On my second day of proper still hunting, I found myself cautiously walking between the treeline and a swamp. About 100 yards behind me, just beyond some trees, I heard the unmistakable sound of movement. In a single motion, I spun a 180, dropped to one knee, and brought my rifle to low-ready against my shoulder. It was two does trotting along slowly working towards me. They came around the trees and out into the open only about 50 yards from me, then turned into the bush again and ran off. I sat silent for a moment listening to them go away from me. I didn’t want to move or make noise, if I spooked them, they would run and spook other deer.

As the sound of the does faded away, I started to hear another deer coming from the same place the does had. Through the trees, I could see a silhouette of a single deer running with its head down close to the ground. That’s the unmistakable posture of a buck hot on the trail of a doe, in this case, two does. As he rounded the trees it was clear he was a nice buck. I recognized him as a wide antlered whitetail I had trail camera pictures of. He came out about 50 yards from me, stood perfectly broadside, lifted his head gracefully, and turned toward me. Looking at pictures of him, I felt he could use another year of growth… standing in the wild looking at me with my rifle in my hands, I had different opinions. I raised my rifle, steadied the crosshairs, and pulled the trigger. He fell, lifted his head for a moment, then laid out gracefully.

I really like this picture, and these are ideal whitetail hunting conditions in my mind, possibly just for aesthetic reasons.
Hunting has blood, it feels disingenuous to keep it out of pictures. For anyone interested, I used a Kimber 30-06, but any rifle would have worked great at that distance.
I believe this 2019 picture is of this deer, but I could be mistaken
What I believe is a picture of this deer from earlier in the season

The Work

This is where the story starts to fall apart. I had just shot a big deer, then it all went downhill. First I called Darrell to come out with the truck so we could get him back to the farm to hang and skin. We drug the deer only about 50 yards to the truck and then loaded it in. I immediately vomited after loading the deer. This was a combination of the excitement and the exercise but I primarily attribute it to the fact that covid lockdowns gave me about 8 months of sitting on the couch watching TV, eating junk food, and gaining weight. I was embarrassed and Darrell was clearly worried… puke during a pandemic and see how folks look at you.

We got the deer home and I started skinning. I discovered I had made a mistake that season, I used my hunting knife to clean a lot of geese early in the season and didn’t resharpen it for deer season, it was like skinning with a butter knife. Luckily, Darrell is the kind of guy who has a stockpile of knives and they’re all razor-sharp. Skin half a deer with a dull knife and the other half with a sharp knife and you’ll never let a knife dull again. I got the deer skinned, cut in half, and hung up and relaxed. The work was done for now. I headed home, back to the city.

Covid Interruptions

I left the meat and skull at my parent’s farm with the intention of dealing with it in the coming weeks but days after I got home lockdowns and restrictions were announced. I was no longer allowed into other people’s homes and had to maintain a distance of 6 feet at all times.

The Skull and Antlers

I wanted to keep the entire skull as a European mount, but I needed to turn in brain samples for CWD testing. I spoke to a friend who does some taxidermy about getting beetles to eat the flesh off of the skull, but it was up to me to skin the skull and take out the samples for testing. Unfortunately, I had left the hide on the skull and the skull was at my parents’. We had entered a lockdown so I couldn’t even go into their house. I made a day trip and picked up the skull and brought it to the city. It was frozen solid from being in an unheated garage. After 3 days of sitting in my basement, it was still solid, which makes sense, deer have evolved to survive in minus 50 so it stands to reason that their hide would be a great insulator. I ended up using an Exacto knife and heat gun to slowly work the hide off and get the samples. I got the samples out and turned in (they came back negative) and got the skull to the taxidermist. She had asked if I wanted the skull bleached, I declined as I prefer the natural colour of skulls in mounts over the bleached white look. After a few months, beetling takes time, she returned the skull to my wife while I was at work. She mentioned to her in passing “I’m not sure why he didn’t want it bleached, it really kills that rotting smell”… I had no idea that was the purpose and felt mighty foolish. That skull stunk out my entire basement. I ended up making a baking soda paste, lathering a quarter-inch thick layer on the skull, and tossing it on the roof of my shed for most of the spring just to get the smell off. Had I known, I’d have happily shelled out the extra few dollars for the bleaching.

I’m still not sure where in my apartment he belongs yet, so for now, in the living room near the landing is where the skull sits

The Meat

This is the part of the story that makes me sad and ashamed. At the time of shooting the deer, my plan was to come back and butcher the deer myself within a few weeks. The lockdowns we were under were supposed to only be a few weeks but kept getting extended, as a result, the deer sat hanging for about two months. Finally, I just made a day trip out to the farm and picked it up and attempted to butcher it at my dad’s shop. All that time spent hanging resulted in a thick rind of dried meat that was simply inedible. I carved off what I could from every part of the deer. In the end, I had a few steaks pulled off the backstrap and 2 big bags of ground meat. A pitiful amount given the size of Alberta deer. I remember being frustrated and scraping meat off of the bone, and my friend in the shop watching me finally stopping me, “it’s time to stop, you’ve gotten all you can” I grew up in a house where wasting food was a sin, and this felt like a big one. I’ve heard it many times before, if you hunt enough, eventually you’ll lose a deer, usually, it’s one you injure and never find, but I guess sometimes it’s lockdowns and confusion too. This season is off to a better start, I already helped my brother load a deer without vomiting, I guess my time at the gym has paid off. I have my knives sharp and ready to go, and I’m going to put a bit more urgency into anything I get on the ground because we are currently in the fourth wave in Alberta. Were I betting man, I would bet on more lockdowns coming this winter.

My attempt at jerky in the dehydrator came out ok.

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First Time Snow Goose Hunting

As many of you know, I recently got hooked on waterfowl hunting. I have the fortune of having four friends who are all big into it, good at it, and seem to have accepted me into the fold. This means they have all the gear and have deep roots with the locals in the area allowing them permission on a lot of land. For me, this results in a pretty cushy ride, and to top it all off, I’m so slow getting out of the blind that usually someone else runs out to grab the birds. Now that I think about it, I realize I’m a little late on this year’s case of beer payment.

Historically, we have primarily hunted Canada Geese. In fact, on my first outing this year we managed to hit our daily limit of 8 geese per person. I also got my first double (meaning that I managed to get two birds in one pass). Another exciting side note, we had a lot of birds come in just before legal light, we left them and allowed them to land. As we sat and waited for the clock to strike, a stinkin’ coyote came by and scared them all off.

On my most recent trip, and the main event of this story, we decided to try our hand at snow geese. Historically, the area we hunt does not see a lot of them, we just aren’t in their travel corridor, is my guess. That said, Tyler made some calls and landed us permission on a field where he had seen a whole mess of those big white birds. It was farther east than we usually hunt, but I was more than happy to go a little farther to give it a try. Tyler, Kendra, and I went out that afternoon to give it a shot. We set laydown blinds along the edge of the field and set out a little over a dozen decoys, some were the sock type, which is essentially white windsocks, and others were some older Canada goose decoys that had been painted to look like snows. We also had the luxury of being able to use an electronic call for snow geese, something that is prohibited for other waterfowl species.

We got squared away… and then stood around and waited… and waited… turns out we were there a touch earlier than we needed to be. I didn’t mind, you all know how chatty I am. Halfway through my home invasion story, we started to hear geese in the distance, I scrambled to my blind and got geared up. My companions were already ready, they even had their earplugs in… probably just the type who like to be prepared. As we were watching geese on the horizon rise over the trees, I looked down and saw a coyote only a few feet from our decoys and maybe 30 yards from our blinds. I saw him about the time he pieced together something wasn’t right. He cut a trail straight away from us across the field.

If memory serves, the first few birds were actually Canada Geese, Tyler was quick to flip off the electronic call and call them in the traditional way. This first pass was a great opportunity for me to fire a warning shot at the geese coming in, at least that’s the story I’m sticking to. We were there for snows, it would be rude to shoot Canada’s right? So I just shot behind them a bit. My companions, on the other hand, must have skipped lunch because they were dropping birds like they were hungrier than that coyote.. who, coincidentally circled back for another look. The gunfire convinced him this wasn’t a party he wanted to stay for.

We had another pass or two of Canadas, and I decided I better get at least one. After that, there was a bit of a lull in the action. After just enough time for us to wonder if any snows were coming, we were surprised on the right by a group of about twelve coming in to have a look at our spread. I was shocked at how they fly. Canada Geese fly with purpose, in a very proper dignified way. Almost like a commercial liner does, very stead and straight to where they are going, all business. Snows fly with reckless abandon, like small songbirds, as they flew passed I saw stalls, dips, dives, and sharp turns. This made me immediately think about my questionable shotgun skills. Little did I know, today would hold the best shotgun shooting I’ve ever done, so far. After those birds did their initial flyby they did a few slow circles overhead, descending ever so slightly each time. With each pass, they would lower and raise their landing gear, almost like a practice run. Eventually, they came low enough that someone gave the signal to shoot. Two birds hit the dirt, neither of them mine.

After those first few were collected, we sat and waited. Suddenly, in the distance, we heard it… the sound of a large flock slowly working towards us. Within minutes the sky was full of beautiful white birds, the air filled with their raspy honks, the feeling of wind pushing down from their wings against our faces. We laid back, hidden in our blinds, watching what could only be described as a tornado of birds. All slowly circling above us, losing a bit of altitude with each pass. After a few minutes of being in shock and awe, I heard Tyler say “get ready…. ready… NOW!” and the three of us popped up and opened fire. My first shot was a clean miss, but my second, almost vertical shot connected, and my third, slightly past vertical and on the left also connected. The two birds fell out of the sky hard, both crashing just to my left, one into a small patch of trees, I could hear the branches break as they fell. We retrieved our birds as fast as we could and were able to get in shots at a few more passes before the flock dispersed, netting us a few more birds. I was quite proud of myself for that double.

I am unsure if some of the same flock came back, or another smaller one came in, but either way, we got another front-row seat to a vortex of birds. Unfortunately, this time, I got selfish. Snows tend to circle a lot and do almost mock landings, Canadas don’t do this. On one of the lower passes, I yelled shoot and surprised everyone. I thought they were low enough for us, and I was getting bucky and worried they’d get away. As I came out of the blind, it took me an extra second to get lined up and only fired a single shot… which knocked two birds out of the sky, no one else fired. They had been perfectly aligned and I am counting it as good shooting even though a case could be made for lucky coincidence. Unfortunately, this spooked the flock off and threw a wrench into my companions’ plans. They were forgiving but I was embarrassed. I jumped the gun.

Several times after that, we agreed to pack up and head out, but each time we started to get out of our blinds another small group would come in. We got shots at a few and gained a few more birds for the pile. Eventually, the writing was on the wall, they were headed back to water and it was time to head back and start cleaning birds.

Tyler and I started walking back to his truck and my car. Around the time we got there we heard two shots in the distance, we looked at each other and I said “That is either a good thing or a bad thing.” As we drove back, Tyler heard the third shot but I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my car’s suspension clunking across the field. We got there to find Kendra with an extra goose. It turns out it had come by, she called it in close, missed two shots, called it back, and got it on the third try.

We drove back to town and cleaned the birds, all that was left was my long drive back to the city.


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Book Hunting

I recently moved and my new place is within walking distance to a used book store. I have a real love of used book stores and never pass a chance to visit one. I’m a natural hoarder anyway, but I’m a real bibliophile on top of that. All that said, I found that my searching for old books reminds me a lot of my approach to hunting. I search in likely places and hope to get lucky. I could easily order the book online and have it delivered to me… that would be like getting meat from the grocery store, feels like cheating. Also, like hunting, I find myself interested in acquiring unique and rare books and shopping for them in new locations. One of my fondest memories is wandering around Victoria and happening on three different book stores. After a weekend trip, I flew home with nine books. Another parallel is that I like to look at other people’s book collections like I would their taxidermy or hunting photos. On that same Victoria trip, I treated myself to a visit to the Hand of Man Museum full of all sorts of taxidermy, antiques, and most exciting to me… books. The one that stood out to me was a signed first edition of Sir Edmund Hillary’s account of Everest (he was the first to reach the summit).

My new apartment needs some furnishing, and I could easily go online a buy whatever I need, but I refuse to. I enjoy the thrill of the hunt at the local shops for just the right item. As a result, everything I have bought for it is almost exactly the item I want and has a bit more weight to it, it feels like it was put there with a little more purpose.

I think, in general, everyone has their own versions of hunting. Thousands of years have pounded that instinct into us and even if you hate the idea of killing an animal… you may still love hunting for deals at a garage sale. Then again, that may just be a gatherer thing instead.

Anyway, enough about books, I’ve gotta hit the road and do some goose hunting.


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Blind Blunders

Hunting blinds and I have a troubled and ongoing history together. I just wish I knew what their love language was. They clearly work and work well for other people, and they seem to be my only option for archery hunting, based on my size 14 feet.

My first attempt at using a blind was when my brother and I borrowed a pop-up blind from our dad for a hunting trip. We met our friend camped out on some public land and set up the blind early in the morning, in what seemed like a good spot. We then scouted around a bit to stretch our legs. The next morning, we came back to find someone had relieved us of our blind. We saw neither the bandits nor deer that trip. That was nearly ten years ago. This last season I filled my whitetail tag via still hunting because my blind, days after being set up, was relocated by the wind down a hill, across a fence, and into a swamp. My brother found it while I was at work and packed it away for me. It appears this spring I will be doing some repairs on it in hopes of using it again, but in a more wind sheltered area this time.

My most comical blunders actually took place in the same blind during the same fall season. During the October bow season, just north of Athabasca, I had a blind set beside some bales in a field that the deer were grazing in each evening. A well-fed doe wandered up to the stake I had driven into the ground 20 yards from my blind and offered me a broadside shot. I silently came to full draw, took a breath, steadied my aim, and set the pin on her vitals. Then, as I released, I heard a peculiar “thunk” and watched my illuminated knock slide just under her, I could swear I heard the fletching brush her hide. After a moment of stunned confusion, I noticed I had sent my arrow through the window covers that were bunched up as a result of having the window open. In rifles, this mistake is called “failing to account for height over bore” perhaps in archery, it’s called “height over shaft”?

 Later during November rifle season, in that same blind, from that same spot, I went back with a rifle. A little button buck I mistook for a small doe walked out and offered me a shot as the light was fading. Me, not realizing one of the advantages of a blind is that you can use a rest, sent an offhand shot. I learned quickly that shoot-through mesh only applies to arrows, this was evident by the shredded, smoldering, mesh in front of me. I could have tossed a cat through the hole I had made. I also realized that a 270 Winchester sure is loud in a blind. As my ears rang, I noticed the deer getting back up, clearly injured, and needing a second shot. With no time to put in earplugs, I sent a second round further damaging the mesh and increasing the ringing in my ears. Days 3 and 4 of my recovery were so quiet, it was a nice reprieve from days 1 and 2 where all I could hear was that darn ringing. My dad once told me he witnessed someone, in a living room, shoot a monkey with a 12 gauge and his ears rang for a week. There’s a lot to think about in that sentence, the 70’s must have been a wild time. My take-away is that I can sympathise with the headache induced by discharging a firearm in a confined space. In my case, it happened twice and was my own fault. In the end I had put my ears through all that for barely enough meat to fill the little freezer attached to the undersized fridge in my little apartment.

Mental note, shoot-through-mesh is for archery only

Now, I don’t begrudge those who manufacture, sell, use, or even encourage the use of blinds. I just fear they aren’t for me. When I hunt, I prefer to walk, take in nature, look for treasure. I found a nice mule deer shed 2 years ago while still hunting, can’t say I’ve ever found anything interesting inside a blind… well except that one time I got so bored in a blind I befriended a field mouse, he wasn’t much for conversation, but he sure loved cookies. I wonder what Ol’ Hank is up to these days…

I also think that few, if any, pop-up blinds available are able to withstand the experience that is the prairie climate, something so unpredictable and volatile that musicians such Ian Tyson and Corb Lund have written songs about it. I’ve had blinds blow away in gale-force winds, others have been so frozen to the ground my options were to take home the top half or leave it whole until spring thaw. The risk of leaving it until spring is that heavy snowfall can collapse it, or a lack of snow on top will result in enough UV damage that you can poke a skylight in the ceiling with a finger… maybe I could use it for geese then? It appears my options are to walk or get a tree stand. Based on my luck with blinds, I fear what may become of any dalliance I make into tree stand usage.


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A Cutthroat Hike

This is a story I had published in Hooked Magazine (Volume 14 Issue 1 of 2021). My original was about three times the length and they asked me to trim it down so it would fit in the magazine, I think they were correct in asking me to do that

“As I stripped line in, I saw a flash and cut through the water, I yelled to Erin ‘wait, I think I may have actually caught something here.’

Abraham Lakes

Amidst the chaos of Covid lockdowns, my wife and I decided, last minute, that we needed a break. Travel bans had caused our local national parks, Jasper and Banff, to fill. We opted instead to make use of some crown land and alpine lakes near Abraham Lake just southwest of Edmonton.  This area, colloquially referred to as Abraham Lakes, was also quite busy but we figured the further we hiked in, the less crowded it would get.

Landslide Lake

We did our best to get organized and after a few pitstops my wife, my dog, and myself were at the trail head at 730pm. Luckily, we were on vacation and weren’t beholden to a clock. We hiked in until about 930, set up camp, and had dinner beside a small fire. In the morning we would hike the rest of the way to our destination, Landslide Lake.

On the second day, the trail was mostly treed with a few steep inclines, some bridges, and a few great vantage points with mountain views. Just before the lake, the trail skirted a huge boulder field, likely the lake’s namesake. The lake itself was a real beauty, larger than I expected. We set up camp, Erin relaxed with Jasper, our dog, and I assembled my fly rod. I was really dragging my heels for fear of failure. It had been years since I last fly-fished. I was in that terrible mindset of “If I don’t try, I can’t fail.” I think Erin could tell and spurred me along. I headed for a bay we spotted on the way in, it had a nice boulder sticking out that looked like a good place to fish from.

The Fishing

Unsure of what to use, I opted to try a dry fly that imitates a mosquito. I got up on my rock and surveyed. It appeared it was the right time and place, the fish were rising. I made a few shaky false casts and my line piled up in front of me, it was ugly. A few more casting attempts later and things were looking a little closer to a proper cast. Finally, I managed a proper presentation. I watched a small blue-green fish approach and inspect before biting and diving, I pulled up and set the hook. I kept the tension and brought the small fish in, I pulled the line up out of the water, the fish wiggled and wriggled… and was gone… with my hook. I guess my knot tying wasn’t up to snuff. Luckily my fly box, much like my fishing spot, was well stocked with mosquitos. I tied a fresh one on and went back to it. I quickly landed three more small cutthroat trout, my first ever.

Eventually one of my wild back-casts caught a small shrub behind me. I went and started untangling my hook from the branches. A minute into it, I broke out laughing as I realized I was untangling a Parachute Adams some other fisherman left behind. I got it, some line, and my own hook out of the tree, and resumed. We took a break to have dinner. Afterward, I went back alone but didn’t have any luck.

I may not be good at fishing, but I’ve sure done it in some amazing places

Lake of the Falls

Day 3 we headed to Lake of the Falls. The hike down from Landslide Lake wasn’t too bad, but the hike up to Lake of the Falls was an absolute slog. After what felt like a week of uphill, we were rewarded with a nice flat walk along an oxbow stream. As we got up to the lake itself, we passed a little bay, this one was shallow and clear, we could actually see fish in it, suspend motionless, with the occasional gentle rise and grab of a bug. We found a campsite along the shore that looked like a good fishing spot and staked our claim.

Personal Best

I assembled my fly rod and Erin went for a glacial swim, the water was so cold I could barely dip my feet in. I had other priorities anyway. No fish were rising, but I recalled one of my first fly fishing experiences an old man told me the bigger fish tend to eat bigger bugs sinking down. I tied on a woolly bugger and hoped. I cast a bit and had a few bites, but no fish wanted to commit. I asked Erin if she wanted to try, she had never fly fished before but she’s a quick learner. Within minutes she landed the first fish of the day.  With a satisfied smile, she handed me the rod and said “try to catch up.” It didn’t take long, I managed to land a nice little trout or two. Then while fishing a drop-off, I connected again, this time with something bigger. As I stripped line in, I saw a flash and cut through the water, I yelled to Erin “wait, I think I may have actually caught something here.” A minute of angling later, I had landed a very respectable cutthroat, the largest trout I had ever caught. Keep in mind I’m pretty inexperienced. We got a few pictures and released it.  Tragically, around dinnertime, my woolly bugger managed to get snagged on something underwater and broke off… I was tempted to go in after it, it was the only one I had packed. I opted instead to replace it with a bloodworm. I cast the line out a few times but only connected on one more fish.

Its not unusual for Erin to out-fish me when given the chance

Bull Trout

The next morning, while Erin made her coffee, I snuck ahead and wiggled my way through the trees, rod in hand, to the little bay we had seen the day before. My bloodworm and I, gave it the old college try. A few casts and fewer nibbles later, I had one on the line, a real scrapper. It appeared to be a brook trout, a personal best one too. I snapped a photo and sent it on its way. I didn’t bring my net so I was grabbing with wet hands and getting them back into the water as fast as possible. Unfortunately, in my haste, I made a mistake, it was actually a rare bull trout. Something Reddit pointed out to me. Had I the presence of mind, or the time, I could have easily checked the dorsal fin (a lack of black dots on its dorsal fin is an indication that it’s a bull trout).

A loose grip and wet hands will ruin photos but save fish, I’m bringing a net next time

Pack Out

Shortly after my catch, Erin arrived and we headed out, we had a long hike ahead of us. It turned out that that terrible uphill slog, although worth it for the fishing, is quite dangerous to go down with a dog tied to your pack. Jasper is a runner, so we keep him leashed. While descending a steep hill, he sometimes pulls, causing me to slide, which scares him, causing him to pull harder. Overall, though, he did very well. At the end of the hike, all three of us were hot, tired, and thirsty. Erin opted to cool off in Abraham Lake. I only got my feet wet, but I dipped Jasper in against his will. We stopped in Rocky Mountain House for pizza and Jasper slept like a log the entire drive home. The next day at work my feet hurt, but I was too busy showing off my fishing pictures to even think about that.


Posted in Fishing, Hiking, Published Workwith 2 comments.

A Limit and A Band

I am still pretty green when it comes to waterfowl hunting. However, there is one thing I know, the two goals of knocking birds out of the sky, is to get your legal limit for the day, and the other is to get a banded bird.

For goose hunters chasing Canada geese, that magic limit is 8 geese per person hunting that day. Reaching this limit is the ultimate show of prowess for a hunter. There is no other real way to show success beyond perhaps dabbling in a variety of birds also called mixed bag shooting. To accomplish this takes an intersection of preparation, shooting skills, and in my case, luck.

The bands are a tracking system, it’s a simple serialized metal band wrapped around the leg of a duck or goose. The simple explanation is that young waterfowl are caught and banded. At that time, the location, species, sex, and approximate age are recorded. A lot of birds are banded each year, but they represent only a small portion of the waterfowl population. If an individual is fortunate enough to encounter one, most commonly by shooting it, but in some cases, if a clear enough photo can be taken to read the band (shoutout to my bird watching friends), the serial number is to be called in. You tell them where, when, and how you encountered it, and they tell you their information, which is already pretty fascinating to me. They also send you a certificate to thank you for your participation. To my knowledge, they use this information to understand life span and mortality rates among waterfowl. For duck and goose hunters, that little metal band is a very coveted possession. The bands are often clamped onto a hunter’s lanyard as both a power display and a lucky charm.

Well, with all that said, I managed to get double lucky this fall. It started like most waterfowl hunts, I asked my buddies to take me out. As luck would have it, my buddies Dylon and Tyler were free, Dylon’s father-in-law, Andrew, also came. We decided on an afternoon hunt because that was the only time we were all free. We grabbed the goose trailer and went. The goose trailer is the greatest luxury I am aware of, a trailer loaded with waterfowl gear at all times, just hook up and go, THAT is living. If I ever win the lotto I’m going to have a different trailer for everything I do. We got to our spot just as the rain started to come in. We considered shutting it down right then and there, but well, we were all there and it looked like it might all clear up. As we were putting out the last of the decoys birds were starting to come in and the rain started to slow.

Tyler bringing in some of the first geese of the hunt, note the weather in the background

We jumped into our blind and got organized. It took exactly one pass of birds for me to realize 2 things. 1. I was rusty, very rusty. 2. Andrew knew what he was doing, I watched him nail a double with a Remington 870 (shooting 2 birds in 1 pass with a pump-action). I hadn’t met him before that day and was unsure of his experience, he clearly had more than me. Anyone of any skill level would of course be welcome, but it’s nice to know I’m still the least experienced in the blind. As the evening progressed it became clear we were really onto something with this spot and this spread. The geese came in in waves. As time went on I shook off some of the rust. Eventually, the thought occurred to us that we may be getting close to our limit. Inbetween passes of birds we took a minute to count them up. For four people we were allowed 32 geese, we were sitting in the mid-20s. We decided to start keeping closer track. As luck would have it, we managed to hit our limit. Sadly, as we packed our decoys and gathered up our empty shotgun shells off the ground, birds were still flying over and having a look at us.

With a pile of geese, my 10 gauge, and a hat I had won from Mr. Steve West earlier in the week, I was on a roll

We got back to the shop and the reality hit us, cleaning that many birds was going to be a real chore… Well, nothing to it but to do it. We all set to work on cleaning. As we were working we were chatting and I was asking a bit about bands and how rare they were. Dylon had explained that he worked briefly for an outfitter, a professional taking paid clients out nearly every day would see about 2 bands a year. Almost at the same moment, I noticed something flash from across the table, the bird Andrew was cleaning had a band on it and no one had noticed. I gave an immediate “hey look look LOOK!” there was silence, then a lot of celebration. It was the first band any of us had gotten, and everyone else there had nearly a decade under their belt. Dylon looked like he might do a flip he was so excited. We immediately checked all the other birds just in case. From there we went online and turned in our information on the band. When it asked for the hunter, we had no idea who had downed the birds (statistically it wasn’t me). So we opted to put “Primula Outfitters” it’s sort of a joke among our group. The area we hunt used to be called Primula, according to the old farmers in the area. There’s also a bit of animosity toward outfitters so it’s kind of a joke against them. Local outfitters get paid thousands for a hunt, my buddies get the occasional case of beer as payment. Although the standard is to clamp the band onto your lanyard we didn’t know who it belonged to so we just decided to put the band, still on the goose’s foot, on a plaque and hang it on the wall of Brad’s shop. He didn’t come with us on this hunt, but he often does come with us, we hunt on his family’s land and use his shop every time. There you have it, I was able to get double lucky on my first hunt of the season and hit two big waterfowl milestones in a single outing.

We were informed that it had been banded near Edmonton in 2017, it was a male, and at the time of banding it was too young to fly.


Posted in Huntingwith 1 comment.

Thoughts On Single Shots

This was originally published in the March/April 2020 Canadian Firearms Journal you can subscribe to the magazine by joining the NFA at www.NFA.ca

As I write this, the current Canadian government is promising gun control which would see a ban on semi-automatics. In light of this fact, let me state clearly, immediately, and without apology. I do not support ANY gun laws. I want to be clear, I fear, what you may have read, is that I don’t support tough gun laws. What I meant was, I do not support any. Licenses can be made nearly impossible to get and work as a restriction in themselves. I want people to be able to own full-auto, unregistered, and suppressed. All these anti-gun people want to do is sell you the idea that there are good guns like hunting rifles and bad guns like assault rifles… then all they have to do is slowly lower the bar until all guns are moved from good guns to bad guns. So DO NOT mistake this article for a “no one needs a semi-auto to hunt” article. If you fall for that flimsy argument it ends with “if you need a compound bow, you’re not a very good hunter”.

My love of the M14 aside, I have always had a strange love of single shots. In fact, my patriotic love of Cooey firearms recently led me to jump at the chance to pick up a model 84 for a wallet-draining $50. The previous owner had lost the front sight, so a quick comb through the old parts bin and a bit of filing and it was right as rain. The first three shots out of that gun resulted in 3 dusted clays floating to earth.

I love making old guns work again. This fascination likely started when I was young, about 12 I believe, and I restored my first rifle. A Cooey single shot bolt action .22. The barrel had to be sanded and re-blued, it still bears my fingerprint from touching it too soon. The stock was sanded, wet sanded, given a once over with steel wool, whetted to stand the fibers up, and hit again with steel wool. I’m not sure I’ve ever been prouder of a project. I spent a lot of my high school years pushing ammo through that gun.

Years later I treated myself to a Ruger 10/22 and sold it shortly after. I found I killed fewer gophers with it because my shooting fundamentals vanished into thin air when I knew I had a followup shot… at the time I had 25 followup shots, actually… but the gun control state changed that. I sold that rifle and went back to my Cooey, occasionally rotating in my bow, an old pump action .22, and most recently a .17hmr bolt action. They all work well but I still find the single-shot works best for me. Maybe it’s the nostalgia factor.

Next in life, I started to dabble in long-range shooting. I started with a $100 used Savage 110 in 300 win mag. I found a hand-load recipe that worked very well for it. I also treated it as a single shot so I could index the brass. Allow me to explain: I take a marker and make a black line up the side of the case right above the “3” in “300 win mag” on the headstamp. I then make sure all casings are resized and loaded on my press with that line facing the same way. When I load them into my gun the line is up. This way, if there is anything out of alignment on my press it will be consistently out of alignment in my ammunition. As a result, I have stretched this gun out to 1000 yards (walking it into the target), I am confident in my cold bore (first shot on target) out to 500 yards. I actually ended up taking my first mule deer with that Savage.

Gas guns and bolt guns, with magazines, can be amazingly accurate, of that fact, there is no denying. There is a reason PRS shooters use them. However, it is still worth a mention that for a budget gun, a single shot will do impressive things. A true single shot bolt action will also be more rigid in the receiver, and rigidity leads to repeatability and accuracy. This may explain why so many long-range and precision shooters, such as F class and benchrest, use them. Funny, and telling, story… My mother once used a custom .223 wssm built on a Gaulin single-shot action at a “poker rally” long-range shoot. She ended up with a full house and won a custom .260 Remington built by EM Precision. My mom’s a cool lady.

Most recently I found myself getting into waterfowl hunting. Some friends and I went out and I brought with me a beautiful Benelli Super Black Eagle semiautomatic shotgun. I had a great time, but sadly, I found I circled back onto my old gopher shooting problem. Perhaps some people, such as myself, just shouldn’t hunt with semiautomatics. The next trip out, mostly as a joke, I brought my old H&R single shot 10 gauge. I bought it cheap, used, many years ago for no reason other than the price, $60 if memory holds true. I actually ended up finding I had better luck per fly over with the single shot. All this season it is all I have been using. It feels very weird to leave a Benelli behind for an old break-action, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Despite my friends telling me “you can’t hunt with a single shot” I haven’t noticed myself lagging behind the group. Maybe I just need to work my way up to a semi-auto. So should I now buy myself a nice double-barrel shotgun or a nice pump action as the next step toward my recovery?

I spend a lot of time waxing poetic about cheap single shots, which, let us be honest, is my wheelhouse. However, I feel I would be remiss if I did not mention that there are some beautiful single shots in existence that I would be plenty happy to own. A few examples that come to mind, of guns that I have shot, are: the AR-50, a single shot, bolt action, 50 BMG, look it up, its as fun as it looks. Another is the Ruger No. 1 a high wall action well known for its ability to handle powerful cartridges. My step-father used one in 7mm Remington Magnum as his go-to hunting rifle for many years. A funny story comes to mind, about a pumpkin. It was late fall and some of my step-dads friends had come over to sight in a new 7mm one of them had purchased. Sufficiently satisfied with its grouping and placement on paper, they decided to try and shoot a medium-sized pumpkin at 200 yards. After 5 or so attempts that struck little more than dirt, Darrel, my step-dad, ran into the house. He returned with his No. 1 and one of his hand-loaded rounds, the only ammunition his guns see are hand-loads. A quick aim and a gentle squeeze later a medium-sized pumpkin was a big sized mess on the hill. That story more shows the importance of practice rather than the superiority of single shots, but I still felt like sharing. The last firearm of note is a Blazer K95, I simply do not have the vocabulary to explain the beauty of this gun. It is miniature in stature yet feels a natural size when shouldered, as though it were made for me. The attention to detail is staggering. The one I handled had the full-length wood stock, from bow to stern all of the grain of the wood pieces aligned. It’s the kind of gun I felt I needed white cotton gloves to handle, it shocks me that people would subject them to the abuse that hunting often demands… but maybe someday when I am rich I will understand.

So, perhaps it’s true, that I don’t need, or currently want, a semi-auto for hunting. But it will be a cold day in a well-known hot place before I tell someone they shouldn’t have one for hunting, or really any other reason. That reason, of course, being none of my, or anyone else’s business. My gun safe has a great many single shots, and they sit right alongside my semi-automatics, and hopefully, they always will.


Posted in Hunting, Marksmanship, Published Workwith no comments yet.

Grassroots Rimfire

This article was actually also published in the January/February 2021 issue of The Canadian Firearms Journal.

I recently had the pleasure of trying something new, to me. I was cordially invited to participate in a 50-meter prone shoot. To my understanding, we followed the rules set out by the Alberta Smallbore Rifle Association (www.absbrifle.ca) more or less. You’ll have to forgive any technical errors in this story as I am still unsure of all the rules and regulations surrounding the event. They were explained to me on a need to know basis, and I can’t help but feel some exceptions and allowances had been made to allow anyone to compete with whatever they brought. It was all for fun, so I feel no one was hurt, but professionals may take issue with it, understandably so. If you would like to correct me, there’s a comment section below, I am always happy to learn.

The shoot took place at the home of a family friend, Russ. Despite my owning several .22 LR rifles, none of them seemed up to the task of a marksmanship competition, neither did I, for that matter. At any rate, my Stepdad, Darrell, was also attending the event so he was kind enough to allow me to use his rifle and ammo. He also paid my match fee, bonus. The rifle we were sharing was a CZ that had been highly customized for long-range precision. This meant heavy with a high-power optic, he also affixed a support sling and lent me a glove. I was informed that this put us into the “hunting rifle” category, while most other people were using iron sights and were shooting sans-sling putting them in “sporting.” I was told the basic rules, we had 30 minutes to shoot a total of 20 rounds at four targets. We were allowed to take as many “sighter” shots as we needed at the appropriate targets (placed near the top of our target paper). The shooting had to be unsupported, meaning no bipods or sandbags. At this point I could feel myself starting to panic, my only goal at this point was to avoid embarrassment…

A gun built to push the limits of rimfire

Lucky for me, there were nine of us and only three could shoot at a time, so I got to see some other shooters go first. It looked simple enough, but 50 meters can sure seem far away some days. When it was finally my turn, it was well… ugly. The days light rain had turned to heavy rain, luckily the shooting line was sheltered. I struggled to understand how to best utilize the sling. Also, in my fury of discomfort holding a 10 plus lb rifle I shot my neighbor’s target. Wayne, the fellow next door, was using a beautiful Marlin 39a with a Skinner peep sight. We both agreed on which hole in his target was mine, it was the one that looked like a flier. After that first volley, I was in second-last place in my division and things weren’t looking up.

Me doing my best

We took a break and had some amazing chilli for lunch. We ate inside Russ’s garage, which, was more of a comfortable workshop complete with a wood stove. While we ate, we noticed the rain had turned to huge snowflakes. February in Alberta, you never know what the day will hold. The first group went out to shoot again in that heavy snow. Then just as they finished and Darrell got comfortable on the line, the snow stopped, a lucky break for us. His volley went well but, somehow, he only put 19 rounds on paper, none of use could figure out where the 20th went. Best guess was he loaded one of his 4 magazines with only 4 rounds. After him it was my turn. I learned from my first round that 30 minutes is a long time. I took some real time to get comfortable and find a way to make the sling work for me. In the previous volley I had really used a lot of my bicep to hold the gun up. This time I slid the sling farther up my arm, above my elbow and put my hand behind the sling swivel. This allowed me to relax my arm and get some serious stability. I also dropped the optic down from 20x to 12x just to reduce the shaking. This volley went substantially better and I felt quite good about it.

Darrell showing good technique

After that volley we decided there was enough daylight for a 3rd volley. Everyone’s targets had seemed to improve as the day progressed, but I felt I really improved by my 3rd time around. By the time the dust settled, Russ had beaten me by a mile, but I still took first in my division, of only 4 people… and it was a tight race. Had it not been for the 3rd round that simply would not have been the case. There were no awards or prizes for winning since it was such a small event put on for fun. However, Russ, to keep it exciting, took our match fees and took half to pay for targets and lunch and raffled the other half off in a 50/50 style draw. Wouldn’t you know it? I won that too. If you recall earlier in this story, someone else paid my match fee, I used a borrowed gun and borrowed ammo… I was up $90 after a day of free shooting. Hard to beat that deal. I consider that money earmarked for a proper match rifle. Hopefully, I’ll get invited back next time.

Not the best weather for shooting, but it sure is pretty

My final, and best, target is now hung up on the wall of my gun room. I like it there, as a reminder that these grassroots fun shoots still exist. Seems these days everyone wants a social media bonanza with sponsors and prize tables. I worry that sometimes I lose sight of the point of shooting competitions: to be a better shooter than I was before and make some friends along the way.

My best shooting of the day

Posted in Marksmanship, Published Workwith no comments yet.

Skyline Solo

Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, He travels the fastest who travels alone.

Rudyard Kipling

On account of a slow economy compounded by a pandemic, my work is a touch slow. So, from time to time my boss will tell me not to come in for a few days. On a Wednesday evening leading up to one of these impromptu 4 day weekends, I decided I wanted to do a hike. As luck would have it, I was able to book 2 nights on the Skyline trail in Jasper, a hike that usually books up months in advance. I guess there’s a lot of cancellations these days with a pandemic and closed borders. I booked the sites and started packing. I had to be in Jasper, at the Signal Mountain trailhead, by 9 am the following morning to drop my car off at the end of the hike and catch the shuttle to the trail-head. I went to bed and set my alarm for 3:45 AM.

My alarm screamed me awake and the day began. I loaded up the car and hit the road. There’s certainly something enjoyable about driving around in the wee hours of the morning, the world seems empty and peaceful. I arrived at the pickup spot an hour early. I had given myself extra time for the construction; turns out it wasn’t an issue. So I sat in my car and read my book. I also chatted briefly with a couple doing the same trail but they were hitchhiking instead of catching the bus, something I don’t have the guts for.

The bus arrived and I was one of only two passengers. An hour later I was dropped off at the southern trailhead, near Maligne Lake, and started walking. The first few hours of the trail was just a walk through the trees in the rain, truly nothing exciting. It started spitting light rain almost immediately after I started walking. Luckily I kinda saw it coming so I already had my rain gear on.

Start of hike selfie

Pro tip: Put rain gear on immediately if you experience any rain. Otherwise, you risk going from “it’s not raining hard enough to bother putting my rain gear on” to “I’m so soaked there’s no point”

Very high water at every stream

Eventually, I started to gain elevation and broke into some mountain meadows, the views were good, but the rain was getting heavier and patchier. Early in the afternoon, I hit my campsite, Snowbowl. The rain stopped long enough to set up my tent and add a tarp for extra wind protection. Then I and my rain-soaked clothes laid down in the tent. Laying out in waterlogged gear in a tent on wet ground is a chilly affair, that I assure you. Luckily my down jacket in my pack stayed dry and it fits under my raincoat. Side note – always make sure your gear is compatible, there will be times when you have to use it all at once.

Beautiful mountains in every direction
Running water creates ruts and mud

After a few hours of laying around, dozing, and listening to podcasts, I decided to try and make some food. I wasn’t feeling too hungry, or particularly well, as I was sleep-deprived and cold. The rain had stopped, but it was still a thin layer of overcast. I decided to make some mac and cheese and see if I could force some down on principal. Never skip meals on a hike.

I let the noodles sit in the pot in cold water for about 10 minutes to let them soften before boiling, this saves fuel. As I was boiling the water, my stove began to sputter and die out, was I out of fuel? My guts gripped with terror at the thought of eating cold chicken and rice for dinner the following day. I grabbed the IsoPro bottle and gave it a shake, there was fuel in there. A hard twist of the stove and it was right as rain, guess I just didn’t put it on tight enough. Macaroni complete, I took 1 bite and suddenly realized I was ravenously hungry. I ate the entire pot, about as fast as I could. A cup of tea for dessert and I was in bed.

Soak to save fuel
Mac and Cheese never taste this good at home, wonder why

I read my book for a bit, then the exhaustion took over. I woke up around 2 am to the sound of the wind flapping my tarp against my tent. At first, it sounded like an animal walking around my tent. After about 5 minutes of careful listening, I decided it was either the wind or a bear standing completely motionless and breathing silently. Either way, I was going back to sleep.

I slept in until about 8. I waited a bit to see if the sun would come out and dry the tent, however it soon became clear it would not. I packed up, brushed my teeth, and started walking. It didn’t take long for me to start hitting some serious snow patches and mountain views. A fellow hiker would later tell me “the park office said this is the most snow they’ve had in July in 20 years.”

After some amazing snow-dotted mountain meadows, I found myself above the treeline, walking the side-hill of a rocky valley. The wind and rain were coming and going. When the wind blew, it carried the cold with it. I came upon a good sitting rock just as the wind briefly calmed. I knew a hard and sketchy summit was coming so I took this chance to have my breakfast. I had what I usually have when out hiking: cereal.

The recipe is simple: dehydrated milk, granola, and freeze-dried fruit, then just add water when you’re feeling hungry. Usually, I make my own at home before the hike but this time I brought some Mountain House brand version, it was quite good.

Low clouds, rain, strong winds. The lake in the upper right is where I am headed.
As I got closer to the lake I found more boulders, they make a great sitting spot for a snack.

Breakfast done, it was time. I had to round Curator lake and climb up to The Notch. Circling by the lake was no issue, but the incline up to The Notch was, well, ugly. It started as steep switchback and quickly turned into a low visibility scramble over boulders. Because of the low clouds, seeing more than 30 feet seemed impossible. That said, all the snow cover made an accurate guess of distance impossible anyway. More than once I mistook a patch of snow below me for Curator lake.

There were times the closest hints of a trail were boot treads and the telltale holes from hiking poles digging in. The real terror was being on that steep, scree-covered bowl wall, and hitting a large snow patch with a split in the trail. I couldn’t see the end of the snow, one set of tracks went straight up like a snow ladder, and one went along the side of the wall. I was doing my best to avoid snow. There had been a few instances on less vertical terrain where running water had eroded the snow from underneath, causing me to break through, something I didn’t want to do at the angle or height.

Unfortunately, the trail I took, just led me to another vertical snow ladder. I climbed up it without much issue, but at the top of the snow patch there was no trail, just a few footprints, or rather, slid around stones from where people had stepped. Walking on the wet scree was very much like trying to climb a steep sandy hill, every step caused me to slide a foot down under my weight.

After a few meters of elevation gain, I found a slightly more solid footing. I was able to step from stone to stone, still sliding down the hill a bit, but this was still an improvement. After a few hundred yards, I hit another snow patch. In a brief break in the clouds, I could see that the patch took me over the edge of the bowl and the snow seemed far more level. I trudged over it, thankful to finally be able to walk upright.

Curator lake
Near the top of the bowl, the snow felt nearly vertical, and visibility made it impossible to do anything other than have faith in other peoples tracks.

The snow had led me right to the summit sign. I had made it to the highest point of the trail: The Notch. Visibility had gotten better, but still not enough to see anything of note. It was enough for me to see the next trail markers, though now I didn’t need them quite as much since the trail was a little more clearly packed down.

Not wasting much time in the wind and rain at the top, I carried on with the trail. I put my sunglasses on, pulled my scarf over my face, and pulled up my raincoat hood. The wind was cold, cutting, and cruel. I kept my head down and walked cairn to cairn. More than once I felt lost. The trail seemed to lead me the wrong direction. I didn’t trust my senses in those conditions. I just followed the trail, glad to see any form of marker when they appeared.

I remember walking a ridge-line and only briefly getting a glimpse between clouds at the lakes and trees below, with the low visibility I had no idea how high up I was. Eventually, I looked up and saw the silhouettes of hikers. I got close and said Hello. We chatted a bit and I mentioned that if it hadn’t been for their boot prints I may well have gotten lost. We hiked together for a bit, eventually losing some elevation and gaining a lot of visibility.


I guess this is the only proof I’ve been there
Selfie from the top, there were nearby peaks I could have went up for more elevation but it didn’t seem worthwhile
A photo between passing clouds
A winding trail that confused my sense of direction
Friends made fun of these glasses when I bought them but they were exactly what I needed in these conditions
As we got lower our visibility improved and I got this picture

When my trail friends stopped for lunch, I kept going. I prefer to snack all day while I walk instead of stopping to eat lunch. Shortly after leaving their company, a series of steep switchbacks led me into a treed valley full of streams. A few of the streams had hard-packed snow acting as a bridge, something a man of my weight is always nervous about.

On the far end of the valley, I found my intended campsite, Tekarra. I arrived at 2 pm and it had just stopped raining and looked as though it may start again any second. I weighed the options and decided I didn’t want to sit in my tent in the rain waiting for it to be an appropriate time to cook dinner, then wait in my tent for an appropriate time to go to sleep. I opted to hike out to the end, an additional 14 km. The couple I had met the morning before, when I had parked my car, was at Tekarra having lunch. They were also hiking out that day.

Immediately after leaving the site, I had to cross a river with high water. I did my best to boulder hop, but my boots went from wet to soaked as a result.

A view of the valley from above

The remaining trail was relatively uneventful, just a bush trail with some snow patches and parts of trail eroded from flowing water. At one point some trail-runners passed me and informed me there was only 10 km remaining. A few minutes later I ran into them again as they had stopped at the top of the fire road to strip off some layers before running it out. I had a sit myself and drank some water. The couple from the lot caught up to me.

We had a friendly chat with everyone, the runners were off, followed by myself. The couple stayed back to rest a bit. Shortly after my departure, they passed me with ease and a spring in their step. I felt rather worn out.

After what felt like a very long and painful walk I came across some hikers who informed me I was 4 km from the end. This news disappointing me because I thought I was seconds from the end. I shortly found a sign that confirmed they were correct.

After a walk that felt long enough to induce fears of purgatory, I finally rounded a corner and saw cars. As I walked into the lot, I saw the couple driving out. I got changed as fast as I could out of my wet hiking clothes. The mosquitoes were terrible, I got some bites in some places I would rather not mention.

End of hike selfie, looking a little worse for wear

I promptly drove into Jasper and bought supplies for the drive home: an iced chai latte from Bear Paw and a pizza from Northface Pizza. I also phoned Erin to let her know I had finished a day early and was headed home. I had hiked just over 30 km that day.

I always eat too much right after a hike… its my treat to me

Posted in Hikingwith 2 comments.

Money, Time and Blood: Life of a 3-gunner

This was originally published in the Canadian Firearms Journal July/August 2019 edition. This was intended as a humour article, I hope you like it. I had a shortage of appropriate photos for this story, the drawings of me were created by the owner of https://www.canadiancutthroat.ca/ I highly recommend going and having a look at his website.

Getting into the sport of 3-gun can be daunting. There are a lot of rules, a lot of gear, and you preform in front of a group. However, do not be dissuaded. The rules are pretty intuitive once you get into it, they’re all safety and common sense oriented. Don’t sweat embarrassing yourself, everyone eventually does and they all seem to have a pretty good attitude about it.  As for all the gear… it only costs a small fortune.

If you are thinking of getting into 3-gun, or any other shooting sport, you should start by asking yourself these few questions:

Do I have too much money?

Do I have too much free time?

Do I see my family too often?

If you said yes to at least two of these, 3-gun may be right for you. The simplest way to get into it, is to go to a match. Contacting the league beforehand is a good idea too. Sounds simple, but social media is littered with people who are stockpiling and perfecting their gear to be all set to someday go to a match. Show up with what you’ve got, if anything, and some boxes of ammo (9mm, .223, and 12 gauge). I guarantee someone with lend you gear. My first match was quite the swap meet. I was borrowing holsters, guns, mags, and belts from five different people, but they cobbled something together for me. Be prepared to lose that first match. Go slow and try not to get disqualified for a safety violation.

Immediately after that first match, while you’re still flying high from all the fun. Go home and research some entry level guns and gear and write up a budget. Show that to your spouse and get approval… now when they look away, add a zero to the end. You won’t spend that now, but you will. Allow me to explain.

You’ll probably start with a basic AR, like a Norinco or M&P, a basic 9mm like a Glock or M&P9; and just whatever shotgun you have… and, of course, you’ll need a bunch of magazines, I like to carry 40 rounds for both my rifle and pistol. Next, it’ll be a belt, a holster, magazine pouches, and a few shotgun shell caddies. You’ll see the cost of the caddies and nearly cry… Before you ask, no there are no cheap caddies and they almost never show up for sale second hand. This will land you in your original budget, get your foot in the door and get you doing matches in the limited division. You’ll likely run a season or two this way. Then you’ll need an optic, and those don’t grow on trees and of course, you will want a good one, a cheap one might lose zero with all those barrel dumps. If you want to stay in limited you go with a red dot; if you want an actual scope, that will put you into Tac-Ops. If you’re getting that into it, you may as well upgrade that old pump action shotgun of yours to a semi, but due to Canadian law and weird capacity loopholes, you need one that takes 3.5″ shells, but will reliably cycle 2.75” target loads. Its also around this time that some folks, such as myself, begin to try to do their own gunsmithing. You take a Dremel to your new shotgun to open the port and a soldering iron to it for stippling. The there’s the rattle can paint job so your gun stands out a little on the rack. Just a heads up, if you don’t paint it a masculine colour, some people will act personally offended… guess how I know that.

After a season or so the cost of ammunition will start to get to you, so now its time to get into reloading. Since volume is the name of the game, you can hunch over your old single stage endlessly or you get a progressive press, and a good one, since a squib or double charge could be dangerous. Buy once cry once right? Congratulations, your reloading setup now cost almost as much as your original 3-gun budget. That’s ok, it’ll save you money on ammo, have to think long term here.

All ammo costs you now are components, your evenings, and usually a dedicated room in your house. At least you can now store all your other gear in that room, too.

This fancy hand loaded ammo combined with your optic will really show you how limiting your AR is, better upgrade that barrel and that trigger. While you’re at it, keep your eyes peeled for a sale on a handguard, you’ll probably try two or three with various types of vertical and angled grips. In the end though, that super expensive ultralight one will probably be the answer.

Another great way to save money is to start volunteering for the league, that often gives you free entry to the matches. You now also get to design stages, help more with setup, and RO… but that’s just an extra few hours a month, right?

A common route guys go to get free gear is to get some form of sponsorship. Of course, to do that you will need to get good, which means practice. Good thing you have that fancy reloading gear. It’s also a good idea to do a lot of dry fire practice every day. This isn’t to make you a better shooter, this is just to post to Instagram to help you get followers.

Since companies that sponsor you want you to use as much of their gear as possible, you may as well go to open class so you can put an optic or two on everything. At which point you will need to go to a magazine fed shotgun and a custom tuned “race pistol”, to stay competitive. Once you’ve started spending all your time posting to social media and spent all your money on gear, you just might get a sponsorship deal, which might help you get a discount on gear, which is now redundant. But now you can brag that you are sponsored. You’ve even got that fancy jersey (that you bought) to prove it! As a sponsored shooter, you’ll be expected to attend as many matches as possible, which means no going to your in-law’s family reunion “Sorry honey, can’t miss The Battle of Alberta.”

All along the way, you will be doing this so you can spend 14-hour days getting sunburn, windburn, frostbite, or just downright soaked in the rain. Oh, and don’t forget the sprains, the cuts on your hands and knees, and the occasional bit of lead ricochet. I once caught a small piece of lead in my hand while filming another shooter. My doctor had to dig it out with a scalpel. Before that day, I had never seen a medical profession giggle. It was clearly the highlight of his week.

But on the plus side, you get to go fast and shoot a lot… for about four minutes, total, per day. It’s kind of like golf, the better you are at it, the less of it you do in a competition. If you are looking for something less damaging to the body, the wallet, and your family, I would suggest either gambling or the rodeo circuit.

For me though, if I am going down in a blaze of financial ruin, it’s with an AR in my hands and hot brass falling down the back of my shirt. If you want to join me, www.3gun.ca lists most matches happening in Canada. Let me warn you though, there’s a lot of running.


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