Photo Drop Part 3 (Fishin’ Buddy and An Old Hiking Photo)
Hey, this week I was camping in Jasper so I didn’t get much time, or internet access, to write a post for this week. I don’t want to leave my faithful readers high and dry (I can’t risk losing all 6 of you). So here’s a few old photos that just never could find their way into a story but I still feel merit some exposure to the world.
It’s Important To Have A Fishing Buddy
Everyone who knows me has likely met my dad and his dog, Rose. She goes with him everywhere, that includes hunting and fishing. This picture more or less sums up every fishing experience they’ve had: my dad catches a fish, and gets Rose to inspect it thoroughly before he throws it back… every single time. Believe me when I tell you that Rose is a fishing fanatic, you can’t hold a fishing rod in that boat without hearing her bark and squeal with excitement, its a bit annoying, but at the same time anyone who fishes can understand her excitement.
Carefully Stacked Rocks Work Almost As Well As A Camera Tripod
Shortly after Erin and I got back from our big New Zealand Trip, in 2011, we had started to do a lot more hiking. If I recall one of our first day hikes was up Bald Hills in Jasper National park. It was a nice hike, but nothing worth writing a long story about, so here’s the highlights. We hiked through some beautiful trees, then up a steep hill and used my cameras timer to take this photo of us next an inukshuk we found and added a few rocks to (I had to Google the proper spelling of inukshuk). We then hiked to the top where the winds were amazingly strong, then we hiked a little way down, had lunch, and then found our way back to the car. I highly recommend this hike.
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Hiking A Yasawa Island
Lately I’ve been spending all my time at work, but I would still like to post somewhat regularly. As is part of my writing tradition I often complain to Erin about having nothing to write about, then she’ll say “Why don’t you write about that time we _____” Some of my stories aren’t exactly fresh, but usually they’re at least funny.
Erin and I, as part of our Fijian tour, did a trip along the Yasawa Islands. The Yasawas are a chain of islands off the coast of Fiji and many companies have small hotels on the little islands.
When I Say Little I Mean Little!
We got a package that gave us, if I recall correctly, five days on three islands, none of which were quite as small as the one pictured above. Of the three islands I can only remember what happened on two of them, I completely forgot about the first one we were on and so has Erin, we don’t even have pictures from it. The other two islands I don’t remember the name of, instead I just remember the accommodations and activities.
The first of the two, remembered, islands was quite large and seemed to really stick high out of the ocean it had nice private bungalows and terrible food, a common combination in Fiji. On the first day Erin and I kayaked to a very nearby island in two clear plastic kayaks. I was very excited to see all the marine life below me, but was quickly disappointed when I saw the kayaks were far too scratched up to see through. I still enjoyed myself but Erin, who often complains about lacking upper body strength, seemed to have a very hard time kayaking on a windy ocean, I asked if she wanted me to tow her home she replied with “No its fine! Leave me alone” my relationship senses tingled. To my knowledge “its fine” is usually my cue to get as quiet and far away as possible. We next opted to relax and do some reading while lounging in the hammocks… because life is so hard when you’re on vacation, its important to relax. I had long since finished my Capstick book, but I was unwilling to trade it in in the book exchange. Luckily Erin had an old book for me to trade in, the selection was limited and a lot of it was German, but I picked the best of the worst, a book titled “Perfume” and it was certainly…. not something I would read again. The next day we headed to the final island where we would spend the majority of our time, and make the most memories.
We arrived to find we were staying in undoubtedly the nicest accommodations I have ever received. This was the first time during our trip that we stayed in a place that looked like a post card from Fiji. It was a large private bungalow with a small main room at the front and a large bedroom and bathroom at the back. We settled in, grabbed some borderline OK lunch, and read our books at the beach, I finished that terrible book and was thoroughly disappointed. Erin started reading my, now favorite book, “The Last Ivory Hunter.” We then had some dinner and made plans to go on a short guided hike in the morning.
We arrived where they told us to meet the “guide” and found that Erin and I were the only two people who showed up. We paid our guide his fee, about $3 each, and we headed up. As soon as we started walking the guide started talking on his cell phone, this would continue the whole hike. I brought my backpack and Erin and I both wore our hiking gear. Our guide brought his cell phone and machete and climbed this mountain barefoot, it was very impressive. A few minutes into the hike I saw what I think might be the most frightening thing I can think of, off in the distance in a small clearing there was a spider web that had been built horizontally, it was about 6 feet in diameter and what ever was in the middle of it was heavy enough to pull the trees in towards it. I didn’t go investigate, in fact I picked up the pace a little. Just as we came above the tree line we found ourselves walking through some very tall, lush grass, about 10 feet tall. I read a lot of safari books and they always talk about long grass and the dangers of following a wounded animal into it, until this time I had never fully comprehended the lack of visibility and just how tall this grass really was, I just couldn’t picture it in my mind.
After the grass it became much rockier, and elevated. I didn’t really think about all the elevation we gained while walking through the heavily treed areas. Suddenly the trail ended, but the guide kept walking, right across a sharp ridge with a nice steep smooth rock face down each side. Erin, without flinching, walked right behind him and then remembered my dislike of heights and looked back and if I recall she offered some encouraging words. I wasn’t about to quit, but like I always do with heights, I crawled slowly across on all fours while calculating what events and time frame would be required for me to get to the hospital if I fell. At least I knew for sure the guide had cell service. On the other side of this knife edge walk-way was a large natural platform at the top of the island and the official end of our hike. Erin and I took a lot of pictures and she went on and on about how proud she was of me for making it across that rock… I then realized I had to go back over it..
That’s Our Resort At The Bottom
Erin And I Just Climbed A Mountain On A Fijian Island!… Our Guide Had Just Another Normal Day.
Erin and I were taking in the view and talking about how glad we were that we took this trip and various other lovey dovey things when it happened… Possibly the longest and loudest fart either one of us had ever heard! We looked at each other, with eyes wide open, then looked at the guide 20 feet away from us, chuckling on his phone. This hike will forever be known as “the Fijian hike with the farting guide” and we laugh about it all the time.. even years later we still laugh about it.
I crawled across the rocks and we made our way down, all the while trying not to burst into laughter about what happened. We made it without breaking into hysterical laughter like teenage girls, barely, we thanked our guide and returned to our bungalow to shower, laugh, and then grabbed some lunch.
A lot of other interesting things happened on that island, we saw a man climb to the top of a very tall palm tree and cut down coconuts, he went up without any harness or safety gear and those coconuts came down like cannon balls, luckily no one was hurt. On another of the nights we met a nice group of Australians wearing sailor outfits, they seemed intent on perpetuating the stereotype of attractive Australians, they were very successful. Before the night was through we ended up somewhat befriending them, we ate together and got very drunk. I remember at one point they were all singing a drinking song to me while I was chugging a beer, it was great. A few also did a very impressive choreographed dance to a Taylor swift song. I wish I had gotten some contact info for them, Erin and I are planning a trip to Australia and I wouldn’t mind bumping into them again.
The next day I was a rather slow moving unit, on account of my recently discovered enjoyment of gin and tonics. We decided to spend the day reading and recovering by the pool. I took in that awful book I had finished and looked for something to trade it off on. I combed through the collection and the only thing that seemed to stand out to me was an old dime store western. It was titled “Longarm and the frenchmans gold” or something along those lines. I like westerns, so I figured I would give it a shot. I sat beside Erin at the pool and began reading. The first few chapter were slow and poorly written, so I assumed it was a book for young teens, that would explain the rather… ahem, chesty woman, depicted on the cover. I was wrong, very wrong. Around chapter three it turned into a very graphic adult novel. I suddenly felt very embarrassed, like when a sex scene comes on in a movie you’re watching with your parents, kind of embarrassed. I slowly closed the book and set it down, I must have had a strange look of surprise on my face because Erin took one glance at me and asked “Whats wrong?” I casually picked up the book, opened it to the appropriate point, handed it to her, and said “here, read this.” She thought it was hilarious, so did I, but I was annoyed that I had to go try and find another book. We also still laugh about this and occasionally joke that we should have kept that book as a memento for such a funny story. Good literature is hard to come by when you’re travelling I guess… So hopefully when you go out into the world you can still access my site, right?
On this trip I learned the importance of bringing a good book, otherwise you end up with some mighty strange stuff. Also if anyone knows some goofy, attractive Australians who visited the Yasawas while dressed as sailors during 2011, send them my way. Honestly even if they aren’t the people we met, if they meet that criteria I want to be friends with them.
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The Bird Feeder Incident
Most people who know me will likely agree that I take pride in the fact that I’m pretty handy with a rifle. Also pretty awful with a pistol… luckily I’ve never had much use for one. Where was I going with this? Oh right, marksmanship! I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately, also I’ve been working a lot so I haven’t had much time to go out for new and exciting adventures. Being an adult is way less exciting than I thought it would be.
I come from a house that really promotes firearms and firearm safety. My dad had a rather genius approach to firearms safety. Instead of hiding all his guns and keeping them secret hoping we would never find them, he kept them safely locked and would show them to us and take us to the range every chance he could. That way they weren’t some big taboo exciting secret, they were just those things that we could only use when dad was around. I also remember my dad showing us pictures, in a gag calendar, of gophers that had been shot, and saying things like “that’s why you’re always careful with guns.” It was pretty gross and maybe a bit extreme but it sure was effective and even to this day I’m one of the most anal-retentive people I know when it comes to firearm safety. But more to the point of our story, we also always had air guns, and we had a pretty big back yard which meant we had our own little shooting range. We were even occasionally trusted to be out there shooting on our own and it all happened without incident… well except that one, let me tell you about it.
I believe I was in about 1st grade at the time, and my older brother and I were shooting his crosman airgun. For the most part we would shoot at soda cans and milk jugs. Years later I was informed, by my mother, that the bottle depot guy would often give her dirty looks when she brought in these shredded remains of cans. By some twist of fate or onset of boredom my brother left me alone to keep shooting his BB gun all by myself. After a while I got tired of hitting the same cans at the same distance over and over, and like many cases of boredom I’ve had in my life since then, this led to a bad idea. My mother had a clear plastic bird feeder on an aluminum post,that sat just above my eye level, but more importantly, it was just a few yard behind my target. I assessed the situation and made sure there wasn’t anything fragile or expensive behind it, like a window. I loaded the gun, steadied myself on our shooting bench/picnic table and let loose with a small steel BB. I heard a delightfully loud “tunk!” as it hit the nearly empty octagonal feeder, and I felt very satisfied. I looked at it through the scope and saw no damage, so I walked up and had a look. Sure enough it looked just fine, so I fired a few more from the table each time being rewarded with that same fulfilling plastic thud that made me feel like I could probably shoot just as good as my dad. For the record, I still cant out-shoot my dad, and I hope I never have to get into a competition with Kyle, my older brother… maybe it’s something in the blood. Eventually I got tired of hitting so easily, so I moved back a bit to our little trampoline and thought, “going that far I better use pellets since they shoot better” I loaded up the gun, lied flat, took aim, pshhk and thunk, I hit it again.. and again.. and again. After a while I moved back to the tree line and found even more success. Eventually I figured I may as well go in, I walked up to the bird feeder and sure enough it was trashed, riddled with entry and exit holes. I can still picture myself looking up at it and feeling the terror of ruining my mothers bird feeder. For those who need a visual, it looked kinda like Bonnie and Clyde’s car.
I did what any 8 year old boy would do. I put the gun away same as always and didn’t say anything to anyone. Of course, someone noticed almost immediately that our bird feeder had been ventilated, maybe they heard it whistling in the wind? It also wasn’t really a case for CSI since I was the only one using the BB gun all day. That said, I wasn’t admitting anything to anybody.. deny.. deny.. deny. That was of course until my dad had a chance to cross examine the defendant during dinner. After some tricky questioning, I was still able to keep my story straight. Then out of nowhere came some classic fatherly trickery. It went something like this:
“well whoever hit that bird feeder must have been a pretty good shot to be able to hit it from the picnic table”
“No, I hit it from the trampoline and then the treeline!”
I realized what just happened and my eyes forced themselves wide open. Everyone looked at me and grinned, it was in this moment in life that I first realized I may not be a particularly clever individual. It was then decreed that I had to apologize to my mother for wrecking her feeder, I also recall emptying out my piggy bank and offering it to my mother as compensation for damages. No surprise she didn’t take the, what I now assume was about eight dollars in loose change. My private range privileges were also revoked indefinitely and my family still likes to reference “the bird feeder incident” from time to time.
The bird feeder incident taught me a few important things about firearm safety, and it not being worth it to lie about your mistakes. I also learnt an interesting child interrogation trick that I feel will come in useful someday if and when I have children.
P.S. Mom, I still owe you a bird feeder and since I now have slightly more than $8 in my piggy bank do you like this one? Its a little fancier than the one I perforated but you’ve got almost 20 years of accrued interest on that debt.
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Reflections On A Fijian Mud Bath
As many of my friends and family are well aware, and tired of hearing about. Erin and I took a trip to both Fiji and New Zealand in 2011 and I am still telling stories about it. Occasionally in the wee hours of the morning, when night shift has a firm pull on my eyelids, my gaze finds its way to my computer screen saver, and I am reminded why I subject my body and my sanity to this job. One word: Adventure.
Erin and I, in our ramblings across Fiji, found ourselves at a small hostel in a town who’s name I cannot remember. In fact I remember very few details about the hostel we were at, but here they are:
1. There were a lot of cats and dogs, especially cats that had suffered some form of trauma, I vividly remember at least one cat with only three legs. I remember one of the workers there telling me he had rescued several of the dogs from kids who kidnap stray dogs in the city and sell them to rural villages to use as bait for boars. One can only imagine the story behind the cats.
2. I was amazed by the pool table, the balls were about half the size of the ones I was used to. Using it was a bit of a pain because it required Australian quarters which were sold (or possibly given, I dont fully recall) to us by the front desk. When travelling I am always interested in the different types of electrical outlets, light switches, placement and organization of bathroom fixtures, and other small details of daily life… look I rarely claim to be an interesting guy.
3. They had a room filled with dozens of bikes for rent.
One of the few days we had spent there, we had heard from the staff that there was a hot spring and mud spa a few miles down the road. Being on vacation and having nothing else occupying our time, we decided to go check it out. We rented the bikes for a very minimal fee, somewhere in the neighborhood of $5 Fijian per bike for the day, I’m not sure the conversion rates to Canadian or US dollars but trust me that’s not much.
Erin and Our Trusty Steeds
The bikes were nothing special, which was clearly reflected in the price and honestly I often find myself drawn to old banged up modes of transportation anyway (as my car ownership history will show). We grabbed our bikes and headed down the typical rough and potholed Fijian road. After a short, and very pleasant, ride we found our destination. It was a small fenced in area that to my rural Albertan eyes looked an awful lot like two dugouts and an old barnyard shed. All at once, in that moment, looking at what was in front of me. I felt I was home, on a warm summer day, looking out at an old farmyard that time seemed to have forgotten. I had spent so much of my youth rummaging through and admiring the old books and rusted tools, all the while hoping to find something that resembled treasure…but I’m getting off topic now.
We paid our $2 each and wandered into the structurally questionable shed to get changed. I was glad to see they partitioned off separate sides for guys and girls but I was a little concerned that you could see daylight between, literally, every plank on the sides. As I was changing out of my shorts and into my… swimming shorts, three Japanese men struck up a conversation with me. Well it was more of them talking at me and asking some questions.
“you’re so tall!”
“uhh thanks”
“wow you have green eyes! what color are your mothers?”
“umm blue?… I think”
“and your fathers?”
“kind of grey… maybe”
“Whats your name?”
“Tyson”
“ooooo big strong american name! Twyason! Like the boxer!”
“Well I’m Canadian, but, yeah I guess”
“What about your girlfriend? how tall is she?”
I raised my hand to just above my eye level.
“oooOOOOoooo. And what colour are her eyes?”
“Green”
“oooooo”
“well I’m done changing so I’m going to head out, you guys have a good day”
A lot of big smiles and hand shakes etc. Erin had overheard a bit of the conversation through the “walls”, and thought it was hysterical but she was kind enough to not laugh about the adorable grown men until later in the day.
We then were escorted to the first station at the “spa”, a mud bath, again… essentially a muddy hole in the grass about the size of a good swimming pool. The hole was about five feet deep with about three feet of muddy water in it with a very muddy bottom. We climbed in, and so did the person working there, he dunked a bucket in and scraped a pile of muck off the bottom and told us to rub it on ourselves. It seemed kinda hokey to me, but what ever, I rubbed some on my arms etc and so did Erin, of course our guide tried to help Erin rub some mud on her arms and other places but she was quick to politely refuse his help. I then realized that this is probably a sweet job for that guy, helping (mostly female) tourists in bathing suits coat themselves in mud. We then, via the assistance of our guide and a nearby tree root, made the difficult and slippery climb out of the mud hole. The guide then showed us the outdoor shower where we could rinse the mud off before climbing into the hot spring hole. He offered to snap some pictures of us covered in mud. We got some funny shots of us with mud mustaches and other funny face “paint”, showered off and then headed into the hot spring.
That’s The “Mud Bath” Behind Us
I Mustache You Not To Draw On My Face.
From the showers we walked across the grounds to a smaller slightly cleaner pool fed by a little spring. We swam around a bit and tried to wash the last bits of mud off, I didn’t really feel clean until I was back at the hostel and able to have a more thorough shower, but that’s besides the point.
At Least This One Had A Set Of Steps
After what felt like the necessary lengths of time, we pulled ourselves out of the pool, dried off and got changed. We biked back to the hostel, I honestly preferred the bike ride over the mud baths. It was a long time ago now so I dont fully recall what happened to the rest of the day but its a pretty safe guess that we showered off, played some miniature pool and petted a bunch of formerly stray dogs…. but that’s just an educated guess based on my personality and our circumstances.
When looking at old pictures of my various adventures I often like to ask myself “what would I have done then, if I was the person I am now?” Try it sometime, it can illicit all kinds of emotions. In this instance what stands out to me are the bikes and just how much fun I had on them that day, and how much I enjoy cycling now. It makes me think that I may have missed a golden opportunity for us to buy a couple of cheap bikes and pedal our way around that little island. Maybe someday I’ll get another chance to, or maybe I’ll someday find myself on another small island nation and have the ambition to see how far my legs can take me. Worst case I can still tell myself that I did technically go biking in Fiji.
Posted in Mountain Biking, Travelwith no comments yet.
Canada Day Tradition
I firmly believe that every family should have one weekend a year where they all get together. My family has the Vermillion fair, and Erin’s has Canada day. I think its a great idea because then every year you know, all year, that you need that same weekend off, and you know not to make plans. I also think its important to see your family more often than Christmas.
As per the family tradition, the plan was for all of us to meet up at Lesser Slave Lake for some camping over Canada day weekend. Friday after Erin was done work, we packed the gear into the truck. I was amazed at how fast it had started raining and how hard it was raining all through this process. Needless to say I was starting to get a little grumpy, but we loaded up and headed out anyway. It was about a four hour drive, Erin somehow managed to do homework for most of that time, while I drove and watched for wildlife, we saw a cow moose and her calf.
We arrived at the campsite a few hours before sundown, up north sunset is about 11:30pm that time of year. The family rents 3 large cabins that are all attached together and share some wonderful lakefront real estate. From there a few family members stay in campers on the lot, Erin and I sported a lovely little tent we set up in an area with an excellent view. It still amazes me how easy it is to set up a modern tent, I remember when I was a kid my parents had those old tents in the garage which were essentially a mess of random poles and musty fabrics. After setting up the tent, we plopped ourselves down beside the fire for a spell and then retired to our fresh air, nylon chateau complete with a queen size air mattress.
The next morning I over slept, but that’s what camping is for. Shortly after I got up, someone came up with the plan for pretty much everyone, under the age of 30, to bike to town… for no particular reason. We had a real convoy of roughly 10 people from about age 8 to about age 25, on all type, age, and condition of bike. It must have been quite the sight, especially since, the one leading us most of the way was the youngest. While in town we stopped at a fast food joint and I bought everyone ice cream, I figured I could use the brownie points.
Upon arriving back at our campsite, we found that Erin’s parents had arrived, they intended to come the night before but were held up by the poor weather, as they were hauling a trailer and carrying a boat. They got set up and we got the boat in the water. I noticed that the strong winds coming off the lake were attempting to borrow my tent. I moved it to a slightly more sheltered area and actually pegged it down this time. Instead of lifting up and curling, it was folding in… well at least it wasn’t going anywhere.
I’m Impressed That It Survived The Wind
It was then decided that, despite the wind, Erin, her dad, and I should all go fishing. We grabbed our gear and loaded up the boat. At the last minute, Erin, in a moment of pure selflessness, gave up her spot in the boat to her young cousin who was itchin’ for some fishin’. Erin’s dad was happy to accommodate him. We loaded up and headed for the small island, named Dog Island, at the far side of the bay to look for walleye. We got out there, slapped on some hooks, did some trolling, and ate some chips. Erin’s cousin caught the first fish, a nice walleye, just barely big enough to keep. We decided to throw it back, since it was the first catch and surely we’d catch bigger (often famous last words). Erin’s dad was the next to catch a fish, a smallish pike, then he caught a small walleye. I managed to wrangle in a ok sized walleye and we decided to keep this one, for safety’s sake. Then it was Erin’s dad on again, then the young cousin… those two were out fishing me six ways from Sunday, but I was the only one with a keeper in the boat. Erin’s young cousin had something special take his line. After a spirited battle, he had at the edge of the boat a very nice walleye, certainly the biggest I would see all weekend. I reached over the side and grabbed the line to haul it in, with a great thrash from the fish, it, in one motion, both snapped the line and cut my finger, and just like that he was gone. Everyone was a little sad and I certainly felt some guilt over the loss, but at the end of the day at least we know there’s still at least one big fish in that lake. It was getting to be about supper time, so we headed back to shore. Another of Erin’s young cousins and her friend were mesmerized, and a little afraid of the fish. We could hear them giggling and screaming from where we left it hanging while we stowed away our fishing gear and rounded up filleting gear… ok so just a filleting knife and beer, but that still counts as “gear” if you ask me. I watched with fascination as the fish was cleaned with a level of skill that is only granted with time and experience. It was thrown in the refrigerator for later. We helped ourselves to some dinner, then we all sat around the campfire enjoying each others company until every person had reached their own idea of what the wee hours of the morning means. There had originally been fireworks planned for that evening but we were informed they were to be delayed due to wind, and I could understand why.
The next day, Sunday, I overslept yet again, and nobody seemed to mind, maybe I’ll make that my tradition. It was far too windy for any kind of fishing that day, so some people opted to relax, others opted to go golfing. The rest of us went to a nearby hike. The hike was pleasant enough, though I could have lived without the mosquitoes. I was surprised to find that at the end of the hike there was a little lake that someone had somehow gotten a small rowboat into. Then there was what felt like a frenzy of photographs, and some cookies handed out… I thoroughly enjoyed the latter of the two. We then hiked out and headed back to camp. In the evening it rained quite hard which lead to two things. The first was a lot of me hurrying and panicking inside our cheap tent trying to get everything away from the edges to prevent any more water from coming in. The second thing the rain had instigated what was a rather sizable cribbage tournament, I had played before, but it was a long time ago. Erin and I played as a team and I feel that despite a lot of losses we played well and were close each time. The rain finally quit, and the cribbage tournament was over, and somehow the music got loud and everyone started dancing. I left at the first opportunity, on account of my two left feet, and found myself as part of a growing crowd by the fire. That day also ended just the way I like it, relaxing by the fire in good company.
On Monday, it was again windy but we opted to go fishing anyway, this time It was Erin, her dad, and myself in his boat, and then as many people as they could fit in her uncles boat. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 people, but I dont ever recall doing an official head count. The plan was for us all to catch some fish and have a great big fish fry for dinner. We battled some sizable waves to get to the island, but once there Erin and her dad started catching like it was going out of style. I, as any fisherman who isn’t catching tends to do, tested nearly every hook in my tackle box. In the end Erin had offered me a duplicate of the hook she was having such success with, reluctantly I accepted… and wouldn’t you know it, I caught a fish first cast. It always hurts to borrow a hook from someone because yours don’t work, but I’m pretty sure I bought that hook for her, so that makes me feel a little better.
I Feel No Shame In Being Out-Fished By The Walleye King Or His Daughter
After we hit our limits, we did a bit of “bonus fishing” beyond the wind block of the island, we did some of our best catching while drifting and rolling over the giant waves that only strong wind across a very big lake can create. Eventually we realized it was getting late in the day and headed in to meet up with the other boat and assess the results of our makeshift fishing derby.
Our Combined Total
If memory recalls, we had six walleye and one pike (not pictured). It was now up to Erin’s dad to fillet them, I think that’s worked its way into tradition over the years. I asked if I could help, since I really wanted to learn how to fillet fish, not surprisingly he agreed to let me assist him. We rounded up our knives and headed to the fish cleaning shack. He re-showed me the basics on the first fish, then we proceeded to start filleting. In a fury of swinging knives and flying fish parts we had made short work of our bounty, I worked as fast as I could but was only cleaning about one fish to his three… but I guess that’s the kind of speed experience affords you.
The Chandelier Really Makes The Cleaning Shack Looks Fancy
Doing My Best
We cleaned all the walleye, while each strategically avoiding the pike that neither of us had a clue how to fillet, until finally he caved and did his best to clean it. We returned to the cabins as heroes hearing many a “thanks for cleaning those” “wow, that was fast!” and “I cant believe how much fish that is”.
Shortly after our return everyone got to work filling the deep fryer with oil, making beer batter and preparing salads. This was going to be the kind of feast that wont soon be forgotten. I opted to stay out of the way and watch the deep frying process at work, while chatting with the expert cooks. The fish disappeared onto the plates of bystanders just as fast as it came out of the fryer, after almost everyone had dished up I was excited to grab my share… and then another share… followed by another… then a few more nibbles. What can I say? It was delicious and there was a lot of it. To my surprise I only found a single bone, and I know it was from that pike! I also inquired around and only about three other people admitted to finding a bone, not bad for my first time cleaning fish. After some sitting and digesting it had become rather late and it was now time for the Canada Day fireworks display put on by the campgrounds. We all wandered down to the beach to watch. Just before the fireworks started another family tradition took place… a very loud group rendition of our national anthem, which was met with a lot of cheering and applause all down the beach, and one gentleman replied with part of the tune from “Hockey Night In Canada” and of course we all applauded that guy. The fireworks display was impressive, bright, and very loud. Sunday ended much like Saturday, pleasant conversation around the campfire until one-by-one everyone found their way to sleep.
The next day everyone was up a little bit early, we needed to be out by 10. Erin and I packed up our gear and took down our tent, but left it out for a bit so it could dry. We then headed into the cabins where everyone was showing a great display of teamwork in cleaning all the cabins from top to bottom… especially bottom since the rain and sand had led to a lot of grit being left on the floors. Everybody got stowed away, acquiring help when needed and offering it when available. In what seemed like no time flat we were stowed away and pulling on to the highway leaving the weekend in our mirrors. All that was left now was to make the long drive home, unpack our vehicles, and to start looking forward to next year.
Posted in Fishingwith 2 comments.
Saturday Night Lake Loop
A few weeks ago I was fishing for walleye off of my dad’s dock. It was getting late in the evening and I was curious to try out fishing in the dark, I had heard that due to a walleye’s excellent vision they are more of a night predator. I did catch a decent walleye on a bright white rubber fish, but I feel I must test this theory further. The entire time I was absolutely swarmed by mosquitoes… as can be expected at that time of day. It got me thinking of possibly my worst experience with mosquitoes and quite possibly my worst experience in hiking. It was back in 2012 when Erin and I decided to try back country camping, we bought a tent and two small mummy style bags, and headed to Jasper. My brother drove us there as he had a fancy new truck and felt like seeing the sights, he opted not to join us on our hike… in hind sight that was a smart move.
We departed from Edmonton early in the morning with all of our gear and headed directly to the tourist information office in Jasper, that’s usually a good first stop. Erin and I asked about hiking trails and overnight camping while Kyle inquired about the local sights. After much deliberation it was decided that Erin and I would set off that day to do the “Saturday Night Lake Loop” which is considered one of the easiest overnight hikes in the park (I recently found out it also doubles as a mountain bike trail, though I haven’t been back since this trip). While we would hike and camp, Kyle decided he didn’t feel like camping alone, so we suggested the local hostel. I’ve been a fan of hostels since my New Zealand trip, they just sort of force you to interact with people who are generally in a good mood from traveling and sight seeing. We drove to the hostel and took a short tour, my well dressed clean cut brother, in a brand new truck didn’t exactly fit in and I honestly think that played a role in his decision not to stay there. We offered to help him find other lodging but he said he would be fine and dropped us off at the trail head. We planned to call him the next day, toward the end of our hike, so he knew when to pick us up.
We began our hike full of ambition, excitement, wonder, and I was also a bit nervous. We found ourselves on what I think was an old logging road along side a sizable lake.
Our View From The Trail
Toward the end of the well traveled gravel road, just before it turned into a trail we saw an adorable black bear. I was quick to whip out the bear spray (Quick PSA! Always carry bear spray!). Lucky for us, the bear, and my nerves, the bear kept its distance, looked at us, and with little thought or concern walked away and carried on with its life, I like to think it lived happily ever after.
Last Time I Was This Close To A Bear I Got A New Rug, But That’s A Different Story
As the trail went on, I started to realize a few things: we were hiking in a valley, it was spring time, and it was an especially wet spring. The mosquitoes were starting to get more and more frequent. After much casual chatting, swatting, repellent spraying, and scenery enjoyment we side tracked off of the trail up a few switch backs to our campsite.
Made It!
We set up camp in our stall as fast as we could, since the mosquitoes were even worse there. We then went out into the more open dining area, which had fewer of the blood thirsty insects, and began prepping dinner. On the menu we had canned stew heated to perfection on a mini camp stove, with a side of soda crackers. There was one other couple camping there, we exchanged greetings, but other than that they weren’t too chatty.
Mom Always Said It Was Important To Be Able To Cook
After dinner I washed the dishes in a clear mountain stream, which I think is pretty awesome, to me it always feels like a throwback to the pioneer days when I do stuff like that. We then walked and looked out at the small lake. It was pretty, but the shoreline was muddy and the mosquitoes made it hard to stick around.
What I Assume Is Saturday Night Lake
Then we went to bed and attempted to sleep. We had purchased two mummy style bags which could be zipped together, what we had never been told is that while they’re zipped together, if one person moves it creates a vacuum that pulls cold air in between the two people. Calling me a fidgety sleeper is a bit of an understatement. Calling me an unpopular tent partner that night is also an understatement. At this point in our hiking careers we had yet to buy any form of sleep mats, so there we were, cold and uncomfortable on the hard ground.
After dropping Erin and I off at the trail head, Kyle, in a rather James Bond kind of way, walked into one of the higher end hotels Jasper had to offer. He asked the going last minute rate of an empty room then offered them that for the suite and it worked. He hauled his things in, went to a pub for dinner and to watch some TV. He then retired to his suite and soaked in the Jacuzzi tub, he would later remark that his only complaint was that the tub was almost “too hot.” I however think he may have just said that to bug me.
The next morning came and I awoke to a loud hum that resembled electricity travelling through wires. It didn’t take me long to realize it was a swarm of mosquitoes, I was concerned they intended to haul us away, tent and all. We packed up as much as we could inside the tent and got dressed lying down, for fear of exposing ourselves to mosquitoes… and fellow campers. Erin went off to make us some oatmeal for breakfast, and I tore down the tent as fast as I could. We enjoyed breakfast and I decided to use the toiled before we headed off. This would prove to be an unfortunate time to need a washroom. As I approached the toiled the mosquitoes got more frequent and the hum got louder. I saw the toiled and remembered the lady at the tourist center trying to explain to me that they dont have outhouses or porta-pottys they have “green thrones” which well, looks like a throne. Imagine a three or four steps leading up a to a platform with a toiled seat on top. The toiled seat was somewhat enclosed in a semi circle that only ran about half way up my back. It was about as open air as you could get while still technically using a toilet. It was the perfect place for mosquitoes to ambush me… and did they ever. Lets just say I had bites in the tender areas and was really starting to not enjoy the hike.
We set off and the mosquitoes were unbearable, hands down the worst I have ever seen. They were so bad they effected visibility. We walked along beautiful log bridges and passed amazing waterfalls, at top speed to avoid those darn bugs.
One Of The Few Photos That Day
We only stopped at the tops of hills where we could feel a breeze and only for long enough to catch our breath and re apply as much mosquito spray as possible. I remember my shoe coming untied at the bottom of a hill right beside a nice infested swamp, I stopped went down and inhaled no less than four mosquitoes. I was also introduced to the pleasures of a mosquito bite on the edge of my lip, kinda like a bite on the knuckle but worse. We kept walking and swatting and my patience was running low. Finally and embarrassingly… I cracked. I had what Erin and I call a “temper mantrum” I remember throwing off my pack to grab some water and going on a rant along the lines of “THIS BACKPACKING IS HORRIBLE, YOU CAN JUST KEEP THIS TENT AND USE IT WITH YOUR FRIENDS OR WHATEVER, BUT I’M JUST NOT INTERESTED IN DOING IT AGAIN” Erin now finds it funny but at the time I think she was about ready to crack too. I put my pack back on and we continued.
We eventually found our way to higher and windier ground which caused the mosquitoes to disperse and suddenly the trail became much more pleasant. We rounded a corner and in the distance I saw something tan in colour jump into the woods. From where I was standing it appeared high in a tree, I panicked as my mind immediate thought “Cougar!” I grabbed the bear spray and pondered just how good my reflexes actually were. As we walked closer I felt very silly, the trail went up a steep hill and what I had actually seen was a beautiful bull elk jumping from the trail up a small berm. I kept the bear spray out and decided to see how close I could get. I got to withing about 40 yards and snapped some pictures before it eventually got annoyed with me and left.
A Good Size, Especially For So Early In The Year
We were getting near the end of the trail so I pulled out my phone to call Kyle, only to discover that the battery was dead. I must have bumped the power button and turned it on in my pack. Luckily for me, Erin’s phone still worked and I had submitted Kyle’s number to memory. No answer, I tried a few more times, with no luck. We eventually walked out into the parking lot to see Kyle there, he was simply amazed at his timing.
He explained that his phone had met with his temper when it was failing to work. I saw the “smart” phone in the back of his truck and it appeared to be folded in half (he seems to go through a lot of phones). So he ended up calling my phone from a pay phone, which ended up not working since my phone was dead, maybe this phone trouble is a family thing. In the end he just guessed what time we would be there and as luck would have it, he only waited about ten minutes for us to show up.
It was undoubtedly the worst hike I’ve ever been on, based slightly on the poor sleeping conditions and overwhelmingly on the mosquito infestation. I now really enjoy back country camping, and I would even do the Saturday Night Lake Loop again… if it was during a drought.
Posted in Hikingwith no comments yet.
Last Chance Cleaning
It seems my last chance buck is staying true to its name. After two years of alternating between the barn in winter and an ant hill in summer, it appeared I needed a more drastic solution to cleaning it. Given that I plan on putting my possessions in storage and leaving the country next year, it appears this summer is my last chance to turn this skull into the european mount that I intended.
I had already taken the first step and cleaned off as much of the hair, meat, etc. that I could from the skull. The problem is that I did that last year, so by now it was very dry and slightly rotten, I opted not to post a picture of this, but trust me, it was bad. I then assembled my cooker, and installed the head, all while holding my breath.
The Setup
I used a propane tiger torch propped on a rock as a burner, which then heated an old wash basin sitting atop two cinder blocks. Any large pot and burner will do, as long as it will fit the skull and heat the water to near boiling. After much research I have found that actually boiling the water is bad for the skull. Finally I wired the antlers to the edges, some people tie them to lumber, the key is to keep them out of the water to avoid discoloration. I opted to put the skull in before the water started to get hot so as to avoid burning my hands while wiring the skull to the right depth.
Initially I had just used plain water but once it was hot I decided that a grease cutting dish soap might be a good plan, it seemed to work well for me. While the water heated I gathered up some tools to help scrape and clean off what I could. I used a long set of pliers, a putty knife, and a heavy bristled dish scrubber. The dish scrubber can no longer be used on dishes.
Essential Tools
This was my first attempt at cleaning a skull so I wasn’t sure what would work, in the end I found that the putty knife worked best, while the dish scrubber was just shy of useless. The technique I used was simple but time consuming. I heated the large basin to a simmer and every few hours I would pull the head out and scrape, brush, and grab at it with the pliers… in no particular order.
Elbow Grease Turned Out To Be A Key Ingredient
In total it took somewhere in the neighborhood of nine hours and five beers to complete. That said it didn’t require constant attention so I was able to do some yard work and visit with a friend while I cleaned it.
All Cleaned Up
All said and done, I think it looks pretty good cleaned up. It has a bit of a natural yellow colour to it and I am told that many people opt bleach or paint it for that bright white finish. I may in the future paint it, but for now I do believe I’ll leave it.
Posted in How-To, Huntingwith 13 comments.
My First Mountain Bike
If you don’t feel like getting the full story, click here to jump straight to the video on youtube.
Erin and I are slowly starting to plan a trip that will take us across (or maybe around?) South America. So currently this means me reading through the guide book trying to get a vague overview of where I would like to go. I’ve noticed a pattern, its seems that most South American towns offer; ruins, churches, mountain biking, and depending on proximity to water, surfing. I intend to see a lot of the ruins, some of the churches, and attempt to surf. Trust me, you’ll hear all about it on the blog. I also want to try mountain biking. I figure, since I live in a great part of the world for mountain biking, I may as well try my hand at learning it here so as to make it more fun when I go there. Also I Just wanted to start mountain biking, so I’m going to use the trip as an excuse to take it up. Unfortunately, to my knowledge, there are no surfing opportunities in Alberta, so that’ll have to wait until I get there.
So I set off looking at various mountain bikes, their styles, and types of riding. I also watched a lot of youtube. When it was all said and done I walked into the local bike shop and asked for the cheapest model I could get away with. I had the option of grey or orange. I went with orange, and for about $600 I was out the door with a new bike and a helmet… always wear a helmet!
The first day I had it, a friend and I went for a ride in the Edmonton River Valley me on my new fancy bike and him on the old mountain bike I received as a birthday gift almost a decade ago. I was quickly made aware that this bike was superior to any other bikes I had owned, of course for that price it better be. I was also reminded that I am rather out of shape. After a few hours we decided to call it a day and head home. A few hours rest later, I decided to go out for another ride, this time to my dads shop for a visit, about half hour each way. Erin accompanied me since I am hesitant to ride on the roads.
First Day Out
For nearly a week I have been riding my bike every day, for about two hours a day. Often just to visit my dad but also a time or two to the river valley again, I was quite surprised at how many trails are actually down there.
End Of This Trail
Almost Looks Like We’re Not In The Middle Of A City
A few days ago my brother and I decided to go to my dad’s house for some fishing. I decided to bring my new mountain bike because there are a lot of quad trails around his house and I know at least one of them would be a lot of excitement on a mountain bike, especially for an amateur. So we loaded our fishing gear and my bike and headed off.
Only Way I Could Think Of That Wouldn’t Scratch It
The first day we were there I talked my dad and brother into giving me a ride to the top of the trail I had in mind, its just barely out of my riding distance. They had some audible doubts about how much fun it would be for me to ride it, and naturally had some suggestions “Buddy, you want us to build a jump at the bottom?” I wish they were kidding. I eventually got there, got the camera rolling, and hurled myself down the trail as best I could. I quickly learned that mountain biking is more fun than I had thought and also that mud is way harder to deal with than I had expected. If you watch you can see me almost crash on a few of the wet spots. You can see the video HERE on my youtube channel. I look forward to honing my skills and seeing more trails, then maybe once I’ve gotten better at it I can do another video of the run and see how much of a difference skill and experience make, my guess is a lot.
The next day was filled with fishing. My brother was on fire, catching more walleye than I had seen in the past year. I on the other hand was having an off day, and only wrangled in two small pike. I did however witness, the biggest pike I’ve seen in that lake, follow my hook through the crystal clear water. Unfortunately for me, he didn’t bite that floating hook and everyone else was on the other side of the boat. No catch and no witnesses means only one thing… I have to go back and catch it. No, I will not tell you where on the lake I spotted it, but dont worry I’ll post a lot of pictures when I get it. The only photo I managed to take on the second day of our trip to the lake was of my dad determining whether or not his cat likes the kayak.
I Guess The Cat Doesn’t Like The Kayak
Shortly after this photo was taken the cat jumped off the kayak and swam the 10 feet to shore. This also adds to my theory that: the shortest distance between two points is a swimming cat.
Posted in Fishing, Mountain Biking, Videowith 2 comments.
Fishing Tales
Spring has sprung, and my fishing fever is in full swing. A few weeks ago Erin and I went out to the lake for some dock fishing. Dock fishing is one of my favorite things because its so simple, inexpensive, and hard to corrupt with money or technology. Unfortunately for us it seems it was a little to early in the season.
The weeds hadn’t grown in yet, so the fish had nowhere to hide out and wait for prey. I know, typical fisherman, making excuses. The whole day the only fish I saw was a little pike that followed my hook to the dock but never actually bit… I promise I’m not making this up.
Shortly after my fish sighting Erin’s rod had some bobbing, dragging, and resistance. It looked like weeds, or maybe a lazy fish. She reeled it in, and as it approached the surface it looked like she had caught some kind of snake.. After I was done having a mild heart attack I realized it was actually a bungee cord. Erin made the only catch of the day WHILE cleaning up the environment.
We later went out in the boat to try our luck on the open water, only to get caught in the rain and remain fish-less.
Only catch of the day
About a week later my brothers friend and I were fishing off of the same dock. Throughout the day, I had caught a few small pike, one resembled a pair of needle nose pliers and another a hammer handle – nothing I thought to take a photo of but it still feels good to catch fish no matter the size. Suddenly my fishing buddy felt something on the end of her rod and began an excited reel. The drag on that old rod was making a lot of noise, but there didn’t seem to be much action along the line. She got the hook to surface and I immediately began laughing hysterically. She had managed to catch a heavy-rubber tarp strap. What the heck is going on with this lake?!
Yvonnes big catch
These two bizarre catches got me thinking. I haven’t caught a lot of strange stuff. I once brought up a heavy branch that had a hook stuck in it. I still have that hook actually – not that it’s been much help.
I also once witnessed a woman have a yellow fan tail jig break off during a fight with a walleye. While my dad tied a new hook onto the line for her she used my dads rod with a similar hook. She managed to catch that same walleye again and get her hook back. I will never forget the sight of that fish coming toward the boat with a yellow fantail hanging out both sides of its mouth.
Years ago I watched my dad hook on a heavy spoon and drag it around under the boat to retrieve our fishing net that someone dropped (it may have been me but I dont fully recall).
Finally, Erin likes to tell of the time she caught an entire fishing rod and reel while out with her dad. He, being the handyman that he his, was able to take it apart, clean it, and still occasionally uses it.
I know its kind of dangerous, because this is the internet, and fishing stories already have a tendency to be embellished (also because I have about 6 readers… HI MOM!), but I’d like to hear your weird fishing tales.
So, what’s the strangest thing you’ve caught?
Posted in Fishingwith 2 comments.
Tyson Buys a Dirt Bike
When I was younger I, like many boys, thought dirt bikes were the coolest thing in the world. Living in a small town, a few of my friends had them, which meant that I occasionally got to drive them. I always wanted my own, yet somehow I wasn’t able to convince my parents to buy me an expensive, dangerous piece of machinery that I would likely outgrow within a few years. Once I was old enough to get a job and theoretically buy my own stuff I was too busy spending money on my car and then on University.
A few years ago my dad, on a whim, bought a 90CC mini bike because….. “buddy it was on sale!” Naturally me being the runt of my family at a mere 6’3″; my dad, brother, and I all had some comedic fun with that little bike, there’s really something just inherently fun about a dirt bike that’s way too small. Of course the novelty wore off and the bike sat for a few years getting the occasional ride… for comic value. One day I just kinda woke up and realized that I just dont have enough danger in my life. Sadly I fear I have inherited my dad impulsive behavior, much to Erin’s dismay. The search began with realizing I couldn’t afford or justify a brand new bike. So I combed the classified adds and asked around. Turns out that my dad, in his business deals, had become friends with a man who ran an ATV dealership. He had, with my name on it, a Suzuki 200 cc two stroke, with a brand new carburetor, for $500, at the time we did not know the year but it was old. we loaded up the mini bike to see about trading it in and headed over to have a look at the Suzuki. My dad of course couldn’t pass up the chance to take the ol’ mini for one last ride. I of course the whole time was yelling at him to put on a helmet.
In my family growing up is optional (this is the most “liked” photo on my facebook)
My dad being involved always means a complicated deal, in the end I bought the mini bike off my dad and traded it for my Suzuki and my dad bought a brand new, Chinese made 250cc four stroke. We brought my bike home that day and picked up the 250 the next day.
All loaded up and ready to take home.
Later that week my dad and I went out to his lake lot to test out the “new” machines.
Enjoying their new home in the garage
We gave my old bike a once over for obvious safety reasons and discovered on the vin plate that it was made in 1985, which makes it a 1986 model. Then the riding commenced, I am pretty familiar with off road vehicles but I’ve gotta say, using a hand clutch is not something I can do intuitively. There were stalls… lots of them… a lot of laughter from my dad who was quite familiar with being on two wheels. Over the next two days I did a lot of riding and had two crashes, both a result of me stalling which causes the bike to stop immediately… essentially I fell over sideways at comically low speeds, I opted to jazz up this falling with a sweet somersault. I was also surprised to find that despite my bike being nearly 30 years older than my dads, it was substantially faster. When my dads bike was in 5th gear I could pull ahead of him in 3rd gear. I guess that’s the advantage that a two stroke has over a four stroke, or maybe there’s something to be said for name brand bikes, I dont know enough about bikes to say.
After nearly 30 years, they still look a lot alike
A few days later Erin and I came back out to the lake for some fishing (It was awesome, I’ll tell you about it next week) and so that she could try her hand a dirt biking. I figured she would be good at it because she has the kind of balance that could make a mountain goat jealous, and I’ve never really seen her afraid of anything, so I keep trying to find stuff that she’s not brave enough for and I am yet to have success.
We started our day with my dad and I on the bikes, while Erin drove the side by side with my stepmother Unice, and Rose the pug. Once we found a nice open field Erin hopped on and for probably about 45 minutes my dad and I explained what everything was, how it worked, and what all the dangers were. It was at this point I noticed the look on Erin’s face and decided maybe I should just give her the basic 2 minute run down. We fired it up and she eased the clutch out and… stalled. We fired it back up and second try… she had it! She was off and running.
Shes a natural
I know I’m going to be an over protective parent, for many reasons. The most recent indication was the amount of concern I had when Erin, on her first run, went to the far side of the field where I could barely see her.
DON’T GO TOO FAR! NOT SO FAST!
At the end of the week, after multiple days of riding and a few spills, the worst crash I had was walking up the stairs to get into my house… Seriously… I scraped skin off my hand, broke my wrist watch, and dropped a water melon.
All in all I’ve got to say that riding dirt bikes is certainly an exciting hobby and deep down I hope that its something I am able to integrate into a keep a part of Erin and I’s lives, and I’m sure many times my dad will also be involved.
Posted in Dirt Bikeswith no comments yet.