Aloha, Kauai
Years ago I was in Iceland, end of day two, and 55kms into the hike, the afternoon had shown little more than cold rain. I was cold, the cold you feel in your bones that makes you forget what warm feels like, the kind of cold that makes you worry you will never be warm again. The trail led to the edge of a shallow river that wove an argyle pattern across black, rounded, gravel. I probed the small islands of wet rock looking, in vain, for dry passage, but my companion and I knew the score. Boots and socks came off, and pants were rolled up. My feet dipped into the icy current while the cold mist rained from above. My bare feet were numb, but I could still feel the small rocks push out from under my feet with each heavy step. We reached the other side and I sat down to put my footwear back on when suddenly my entire body convulsed and I dry heaved several times. The stress, cold, hunger, and exhaustion had manifested. I took a moment, assessed the reality that there was no plug to pull, no easy way out. I was there, and the only way out was to keep walking. I put my gear on, stood up, and put one foot in front of the other, I had a dry sleeping bag and a soggy tent waiting for me at the end of the day… This trip, was nothing like that trip.
Truth be told, this wasn’t my trip. I was just invited along. My friends did most of the planning and I just gave a thumbs up to activities that sounded good to me. I didn’t pick the island (Kauai), I didn’t pick to accommodation (a lovely condo), and I didn’t pick the car (a Subaru SUV). As it turns out, that’s a great way to travel, everything was a fun surprise. Troy, Steph (Troy’s girlfriend), and Adrian flew in a few days before me. I flew home from a work camp Sunday night and flew to Hawaii Monday afternoon. The second I stepped off the plane I had flashbacks to Fiji. That humid south pacific smell, the heat at night, and the architecture that has big square holes instead of windows because it just doesn’t get cold out. I knew already I was going to like this place. I walked out of the gate and was met by Adrian with a big hug. He lives in Calgary and I dont see him often. Troy and Steph were waiting in the car, we got some fast food and they drove me through the darkness to our rental condo. They excitedly told me all about what they had found, seen, and done so far. It all sounded amazing, but I was exhausted and it was late, the bed felt a mile deep and I was out almost immediately.
The next morning I was up a little before my friends and sat quietly working on a puzzle while marveling at the green outside and listening to the roaming roosters crowing. I was later informed that the island of Kauai was littered with them, something about a hurricane releasing them from captivity. After breakfast I was promptly taken to a beach to wade in the ocean a bit and feel the “cold” freshwater stream nearby. If memory serves we visited three beaches that day and I got a driving tour of the island. Somewhere along the way I got to try my hand a body boarding, sadly, my lack of skill resulted in a broken board when it got between my tumbling body and the sand below. Another very notable highlight for the day was shaved ice. It was hot and we all wanted something cold. It appeared to just be a standard snowcone (ground/shaved ice with flavouring on it). I didnt read the menu too close and just kinda picked one. I was shocked at how much flavour there was and that there was ice-cream at the bottom 10/10 highly recommend.
Day two we had a pre-schedule activity. A boat tour and snorkeling. Again, not looking closely at the plan I expected a small boat and maybe a quick drive around with some snorkel at the end. I was dead wrong, this was a huge catamaran with a full crew, all of whom couldn’t pass by without asking if we needed anything. There were about 40 fellow passengers who all received this top rate service. Adrian and I sat ourselves at the front of the boat on the trampoline where we could take in the views as well as really feel the large waves bouncing the boat up and down and occasionally it threw some water onto passengers. Along with local sight seeing we also stopped to see both whales and spinner dolphins. The dolphins actually did some bow-riding with our boat, I didn’t realize dolphins swimming in front of the boat and jumping was a real thing, but apparently they actually do that. After the tour, we were dropped over a reef near the shoreline to do some snorkeling, it was ok, but to be honest the visibility wasn’t great. The boat ride was the real star of the show. After snorkeling was lunch and an open bar on the boat. I somehow got talked into a few beers and was feeling pretty good by the time we docked. We immediately went to yet another beach to work on our tans and wade around a little in the salt water, a pastime I could easily turn into a full-time hobby. As it was, coincidentally, Steph’s birthday that day, we decided to swing by Costco and get her a cake. It felt weird going to Costco in Hawaii, I get why its there but somehow it just felt… out of place.
The following morning, rains on the north end of the island caused flooding which cancelled our plans to go on a kayak trip. Instead, we drove to Hanalei, a small town with a lot of tourist shops. Though it rained on and off throughout the day we still had a great time. We tried another local delicacy “Pineapple Whip” which I think is just pineapple flavoured ice cream which is, not surprisingly, good. I was also able to pick up some post cards for my parents and my nephew. I was also treated to a nearby tourist attraction, a big cave near the beach. Maniniholo cave was hollowed out by the ocean even though it now, no longer reached that far. It was interesting to see just how big of a hole in the rocks water and time can make. That evening, we went to nearby hotel bar for what struck me as a rather expensive drink, then we went home and I made tacos for us. Afterwards, we decided we needed to get rid of all the liquor before we flew home the following day. It was nice. It was one of those nights where its just a few friends sitting around the table listening to music, telling stories, and we even snuck in a drinking game or two.
My last day on the island may have been my favorite. We cleaned up the apartment, packed our things, and checked out. From there we headed to an adventure tour company for our last activity. A tube float down an irrigation ditch in a decommissioned sugar cane plantation. I’m not sure what’s in the water in Hawaii, or maybe its in the sun, but everyone there is super friendly, especially customer service. Our guide loaded us in into bus seats on a covered flat deck truck and hauled us half an hour inland. He entertained us the entire way, telling jokes, local history, crowd work etc. We got to the top and a few more guides joined us, loaded us into the tubes, and sent us down river. It was a great feeling to just kick back, relax and float. There was some bumping, some spinning, and some speed, but it was all just the right amount. We passed through a few tunnels and sang along to music the guides were blaring from a waterproof speaker. The last mile or so was just a lazy float looking at trees. It was a great way to end our trip. Unfortunately, there was still business to attend to though. We had to get the rental car clean before returning it… and wouldn’t you know it, not a working vacuum on the island. I mean that literally, there was a lot of sand in that car and Troy drove us to every gas station and carwash on the island and all of them were out of order. Eventually we had to call it, he did his best to sweep and scoop the sand out by hand and apparently the owner was happy, but it was a hell of a job to get that thing clean with his bare hands.
All that was left now, was to wait at the airport for our plane. All week I had been looking for stamps for my postcards and finally found them in a convenience store in the airport, I bought and affixed them. I then asked security where the post box was, only to be told its on the other side of the security gate that I had just gone through… In classic Hawaiian fashion, the guard said he could deposit them for me after his shift. I was doubtful but, out of options, handed them to him. I am please to announce, he is a man of his word, my nephew received his card. We then found one of those old fashion coin press machines that squishes a penny into an oval with a design on it, I naturally got one with a chicken on it. We then got some food, a drink, and waited for the flight home that entailed an uneventful 8 hour layover in Vancouver. I was sad to see it end, but it was the perfect length of vacation, it hadn’t lasted long enough for me to have a bad or even boring day and left me wanting more. This was the closest I have ever come to a lay-on-the-beach-and-relax resort esque vacation and until now I didn’t see the appeal. Dirt-bag adventure travel will always have my heart, but I now have this nagging urge to go somewhere hot and and just take it easy. This was my first trip to Hawaii, but hopefully it wont be my last.
Posted in Travelwith 2 comments.
WARTIME WHEELGUN
Shooting a Webley MKIV
This is probably my favorite article to date, it was just a lot of fun to write, I had a friend help me make it all work and I have since started casting ammunition for this gun which is a fun way to spend a Saturday. It was also published in the March/April 2021 of the Canadian Firearms Journal. As a result of it being published I received an email from a retired Toronto police officer saying he had used one in the 70’s, I exchanged a few emails with him because he was simply an interesting man. Its also worth noting that currently, the Liberal party of Canada has used an OIC to “freeze” handgun transfers while they push through Bill C21 to make it permanent (as well as enacts the largest firearms ban in Canadian history) as a result, the only people in Canada who will get to enjoy these guns are the people who already own them. It makes me sad to think that no Canadian will ever again feel the sense of joy and accomplishment of getting one of these old guns to work again.
Like many gun owners, I have a lengthy mental list of firearms I would like to own someday. Of course, they must be available for the right price for me to actually make a purchase. One such firearm is a Webley revolver. I am not sure why I want one, maybe its because it’s a top break or because I have a soft spot for old military firearms. Either way, a friend of mine owned one and I was a touch envious, and having shot one, I knew I really wanted one of my own.
I have come close to buying one several times, even to the point of having one in the digital shopping cart and thinking, “I better wait, $300 is a lot right now.” Well, now that I’m a touch older, but still no wiser, I decided to try and track one down. Sadly, it looks like the price on them has nearly doubled since the first time I almost bought one. I asked around, and the few that I could find were well over $500 and often the tanker model with the bobbed hammer. I wanted cheap and I wanted the option of single or double-action.
Finally, one morning, earlier this year, the stars aligned. I woke up a little earlier than usual and was too lazy to get out of bed, so instead I went on my phone and casually perused some websites known for selling used guns. I do this whenever I am bored, just in case something from that mental list jumps up. In this case, Ellwood Epps had a Webley MK IV in 38/200 (aka 38 S&W). The price was about right, just a touch over $400. Once my wife woke up, before she was able to get some coffee into herself to gather her senses, I asked her if I could scoop it up. On her way to the coffee maker, she mumbled, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” It’s a classic Jedi mind trick, use it carefully.
While I waited for the government to rubber stamp the transfer, I did a bit of research and found out this gun, according to the serial number, was made in 1944 (via armsresearch.co.uk). As a result of being made for the war effort, mine is also stamped “WAR FINISH.” I am told this is there because the manufacturer was rushing production and didn’t want people thinking all their guns were that rough around the edges. I do have to say though, this specific one seems to have a nice finish compared to some of the images I have been able to find on Google. Mine only has some milling marks on smaller features and parts, while some photos show a rough finish on the sides of the frame itself. In my digital travels I also found that the revolver was originally designed to have a 200-grain bullet, hence its designation of 38/200.
Tracing the lineage of the MK IV in 38/200 is a wild ride. The MK numbers seem to have been somewhat reused on new models in new calibers and a lot of information online is contradictory, so I did my best to sift through. Webley & Scott began in 1790 making bullet moulds and has manufactured firearms since 1834 (webleyandscott.com). Their first top break model, the MK 1 in .455 Webley being adopted by the British and by extension the commonwealth armies in 1887. After several quick upgrades and modifications, they were at the MK VI still in .455 Webley. These were the service revolver for the Boer War and the First World War (wikipedia.org/wiki/Webley_Revolver). Shortly after the First World War it was determined that .455 Webley was too large for some soldiers to use effectively, after trials it was replaced with a small but heavy 200 grain .38 caliber, hence 38/200. It was found, in this weight, to have similar stopping power as the .455 Webley. Initially the contract to make the revolvers for this new cartridge was given to Enfield to make the No 2 Mark 1. However, it seems Enfield could not keep up with demand and Webley was given a contract to make their MK IV in 38/200. It was the standard sidearm for British and Commonwealth forces through the second world war and into the early 1960s (norfolktankmuseum.co.uk/webley-revolver/). Police in Singapore and Honk Kong used them up until the 1970s (wikipedia.org/wiki/Webley_Revolver). Currently, Webley & Scott only make their pistols in air gun versions. India Ordinance Factories still make several pistols based on the Webley design but in .32 caliber. Notably there is a 2 inch, 5 inch, and lightweight model (4.5” barrel and titanium frame) and I would absolutely love to get one of these (ofb.gov.in/civil-trade). The lightweight model, called the NIRBHEEK, retails for 105,000 rupees (or about $1825 cad) its just a shame its in .32 caliber so its prohibited here.
One unfortunate thing I found in my research was that 38 S&W ammunition is expensive. Nearly a dollar a round locally. When I purchased the Webley, I didn’t plan on reloading for it, but that plan changed immediately upon seeing the price of ammo. So, I ordered some brass and dies. They were easy enough to find, but a 200-grain bullet does not seem to exist for a .38 caliber revolver. It seems this has been a problem since the beginning for the 38/200. During the Second World War munitions for the revolvers had to come from the USA in the form of 38 S&W, complete with a 145-grain projectile which was found to be underpowered for battlefield usage (norfolktankmuseum.co.uk/webley-revolver/).
The old Webley finally came in the mail and it was time to make it go bang. The only projectiles I had handy were some 148 grain wadcutters that my 1873 cattleman revolver (357 Mag.) likes. The most useful information I could find was in my old Number 11 Speer Reloading Manual from 1988 (the year before I was born). None of my newer books or online resources had anything to contribute. I loaded some up with Bullseye powder and headed to the range. I was shocked by two things. First, how much smoke Bullseye produces, I had never used it before and actually stopped to check online that this was normal. Now that I know it’s normal, I find it kind of fun, like shooting black powder. The second shock was that my point of impact was about eight inches low of my point of aim at 10 yards. This worried me as my sights are not adjustable.
As for the rest of the gun, the trigger feels good in single-action, no creep and minimal over travel. In double-action it was a bit of a gong show, as the only way I could shoot it and hit paper was if I went very slowly, to the point that it was faster to shoot it as a single-action. Glad I didn’t buy the tanker model. The gun was also a lot snappier in the hand than I thought the small 38 S&W would be, likely owing to the pistol’s small stature.
I was now doing research on how to make a pistol shoot higher. It turns out, its very counter intuitive to a rifle guy like me. The trick is a heavier bullet, so that is goes slower and has more dwell time in the barrel as the recoil pushes the muzzle up. This makes sense since the gun was designed for a 200-grain bullet. I was now in an odd place; in that you cannot buy cast lead bullets in small quantities and I didn’t want to buy 500 of something that would give me the same problem. I asked around online about different bullet weights and received no useful help, which is normal for online questions. Typically, asking a question like that online turns into someone suggesting the problem is the person shooting the gun. Here’s a funny side story; I mentioned once I was having trouble with my CZ 550 in 375 H&H and someone suggested I was “probably limp-wristing it.” So, take the internet’s advice with a grain of salt. That said, my internet inquires were not a complete waste as a friend from 3-gun had spotted one and contacted me to let me know he was casting 158 grain bullets for his revolver and would happily give me some to try. I swung by his house hoping to grab ten and he gave me nearly fifty. I know Kurt is a good guy because we are relatively new acquaintances, and he was casting them in a single-cavity mould. He also showed me his powder coating setup.
I ran home and loaded those bullets up as fast as I could and hit the range the next day. The darn things worked perfectly! Offhand the groups were still not great (5 or 6 inches at 10 yards), but they were to point of aim. Using a rest, I was able to get about a 3inch group at 10 yards. Using a rest, however, proved to be an interesting lesson in harmonics, resting on the barrel caused the groups to migrate about 5 inches south of point of aim. This made me aware of two things. One, I need to work on my pistol shooting and two… I had to start casting and powder coating. I had already been batting around the idea of casting for other pistols and before this latest OIC nonsense I was casting for my cannon already, although casting a 13,000-grain (1.8lbs) slug for a cannon is a bit slower of an affair than a 158-grain pistol bullet. Luckily for me, my stepdad has been casting for years and has his local tire shop supplying him with lead, he also, more importantly, has the space and the melting pot. So now I have gone out and bought a two-cavity mould to make bullets and a used toaster oven for coating them.
Sadly, COVID-19 restrictions mean I cannot go out and start making bullets just yet, so I may have to crack and buy a box of loaded stuff off the shelf in the meantime… dang it.
In any case, the work and the fun will continue for some time. I’ve learned a bunch and my education isn’t over. If you like getting old gun shooting again, these vintage Webleys are great projects.
Posted in Marksmanship, Published Workwith 1 comment.
Spectre Ballistics 10/22 Adaptor
This was an article originally published in November/December issue of the Canadian Firearms Journal, distributed through The NFA. It can be downloaded and read here.
I had the opportunity to test the 10/22 Magazine Adapter from Spectre Ballistics, a local Alberta company that’s big on creative solutions. This handy device allows you to use Remington 597 magazines in a Ruger 10/22. Why does anyone want that? Simple, magazine capacity. Rugers, due to the existence of a rare pistol variant called the “10/22 Charger” can only have a 10 round magazine because the standard 10/22 magazine is now considered a pistol magazine. The Remington 597, on the other hand, only comes in rifle models and as such is not subject to magazine capacity laws. Under Canadian law, you can modify a firearm to take any magazine and the magazine is only subject to the laws of its original manufacture. This is why so many people with AR-15s, normally only allowed 5 rounds, would buy 10 round LAR (AR-15 pistol) magazines and use them in their rifles and be legal. However, it is important to note that it is illegal to modify a magazine to fit a rifle.
So, here’s the scoop. Install is a snap, take out your old magazine, put this in its place and you are done. No milling, drilling, or gunsmithing. This I liked. As for reliability, the only issues I could make happen were pushing the magazine forward while firing, it would prevent the action from going into battery completely, creating a light strike. I twisted, pushed, and pulled every which way with no other issues, even firing the rifle upside down (in a safe fashion) caused no troubles.
After some usage, the only flaw I can find is that Remington 597 magazines are not great. I had 2 of them shatter springs. Initially I thought the adapter was causing feed issues, but upon inspection, my magazines sounded like maracas. I took them apart and found that what should have been 1 long spring was 9 pieces in one magazine and 4 pieces in the other. A bit of research online shows that some people have had much better results with the 597 magazines if they do a break in process. The process is simple, only load it to 5 rounds a few times, then only 10 a few times, then 15 so on and so on.
One thing I was hesitant about, but really came around on, is the magazine release being on the left-hand side. I worried it would be awkward, it was not. It turns out I much prefer it over the original Ruger release. With the factory 10/22 magazine, and release, I found to remove the magazine I would maintain control of the rifle with my right hand and then use my left thumb to hit the release and catch the magazine in my palm as it fell. With this adaptor and longer magazine, I can maintain control of the rifle with my right hand, grab the magazine with my left, then use my left thumb to hit the release and pull the magazine out. This allows me to always have positive control of both the firearm and the magazine. In a rushed reload, like say, a shooting competition, you could have a fresh magazine in your left hand, hit the release with your left index finger, allow the magazine to free fall (it has enough weight and clearance to do so) and then insert the fresh magazine.
I think anyone who picks up one of these adaptors will be happy they did. After being lent one to test, I’ve decided to buy one. You can buy them direct from www.SpectreBallistics.com
Posted in Marksmanship, Published Workwith no comments yet.
Juan De Fuca Marine Trail
I first learned of the Juan De Fuca Marine Trail immediately after hiking the West Coast Trail I had just finished the hike and was walking into a Part Renfrew restaurant for food and I saw the sign for it and asked one of my fellow hikers what it was. They explained it was a less-known hike that continued where the West Coast Trail left off. Fast forward to this year, for a lot of reasons I’ve been in a mood to do something silly and had to take a shift off of work for a friend’s wedding and ended up with about 10 days to do something, so I flew myself to victoria, got a hostel for a night, hit the trail for a few days and then spent two more days in Victoria before flying home. One of those days was spent on a little honda scooter doing a lap around the city along the coastline, but that’s another tale for another time.
Day 1: Victoria to Port Renfrew to Botanical to Little Kuitshe Creek Campsite
Day one was a little rough, I had to be up nice and early to catch the bus from downtown Victoria to Port Renfrew which took somewhere around 3 hours, by the time the dust settled. From where the bus dropped me, and a few others off, it was about a 2.5km walk along a paved road to get to the trailhead, Botanical Beach. Along the way, I made friends with two younger guys who were doing the trail for the first time (but had done the West Coast Trail the year before). They pulled ahead of me at the start of the trek when I stopped to pay my camping fees (they did theirs online before starting). I stopped at Botanical to have a quick breakfast and take a look at the tide pools. This is where I made a big mistake. It didn’t seem that impressive or exciting to me so I didn’t hang around long. Turns out I should have waited for low tide. I later learned that it’s one of the best sites/beaches on the island when the tide is fully out. Lesson learned for next time. The trail from the beach was initially a nice forest walk through some nice big trees, eventually, the trees tightened in on the trail which turned into ugly roots and mud. Lots of mud. Before the trail got too bad I took a detour to Providence Cove where I met back up with the two young men I had somewhat befriended, as well as a pair of girls hiking. The guys and I intended to stay at Little Kuitshe while the two girls intended to stay at Sombrio beach so they could make a push the next day to avoid Chin Beach which they were told had no food cache boxes. From the cove to the campsite was a rough ugly hike, with ankle-deep mud, and slippery ankle buster roots. I overtook the two guys, one of whom said he was having problems with his knee. The girls were miles ahead and I didn’t see them again that day. Little Kuitshe campsite was fairly unimpressive, which is what I had read about it previously. It’s just a patch of land high above the water with space for tents. Hours after my arrival the two guys came into camp, one limping. His knee had really gotten bad so he was going to hike out in the morning and catch a ride back to town.
Day 2: Little Kuitshe to Chin Beach
Day 2 of hiking was far better than day 1. Way less mud and a lot more technical. It was still a lot of hiking in the trees with the occasional view of the ocean. Somewhere along the way was Sombrio beach which was a welcome relief from walking in the forest, it’s a coastal hike, let’s hike along the water! Sombrio was pretty busy since it’s a nice beach and easily accessible by car. I passed the two girls from the previous day, they were both fast asleep on the beach. I later learned from other hikers one of them had hurt her ankle and they had to quit. On the far east end was an unmarked stream with a trail that led to a waterfall. It’s called a secret waterfall, but it’s not that big of a secret based on how many people wandered in and out. Also, I asked someone about it and they pointed me right to it. After Sombrio it was time for one of the harder portions of the hike. I found it actually easier than day one because instead of a boggy mudhole, it was just elevation gain and loss. Fortunately, there was also a 2km ish stretch of a nice maintained gravel path. I got to Chin Beach and found the bear cache was actually there, but was under a very large tree and had been crushed flat. I dug some rope out of my pack and hung my food up near the outhouses. Later someone informed me there was a proper cache farther up the trail so I went to retrieve my food and move it. I found someone had set their tent up right underneath my food and right beside the bathroom. They had an entire beach they could camp on yet somehow they felt that under a stranger’s food and in the stench of an outhouse was the best spot. I wondered if they knew something I didn’t but settled on the more likely scenario that they just didn’t know a lot. I made friendly conversation with a couple, Chris and AJ, sun tanning on the beach and drinking wine, they seemed like my kind of people. They invited me to come by later for a campfire. While chatting with them, a couple came by and the girl announced she had lost a boot to the ocean. I wish I had asked how that happened, Chris, jumped up and shouted that he had found a single flip-flop sandal in their campsite when they arrived. Wouldnt you know it, it was the right foot and close to the right size. Luckily a highway runs parallel to the trail so there are a lot of opportunities to hike out when things like this happen. Later when I went back for a campfire, a few more people had shown up and it was quite a communal event. There were 3 more people there, one of whom was taking her friend on her first hike, that friend was exhausted and slept from about 5 pm until sometime the next day when I saw them again.
Day 3: Chin to Bear Beach
Day 3 was more challenging than day 2 overall, it was about the same level of difficulty, there was just more distance at that difficulty. At some point, I took a wrong turn and ended up going too far to turn back. I had to slog through calf-deep mud and climb a ladder made of tree roots to get back on the trail, all in view of the nice bridge I should have used to cross the little Valley. Later I found a steel bridge that had been destroyed by a large tree falling on it, I’m seeing a pattern here of trees wrecking things. I was told I could climb down, cross the shallow creek and then climb up… but there’s no sense of adventure there so instead I slid down the bridge, climbed onto the log, and then jumped to the other side. It sounds exciting but this was all about eight feet above the creek. Bear Beach was by far my favorite campsite. I was able to set up my little tent just above the high water mark on the shoreline and have a small fire in front of my tent. Also all the people I had met the evening before camped in the same area. The two newer hikers camped beside me again and I saw why they were so tired, their bags were nearly double the necessary size and set for someone a foot taller than them. I adjusted their bags as much as I could for proper fit and the following day I was told it helped a lot, hopefully, that’s true and they weren’t just being polite.
Day 4: Bear Beach to Mystic Beach to China Beach to Victoria
Day 4 was going to be an easy lazy day. I had 9km of “moderate” hiking and the bus was scheduled to pick me up at the trailhead at 6:30 pm. In the morning I got lucky and had my tent packed just before it started to lightly rain. The rain only lasted about an hour and was the only rain of my hike, a rare stroke of luck for a hike along the coast. The trail out was gentle and had a few ladders and bridges. The previous day I had damaged my water filter while showing someone how great it is. I use a Sawyer squeeze filter, basically, you fill a bladder with water (like a platypus bag) screw on the filter, and squeeze it into your water bottle… well I split the bag so I couldn’t squeeze. Luckily for me, I also had water purifying tables because the creeks run from roads and inhabited land. I filled my bottles with the cleanest stream water I could find and tossed two tablets in to be extra safe. After an hour of them doing their thing, I took a swig of what tasted like jacuzzi water. At least I know I won’t catch anything from the water. In my poor research phase, I had thought that the trail ended at China beach, but it actually ends at Mystic beach which shares a trailhead with China beach, hence my confusion. I got to mystic around noon. I wandered around and relaxed for a few hours and even managed to find some beach glass and a small cove on the west end. From there I walked the extra few km to China beach and waded in the cool water then sat back, relaxed, and listened to some music while I waited for the bus to come. Once back in Victoria I hit the first pizza place I could find for two slices and an ice cold rootbeer. I checked into the hostel, had a quick shower, and hurried to the attached bar for a beer.
Posted in Hiking, Travelwith 1 comment.
Waterton Flop
Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at.
Rust Cohle
My original intention was to drive to Waterton, spend the night in town, then a night at Twin Lakes followed by a night at Goat Lake with fishing at both. I arrived at Waterton to find its changed a lot in the nearly 7 years since I’d been there last. The quiet little town was full to the brim, standing room only. It was nice to see it getting the attention it deserved, but I was sad to see my memory’s version of it as a sleepy mountain town no longer exists.
When I got to the visitor center to pick up my backcountry permit I was informed that both of those trails were completely “snowbound” and fishing season didn’t open for another week. It was my own fault for not looking closer at the regulations and checking the trail reports. I’m still learning how to do this all myself and sometimes simple things fall through the cracks. I was offered instead, a 2-night permit for Alderson lake or one night at Alderson and one night at Bertha Lake. 2-days at Alderson sounded rather dull so I went with the two separate hikes.
The next morning I hiked into Alderson Lake. I was at my camp sight before noon. The trail itself was somewhat uneventful. The most interesting part was the waterfall at the trailhead. Alderson Lake, in its defense, is a nice-looking lake, but it’s the tail end of a much longer hike that starts at Cameron Lake. Unfortunately due to the large amounts of remaining snow, I could not press further down the trail to sightsee. I was penciled in to spend the next 20 or so hours, alone, beside a cold windy lake that I couldn’t even fish in.
I decided to have a nap in my little tent, it was interrupted by yelling and a banging coming from near the outhouse. I got my boots on and grabbed my bear spray and ran to investigate. I found two young men with day packs and fishing rods attacking the outhouse. I asked what was going on and they explained there was “a huge groundhog in the outhouse” I poked my head in and saw the unmistakable grizzly-like silver-tipped brown hair of a marmot. I told them what it was and to be careful, they have a little more claw than a groundhog. Their tactic of standing in the doorway and throwing things and poking it clearly wasn’t working, I suggested baiting it out and giving it space. They were already there illegally fishing, may as well feed the wildlife too, seemed less wrong that harassing the wildlife. They tossed it some cheese crackers and gave it some space, I went back to my tent to resume my half-hearted nap.
When 5 pm rolled around I got up and visited the outhouse, to my relief it was vacant. I then made myself some dinner of sausage, rice, and beans… it was terrible. I was trying something new and it didn’t work. It sat in my stomach like a cannonball. I walked around the campsite and enjoyed the view of the lake now that the wind had somewhat died down. I then lay down and read a few chapters in my book. As the wind gusts hammered my little tent, and my stomach went from a cannonball to molten lead, I realized I wasn’t having a good time… and tomorrow it was supposed to rain.
As I read, I contemplated my options and considered hiking out that night, I decided to finish my page in my book and make a decision. The last line of the page, in Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, was “The only Zen you find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there. Let’s get out of here.”
I can’t even imagine a more serendipitous and appropriate thing to read at that moment. I was feeling sad and alone on the side of a mountain having brought no zen with me. I snapped the book shut and checked my watch, 8:30 pm. Sunset was 9:44 pm and I had 7km of well-marked trail to my car. To hell with it, I’m leaving. I packed with fervor and within a matter of minutes, I was on the trail making my way out.
The entire hike out I had to keep asking myself, did I not like hiking, or did I not like THIS hike? Maybe I don’t like hiking, I just liked the people I used to hike with. The entire way out I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched or followed, nothing sinister, just that feeling you get sometimes. I kept looking back expecting to see something like maybe a deer on the trail looking at me. I arrived at the trailhead around 10 pm and pointed my car home. Apologies to Bertha Lake, I’m sure it’s lovely but I wasn’t in the mood. I arrived back home at 430 am with little more than a yawn on the road.
It also crossed my mind that if I don’t like hiking, that means I’ve spent the last 10 years getting good at something I don’t like. It would make this blog an even more foolish endeavor. I have a big hike planned for a little over a week from now. I intend to go and give this some serious consideration while hiking the Juan De Fuca Marine Trail. This post may very well be my swan song. A story ending with me being chased off a mountain by my imagination. I write this post at 5 am after driving through the night. It feels like an appropriate end since my first story started with me writing in a fever at 3 am 10 years ago, almost to the day. In that time my blog has accumulated about 1 follower per year, several of whom I know have since passed away. A smart man would end it here, but I’ve always been a fool, so I guess we will see.
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Sausage Doe
Two hours into my season I passed on a nice buck. It was about the same size as all the other bucks I have shot on that farm, so I thought I’d better wait for bigger. I was hoping bigger would come along, but it didn’t. I was also hoping that if bigger didn’t come along that season, at least that one would have another year to grow. It didn’t, my brother got it a few days later, and he looked a bit bigger once he was laying down.
That said, I can’t be too sad. This season I tried my hand at rattling (using fake antlers to imitate the sound of deer fighting to draw out curious bucks). This worked very well for me and I found myself within 20 yards of small bucks on at least 2 occasions and had others within 50. I also, without a tag, had two close run-ins with a very nice mule deer buck. It was nice to learn a new skill and have it actually work. In general, this season, it was rare for me to go a day without at least seeing a deer or two. This is very encouraging, its positive results that make me feel as though I am getting better as a hunter. This season I really started to wrap my head around two things, first is that deer are endlessly patient, so you have to outsmart it or get it curious. The second is that deer don’t want to waste energy so they won’t run unless you make them, so if spotted, remain motionless until they lose interest or, more likely, come in for a closer look. I had a few make a tight circle around me at a slow pace until they were able to catch my scent. The main lesson is, don’t give them a reason to run and they won’t run… maybe.
These ideas solidified themselves towards the end of the season when I came around a tree-lined trail a little fast and found myself and a mule doe 100 yards apart both out in the open awkwardly making eye contact. I froze and she stood and stared for a few minutes, then turned and slowly walked away. As soon as I was out of her line of sight I walked to where she was. She had gone down a hill, through a thin row of trees, and was standing in a clearing below me with two other, smaller, does. Again, I found myself out in the open, but this time with 3 sets of eyes on me. I slowly crouched down and brought my rifle up. I didn’t have a shot at her, the trees were in the way. I debated trying to push or sneak around, but I am a firm believer that almost all of a deer’s senses are stronger than mine so she would have heard me a mile away. Instead, I stayed as motionless as possible hoping her curiosity would get the best of her. Eventually, they cautiously started walking across the clearing from my left to right. I looked along the tree line and picked a few unobstructed lines of sight. These were my shooting lanes. If she crossed a shooting lane, I had her. She slowly worked her way just along the edges of the first few lanes stopping and dipping her head occasionally. I think deer do this to try and fake out predators, they lower their head as thought to feed and then immediately bring the back up quick and look in the direction of what they’re worried about (I base this on no scientific evidence whatsoever). Eventually, she worked her way to the last possible shooting lane, and I was ready, my .243 and I snuck a shot between two birch trees, right into her vitals and she went down.
I went down, put my tag on her, and did my best to field dress her. I then drug her across the snow-filled clearing to the trail so we could come back with the side-by-side and retrieve her. I walked back to the farm and Darrell and I came back and retrieved the deer with the ATV.
Two weeks later, I came out and we butchered the deer. My mom said she wanted deer sausage, and on the rare occasion my mother asks me for something, I do my best to do it. So, we made sausage. We started by removing the back straps and cutting them into steaks, as they are the choice cuts. The rest Darrell and I cut off the bone, cubed, and ground. We then cubed and ground an equivalent amount of pork and mixed it all together with spices. Venison is very lean meat and without adding pork or beef it makes a very dry sausage. We stuffed the ground meat into casings (we use “natural casings”, which are actually pork intestines). We then ran the sausage in the smoker with a mix of willow, apple, and saskatoon wood. It came out fantastic. Making sausage is one of my favorite things because there is no food better than sausage that’s still warm from the smoker.
We vacuum sealed the sausage and put it in the deep freeze at the farm to be enjoyed later. I also made sure to take a few rings to some friends, because what’s the point of having some of the best food in the world if you’re not going to share it?
Posted in How-To, Huntingwith 1 comment.
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.
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.
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.
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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.
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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