Author: admin

I am awakened by some faint noise just outside of my room. The room is in complete darkness and I have trouble initially getting my bearings. “Where am I?” I mutter as I slowly climb out of my brain-fogged state. “What time is it?” Then I remember that I am in a small cabin with seven other hunters and guides in the middle of moose country in Newfoundland far from civilization.

 

I have never been a sound sleeper when I have been hunting. The anticipation of the next day’s hunt always results in fitful sleeps. I like to be able to get up in the middle of the night and wander around the camp. The problem with sharing a tent or cabin with a fellow hunter is that most of my compatriots get in their sleeping bag and within minutes are in a deep sleep accompanied by snoring and mutterings about some lost dog or past girlfriend.  I get to listen to all this as the hours drone by and boredom and claustrophobia set in.

 

The air temperature has dropped since I went to bed and the heat from the cook’s stove has long disappeared so I snuggle back down in my sleeping bag, check the time on my iPod and hit play to try and drift off to my latest Audio book. I assume the outside noise was one of the guides having a midnight pee or smoke. It will be a long night until morning.

 

This adventure started six days ago, when my hunting partner, Brian and I departed from Maine and began the long journey to Newfoundland. Upon arrival in Port Aux Basques we encountered the first of our delays when we found out that we would be spending the first night in a hotel instead of the backcountry, because our transportation was in need of serious repairs. It would seem that the eight-wheeled Argos had a rough time of it coming out of the woods yesterday. The trail of about 15 miles is pretty tough and the equipment takes a horrific pounding. One of the vehicles is being outfitted with a new transmission.

 

We were up early the next morning and by nine we have all of our gear loaded onto the Argos and J5 Tractors. The J5’s resemble miniature tanks and I guess are pretty much unstoppable unless they have a mechanical failure. Brian and I are accompanied by one other hunter and Duane, a likeable young guide and mechanic who will be our driver and tour operator for the excursion to back country. He tells me to hang on and enjoy the next four hours.

 

As we slowly depart from civilization I look back and see the landmark of the Twin Hills disappearing behind me as we venture into backcountry. Somehow it seems appropriate that our outfitter is called Backcountry Outfitters.

 

The next four hours lived up to and surpassed it’s billing. We only had one mechanical failure. A chain drive broke and Duane was able to repair it fairly quickly. We were traveling with one other Argo so we played leapfrog through the mud holes where one Argo would get stuck and the other would have to pull it out. And then the reverse would happen. We crossed a river and then a lake. We climbed impossibly steep hills, we crossed ridiculously narrow bridges, and we bumped over boulders. Our kidneys and tailbones took a beating. I wondered how well the rifles would fare and understood the need for well padded hard cases.

 

Our arrival in camp was met by a welcoming committee of guides, cooks, and the owner, Rick Legge. I had never met Rick before but just talking to him on the telephone I had instantly connected with him. He is a likable upbeat guy who never seems to get down. His goal as an outfitter is to make your hunting experience one you will never forget. His lodge reflects that philosophy.

 

In the middle of the Newfoundland wilderness Rick has constructed a modern hunting lodge. The two-story structure has eight bedrooms and two bathrooms for hunters. It has additional bedrooms for the two full time cooks and guides. It has two common rooms that are equipped with satellite television and a hook up for your cell phone. It even has internet. The kitchen is massive with an industrial sized stove that can be utilized to prepare meals for 20 plus people.  By my count there were at least four refrigerators fully stocked with water, juice, sodas, and milk. There were vast arrays of pies, cookies and other snacks that were available anytime.

 

Our meal that first night is Jiggs Dinner and roasted chicken. The corned beef and cabbage is excellent and I pass on the fowl. After a call home I am in bed early in anticipation for tomorrow’s hunt.

 

It’s Tuesday morning and day five of the adventure, and we are finally going hunting. Brian and I are in separate Argos, each with our guns ready should we encounter a moose along the way. We are only minutes out of camp when we spot our first moose. A cow moose but she had winded us and was not worth chasing. My moose tag is for either sex and a cow would be a good option as I already have a nice trophy from my last trip here and my primary purpose on this hunt is for meat and a nice caribou stag. We venture on and soon crest a ridge and stop to glass over the area. Our eagle-eyed guide, Cliff spots what looks like a nice moose resting by a lake a good mile or so away and we decide to put on a stalk.

 

The stalk will take us down over the ridge, across a brook, and then about 600 yards through scrub brush and put us behind some large rocks. The wind is howling but in our favor as we will approach from downwind and any noise we make should be completely drowned out. We take minimal gear and set off on the hour or so stalk that it will take to get to the moose.

 

After some hard hiking through tough brush and across a stream we reach our goal. Brian and Cliff crawl up to a vantage point and spot the moose that is bedded down. I can’t see anything and I don’t want to be in the way so I hang back and watch the two of them trying to figure out what is going on. Cliff crawls back and tells me he is going to circle around so the moose will get his scent and then hopefully stand up. I scramble up next to Brian and see the moose for the first time. Brian wonders if he is a shooter and I tell him that it’s his call, but if he doesn’t take it I definitely will. He looks wide but has uneven pans. Brian has never shot a moose before and he is pretty pumped up right now so I tell him to make sure this is the moose he wants and that we still have plenty of hunting ahead of us.

 

Cliff works his magic. The moose catches his scent and stands up. Not for long. Brian drops him like a sack of potatoes with his .30-.06. We high five each other and cautiously approach the downed moose. He is big. These animals can easily top a half ton in weight and this one probably is in the 900 pound range. The rack is very wide with ten points. Brain’s grin is almost as wide and we settle into taking pictures and recounting the stalk while we await the Argos to arrive. Cliff sets about the task of field dressing the moose and we lend a hand.

 

By the time the Argo arrive it is after lunch and we decide to put the moose on the Argos and return to main camp. At the main lodge the moose is admired by all and measured. He’s 48 inches wide. A very wide rack and Brian has bragging rights. A couple other moose were taken today but Brian has by far the largest and widest in camp.

 

After another large hunters breakfast the group is on its way again to the remote camp. Today we have three Argos and a crew of six. Brian decides to give his .06 a break and leaves it at the lodge. We get about a quarter mile from camp when Brian’s Argo snaps an axle. This will cause a delay so Cliff, Brian and I jump out and head on up the trail.

 

The hiking without the Argo is pleasant. The country is beautiful and without the noise of the engines is very peaceful. I enjoy the walk even though we aren’t seeing any moose and we cover a couple of miles before we hear the distant sound of the approaching transports. We spot a nice loon on a small pond and conclude that there must be decent fishing there.

 

As we approached the remote camp Cliff spots a moose and we start a hike across country. This stalk takes close to an hour and we cross several bogs and brooks. This time I am huffing and puffing a bit as we get closer. I switch off the safety as the cow moose stands up and I have the cross hairs on her waiting for her to give me a better shot. I am about to pull the trigger and suddenly a calf pops up. I switch the safety back on. I don’t want to orphan a calf.

 

We arrive at the remote camp and grab some dinner which consists of pea soup, boiled potatoes and Newfoundland steak – bologna.  We all turn in by 9:00pm and I know it will be a long night ahead.

 

After surviving my fitful sleep and the constant snoring I am up and ready to go. A hot breakfast is welcomed and we then spot a really nice moose in the valley where we tried yesterday in vain. I guess it’s not called “Moose Valley” for nothing. We load up and are off.

 

Our trek out of the valley is accompanied by one of the Argos getting stuck and as we are digging it out we spot our moose across a ridge. We decide to put on a stalk and so Brian, Cliff, and another guide; Vincent and I are on our way. We arrive at a ridge of thickets and Vincent disappears into it. I can’t believe he can walk through this stuff. Cliff and I give chase. I struggle to get through this but we get pretty close to the moose. Cliff and I circle around to get a better shot and when we arrive at our destination I quickly set up my shooting sticks. The wind is blowing mercilessly and it is difficult to get a stead rest. The moose is standing now and soon he presents a nice side shot. I slide the safety off my Browning 300 win mag and take what I am sure will be a great shot. Boom! Nothing happens. I shoot again. Boom! Again nothing happens. I shoot yet again. Click. Obviously nothing happens.

 

When you miss a 900-pound bull moose at 100 yards with a 300 win mag that has a Leupold tactical scope you have a problem. I have shot moose, whitetails, mule deer, bison, and all sorts of animals and so I am not a rookie and I don’t have buck fever. I am not panicked. I am however puzzled because I don’t understand why I missed the first two shots and now why my third shot didn’t fire.

 

I quickly eject my clip to see two bullets and wonder why the third shell didn’t chamber. I snap the clip back in as Cliff informs me that the moose is on his way and will disappear in a matter of seconds. Now all I have is a spine shot. I take it and dump the moose on the spot. Cliff and I high five and I am one happy and tired camper. However I can’t explain why the first two shots didn’t know him down.

 

As we approach the moose I am still thinking that we will find two bullet holes in the beast. Brian catches up and we high five and I tell him I have no idea what happened on the first two shots. When we get to the moose we see that he is a real beauty. Fourteen points and a very nice animal. No bullet holes other than the spine shot. How did I miss the first two shots?

 

We take pictures and I still can’t explain to all how the first two shots could have missed. Brian thought for sure that my rifle must have been damaged on the ride in. However no one seems to care as we get the moose cleaned and loaded onto one of the Argos. We are headed for caribou country and Duane and Chester are headed back to the main camp with my moose.

 

As we head into caribou country we run into a problem with one of the Argos. Once again it is the chain drive and so we stop for repairs. While taking a break I notice that the safety on my gun seems loose. In fact the entire trigger and bolt assembly seem loose. I flip the gun over and realize that the bolt connecting the stock to the barrel is loose to the point where it is almost falling out of the gun. No wonder I missed the moose. It’s a miracle that I hit it on the third shot. Now I also understand why the third shell didn’t chamber. The result of this loose bolt meant that I was probably shooting a foot or more over the top of the moose. I got lucky on the spine shot. Well I guess it is sometimes better to be lucky than good. I tighten up the bolt and explain to everyone what had happened. I am not sure they care but I at least feel vindicated about the poor shooting.

 

 

As we enter caribou country I am not optimistic. However we stop for a break and Cliff and I both spot seven caribou at the same time. A small herd is grazing about a quarter of a mile upwind from us. Perfect. I grab my gun and Brian, Cliff, and Vincent join me in the stalk. As we approach the herd we see a couple of stags off by themselves. One is a real trophy and we decide to go after him.

 

We use a ridge line and the caribou’s poor sight to assist the wind advantage we have and I creep closer. At about 300 yards I get down on the tundra and crawl towards him. There is a small hill ahead of me and I can use it as a perfect shooting rest. The wind is blowing like crazy so I forgo the shooting sticks and lie prone. The caribou spots something in my direction and starts trotting towards me. I can’t believe it. He’s getting closer by the second. I have the safety off and when he gets to about 100 yards he stops turns sideways and then is on the ground as I didn’t wait for him to go any further. What a stalk. What a hunt. A beautiful bull moose and caribou stag four hours apart.

 

Everyone greets us as we pull up to the lodge. Not many caribou are being brought in these days and I am told I am the first client to do a double – moose and caribou. I am just happy that I had a lucky day and some how I managed to get the gun to work.

 

A hot shower and then I head down to a special meal that Dan has prepared for me. He has a steak for Brian but caribou liver and onions for me. I can’t believe how good it is. Afterwards I open my celebratory bottle of wine and share it with Brian, Cliff and the kitchen staff. We drink our beer. Another bottle of wine appears. Chester prepares a generous cheese platter. Then a boiled shrimp platter arrives. This is way too much fun.  I sleep like a baby.

 

Our last day in camp. We are thanking everyone for a great week and I give a generous tip to all for the kindness and hospitality. The J5’s are loaded with the meat. Every hunter tagged out but Brian and I got the truly big moose. We have three trophies between us and a load of meat to go to the butcher shop tonight. I am looking forward to sleeping in the hotel tonight and then on home tomorrow on the ferry. Its been eight days since we left Maine and I miss Carolyn a bunch and I know Brian misses his wife. We have had a hunt to remember but it will be nice to get home.

 

The ride out is similar to the one coming in. Thankfully its not raining and we manage to get out after only one mechanical breakdown near camp none too worse for wear but enough to remind us that we truly were in the backcountry!

 

 

Day 1

I glance at my computer screen and note the time. It’s 9:15am and I am nearly finished the paperwork that I didn’t get finished yesterday. Before heading into the office this morning I finished packing my truck with my hunting gear, gun and coolers. I am headed to Anticosti Island in Gulf of Saint Lawrence, Quebec, in pursuit of white tail deer.

 

Anticosti Island is a hunter’s paradise. Located above the Gaspe Bay peninsula in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, it is just over 3,000 square miles and has a permanent population of around 250 people. Deer are not native to the island but were introduced there in the 1890’s by Chocolate Baron, Henri Mernier when he imported a herd of 220 animals. After he died the island eventually found its way into the hands of the Government of Quebec and today it is licensed out to a couple of outfitters who have camps and offer hunters a chance to hunt and shoot two deer. Lacking any predation other than man and the abundance of good habitat, has meant that today the 220 original deer have blossomed into a herd of 160,000 animals making it the densest white tail population per square mile anywhere in North America. Add to that the somewhat exotic location and great hospitality and you get the perfect hunting getaway. I have been eagerly anticipating this trip for months now and I still can’t believe at this time tomorrow I will actually be on the island.

 

The border crossing into Canada is painless and pretty soon with the help of my GPS I am within minutes of my hotel. I join a few fellow hunters at the hotel for dinner and an immediate hunting bond is formed among the us. We share beers, pub food and conversation and my new friends refuse to let me pay my share of the dinner. For those who cannot conceive of hunting solo this is what they miss – the opportunity to meet new friends and hear accounts of their adventures.  We share great conversation and I am so pumped up I find it difficult to get to sleep when I get back to the hotel.

 

Day 2

 

I’m early. No I am up absurdly early – 2:15am. This is crazy, but I am so psyched about this trip that I am wide eyed and bushy tailed and realize it’s pointless to try and go back to sleep.

 

I arrive at airport early and weigh and check my gear. Once onboard and belted in we are quickly airborne.  The early wakeup this morning catches up with me and I am soon asleep and dreaming of a ten pointer. Our landing approach gives me good visuals of the island and I note the rugged terrain and what appears to be very large swamps or bogs. The landing is rough but nothing too bad and soon I am on a bus that will take me to Salmon Lodge.

 

The logistics of getting all the gear and guns to the right hunters is taken care of by the “eager to please” Safari Anticosti staff.  Soon after arriving at the lodge and meeting Amanda, our pretty bi-lingual hostess, my gear arrives and I unpack. I meet the other guests at the lodge including a charming couple from a town west of Montreal. Tom and Claudette are 73 and 75 and we hit it off immediately. I join them for lunch and will spend the next five days of meal taking with them. After lunch I fill out my license and then meet my guide Maxime. He’s been guiding on Anticosti for six years and is highly recommended by Tom. We head out to the range to sight in my .06.and devise a strategy for the morning. I will be hunting in Zone 12 and we agree to meet around 6:00am.

 

After a short hike, I am seated for dinner with Tom, Claudette and four other hunters. The meal is gourmet quality with four courses including a wonderful squash soup, braised chicken breasts smothered with a papaya sauce and a blueberry cheesecake.  I was hoping to shed a few pounds this week but now I think not.  The conversation in French and English covers hunting, politics and of course, hockey – three topics that I quickly realize everyone here takes very seriously. Finally after several hours of lingering over coffee and tea the conversation slows and most of us head off to bed in anticipation of a big day ahead.

Day 3

Yesterday I told Max that I like to walk when I hunt. I might live to regret that statement by the end of today but in preparation I have a hearty breakfast and pack a generous lunch from the wide array of sandwiches and snacks. After wishing my fellow hunters good luck I am in Max’s truck and we are headed to the eastern most part of Safari Anticosti’s concession area.

 

Max picks a trail that will start through a nice stand of mature spruce and then lead us to more open boggy country. We agree on a walking strategy and are soon engulfed by the forest. I immediately notice the absence of squirrels (there are none on the island) and so we walk in relative silence other than the odd bird that begins to greet the sunrise. The area we are in is dense and still somewhat dark. The sunrise is staring to penetrate from the east and beams of light illuminate parts of the forest around us. We jump a doe and as she runs off I am encouraged by the number of deer I have already today and it is not yet 7:00 a.m.

 

We are soon in the famous Anticosti bogs. They look like large cranberry bogs on Cape Cod or even the barrens of western Newfoundland. Some are larger than others, but all are wet. Despite the absence of rainfall for the past ten days or so they are still soaking wet and I am glad I have my knee boots. The walking is tough in these areas and after a couple of hours we break for a snack. The sun is up now and we are spotting more deer. However we are not seeing any bucks and after a couple of more hours and many more doe and fawn sightings we stop for lunch and decide to move a bit more to the west.

 

By late afternoon with no success we decide to try an old survey line. This trail is not on any map but is easy to follow and we see lots of deer signs including some very nice scrapes and rubs. Max enters the waypoints in his GPS and we continue on. As we approach a bog Max tells me he has spotted a really nice deer to our south. I can’t see it but my heart starts to pounding in anticipation. We crouch down behind some cover and finally I see him. He’s a nice six pointer and walking straight at us. We are cautious to avoid being seen. I slowly get my rifle ready and slip off the safety as I position it on the shooting sticks that Max has been carrying. Suddenly a doe walks right in front of us. She is less that fifteen yards and fortunately we have the wind in our favor as she walks on by without spotting us. I thought for sure she would bust us and the buck would be gone in a flash. However she doesn’t see or sense us and since the buck is clearly obsessed with the doe it enables me to get more comfortable and pick a good shooting opportunity. He continues to come right at us but I am getting a little concerned that he is going to veer off and start chasing his new girlfriend. I estimate about 125 yards to the deer and decide to take the shot.

 

From the time I pulled the trigger to when the deer began to fall was less than a second. At 125 yards, distance between me and the deer, a bullet travelling at a velocity of 2,800 feet per second will take less than a tenth of a second to hit the target. Within another second the deer would be dead on the ground. In reality the deer was dead before it crumpled on the boggy surface. The bullet had entered its neck and severed the spine killing it instantly.

 

A bullet is designed to kill its target by providing massive trauma to its victim by the transfer of kinetic energy from the speeding bullet to the target. Upon impact the bullet penetrates flesh and tissue causing massive cavitation in both a wound channel and tissue displacement incapacitating the animal physically. In addition by hitting major organs or the spine the animal may be incapacitated neurologically as well. In the case of my deer, the bullet entered through the neck causing massive tissue damage to the throat, which would cause major blood loss and in a short time cause death as the animal lost its oxygen supply to the brain. In addition to the trauma created by the bullet entering through the throat region this bullet provided the added shock to the animal by hitting the spinal column at the back of the neck and severing it. This caused the deer to crumple like a sack of flour due to the massive damage to its central nervous system. The deer was dead before it hit the ground.

 

As we walked out to where the deer lay I couldn’t help but soak in the majesty of the area. The sun was fading and there was an almost orange glow spreading across the bog. There was just enough time to take some really nice pictures, get the deer field dressed and loaded onto the four wheeler and get back to the truck before total darkness set in. After taking the pictures and field dressing the deer Max went to get the four-wheeler and I stayed behind with my deer. I reveled in the moment as only a hunter could understand. I felt no pity for the deer but I extreme gratitude for the harvest of such a magnificent creature that will provide many great meals for family and friends this winter. As I said it is difficult to explain to a non-hunter the feeling you get when you harvest such a animal. On a simple level it is the sort of circle of life philosophy at work here but it is more complicated than that. I choose to hunt because I love the outdoors and I want to eat only wild game if possible. I think the food is healthier and I want to participate in knowing where my meal has come from as much as possible. I do not understand those who will sit across the table from me eating a hamburger courtesy of McDonald’s and condemn me for killing a deer. I also fail to understand why people would rather have wild game stave and die of disease due to over population rather than be properly managed through hunting. So, as I sat admiring my deer, I thought of the phrase “the King is dead, long live the King”. By harvesting this deer I was helping to ensure the health and survival of the herd. “The deer is dead…long live the deer”.

 

The drive back to camp was accompanied by the retelling of the hunt and some quiet reflective times. All told we had hiked about seven miles today and I was getting a bit tired. It was only 5:00pm when we arrived back at the lodge and after a quick shower I made my way to the dinning area to trade stories.

 

It had been a successful for many. There was an eleven point, a ten point buck and a few eights and sixes taken. The meal soon arrived and we settled into conversations about past hunts, the economy and politics. Before saying good night I called home to share my success and went to bed in anticipation of another day of hunting.

Day 4

The idea that I can get up the day after shooting a really nice deer and head out in search of another one was just sinking in. Normally I would be done after shooting my deer but hunting on Anticosti means you get the opportunity to shoot two deer (either sex) and top up the freezer.

 

The routine this morning was much the same as yesterday and Max and I were soon headed out to Zone 3. This is a hillier region of Anticosti and includes several brooks and streams as well as the ever present bogs and swamps. A friend of mine told me that even the hills are swampy on Anticosti and I believe him. I opted for better hiking boots for today and I am glad I did. I brought two pairs of knee boots with me on this trip and today I have on a pair of Danner Pronghorn boots that are more adept to rugged hill country than the Lacrosse mud boots I wore yesterday. The added benefit of packing an extra set of boots is if you soak one pair you have a backup. I also carry extra socks in my backpack just in case I get wet in the field.

 

Zone 3 lived up to its billing as tough country. Max and I hiked up and down hills, small ravines and through bogs and swamps. We crossed streams multiple times. We stopped occasionally to try and coax a deer out of the deep cover. On one occasion when climbing down a rather steep hill I slipped and dropped my gun and then had lingering thoughts for the rest of the day about the integrity of the scope.

 

Despite seeing only one doe all day the time sped by quickly. The landscape was as beautiful as what we hiked through the previous day. On one occasion our trail became flooded and we came face to face with the other thriving species on Anticosti – the beaver. A family of beavers had made short work of a group of soft woods and effectively flooded our route. We made a wide path to avoid the result of the world greatest natural dam builders and I soon found myself in a massive marsh. I could see in all directions for hundreds of yards. The daylight was waning and we agreed that I would sit here until dark and then meet on the road ahead. Max was going to circle back and retrieve the truck.

 

I sat in the solitude for about an hour and just before dark I decided since I didn’t have my GPS or a map.  I would head out to find a trail to the road. I had taken a compass reading earlier and used that as my guide. I quickly picked up a game trail and realized that the GPS and compass were both unnecessary as the trail was old and worn. I arrived at the road with plenty of daylight left so I decided to work my way down the road a bit to see if I might spot an unsuspecting deer. Pretty soon Max arrived and I loaded my gear into the truck and we headed back to camp. No luck today, but that means I get to hunt another day.

 

Day 5

After a late night of more good food and conversation and two days of piling up the miles I almost slept until breakfast. I always make a habit of having my gear and gun ready to go before turning in at night so I was up and ready in no time. Today we are heading to Zone 9. Another long drive and wide open bogs. After the 40 minute truck drive we unload the four-wheeler and drive for another 30 minutes or so before our trek by foot across the bog. It is sunny again today. Where is the Anticosti rain I kept hearing about? In fact by about noon it is getting quite warm and I find myself peeling off layers of clothing. It must be nearly 50 degrees and with the miles we have been walking I am sweating and tired. We spot a few deer but nothing worth taking.

 

By noon Max decides to head back and get our transport and we agree that I will meet him about two miles or so further along the trail where it intersects with another trail. As Max heads off in one direction I continue on. This trail is easy to follow as well and I lose track of time as I anticipate a deer around every corner. I scan the area for antlers but nothing is in sight and pretty soon I can hear the distant motor of the four wheeler approaching.

 

It’s about 1:15 p.m. by the time Max arrives and I decide to take a break. The walking and heat have taken its toll and I sit and relax for about twenty minutes taking in some much needed fluids and the surrounding landscape. I opt out of lunch having had a sandwich at ten this morning. We decide to hike without packs a few hundred yards to the tree line to see if anything is in the area. As we were about to press on I noticed a six point buck emerge from the trees off to my right. Max handed me the shooting stick and I immediately sank my bottom onto the ground and drove the stick in front of me. No rushing even though the deer was moving off. By being so low to the ground I could only see about the top 1/3 of the deer and decided to take a spine shot just behind the neck. The distance was just over 100 yards. I pulled the trigger and the deer went down. Max offered me a congratulatory handshake and I just slumped over on my back. I was totally spent but very, very happy.

 

The deer turned out to have slightly smaller antlers than the one I shot a couple of days ago but a much larger body mass. He was a real beauty as was his brother. Pictures and field dressing followed and Max headed off to get our transport. Once again I was left alone with my kill acknowledging the beauty of the animal and pondering the philosophical difference between me and most of my neighbors who cannot understand why I hunt.

 

 

Back at the lodge I purposely stayed up later this evening after the rest has retired. I sat looking out onto the St. Lawrence River that surrounds this island thinking about the past few days and making plans for a leisurely hike tomorrow. I decided to get up and have breakfast with the rest of the gang and then head out following my nose and see where I would end up. I turned on my iPod and listened to some music before heading to bed and drifting off into a wonderful red wine and philosophically aided deep sleep.

 

Day 6

My last full day on the island was filled with a morning and afternoon hike. I walked a good five or six miles and took numerous pictures. I spotted a beautiful buck and several does. Tomorrow I will be heading home and so today was all about absorbing as much of the island as I could. Later in the day I settled up with Max and Amanda. I gave generous tips to both. I unloaded a book I had been reading on Tom and Claudette and we made plans for a visit next summer. I will miss Anticosti, but more so I will miss these wonderful new friends.