Category: Darrell’s Adventures

Day 1 – The Adventure Begins

Even for me 3:30am is early. I am wide-awake. No caffeine, just the excitement of finally beginning my caribou hunt. I have been inactive too long as my absence from this blog will attest. Too many hours in offices and meetings. My primeval skills have been dulled. I hope I can still read a compass!

 

My gear is already in my truck, so I just need to get on the road to rendezvous with my hunting partner. We are driving to Montreal today and will spend tonight in the airport hotel before venturing north to camp tomorrow.

 

Experience from multiple past hunting excursions into Canada makes the border crossing and firearms registration pass quickly and smoothly. My wingman, Ted is a young eighty-year old ex-air force fighter pilot. We swap tales of hunts past and he is entertaining me with his stories of flying combat missions. This guy is a real top gun and I can’t get enough of listening to him.

 

Day 2 – Arrival at Camp

We are up early and weighing the gear for our flight north. We will be taking two flights today. The first out of Montreal will be on a Nolinor Airways Convair 580 jet prop cargo/passenger plane. This flight will take us north to Caniapiscau. There we will transfer to a DHC-3 Otter for the flight into the camps. In total about 5 hours of flying time.

 

The scenery enroute is spectacular. The landscape is littered with lakes and rivers and not a road or cabin anywhere to be seen. On the Otter I am sitting right behind the pilot and monitoring his GPS.  I am happy to see 10 minutes to destination come up on his screen. The camp comes into sight and we are eager to tumble out of the plane. A gauntlet of staff and guides meet and greet us. As the plane departs we know we are now in true wilderness.

 

Ted and I are sharing a cabin and we begin the task of unpacking what seems to be a mountain of gear. We then gather for our first meal together and meet fellow hunters and the guides. The food and hospitality is fantastic and I marvel at he logistics to keep such a remote camp operating at such a high level.

 

Day 3 Caribou Hunting

Everyone eats quickly in anticipation of our first day of hunting. I am hoping to do a lot of walking to counter the numerous calories we are taking in. Breakfast is a full affair with eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, and sausages.

 

Ted and I head down to the departure area and meet Remi, our guide. He is a likeable young French-Canadian who has been guiding here for four years. No messing around. Get in the boat and go. We head up river to Area 3, our designated zone for today.

 

The 30-minute ride offers great scenery and gives us a good sense of the rugged terrain we will need to cover in order to get a bull caribou. The full migration is just starting so we will see pockets of animals but not the hundreds or thousands that are often witnessed at the height of the migration and rut, later in the month.

 

Remi finds a nice landing spot and soon we are atop a hill glassing and looking for animals. We spot several cows and a few bulls that are downriver from us. A hasty retreat to the river and once again we are speeding along. The five minute ride to intercept those bulls has the beginning sensations of a stalk and once on shore we are quickly and cautiously moving inland.

 

After finding a good vista, Ted settles in behind a nice shooting spot and I head on ahead to glass a nearby small piece of woods. Remi heads over to another area to glass so we have good coverage.

 

I settle into a comfortable sitting position and realize that I am overdressed for today. The weather is in the high fifties and I am glad I have layered clothing. I know by noon I will be sweating. I start glassing the wide barren ridge beyond the few trees directly in front of me. There are no caribou to be seen but there is an abundance of colors everywhere with autumn already in full bloom here. A slight breeze from my back is of concern. Anything approaching off that ridge or from those trees will pick up my scent. After a short period of time I notice something move directly in front of me. I reposition my binoculars and three bull caribou have materialized in front of me!

 

Of the three there was one that was definitely a keeper. As they approached my position I quietly chambered a round in my .06 and waited to see what would happen. I was hoping they would pass my position and then Ted could get a shot at them.

 

The caribou split off into two groups. The larger one is to my left and is heading straight towards Ted’s position. Good. The two smaller animals kept coming straight for me. Not so good. They catch my scent about 100 yards out and freeze. We have a staring contest. Caribou have lousy eyesight and the large bull hasn’t picked me up yet. It will only be a matter of time however before he either winds me or is spooked by the other two’s increasing anxiety.

I decided to be greedy and take the large bull. I flip off the safety and grunted. The effort to stop the bull didn’t have any impact but the bullet did. The remaining caribou just looked bemused at their fallen companion. I grabbed my Nikon D90 and started taking pictures of the two of them. As Remi approached they finally flee the scene.

After pictures, we quarter the animal and back pack the meat and antlers to the boat.

 

In late afternoon we spot a nice group of animals including a real large bull. We put on a stalk and got close to a group of cows, but the bull was nowhere to be seen. Ted opts to take a cow for meat and it is soon on the ground.

 

As is typical of hunting camps stories are retold over dinner and a glorious sunset.

 

Day 4 – Tagged Out

After an hour long boat ride to Area 1 and a thirty-minute hike we are on the top of a ridge overlooking a migration crossing point in the river. We are trying to set up an ambush for several nice bulls we see approaching from the northwest. We are just south of the tree line and the landscape is predominantly scrub brush, stunted trees and barren tundra. The hills that rise 400-500 feet above the river are completely barren and are full of blue berries, lingon berries, and lichen moss. The latter is the sustaining food of caribou.

 

Several cows and calves approach our site. No bulls within shooting sight. They are just over the ridge with the tops of their antlers teasing us. We remain motionless for the better part of an hour. Ted and Remi are kneeling down in front of me and with the hot direct sun on me I am starting to drift asleep.

 

We decide to try and move the cows out and then put a stalk on the bulls. We slowly move forward and this catches the attention of the cows in front of us. They call to their calves and are soon headed up the hill and away from us. The bulls have not moved.

 

Remi and Ted position themselves behind a large rock ready to take a shot. I move forward to a rock and set up in case I have a shooting opportunity. Ted will shoot first and then I will see if there is a shot worth taking.

 

Suddenly a young bull gets up and starts checking us out. He wasn’t a shooter and Ted is showing remarkable restraint in not killing the curious guy. For the next ten minutes he is walking around where Ted is set up and then finally heads back towards the other animals. In an effort to get the big bulls up Remi starts calling. I can’t see anything from my vantage point. Then a shot rings out.

 

After Ted shot I was expecting another caribou to stand up. Instead three get up including a really nice big bull. I range him at 105 yards and he is coming straight at me. At 75 yards he is broad side and the on the ground. Two very nice animals about five minutes and 50 yards apart.

Day 5 & 6 – Salmon Fishing and Exploring

The next couple of days witnessed a much more relaxed pace and an opportunity to do some fishing and exploring. The focus of my trip now turned from hunting with my .06 to my Nikon D90.

 

I love fishing but I have a greater passion for photography and before I even wetted a line I needed to explore some waterfalls in the area. Ted wanted to get fishing and while I am snapping pictures he is landing a really nice fifteen plus pound salmon.

 

We spend the next two days fishing and exploring and I catch several really nice trout. No salmon for me. The highlight however is still the scenery and the shore lunches that Remi prepares.

Our first lunch consists of salmon fillets and a potato-vegetable fry. The meal is fantastic and I ask Remi if he would like to return to Maine with us. I am thinking I could set this guy up in a restaurant business that would be the envy of Portland.

 

The salmon lunch was fantastic, but was nothing compared to the caribou and french-fries that our master chef is cooking for us. While I am casting for salmon Remi is busy slicing up potatoes into homemade fries and soon has them in a pan with canola oil and butter. I stop fishing and grab the camera. I need to record this. Now he is pan searing some of the tenderloins from my caribou. This is not a meal I will ever forget.

 

Day 7 – The End of the Earth

No plane today. Strong winds. The news puts an initial damper on camp, but a few hunters have not yet tagged out and I still have more exploring to do.

 

I decide to walk around the area and survey the local landscape. Ted joins me and soon we are soaking up the incredible scenery. We find a small river nearby and can see a lot of trout getting ready to spawn. Back at camp I can’t get the trout out of my mind and very soon there are three of us furiously casting for the fish. We catch around two dozen. After the first few are landed we decide to cut off the barbs on the flies to minimize any damage to the fish. They have a voracious appetite and someone always has a fish on the line.

 

By 1pm the fishing slows and we head back to camp for some warm soup. I spent much of the afternoon playing cribbage and just relaxing. A final meal together is highlighted by the fact that every hunter got an animal today.

For our final night in camp we witness the most incredible light show I have seen in many years. The northern lights are spectacular and somehow put the final bow on what had been an amazing week.

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.

 

 

New Brunswick Spring Bear Hunt
Since I am usually over scheduled during Maine’s fall Bear hunt season I decided to take a trip north of the border and try a spring hunt for black bear in New Brunswick.

My destination was to be at a lodge on the Miramichi River in Juniper New Brunswick. Upon arrival I meet with owners Frank and Eileen MacDonald and I am soon settled into my cabin. From my cabin I can hear a small brook that cuts through the property and dumps into the big river several hundred yards away. I decided that breakfast would consist of one of the inhabitants of that brook.

I soon found myself at the main lodge and settled into a long chat with Eileen in her oversized kitchen where I try samplings of good country cooking including pie, date squares, and brownies. This was followed by a hearty dinner of roast, potatoes, vegetables, and most importantly great conversation. I hadn’t even set foot in the woods and yet I know this was going to be a special hunt

The next morning I am up at 6:00am and by 6:15 I have caught my first brook trout. I add another and then head back to my kitchenette to use some of the butter I had bought yesterday and a supply of spices Eileen had furnished. The smell of pan frying trout brings back memories from decades past of when my dad would fry up trout on the river shore as I was catching them. A simple of meal of toast and trout and I am on top of the world. Man I don’t understand how anyone could be a vegetarian.

After a hearty lunch with Frank, I sight in my .30-06 and we are off to the bait sites to set up for the evening hunt. For those who have never bear hunted it is quite the experience. Like humans, bears are predators and consequently they are little more wary of human encounters and rarely seen in the middle of the day. The opportunity to see a bear in the wild is pretty rare, especially here in Maine with thick woods. Other than in National and State parks I have only seen one bear in the wild in a non-hunting situation. So, if you want to hunt bear you need to try and either track them with dogs or bait them.

Usually a bear that approaches a bait site will have circled the area prior to coming in to try and pickup any unusual scent and assess the area for possible danger. The hunter may not even realize a bear has been as close as twenty yards and then bailed from the area because the hunter’s scent was detected or the bear saw some movement. Ground blinds are a cure for the latter issue but do not offer the visibility that a tree stand offers. Also, many bear hunters are leery of sitting on the ground in the middle of bears.

I settle into my tree stand and Frank refreshes the bait and soon departs. I quickly realize that it’s going to be a long sit tonight. The temperature is unseasonably cool and the wind is picking up. Both lousy bear hunting conditions. I curse myself for under dressing. I am going to freeze my butt off tonight. There is no activity for the next five hours and by the time I hear the engine from Frank’s truck I am pretty much stiff from the cold and extracting myself from the tree stand is a bit tricky.

The following day I decide to hunt the same stand again because it has warmed up and there is no wind tonight. Perfect for bears and I really want a chance at the trophy bear that has been hitting the bait site I sat on last night.

The drive in is pretty interesting. We see several moose, a partridge, a turkey vulture, and rabbits. These woods are teaming with wildlife and I know there has to be a bear in the picture here somewhere.

The evening is great. It’s a complete opposite of last night’s cool and windy event. There is no wind, its comfortably warm, and my Therma Cell is doing its job of keeping the bugs away.
Around 6:30 much to my surprise a massive bear wanders into the bait site. I have no idea where he came from – he just appeared in front of me! I am trying to be as still as possible and flip off the safety on my gun. My heart is pounding with excitement. I have never seen a bear this big before and I am fumbling with the damn safety on the gun. I have fired hundreds of rounds through this gun and never before had an issue with the safety. What is wrong with it? Then I realize much to my chagrin that I have been trying to flip the switch in the wrong direction. I’ve got to get my emotions under control.

The bear is really nice boar. Large head and at least 300 pounds! Clearly he didn’t get this big by being stupid. He seems very wary and is looking right at me on the tree stand. Before I can even get a sight on him he wanders away. I can’t believe it. Did I spook him in all the fumbling to try and get the safety switched off on my gun? Did he pick up a scent from me?
For the next couple of hours I sit in doubt. I wonder what happened and how was I going to explain this to my guide. Then with about a half an hour before dark the bear comes wandering back.

I am frozen still. This time I leave the safety on and I keep absolutely still. He still won’t commit to the bait, but hovers in an area that doesn’t provide for a good shot, but does afford me the opportunity to really take stock of this guy. He’s is definitely the bear that has been hitting the site and would make a really nice trophy. After a few minutes of hovering, he leaves again. My heart sinks.

This time he only wanders down an adjacent tote road about twenty-five yards or so and waits. I can still see part of him and so I slip off the safety and position my .06 for a quick shot should the opportunity present itself. I am rewarded for my patience as this time he comes back and heads directly to the bucket of fryer grease and fish feed. I slowly shoulder my rifle and he looks directly at me. I don’t have a perfect broad side shot but a pretty good shoulder lung shot and I decide to take the shot before he bails for a third time. The shot is on the mark and he is dead before he hits the ground. Man, what a night and what a hunt.

My heart is still pounding five minutes later as I am climbing down from the stand and I hear Frank’s truck approaching. I swear if I ever shoot an animal and I don’t feel as excited as I am right now I will just stay home. I meet Frank at the bait site and he jokes about me killing a small sow instead of the large boar we were after. He inspects the bear and is happy that this is the big one that he was hoping we would get. He thinks it is at least 150 kilograms, or 330 pounds. That’s a big spring bear and he has a really nice Boone and Crocket class head and a good coat.

Despite the late night last night I am up just after six o’clock and I want to get some pictures with the bear before Frank takes him off to the skinner.

His head is awesome and I snap some really great shots of him. His paws are enormous and I try to imagine the incredible strength this magnificent creature had. Frank needs to extract a tooth to have the bear aged by the Canadian Wildlife officials. In doing so we see that his top teeth are completely worn down indicating this bear is probably at least fifteen years old. His bottom teeth are likewise. We weigh him and the scale indicates a weight of 165 kilograms or 360 pounds. Considering that a bear normally loses about forty percent of its body weight over the winter this guy would have probably tipped the scales at over 600 pounds last fall. A true bruiser.

Later in the afternoon we get back the hide and skull from the skinner we see that the lower jaw was in an advanced state of bone decay. This old bear probably wouldn’t have lasted another season. Frank estimates that he was probably close to twenty years old.

I’m not sure when I will return to New Brunswick for another hunt but for now I have a great trophy and even greater memories of my spring bear hunt.

Darrell Pardy
June 2011

It’s 3:45am and I am already in my turkey blind. I decided after a wild-turkey chase yesterday that I was going to pick this spot and stay in it till noon if necessary. I know eventually the turkeys would pass by here because it is a natural funnel between the ranch where the turkeys have been feeding and a pasture that the turkeys seem to end up in every day around 10:00am. After my unsuccessful outing yesterday I made some improvements to my “natural blind” that would enable me to shift positions if necessary. I threw a few windfalls and some broken branches on the blind which would provide really nice natural cover. I also remembered to bring a sleeping pad that I could use if I decided to shift from sitting against the tree to a prone position.

I can barely see. It is still very dark. The only sounds are those of frogs, crickets, and other creatures of the night. Despite their noise it is very peaceful and I am soaking up the moment. On my way in this morning I set up a single female decoy that is about twenty yards from my blind. I came in sans light so that there would be no possibility of being detected. All of the rain this spring has worked to my advantage as the ground is very soft and thus quiet.

On the opposite side of the ranch are my two hunting partners for the morning. Our strategy was for us to be on north and south ends of the ranch and hopefully the birds would come to one of our positions. If the birds get hung up in the middle they will start to work their way towards my end of the ranch to see if they can motivate the birds to move along a little quicker.

I am nodding off. I declined to use my iPod which I brought along today in case I was sitting for the entire morning. I am just enjoying the early morning sounds. I am jolted to erect consciousness by the first gobble of the morning. It is from an end of the ranch where one of the turkeys has been roosting all week. He is responded to by a turkey from a completely new roosting area. They gobble back and forth for a good fifteen minutes. There is nothing from my area at all! I can’t believe it. However I am sticking to my game plan and not relocating. Besides it is only 4:50 and I have heard from two or three toms which means there are still a few unaccounted for. A minute or two later I am rewarded and a tom about forty yards away joins the morning discussion. I assume theses gobbles are locator calls and also a notice to any willing hens that the toms are ready for action. However I’m still pretty new to this game so I really don’t know for sure.

Around 5:15 a hen jumps into the conversation. She is directly behind where I have set up. She is eliciting responses from the toms on the other side of the ranch. I decide this is a good time to chime in and make a few clucks and puts. Not a lot, just enough to get everyone’s attention. Then I go quiet for a while. I hear the flutter of wings and spot two toms on the other side of the ranch fly down from their roosts and presumably are coming my way in response to the hen behind me. I also decide that maybe I should get down in a more concealed prone position. Thank god for the sleeping pad. Meanwhile the hen behind me is talking up a storm. I start to wonder if one of my hunting partners this morning opted for a different location and is the one actually doing all the calling. The calling just doesn’t seem natural. Too much, and very aggressive. I decide to do a few more puts with my slate call and to my surprise a hen flies down over me and lands next to my decoy. Now I am worried she will see me. Fortunately I had moved a few minutes ago.

The hen seems really ticked off at my decoy. She is walking all around it and is quiet vocal. I am thinking this is as good as it gets. I have a talkative live decoy and a three or four toms gobbling to her in response. I am lying so still I think I am going to bust. I have my gun and ready and after ten minutes of this I am starting to experience arm fatigue. However I don’t dare move! The hen has calmed down and now she is just putting and clucking near my decoy. She has no intention of moving away and has no clue that I am less than fifty feet away from her. I am relieved to hear the noise of turkey flight. I am pretty sure one of the toms has jumped the wire fencing and is on his way to meet a new lady friend. I am rewarded about three minutes later when he comes into sight in full display.

I have the bead on him immediately and size him up. He is not the really big tom that I have seen on the ranch but he is a beautiful bird with a decent beard. I savor the moment and then pull the trigger. He was inside ten yards and he is dead instantly. I roll over and thank the gods for such an incredible experience.

By the time my hunting partners show up I have checked out the bird. He is a real beauty. I am so thankful for the past hour that I just don’t want the moment to end. I think I am aware that this may be the best turkey hunt I will ever experience. It isn’t the biggest bird I have ever shot but the hunt was incredibly exhilarating and maybe the most exciting hunt (of any kind) I have been involved with. Like any animal I harvest I consider the turkey to be a trophy. They are all trophies in their own way and this one is no different. I will remember this hunt for a long time and will give special thanks when we enjoy the fruits of this harvest at the dinner table later this year. To quote Jim Shockey…”WHAT A HUNT!”

The bird weighed in at just over eighteen pounds, with a nine inch beard and ½ inch spurs. I probably could have waited for a larger bird but this bird will do just fine and I am just so happy to have participated in such a hunt. I can’t wait till next year!