Snipe the Snipe

My tire treads came to a full stop crushing the stones below, as I approached the end of the dirt road. I swung my door open and leapt out kicking up some dust, then took off my ball cap, scanned the pond followed by a deep breath. There I was at the northeastern side of the pond, the temperatures had dropped some but it wasn’t an unpleasant cold with a slight wind.

Every time, I hit the wetlands my soul is refreshed with an energy only found in the wilds of this land. On this particular afternoon there was less bird activity and the time of day when they move more hadn’t come upon us yet. 

Multiple waves of snow geese flew overhead but remained too high into the heavens and out of reach, circling around by the hundreds calling out frantically as they do, and just like clock work they began their descents into the dark waters of the pond in their famed vortex formation, the exact same flight patterns and behaviour that I saw near Quebec city. With their white plumage and black tipped wings, when the wave tilts they all tilt in perfect synchronicity and the suns reflections makes them shine like billions of silver blades with the perfect blue backdrop. 

Just like a child winning a price, I feel an immense sense of joy rush through my body when I see them fly, I do not miss a thing, every wing beat, the calls and manoeuvre are simply incredible, it makes me smile at their beauty. It is not just a wave of snow geese, it is nature’s poetry in its purest form. 

Way to often we get caught up in the little rush of our lives and ignore the wonders of this planet, and this is not only impressive to watch but they can also teach you things about ourselves and our very planet. Over the next few hours, I covered a lot of ground seeking ducks and geese in the ponds and finally I set myself up in a natural blind of prairie grass neatly tucked away, most likely left over from a large mammal resting at night. 

I was in an incredible spot but still no ducks flew in, so I took a few minutes to check out my surrounding area, and in the corner of my eye, I spotted a pair of Snipe close to shore. It was going to be tricky to close the gap between them and I. So, I studied the ground and began my stalk on all fours, I would move up a few meters and take a break and look up to ensure I was properly aligned, and would push forward. I would use my closed fist to balance myself in the cold mud and once I got within twenty meters, I stood up on my knees, the birds immediately burst into flight and with my Stoeger in an instant I released two shots and harvested my pair of Snipes. 

They did not take long to clean once I got home and cooked them in the oven with some spices and olive oils from a speciality shop. I was grateful for the amazing afternoon out on the ponds. 

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Cool Winds

A few years ago, I found a broken rocking chair on the side of the road. I loaded it into the bed of my truck and headed back to my shop. Over the course of a few days, I fixed it up and placed it on my front porch. After a long day, there was no better spot than sitting there in the evening and watching the sun go down over the rolling hills with its white mist rising from the valleys. 

On cold windy days in mid-August, the chair will sometimes rock on its own, and as it swings its varnish coat glistens under the crepuscular rays. The wind carries in the smell of fresh burning firewood, through the brush and over the creek. As the sun sets, the very same wind lifts the perfume of fall mixed in its cool air. 

I take a moment and take a deep breath and fill my lungs, then exhale slowly, all the while looking up at the pink sky. In the distance, I can hear the Canadas over the horizon. My whole inner being is energized, the waterfowl season is coming and it is going to be another incredible fall. We all have our favorite seasons, but the Canadian fall is powerful and like a great northern spirit, it digs deep inside you and awakens the purest of form of the outdoorsman/woman in you. 

Rich in heritage and tradition, more true Canadian stories will be born this season and will flow from my very being into the pages of this digital frontier. 

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A Bad Cut

A few days ago, I had the privilege of going outside and cutting some firewood amidst the confinement, all in preparation for the fall. I had been working away for three hours and had taken my gloves off because my hands began to sweat. I would lift a log into position, then cut away. The smell of fresh Cedars was heavenly. A few Mallard ducks flew over head calling out faintly and the geese were feeding peacefully nearby in the water.

The cedar stumps were very large and under one of the last pieces I failed to notice a wild rose branch stuck on the inside. In one vigorous lifting motion with the stump in hand, I stood up and the thorn cut through my hand like razor wire.

There was quite a sting to the cut, but I continued to lift another piece of Cedar. The second stump had a tear in its bark. The open part exposed some resin, which accidentally smeared onto my cut and this instantly stopped the bleeding as well as the pain. Another helpful thing is that just like pine resin, it also reduced the inflammation. Within days it was all healed up. Gotta love nature.

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21 Jars

Last Sunday I took advantage of some spare time and drove out to the river to see if I could spot a few ducks in open water. With not very many days left in my waterfowl season, I wanted to see if mother nature would give me a last go, until next fall.

After having spent about two hours walking along the shores of the river and through the wetlands, it was clear that my waterfowl was nearing its end. The ice was getting thick and the open waters of the river were well out of range with the ice about forty meters wide from the edge of the shore and about two inches thick.

There was no doubt that the view was spectacular and the wind blowing in was refreshing and complimented the snowy banks of the river, just a perfect match. It is always a bitter-sweet feeling, knowing that my waterfowl season is coming to a close.

The year’s season was an interesting one and to be honest, as I went out on all my outings during this season, I seem to have lost count of my harvests and had the impression that I hadn’t had as good as season as last year, especially with the warmer weather lingering longer at the start of the season.

On my drive home from the river, I was happy about the idea of getting back into a warm spot but knew I would miss my days on the river until next fall. Over the next few days, I took out my harvests out of the freezer and let them defrost and then marinated the meat over night and began the lengthy process of making our Rillettes.

It is pretty neat to feel how much pride comes from making delicious traditional Rillettes with your own harvests, and also being able to share it with friends and family who appreciate them, especially during the holiday season.

Twenty one jars later and a clean kitchen, I can now look back on all the great moments of my season with satisfaction and pride as well as the lessons learned and only hope for the best next fall.

Remember to be safe and happy new year to all of you who share this passion of ours.

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Chewing on a Stick

The conditions were incredible today, with a slight breeze blowing in from the North. By the time we rolled up the dirt road to the farm, a flock of rock doves flew over head but quickly continued over the tree line to the West. One thing was clear on this day, is that the rock doves were not going to give us a chance to harvest one of them. I have been hunting rock doves for years now on the farm and they have learned to recognize my truck and when they see people standing around the truck or the nearby barns they will disappear and not fly in for any grain until I am gone.

Our goal was to set out into the farmland and attempt to harvest some Canada geese in the pre-season for our sector, both Cackling and Canada geese are open until the twenty-first of the month in farmland then the full waterfowl season opens on September 22, 2018 on the rivers. After a few minutes of chatting with my farming friend we opened the cattle gate and drove down through the fields across the creek and over to the larger farmland fields. Parked the truck near the tree line providing us with some cover.

The setting was perfect, large open fields and clear blue skies, we left the city later in the afternoon because over time and accumulated experience you realize it is no longer necessary to set out on a full day hunt during waterfowl season, you learn to capitalize on the best time periods, early morning for example around seven-thirty in the morning and earlier or later in the afternoon until a half and hour passed sundown.

We took this time to prepare our kit, as we were not rushed, all the while taking in the beauty around us. Fall is coming and the colours are starting to pierce through. My friend had just purchase a new goose caller and was trying it out and within minutes small flocks of geese started to fly in but further out to the north and well out of reach.

Then we both started to call and take breaks between us then call again. There were Blue Jays and Norther Flickers and crows everywhere but no Canada’s for at least an hour or so, then our calls finally came through. I had stopped and was looking for my binoculars in my backpack, when all of sudden a group of twenty geese responded to my friends calls. He worked them directly into our shooting lanes but they were still high. We both crouch down as low as we could and waited for them to be within range and directly in the centre of the farm land.

They banked and started to break their wings to come in for a landing but turned rapidly and started to lift and get higher, and then they turned toward the East as they had come in from the North heading South. The weather was still warm, and their numbers are still not exceptional yet and I knew this was going to be our only chance.

I whispered out that this was our only chance as they going to complete a full turn and head South and that they were going to abort the landing. Both my friend and I were not in the greatest of positions and by the time we stood up and each released two shots it was all over. We both missed, I am not sure if it was our position or our lead or height of the birds but we were broken to say the least.

We are both seasoned waterfowl hunters and yet we missed our shots and we both shared the same frustration of the situation. Life is super busy with work and everything and when you set off for a Canada goose hunt on farmland and miss, it stings quite a bit.

On the way home, we talked and laughed about what happened to ease the pain but I can tell you, for a few minutes, I could have chewed on a stick to ease the frustration of having missed those shots.

Our official season will start on the twenty-second of this month, we know we will have many opportunities to redeem ourselves. Although this does not make for a very exciting entry in my blog, there is one thing that we all can appreciate and share and this is the frustration that comes with missing a shot and not harvesting.

Of course it is not the end of the world and there will be lots of opportunities but it doesn’t take away that today stung a bit and it is not a good way to start the fall season.

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Human Consciousness

Only three days left in La Belle province of Quebec and our waterfowl season will begin in my area on farmlands only, for Canada and Cackling Geese. Then on the twenty-second of September it will be open in other areas such as wetlands until practically the end of December for ducks and other species of birds.

I am really hoping for a great season this fall and I consider myself so fortunate to be in good health and surrounded by good friends and fellow waterfowler’s. I am also looking forward to using the spices I purchased at Cabela’s for cooking incredible dishes at home to share with friends and family.

My emotions are running high, as the anticipation for the season boils over, but there is one more instance that has been brewing and this is the simple fact that time has been accelerating. The summer has come and gone and now the waiting is over with the waterfowl season starting in just a few days.

I am not sure if the impression of time acceleration comes with age or is time truly moving faster? Is this related to a higher level of consciousness, this I am not sure but this mystery remains in the spiritual realm.

Well the time has come to end this blog entry and I wish you all a safe and amazing season and I am looking forward to sharing my stories of this years hunts with you.

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Work in Progress

Day after day, I drive into work and park at the same old spot in the underground parking tucked in right at the back, away from any other vehicles. There is only one other car that shares the back with me and this car is only there every other day. It is a pretty fancy sedan compared to my older truck. So, when it is parked near my spot I have to manoeuvre a little more in order to place myself in a reverse position which makes it easier to get out at the end of the day as well as avoiding a collision.

But this blog entry is not about vehicles or parking. When I drive up to the last turn inside the underground parking in the morning where the other car is usually parked, I have now turned it into a game; can I really try to guess if the car will be there or not? This is also before I can physically see it. Almost like I can predict its presence, but it is after all just a mass of steel and rubber and so far my ability to be able to read the presence of the car without seeing it has turned up empty. And this is most likely because there is no soul or energy coming from the car.

I am a believer that if any hunter is fully immersed in natures elements and that their senses are in perfect tune even the unexplained one’s. I know that we can feel the presence of animal in the woods. On my last snowshoe hare hunt, I knew I was being watched and I had this un-explained feeling within me that I was not alone in the woods and only meters from me was a snowshoe hare in its freeze pose, staring right at me.

Another interesting experience that I had with wildlife in their elements was during a drive home in the winter time, I like to take the country roads on my drive home at night and on this particular evening there was a light snow fall, and on this road at one point there is a very sharp turn but people generally take it pretty fast. For some reason while I was driving up the to the turn, I had a strong feeling in my gut, it was like an instinctive queue to slow down. I let off the gas pedal and just as soon as I did a deer leapt out from the ravine and landed directly in front of my bumper and it turned facing away from me. I tapped the break gently and I slid on the snow and gently bumped it two more times, the deer tried to outrun the truck but slid in the ice below then as soon as it got traction it bounced again and disappeared into the brush.

It was not instinct, I felt the deer and I am a believer that over time I will be able to hone this gift.

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Proof is in the Snow

Last weekend I went snowshoe hare hunting with a good friend of mine and the snow was pretty deep in the woods with the recent snow fall that had dumped around one foot of snow. When I checked the weather network the night before, I was pretty happy about their forecast, because when it snows it is warmer and hare leads are much more visible along with the droppings and their regurgitated green cuds.

During my pre-planning for the hunt, I packed up some of my gear the night before and I was sure to have the snowshoes as part of the kit that was needed. I really like the new strap mechanisms on those new shoes but unfortunately they are not the best in the deepest of snow, the good old Michigan styles are by far the best which have a larger coverage for the foot placement and of course you do not sink to your waist every two steps and eventually tire yourself out.

Your firearm is by far one of the most important tools during your hunt and of course during your outing it will be exposed to the elements like snow, small branches and pure muck, this can most definitely have an effect on the working parts, along with the water which freezes on the shotgun as you move in and out of the snow-covered pine and cedar.

Years ago, when I purchased my Remington 870 Express, I purposely chose the pump-action, because I knew the type of harsh conditions I was going to expose my shotgun to and I was legitimately concerned that the mechanism would fail if I had gas operated semi-automatic actions. Not only was a pump the right price but the action was more reliable in our Canadian fall and winter months, compared to the semi automatic shotgun which is also double the price of an Express if not more.

After a few hours of tracking through the brush and not locating any hares, we made our way back to the southern barns on my friends farm and placed ourselves at the edge of the tree line. We were going to try our luck with the rock doves, there was a group of seven of them flying around the cattle and then setting themselves in some nearby trees.

I carefully directed my friend into a good shooting position and then placed myself to his right and we chose our birds carefully and prepared ourselves for the harvest. We loaded the shells and made our shotguns ready and when we released our shots, only one gun rang out. My friends semi automatic shotgun clicked into emptiness and no shot came out, two pigeons tumbled to the snowy ground. One step that made all the difference is prior to loading the shells for the pigeons, I rode the pump-action back and forth multiple times with an empty chamber and tube magazine to clear any small ice particles and warm up the slide, this you can do on a pump. This represented for me my third time this year to have had two pigeons harvested in one single shot of number six, but I was truly disappointed for my friend.

The semi-automatic was clear of any snow but the cold had such and impact on the action, that the firing pin was slow to release and come forward to strike the primer, in addition the trigger was frozen which prevented him from depressing it all the way toward the back. Simply releasing the action in order to eject the shell proved to be more challenging than it would have been in warmer weather. I always had my doubts about my choice but now the proof is in the snow.

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A Ruse

I drove carefully through the creek, it was going to be a quick crossing; just minutes before I had put on my Allen waders and walked across it to see how deep it was, this also let me find the sharp rocks sticking out of the muddy bottom.

As the tires pushed through the creek, three mallards that were hidden in the dense grass burst into flight heading westward, they were climbing gradually but their flight lightning fast, one drake and two hens. I was heading to the edge of the marsh to the south-east.

When I first arrived at the farm I noticed the southern field was empty with no Canada geese in sight. I wasn’t sure how my hunt was going to turn out on this fall day but I always try to be creative and remain optimistic.

The cows were scattered all around the barns and open fields, I was hoping for a good day but there were no birds in sight. I took a few deep breaths and with my binoculars in hand, I started to scan the landscape. Over a kilometer away in a south-westerly direction, I noticed long black objects poking out the swamp grass, they were moving very little but just enough that I could make out the difference from the tree stumps left by the beavers and a goose neck.

I stood there on top of the ridge for a few more minutes, raised and lowered my binoculars several times trying to get a better look at the thin black sticks. Once I cleared the creek, I turned toward the west and moved along the ridge driving in the low ground, and my plan was to park away from my start point for my stalk.

With the truck now parked exactly where I wanted it, I opened the driver door and stepped out onto the moist field. It was a cold windy day, so I put on my Remington hunting jacket and zipped it up just below the chest pouch fitted with a magnetic strip of my waders giving me easy access to my shells.

With my 870 ready and placed on the field floor I took three Challenger shells and loaded them and pumped one into the chamber and placed the safety on. The whole time I was kneeling beside the truck, I kept my eyes on the cattle more particularly the big black bull.

They were only a few meters away and I only had small spruce trees and dead tree stumps, between them and I and they got pretty weary with me crawling around them.

I now had to move my way closer to the water’s edge without triggering any panic among the geese, especially the one’s on watch. As I came around the front of the truck and headed to the water, I would sneak up behind some trees, then move my way around to freshly cut stumps left by the beavers. The ground beneath me was transforming into a muddy sludge mixed in with rotten pieces of wood and rock.

With my green balaclava pulled over my face; every few steps I would stop and check my alignment with the spotter geese and then adjust my movement forward, so that they could not see me.

I was now only twenty meters away but it felt like a longer distance than this as I could no longer finish my approach slouched forward. I had to get down on my hands and knees, and with every pace forward, I would meticulously place my shotgun onto swamp grass mounds just high enough to keep my barrel cleared of the muck.

A few weeks earlier I had observed my cat stalking some common house sparrows in the tall grass. Everyone of her muscles were moving in a calculated fashion then very often she would stop and just watch, then adjust her position again and move forward with only her front legs and then minutes later she would bring in her bag legs forward, thus allowing her to jump forward with the maximum reach allowed. It was incredible that a large black object like her could move ahead closer to the birds without sending them into flight.

I was now knee-deep in the cold waters, my hands were breaking through the very thin layer of ice and then sinking into the muck, my fingers were starting to burn because of the cold waters but I was so focused on my approach that I did not give much thought to my uncomfortable movement.

I finally got into the position but my left boot was stuck in the mud, I had to figure out how to shift my hip forward and get into a good shooting position without getting too high. I grabbed a chewed beaver stump placed my fingers carefully around tip and pulled myself up.

This was all done in an exaggerated slow motion, so that I did not alert the spotter geese. I could hear one of them calling out nervous short calls. But before I could shoot, I needed to get one final look at the main group of geese in behind the marsh grass and ensure that my first shot was going to be perfect and safe.

The group formed a sort of broken circle with three geese lined up with two on each side. I took several deep breaths then looked down into the water, my heart was beating like crazy and I was breathing like I had just run several kilometers.

I was ready and had all my shots planned out, I did the slow controlled push-off of my safety button just like Wade Bourne had shown in one of his videos. I slowly raised myself up behind thin branches of a dead tree that came up out of the water like a cypress tree in the shape of the letter “y”, my ruse worked for a few seconds until the geese started calling out aggressively and pushing off into flight. I released my first shot when the birds where just inches off the water and my shell shot snapped the first three geese and brought them down. I aimed for the head and neck just like turkey hunting.

I could not believe it, I had just brought down three geese in one shot, the first one fell hard into the water and the two others spun and flipped back into the water right after, the first two were down but the third tried to fly again and I released a second shot.

With three harvested, I turned to my right or north-east and released another shot and hit a fourth bird and it fell and spiralled hard into the water. I had to reload, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out two more shells and loaded them then pumped and twisted to my left now in a full standing position I released another shot and brought down the largest bird of my harvest.

Once the water calmed below my feet and the empty shells floated near my boots, I had five Canada geese lying in front of me and I could not believe what had just happened.

I had just reached my daily bag limit in a matter of seconds and I was in total disbelief, my years of work to becoming a better waterfowler had just materialized before me and the future could only be brighter.

It took me several minutes to get the birds back to the truck and then drive back to the barn on my way home. While loading my kit in the back of the truck, six rock doves flew in from the east heading west over the barn by the cattle gates.

I grabbed my 870 and snuck in behind the southern barn and made my way around the front, the pigeons where flying just two meters above the ground in formation. I loaded one shell of number three and released a single shot into the flock, taking down two birds.

I have gone weeks without a single harvest but days like these taught me to never give up and learn as much as you can and spend as much time as you can in the field. It does not matter where you are in the world, after all it is in our blood and I understand!

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Textbook Case

This year I did not harvest a deer in the fall; however I did add more knowledge to my repertoire for the next season. During many of my deer hunts, I either came across bucks that were too young, sporting small spikes or saw several does but did not have a tag for one.

One thing is for sure, I love deer especially white-tailed deer which is the predominant species of deer in my area. They are just incredible mammals and I never tire of seeing them in the evening by the road or across the creek in the woods near my home. I also learn so much more every time I pursue them in their environment.

This week I just finished a great book “White-Tailed Deer” written by Mark Raycroft. The photographic images were stunning and its text was very informative. As a biologist with several decades of research and proven time in the field, the author has collected some incredible knowledge, and like many books that I have read, I either want to challenge the author’s words in the field or learn from them.

Mark wrote that through experience he noticed that deer do not snort and or run off using their runways if only one of their primary senses is triggered. They are rather curious animals and will try to find out more about what you are, and see if you are a potential predator or not.

An example would be if a deer has heard you in the woods but may not have seen you, or smelt you then they may not raise their white tails and flee but rather in some cases circle around you in dense woods or come closer to you in an open field while keeping eye contact. I have experienced this many times in the woods. I found this to be a very interesting find and I want to put this theory to the test.

In addition he wrote about the fact that deer are very selective about their bedding which is sometimes used during the day to chew on their cud, rest but also keep watch for predators. The locations of the bedding are often found on slopes, with evergreen vegetation thus providing them with cover. I see this as allowing themselves to capitalize on the benefits of high ground which enables them to have a better chance to escape before being spotted by predators.

So with this newly acquired knowledge, I put on my boots and headed out to an area in the woods where I knew there were several does in a winter yard not far from my home.

I took my time walking along the creek and through the woods; my goal was to try to get as close as I could to one of the deer without triggering all the primary senses together triggering a raised white tail flush.

I was able to approach the doe within thirty meters from across the creek. She had seen me from far but was not alarmed, and we maintained eye contact the whole time until she heard my foot steps in the snow getting closer. This is when she stood up, snorted, raised her white tail and ran off heading south up the hill. She was bedded down under a spruce tree on a slope. Five more deer that were hidden near her took off up the hill as well. It was a textbook case and I had just lived it.

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