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Discussion starter · #222 ·
I find it interesting how family and related outdoor adventures have a special place in so many peoples lives.
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agree - and I strongly believe its real important to record those stories with writing, notes, video, orally, etc.
 
Wow, great read Gary! That got the old heart pounding! I have seen that same scenario happen with an Alberta moose. Always a second guess, but best to err on the side of caution than have two animals down, and 1 tag!
 
Discussion starter · #227 ·
They call me Remi

Guess you can say I’ve been around for a while and I’ve had more than one handler. Each experience, with a handler, has been different however a theme of enthusiasm, excitement and adventure has been a constant with all of them.
I’ve felt a mix of vibes from them - excited bursts of energy with words like YES, WOW, Yeah, HOLY … being loudly exhaled through their mouths and accompanied by smiles and laughter. Then, there’s other times of reflective silence or maybe reverence?

They’ve taken me to many beautiful places and one trip was even to a different country. The weather never seems to deter these humans – we’ve been out on hot sunny days, endured pouring down rain and days where ice clung to me for several hours. I recall one particular exciting day where the winds were so violent, branches were snapping off and trees falling.
Had feathers, fur, blood and mud stuck to me several times. Slid through thorny thickets, been pushed through snowy branches and accidentally bumped into trees.

Some have tried different muzzle attachments to improve my behavior, for a particular situation. It seemed to work for them.

There’s been lots of variables and differences in the handlers however one and all have treated me with the utmost respect.
There is some consistency with one handler - this one has spent more time, than the others, ensuring I’m properly groomed and healthy and provided with comfortable, safe quarters. Strangely, it’s these familiar hands that firmly but gently, pass me along to another, even if only for a short while.

My full name is – Remington 870 Express Magnum 20 Gauge Youth Model.

Somehow, the realization of how well this shotgun has served over the years, escaped me until this past Winter when I pulled it out to give her a regular check and an oiling.

It was first purchased by my youngest son – more correctly, I bought it, he paid for it - his 1st real firearm. He used it for a few years and bagged partridge, rabbit, ducks and his 1st deer with it.
He literally outgrew it, so my better half purchased it – she shot some grouse, missed a beauty buck and connected on a nice fat doe with it.
Then, I came along asking to borrow it for youth hunter workshops.

Because of this little inexpensive gun, a lot of people became comfortable with firearm handling and shooting – on the ground and in tree stands. I know of one lady that bought the exact same model because it fit her so well.
Can say, with confidence, this little gun has had more hands (bare hands, gloved hands, purple finger nailed hands, etc) on it than I can add up. Funny, how sometimes something of significance can be overlooked.

Put this little blurb together as a shout out to all volunteers/mentors that help out others in our outdoors passion. Every little bit helps, IMO, when providing a positive experience to newbies. Thank you for what you do.

Water Sky Hunting Outdoor recreation Shotgun
Jeans Trousers Military camouflage Cargo pants Plant
Plant Leg Pumpkin Cucurbita Winter squash
Dog Plant Carnivore Hat Luggage and bags
Plant Hunting Tree Wild turkey Military camouflage
Hunting Fawn Landscape Terrestrial animal Cap
Plant Plant community Wood Terrestrial plant Trunk
 
For the first half of the story I thought Remi was going to be the name of your hunting dog!
Good on you for mentioning all those who volunteer their time and energy to help make the shooting sports available to beginners of all ages.
Also, thanks for including the great pics.
 
If I remember correctly Gary..that treestand safety station was from the 2012 or 2013 HWWA Hunters Ed Course ??
 
I know...it's absolutely amazing how fast the time flies by not really being noticed !!! Your boys grown now..families of their own, Chey too...just blessed us with a new grand daughter 2 weeks ago...mannnn...13 yrs ago this year...WOW !! Blows my mind Gary !.

That very day, the course struck home with me...it was the one my daughter attended. I hung around with her at all the stations and was soooo impressed with you guys, your herculean effort and what the HWWA did, I had to become a small part of it in some way.
Back then, when I approached Ross Falkner, he also saw the merit in what the HWWA and it's volunteers does...the potential for the youth too, for the shooting sports, the hunting future, his future, our future, he jumped at the chance to support it. It continues still to this day. Where would all the programs be without the effort of the volunteers....buried / cancelled no doubt ! ! !

KUDOS to you / them all...past, present and future !! Thanks for the great read and jogging the old memory buddy !!
 
Great read Tks for posting and thank you for all you do to promote the great outdoors!!!
 
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Discussion starter · #236 ·
Last load out

Last load out on a Cape Breton moose hunt. After the kill, after the muling out of the precious meat – go back, to the kill site, to get the last pieces of gear, left behind. And of course pack out the antlers.

You feel a few aches and pains, the senses are more relaxed, the memory bank recounts those special moments, the respect muscle twinges about the life that was taken, the funny bone banters back/forth with your buddies, the ears hear the re-count of the thrilling events, the voice adds your comments to the re-counting. Spirits are high - even a wind hardened branch, drawing blood from your shin, can’t remove the big smile that lives on your face and in your heart.

Amongst all that positive, lurks an ever so tiny ember of sadness. Just an offhand touch of it, so to speak, but it’s there – the reality that the journey is over, this hunt is near complete. Hard to put into words but It’s like I really didn’t want it to end – want to savour the adventure a little longer.

I don’t take it as a negative and that little ember doesn’t last long, just a millisecond or so but just long enough to recognize it’s there.


Plant Sky Tree Natural landscape Luggage and bags
 
Nice looking country and antlers! And…… yes, the realization that the greatly planned for and now executed moose hunt is quickly coming to an end leaves us hunters with a mixture of emotions that you described so well in your post. However, our instincts as hunters drive us to thinking about the next quest, whether it be a rabbit hunt , deer hunt, grizzle bear hunt or an afternoon scouting trip. We must get out in nature and satisfy that ancient desire to hunt.
 
" Last load out"

Last load out on a Cape Breton moose hunt. After the kill, after the mulling out of the precious meat – go back, to the kill site, to get the last pieces of gear, left behind. And of course pack out the antlers.

You feel a few aches and pains, the senses are more relaxed, the memory bank recounts those special moments, the respect muscle twinges about the life that was taken, the funny bone banters back/forth with your buddies, the ears hear the re-count of the thrilling events, the voice adds your comments to the re-counting. Spirits are high - even a wind hardened branch, drawing blood from your shin, can’t remove the big smile that lives on your face and in your heart.

Gary, I may not have commented much on this thread but there isn't a single story that I haven't thoroughly enjoyed. So many great accounts related to hunting.!! Without a doubt, you're this site's best hunting ambassador.

With 3 carries last year, the "last load out" really hit home. You're one of the few hunters that realizes that this can be the best part of the hunt...!! Thank you so much for posting...

DM






 
Discussion starter · #240 ·
a little blurb for Father's Day.................true story - bit of a spooky experience for one of us on this day, lol.



Sound Imagination

It was a great afternoon for a paddle – sunny, halfways warm, light wind. We carried the canoe through the 80 yards of tangled forest, to the edge of the lake. My son, 6 years old, at the time, was bursting at the seams with excited anticipation. Smiles and animated conversation accompanied us as we plied the waters, across the cove and into the bending channel. The canvas covered, cedar craft gliding easily against the slow moving, foam speckled current. The simple act of paddling seemed to pull the senses toward a destination of a more complete awareness of one’s self and the energies around us.

We enjoyed a fascinating and memory making couple of father/son hours – fishing some dark pools, turning over glistening river rocks to discover lively invertebrates, finding a story creating curled feather floating in a small back eddy, awed by curious hovering dragonflies. We even had a snapping turtle alongside, checking out the watery swirls created by our progress against the early Summer’s weakened current.
The shadows grew longer, the breeze died out and the subdued light of evening settled over our playground. We pointed the bow downstream and quietly drift paddled back towards the winding channel.
Quick, scurrying sounds, in the thick marsh grass grabbed our attention. The rippling movement, of the long grass, raced directly towards us and a muskrat dove off the muddy bank. Water droplets, from its splash, splatting the side of the canoe. A couple of bullfrogs started up a booming chorus among the licorice smelling, white flowered lily pads and a loon yodeled further down the lake.

The water was smooth as glass except for the small disturbance of our paddling efforts to return to the starting point of today’s adventure. Sounds were amplified, as there were no obstructions to deflect the audio waves across the sheen of the water’s surface.
My daydreaming was rudely interrupted by our vessel suddenly rocking violently from side to side – I’d never considered the youth sized paddle, I’d carved from a junk of straight grained spruce, would be used to wildly thrash at a group of little brown bats hunting unknown insects. They seemed to enjoy the challenge of avoiding the flailing piece of wood and stayed with us for several minutes.
Several paddle strokes later, a beaver, disliking intruders sliding through the semi-darkness of its home waters, slapped its tail hard, on the dark surface, in defiance.

We quietly slipped towards a familiar beacon – a tall tamarack skeleton, outlined against the darkening sky, a sky slowly filling with tiny twinkling stars. Up on the hill, amongst the dark spruce, a great horned owl confidently boomed its familiar four note call.
Just before we made landfall, the strange sound of bagpipes filled the still, dark air – the awkward groaning blasts, emanating from the back deck, of the only camp on this end of the lake, seemed to momentarily quiet the more natural sounds we had recently experienced.

Once on shore, I secured the paddles and fishing rods to the worn canoe seats. “OK – here’s the truck key and flashlight. You’re in charge of lighting the way for us and unlocking the door.”

Rocking the wet canvas hull off my thighs, I settled the thwart across my shoulders. Pivoting the craft back a little, to be able to better see the way, I chuckled out loud as I witnessed a very fast, bobbing light winding its way through the trees away from me and towards our vehicle. The bouncing white beam of light was barely able to stay ahead of those little young legs chasing it.

Gary Marlborough
 
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