Recently I transferred my bones and et cetera to Canada to do some work on the fireplace at BLC. In the process of time, Mr. Darren of HQ fame just happened to be canoeing down Gullwing Creek one afternoon/evening, and he just happened to have his bow ready . . . just in case. Okay, he didn't just "happen" to be doing all these things. It's called moose hunting. It's intentional.

So there they were, on Gullwing, him and his cohort, Karl steering the canoe towards certain moose execution (hopefully). (That is, execution for the moose, not execution of the canoe by the moose, but . . . you never know.) As these things took place, a cow (not a Holstein) emerged from the bush and made her way to the edge of the creek little realizing that great danger lurked a mere 20 metres off (this is Canada; we have to be metric). Great danger in the form of a moose hunter in camoflauge clothing and a very sharp arrow and a bow that he wasn't afraid to use.

Alas for the moose, but not alas for Darren, the arrow found lodgings within the lung area of Female Moose. But did she immediately roll over and play dead? No, she did not. Instead she thrashed her way back up the hill into the bush where she keeled over and gave up the ghost and forthwith began the process of bloating (not be confused with the process of boating, which is what part of our group did to aid in the retrieval of said Female Moose).

Well after marking the spot, Darren and Karl made haste to return to HQ where they spread these tidings of great joy, and would we be partakers of this by helping to carry what promised to be a heavy carcass? After we all responded with something like, "You know, normally I would be glad to bear large burdens of mooses on our shoulders, but unfortunately this old back has been giving me fits." Or, "Yeah, right after I take a double dosage of this heart medication. Hope I'm not a burden by collapsing on the trail." Or, "Oh Hank, my leg! Oh, my leg!" (Oops, wrong story.)

But Darren and Karl must have been able to spot slackers, because next thing we knew, 5 of us had joined them to participate in the fine art of moose retrieval. It was about 9 pm when we left HQ, as I recall. Why it had been just the night before that we were being entertained by the story of how Kevin shot his moose last year. And when it came time to locate it, it was dark and foggy, and the underbrush was thick, and the blood trail ended in oblivion. But in spite of these pleasant tracking conditions, they had managed to milk the locating-of-the-target-process until 1 am. After which they began the process of carrying the moose chunks to the canoe that was supposedly where they thought it was . . . well, let's just say they wondered up and down the creek looking for the elusive canoe whilst carrying their burdens. Turned out they were searching the wrong end of the creek. Anyway, they finally made it back by 7 am.

So with these thoughts in mind we made our way down the creek toward the alleged moose that had recently kicked the bucket. We ended up in 2 parties, 3 in the HQ boat coming in via Gullwing Lake, and 4 in 2 canoes put in at the creek itself. Norm had brought his 4 hp boat motor so we didn't have to do much paddling -- except when it would die because of lack of gas tank venting. After portaging at one point, we finally located the fallen prey. This is where Darren realized that in his haste to get to the moose and get it cut up, he had forgotten to bring his hunting knife along (!). Fortunately Norm and Karl had not. So Darren and Karl worked on quartering it and gutting it, while Norm and I generously offered to help by staying out the way. But we ended up loading the first hindquarter on our shoulders, and because it was dark, and because we had move in such close proximity to each other, we didn't move towards the canoe with much ease and grace. Mostly stumbling and tripping. So we just flopped it on the ground near the canoe and decided that solo quarter carrying might be more advantageous.

The 3 guys on the boat had made it to the portage, so my team sent me off to take a load of meat/bone/hide/etc. to the portage. I was sent despite my exceeding helpfulness in the moose-cutting process called "staying out of the way". Well by about midnight, we finally got the moose parts (including the not-so-light head. do they ever get light-headed? ha ha ha.) loaded in the boat, along with 4 other guys. Because we had left one of the canoes on the other side of the portage for future hunts, we ended up with 3 guys in one rickety-sometimes-leaky-but-recently-caulked canoe. We hadn't gone far before we realized that Norm's 4 hp motor runs better when the gas tank is not empty. Apparently, when he tilted it up at the portage, he had failed to screw the gas cap back down. Thus gas dribbled out the tank whilst we were busy slaving away moving carcass pieces.

We pulled our gasless canoe alongside the boat and hung with our hands as we made our way back up the creek, all the while trying to avoid ramming into not quite submerged stumps/branches/rocks. Even though our hands got plenty cool from gripping the metal sides, we were glad for the good time we were making. Especially considering the fact that I didn't get back to BLC until 2:30 am. But at least it wasn't 7.

~written by N. Sayne