Update July 11 - Just added last part of story. For anyone new reading, here is what the story is about (photo):
Hey all.
It's that time year when I begin to dream about hunting. Summer's great, but it just doesn't compare to fall for me.
Last September, I had to the opportunity to head out on a dream hunt in the Muskwa-Kechika with my father-in-law and a buddy and I've been working on a little write-up on it the last while. It's been great to reflect on the hunt and relive some of the memories.
Hope you all enjoy it - oh, and I know it's a bit wonky but I'm telling the story in reverse chronological order. Here's hoping the photos work - first time doing this. MooseDown
DAY 10
We woke early, though not as early as Seymour and Tanner, who had to wrangle the horses from somewhere along the three-kilometer-long river bench. After gulping down a quick breakfast and coffee, we began packing up our sleeping bags and assorted gear. Everything we brought with us, except our rifles, the clothes on our backs, and our empty daypacks had to fit into a single 9”x19”x22” pack-box and weigh less than fifty pounds – no easy task, even when your gear isn’t out of sorts from ten days of use.
We helped the outfitters load up the pack horses with the camp gear, antlers and 864 pounds of boned-out meat that we had carefully weighed out in pack-box pairs the night before; each pair had to be within a single pound of even weight or it would be hard on the horses. And if there was one thing I learned from Seymour and Tanner over the ten days it was this: horses are the only way into or out of this country, so you’d best take good care of them.
And what a country.
I took a moment to glance out at the river one last time. The golden light made its way down the mountain-sides and contrasted with the blue-cool mists hanging above the river. No roads, no sounds but the whinny of a horse and the rush of the river; not a trace of human activity – in ten days we hadn’t seen a single human footprint except our own. I was leaving, but I would never forget this place.
When I arrived nine days earlier, I felt like a foreigner – a pretender who didn’t belong. It was wild country – perhaps as wild as it gets – and I felt overwhelmed by one simple fact: I had no business being there. I was 46-years-old, not in the best shape, and used to hunting close to all the comforts of a well-equipped camper and generator. I had never been on a remote hunt before, where help was a satellite call and probably 12 to 24 hours away.
To put it frankly, I was scared. Scared of being in a place where my decisions could have serious consequences and even more scared that I would discover that I just didn’t have what it takes to enjoy a trip like this. As a hunter, I had dreamed of a trip into the wilds of the Muskwa-Kechika for years. I prided myself on believing I had a spark of adventure within that drew me to the unknown.
But maybe I was just fooling myself.
Finally loaded, I mounted Vanilla, my trusty equine companion for the week. She was about as good a horse as I could ask for – calm, sure-footed, and friendly. Well, there was that incident with a tree on the first day, but we sorted that out with a little advice from Tanner.
Without a word, we started up the trail to the pass and home.