So after a breakfast of ham and French toast, I headed out with Carter for fishing.
Temperatures had cooled significantly overnight to the point that it was almost cold in the wind of the boat ride. We stayed below the rapids and tried several bays. I caught a few pike, all of them small and one smallmouth bass. Fishing has been challenging this year; some years I can't even throw a lure without something jumping into the boat. The largest pike I've caught to this point is less than 30 inches.
After lunch, Lockler and Carter took Chris and me upriver for bears. Chris was dropped off again at Holiday - hoping to see the previous night's bear just a smidge earlier. I went to Bass Island which was quite a bit farther upriver. As we boated away, it felt more than ever like I was leaving civilization.
Once at Bass Island, we walked in and I got situated. I was in fantastic spirits - I loved the stand and easily got comfortable. The stand had the right mix of open area and cover. Temperatures were almost perfectly cool. Wind was light and right in my face. There was a chance of rain so I wore my rain suit and I was very comfortable; I was falling into the groove of bear hunting.
Compared to the road stand with ATVs and vehicles in the distance, or even the previous night's stand where there was more boat traffic, Bass Island was unbelievably quiet ... at least at first. As the afternoon stretched into evening, I think every goose in Manitoba decided to hang out behind me in the bay somewhere. They were mercilessly noisy - flying in and out and doing all kinds of goose things. I could at times tune it out, but then I would hear it again and it overwhelmed the area.
I was sure I was going to see bears so I got a little excited when I heard footsteps behind me. But I knew it wasn't a bear; it just did not sound like it could be a bear. Looking to my right, I caught a glimpse of something blonde through the small trees, then I briefly saw a head. For the first time in nine bear hunts I was seeing a wolf. I always wondered what I would do if I saw one, since they are so dog-like and I'm quite the dog person. But I swung my gun in that direction. I also briefly noodled how much a shot might bugger-up my bear hunt. I know for many animals a single gunshot often doesn't elicit a reaction, but wasn't sure about bears?
The wolf crossed into a clear spot and looked up at me, then looked forward again. I had no time to overthink. I dropped the crosshairs and fired. At about 30 yards it was a gimme ... right? The reaction of the wolf was not what I expected if it was hit or if it was not. If hit, I figured it was drop instantly or if poorly hit run like the devil had just spoke to it. If I missed, I figured it was also do the skedaddle. What I heard sounded like it just walked away. I was ... confused.
I had about an hour and a half to overthink what happened. I so desperately wanted to go look for it or evidence of a hit. But I knew that while a gunshot wouldn't screw things up, me tromping around absolutely 100% would. I stayed put. I kept looking over where the wolf had been hoping for a miracle. At one point, I saw the butt of something dark with a long tail - I can only believe this was a much smaller dark wolf since I couldn't think of what else lived in the Manitoba brush that size and shape. I suppose it was also possible that I was hallucinating. The brain is the one organ of the body which does not tell us when it is malfunctioning.
Darkness came quietly.
Carter and Lockler came to get me. We looked for around 15 minutes, but on the ground everything looked different from the height of the stand. And with darkness, it was much more challenging to find any kind of sign. We piled into the boat and headed downriver to get Chris.
Chris had seen a few bears, but didn't get the clean broadside shot he wanted. Phyllis (his SO), was giving advice based on his trail camera - which was quite humorous. Everyone else had eaten dinner, so it was just Chris and I having a very late steak dinner. It was great, even if a bit much so late.
In the movie Pulp Fiction "The Wolf" comes to fix things caused by Vincent's ... um ... careless gun handling. I went to bed mercilessly beating myself up about the evening's situation.
Before 2023, my last miss on a big game animal would have been 2013. This wolf would be my second miss in less than a year; I did not want to believe I could miss at that range. Self-loathing can be a full time occupation.
Whenever I find myself beating myself up this much, I try to pull out any lessons to salvage my sanity. What are the lessons from this blonde wolf? First - don't rush the shot. I've had to learn this lesson many times and sadly will likely need to do so again. Second - stay focused on the task at hand. Bears are what I was after. Seeing the wolf was cool enough. Living this lesson in the split second I had to make a decision is easier said than done; the soul-crushing reality is that I don't really think I'll have learned this sufficiently either.
I went to bed hoping that Harvey Keitel would come and fix the evening's situation.
"Goodnight Raquel."
No comments:
Post a Comment