Grouse Hunting in Stanley

This past weekend I was in New Brunswick. Steve invited Dad, Cole and I up to his camp in Stanley for some partridge (ruffed grouse) hunting with Steve's recent purchase - a 12 gauge shotgun. We got up at 5:15 a.m., a few hours before sunrise, and set out for the Boyce farmer's market in Fredericton. The food vendors were just getting set up when we arrived. After a few minutes we had our buffalo burgers from Elke's meat stand, and set out on the road to Stanley.

After 40 minutes or so of driving, we parked the car at the start of the dirt-road section that leads to Steve's camp. It was a 20 minute walk along the road to the camp. The sky was beginning to lighten with the sun rising on the horizon. The air was crisp; a brisk pace kept the blood circulating. As we rounded a turn in the road, I spotted a grouse up ahead; it was hopping about on the road, probably trying to warm up in the chilly air. The bird was just out of range - as we tried to sneak closer, the bird disappeared into the edge of the woods. Noticing where it went, we flushed it out - it burst into flight and was completely untraceable, having flown into a thick cluster of evergreens.


We spent the next few hours exploring trails and old roads in the forest, but without any more grouse sightings. It was still a lot of fun to be out in the woods. We finished the morning with some target practice using various bottles and jugs Steve had around the camp. Our morning was capped off with a visit to Neat's Family Restaurant on Graveyard Hill in Stanley for a hearty breakfast of home fries, eggs, bacon, coffee and orange juice before returning to Fredericton.

Eagle Cliff

Last weekend, Rachelle, Steve, Chelsey and I went camping for a night on an island in the middle of Harts Lake, 60 km from Fredericton. It turns out the island is called "McAllister Island", but we named the campsite "Eagle Cliff" because of all the Bald Eagles we saw while camping there. They seemed to like the huge pine trees that were growing on the island.

Since we only had one canoe, Rachelle and I made the first crossing with all of the gear. Then I returned to shore to pick up Steve and Chelsey. Once we were on the island, we started leveling out patches of ground for the tents and worked on our site for a bit. Steve amused himself by knocking down rotten trees. Since it's a steep and rocky ascent from the shore to the campsite, Steve and I built handrails using thin trees. We also built a rough staircase using large flat rocks. Since the campsite is high above the shore, it can't be seen from the water. If our canoe wasn't there, it would have been impossible to know we were on the island (if you ignored the smoke from our fire).









Our handrail masterpiece.




We passed most of our time eating, drinking beer, playing Monopoly and relaxing. We were rudely awakened the next morning by the piercing cries of a bird - I assume it was a bald eagle. I did some fishing in the morning while the water was still, but didn't catch anything. Before leaving the campsite, I wrote "THE EAGLE COMETH" on a flat rock using the charred end of a stick, and leaned it against a tree. I'm not sure if we'll be back. It was a great campsite but there were cottages along the shore and one in particular was hosting some sort of family reunion with annoying country music late into the night, which somewhat ruined the atmosphere. I think I prefer the more remote locations.

This is one loaded canoe!

4 Brook Trout

Today I was fishing in a secret location near New Maryland, NB. It was an overcast day with temperatures around 13 Celsius. The stream I was on wasn't too deep - I was fine with rubber boots, but I wore my gore-tex socks underneath to keep dry should I misjudge its depth.

I walked upstream, spending a few minutes casting into any promising-looking spots along the way. Finally I arrived at a still pool which looked large enough to hold some fish. The water was dark; the lower branches of a large tree hung over it, and a large boulder sat to its left. As I was reeling in my first cast, I was sure my lure had caught momentarily on a submerged rock, but instead a viciously thrashing brook trout was on the end of my line! I ended up catching one more at this location, and saw another trout but decided to leave it alone.



I walked a little further upstream and came to an even more promising-looking pool. It was larger and darker than the previous one. Once again, the fish were hungry for my lure, and I pulled two more brookies out, including the largest one to date (the one on the bottom).

Then it was back home to clean and fillet them. Can't wait to eat...

Testament of a Fisherman

Testament of a Fisherman

I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun.

-John Voelker (Robert Traver )