Moosecumentary 2010 (Part 1 -- The Men)

I wanted to share my recent moose hunting experience with you, but as I thought about it, I need to put it in context for you to really appreciate what it means to me. I have broken it down into parts so that I can talk about different aspects of it, beginning with the guys I hunt with. For those who are a little squeamish, I have cropped the pictures. And that's not because because of how these guys look...

When I began moose-hunting, there were just three of us: Reg, Tom and me. The three of us hunted annually together for about 10 years.

Most of what I know about successful moose-hunting I learned from these two guys. We started out as friends and over the years we have grown together as friends and as hunters. We tried different hunting techniques and experiments, the success or failure of which have provided much laughter -- things like our black fleece cow moose decoy named Alice. All it ever brought in was a hungry coyote.

Reg is an amazing guy. He's in the middle in this pic on the right. He's one of the smartest, most determined, hard-working, generous men I know. He is also the best hunter I have ever known. Bar none. He is the best at whatever he does because he works hard -- a life lesson I have tried, often unsuccessfully, to emulate.

Tom, on the right, is very much like Reg. He has a big heart, is funny, creative, handy, courageous, and sincere. He too is an excellent hunter and a good man.

The three of us have hunted together for 22 years. It has been a special part of my life.

After we had been hunting together for 10 years or so, we were joined by Gary. We had been friends, and Gary was a good rifle hunter, but he began to come along on our bowhunts. I remember the first time he came into our hunting camp. The three of us had been in the bush for 5 days and as is usually the case, we were getting pretty ripe. That day, it began to rain and it occurred to us that we could capitalize on it and shower. So doffing our clothes we were outside the tent catching the water as it ran off the tent soaping up and rinsing off when Gary arrived. Gary is a banjo player and I'm sure he could hear "dueling banjos" playing in his mind as he watched the spectacle in front of him.

Gary is a great guy. He has a tremendous sense of humour and like Reg and Tom is a skilled tradesman. He is gracious, practical, logical and kind. It should be noted that until this year, he has never bathed during the time with us in the bush.

Finally, a word about me. I am not a tradesman. Words are my craft. I do not come from the trades, nor do I have the practical skills these men have. I live in a different province and operate in a different occupational world. And yet when it comes to the hunt, we manage to all fit together.

We did some calculations. Collectively the 4 of us have 140 years of hunting experience. When it comes to bowhunting, it is merely 100 years. I'm not sure these facts are something to be proud of, but they are interesting in spite of making me feel really old.

Although our communication throughout the rest of the year is minimal, like salmon that annually return to their home streams, each year at the same time the 4 of us travel to our hunting spot and pick up where we left off the previous year. Spawning jokes and spinning tales. Although we have moved to different locations, and have each of us have lived our lives in our own different worlds, we have this common ritual. And amid all the other events that have transpired over the years, the hunting week serves as a place of calm and these men as a source of camaraderie. Bar none.