Newfoundland Flashback: Bogs, Guns and big tasty Critters

[Haggis]

Step on in to my Way-Back machine and we'll fire it up. If you wouldn't mind approach the control console and set the dial to September 2005, your coordinates to an isolated spot in south central Newfoundland and come on along for the trip. What follows is a tale of one of my favorite trips ever and one I've never really fully told here on the Portal. But since the next year is going to be adventure limited for Clan Haggis, I thought I'd share the full story here if for no other reason but to feel like I'm still contributing to the adventurous tales on this forum.

This trip is not your usual ExPo variety one in that it is really centered on a hunting trip and not touring or wheeling centered as are most of the trip reports here. The genesis of this particular trip was the selling of our business during the summer of '05. In the aftermath of that sale my father proposed this expedition to Newfoundland as a way to celebrate our many decades of ownership and the successful sale of that business at the same time. Also since this was in pre-ExPo times and documenting a trip wasn't even on the radar I don't have an abundance of photos (or a decent digital camera at that time) but I still got enough to capture the experience. So hold on, here we goooo…

 

[Haggis]

Plans made, friends gathered, we loaded up the trucks, a ’03 Ford 150 DC and an ’04 Titan DC, and started our way north through NY. There were 8 of us in all…My Mom and Dad, my step brother Tom, family friends Ron and Linda, and old business friends Harry and Marge. All the fellows and Harry’s wife Marge had licenses to take a moose and a woodland caribou for a possible total of 10 animals. More critter getting’ was a possibility also if we decided to get a bear tag if/when we filled our tags early. So we hooked my 6x12 enclosed trailer, filled with many large ice chests, on the back of my dad’s Nissan in anticipation of running out of cargo room in the trucks if we all tagged out. We took the next three days wandering up through New England and the Maritime Providences as we leisurely headed to our rendezvous with the ferry that would take us to Newfieland. Along the way we stopped at Acadia National Park were we met up with some old Maniac friends, ate some lobster and spent the evening just bsing.

This pic from a later trip.. ​

The next morning we were on the road early heading to the border crossing at Calais. Since we had pre-registered our firearms with the Canadian authorities and had all paperwork already filled out, crossing the border was an in and out process. With the official business taken care of, New Brunswick was rolling under our tires. I wish we would have had more time for NB as it is a pretty providence with one ExPotential road or another that urged you to turn onto its course and discover where it might lead. But alas, we had not the time to do so and we stuck to the main highways.

As we cruised along the byways the ladies decided they wanted to see Prince Edward Island so we pointed the trucks north and made our way across that long bridge. It’s a nice bridge but an expensive one to tread upon.

On the other side of the bridge we found pretty countryside, mussel farms and rolling hills as we circumnavigated the island.

 

[Haggis]

Back on the mainland we found a motel and crashed for the night. Than in the morning it was on to meet the ferry out of Sydney, Nova Scotia where we were scheduled for the nighttime passage over to the Rock. My parents had made the reservations and decide to reserve a couple of staterooms for us so we wouldn't have to crash in the lobby to catch some zzzzs. No dawdling in your vehicle, thank you very much. Well once we got loaded up into that big boat we made our way to our rooms.

Then the party began…not us but the Quebecians in the next berth. Obviously alcohol was involved what with all the off pitch French singing, maniac laughter and merry making reverberating through the walls. It didn't really bother us much because we weren't sleeping anyway. The crossing was rough this night and the ferry was bobbing all over the place. The bow would rise to a precarious angle and then fall crashing into the waves. Than it would swirl around like a mad squirrel in a wash tub until being lifted by the next wave. We were tossed about our bunks like potatoes rollin' lose in a truck bed as we laughed like teenagers doing donuts in Farmer Brown's field. Except for my Mom, she was definitely was not enjoying the experience. My dad tried to take a shower which only resulted in colorful cursing and a strategic retreat from the mini-shower of doom. But in the end we arrived at Port-aux-Basques intact and once off the ferry we headed towards our guides camp.

We rolled up the western side of the isle on Route 1 until we were near Corner Brook and then did the opposite of most of the Portal's Newfoundland adventurers.

Instead of heading north to Gros Morne National Park or making our way to Saint Johns, we turned unto logging roads and made our way towards the empty center of Newfoundland. If you look at a map of this island you'll see a big empty space east of route 480 and west of route 360. This is where we were headed. Roads do crisscross this area, made mainly for harvesting timber. Their conditions vary from wide, well graded roads to washed out two tracks where the gnarly trees like to give prickly hugs. The route was confusing as roads came and went in weird angles so you weren't sure what road was the main route and which was a spur leading to God knows where. But the guide had given us good directions and had posted signs at critical junctions so we never lost the path. We crossed bridges that varied from well-built steel spans…

… To rotting timber framed crossings that gave a definite puckering effect as we made our way over them. Hundreds of lakes and rock strewn streams passed by as we headed deeper into the bush.

The roads got fewer and narrower also, the brush hardly ever leaving the sides of the trailer. At one point a beaver had dammed a spring and the backed up water was flooding the road. As a result one section of the road was eroded enough that the trailer wasn't going to make it through. So we broke out the chainsaw to cut some deadfall and between those cut bolts, nearby rocks and some hard work we filled and shored the gap and made the road passable again. Finally after what seemed a long ride we rolled into camp.

My dad had used this outfitter many times before and they had become great friends so we knew what to expect. A nice log sided main cabin with rooms for everyone, a meat processing building and a refrigerated building for meat storage. As we were deep in the backwoods of Newfieland, power was supplied by a diesel generator. Clean and spacious, nestled next to a big deep lake, the camp was great but what made it better was Shirley. Shirley was the camp cook and she could throw it down. Here I am in the boonies and I found myself eating meals that would make most four star chefs envious. Born and raised on the island she cooked just like she was serving family and that had to be one lucky family. Rabbit, grouse, caribou, moose and trout were the main bulk of the proteins served with hearty veggies and desserts that made your mouth water. I ate quite well that week. And of course for lunch we got equally tasty dishes packed in our packs. If you were lucky enough to be in camp at lunch time Shirley would cook you up something special in addition to the locals fried baloney sandwiches…it's a Newfie thing.

Next the Hunt begins...:REOutShootinghunter

 

[PirateMcGee]

more more more

 

[4x4x4doors]

Congratulations on your clever intorduction/cover. Had it been me, I probably would have said nothing and just gotten heat for taking so long to get it posted.

Please, tell (and show) us more!

 

[HARDTRAILZ]

Lets some of the critters...

 

[shellb]

Agree! We want more...been waiting for over 6 years to hear this :elkgrin:. Also might want to throw out the name of the outfitter as well for some free advertising!

 

[Haggis]

Boggin' for a 'Bou

Once in Camp introductions were made, our guides were assigned to us and we got our tags sorted out and soon it was off to bed. In my license holder was a stag caribou permit and a bull moose one to boot. Up the next morning long before sunrise we headed into the inky darkness each pair of hunter and guide heading in different directions. I was starting off hunting for a woodland caribou stag as they are harder to find than a moose in these here parts. Now I’ve always prided myself on my ability to tell the cardinal directions by instinct, but once I started wandering the woods here I found it almost impossible to keep what direction I was facing straight. Maybe it was because I was so far north of my familiar territory or maybe I was distracted by my surroundings but I’m glad I had a guide as I would have surely been lost. I didn’t own a GPS in these days, but this trip pushed me into getting one.

My guide Dave loaded me and our gear in his ’85 Toyota pickup, its sheet metal entirely covered in roll-on bed liner to fend of the brush pinstriping. We found ourselves traversing washed out logging roads, deep whoop-de-dos and rocky hill climbs as we headed to a place they called the Big Bog. Finally just as the sun was peeking from behind the ridgeline we arrived at the turnout for the Bog. Hefty our packs onto our shoulders and grabbing up our rifles we headed into the bush. In this part of the Rock there are two types of terrain, rocky ridges covered in shrub brush, dwarf trees and larch trees and bog meadows where when you place a step your feet sink a couple of inches into the moss. Each step causes ripples in the ever present small ponds that you pass by even those a good 25 yards away. Walking on these bogs takes some getting used to especially if you’re a Pennsylvania ridgerunner like me, more use to rocky shale and forested firma underfoot.

We worked our way over the first ridge into a big expanse of bog covering many hundreds of acres. “Is this the spot?” I asked. “Nope.” Dave simply stated. So we marched across the bog and then over the next ridge. Here we saw another bog, this one twice as big as the one we had just traversed. I was sure this was the Big Bog, but David said this wasn’t the right spot yet so we marched across it and scaled the next ridgeline. Here was bog that was enormous, large enough to set up a small town in and sure enough it was the Big Bog.

We made our way down through the tree line and stepped out into the soggy meadow. We didn’t wander far when we spotted a cow caribou and two yearling calves. For me it was the first time seeing a caribou in the wild. The molted grey hides really blended into the background of the bog well, especially when partially hidden in the scrub.

We worked our way down wind of the caribou as we pressed out into the bog. For some reason those three ‘bous decide to follow along like a pack of camp dogs. They followed us for a couple hundred yards and Dave was trying to shoo them off without spooking them. Then as our attention was on these beasties I looked ahead of us and saw a large stag caribou emerge from behind some weathered tamaracks. It was around 150 yards out and moving broadside to our position. Dave spotted it at the same time and after confirming it was a shooter he gave me the go ahead to take the shot. As I was standing next to a dead larch tree, I used it as a rest. My wrist and forearm pressed in to the bole of the stunted tree to steady my rifle. Once I was set Dave let out a low, long grunt not unlike one I would use to hold up a whitetail buck back home, but with a deeper resonance. The stag stopped short coming to a halt in a classic position, directly broadsided to me and its head towards us as it peered our way trying to figure out what we were. I found myself admiring the stag in the scope as this was my first encounter with one. He was simply gorgeous and I had to remind myself that I wasn’t glassing him but trying to put some lead into ‘im. So with the sights in the spot I pulled the trigger and the stag dropped straight down, laying in his last tracks. The feelings of elation and success mingled with a bit of sadness ran their course and once I was sure he was staying down, we headed towards the kill.

He was a big ‘bou with double shovels and a thick white chest mane, but I could already envision the steaks, roasts and ‘bou burger that would be feeding the family for the year to come. See I’m a meat hunter and while I like taking a nice animal, for us it’s more about the protein. Our family’s protein intake is 90% harvested by us; beef is an exotic meat at our house. So at 7:30 in the morning on the first day of my hunt my first tag was filled with a fine specimen of woodland caribou. We packed the critter out on the back of an Argo 8x8 and headed towards camp. Skinned and quarterd it was into the cooler to let the meat cool down for processing.

Next the Quest for Moose Burger…

 

[Haggis]

Here Mossey, Moosey, Moosey!

Later that evening the hunters and their guides made their way back to camp, unfortunately no other animals were taken. The rest of the evening was all about dinner, tale tales and good humored joking.

Up bright and early the next day, it was back out to travel the pre-dawn darkness while bouncing around in the Camp’s old Chevy Crew cab, the Argo perched and strapped on top the bed. As light crept into the day, I found myself in a more forested section of the outfitter’s lease. Tall pines (for this region at any rate) and thick brush made for a sense of claustrophobia as we left the truck behind and worked our way through the timber. We crested ridge after ridge where we could glass the open bogs scattered ponds and small meadows that pockmarked the forest. We walked many a mile, glassed on end but saw no bull moose. We spotted a few cows and one spiker but not one that met the tags requirement.

Walking back to the truck to try our luck at a different area we kicked up a big bull moose from out of a small, sheltered swamp. It tore through a small open section of windblown trees just long enough for me to get the crosshairs on him. But he was quartered away from me and travelling at breakneck speed so I didn’t even touch the trigger. The chances of wounding and not droppin’ him in his tracks were just to high so I let him run. So a bit deflated at the hunting progress this day we loaded back up in the truck and headed to a new area.

This area was one of rolling ridgelines with long narrow bog sections in the small valleys in between. At the bases of the ridges were thick narrow strands of deciduous scrub that you had to shoulder your way through. We found our way up to the highest ridge and hiked along it just below the summit to hide our human profile, glassing as we went. A while later Dave decided we had traversed far enough so we cut back down off the ridgeline so we could work our way back to the waiting truck in a wide circle. As we walked out into the valley’s bogginess we soon found a pair of Caribou drinking form a pond. We swung wide of them so as to not spook them when Dave froze in his steps. Getting my attention he pointed out a mass of antlers jutting up in a tangle of neck high brush. He seemed excited and when he said that those antlers belonged to a moose that was laying down within the scrub I as infected too. All Dave kept saying was that this moose was big, over and over again. Dave asked me if I could be patient enough for him to rouse the moose to see if it was a shooter and be quick enough to get the shot before once he gave me the go ahead for directly behind the moose was a deep thicket of twisted shrubs and trees. It would only be seconds before the moose would make for that thicket once it got wind of us once roused. So with me set and ready Dave gave a thick Moose call, with a thick Newfoundland accent to boot. Up came a bruiser of a Moose and Dave me the thumbs up. That moose took one look at us shook his antlers our way and he turned towards the thicket. But as he did he gave me a good shot and my rifle blast reverberated down the valley. He made a few staggering steps towards the thicket as I slammed another round in the Remington. But then he twisted up and fell into the thicket… and into a darn depression at the edge of the thicket. Once we were sure it was down for good we checked out the situation.

He was an old bull, and while not having the biggest pair of antlers he was full of meaty goodness.

Then came the hard part as we fought with the weight and girth of this critter to get it field dressed and halved so we could haul it back to camp. Using a stout tree and a come-along we hoisted each half onto the Argo and hauled the carcass back to camp.

Newfoundland Cruising at its best.​

There we hung it, skinned it and placed the quarters in the cold house.

Day two and both my tags are filled…what to do next?

 

[rdraider]

great thread! Very well written with some good pics to boot!

 

[ExpoScout]

I can dig this thread.

 

[Haggis]

Thanks Guys! Appreciate the compliments! :elkgrin:

 

[Haggis]

The rest of the tale...

Here's where I have some pics missing and I can't even find them on my old memory cards so I apologize for the lack of photos here.

Day three and my tags are filled but I had lots to do. First it was out to the meat house where there were two animals in need of butchering.

Though the guide service had a butcher on hand, we prefer to do all our own meat processing. We trim very lean, debone everything and the thought of a meat saw even touching our protein is enough to start a brawl. So with my knives at hand and our commercial grade meat grinder all set up I got to work. Charlie, the camp butcher, jumped in to give me a hand. So the day passed with me cutting and Charlie packaging up the cuts and burger. I thought the grinding process was never going to end especially since we double grind all our burger. This is when I realized how much meat I had, enough to fill four 150 quart ice chests with some left over.

This is also when I realized I didn't have enough space in the freezers at home for all this Newfie meat. What with all the PA game and produce we had on hand in the freezers and the Pennsylvania deer seasons about to start back home I needed a new Freezer. So borrowing the camps Sat phone, I told my wife about my success and all the fun we were having and then lightly mentioned that she needed to go out and buy a new freezer. Over joyed to say the least at the prospect of a handing over some cash for a new freezer, my lovely wife Michelle wished me well and then highly recommended that I forgo a bear hunt. With a “Yes Dear, I miss you Dear, I love you Dear.” I put my bear hunting plans back on the shelf. Dang, I love bear meat.

I was really lucky in that the two days I hunted as the weather was perfect, warm and sunny with no sign of rain. But as the week passes cold temps, rain and spotty snow popped up making the other hunters days a little more miserable. But as the week passed more critters were brought into camp and I would join in with the camp crew to help process and butcher the animals. In all we harvested 4 moose and 4 caribou, though everyone had a least an encounter with an animal sufficient to fill their tags.

When not acting as the camp meat monkey I passed the rest of the week in a number of ways. Dave and I would go out scouting for animals for the other hunters. We'd travel hither and yon and glass bogs, swamps and glens looking for shooter critters. I can't even remember all the caribou, moose and bears we stumbled across. At times I'd go for solitary hikes along the skid roads or go do some fishing with the outfitter when the weather was cooperative. We didn't catch much but we did put some fish on the table a time or two.

Other times I'd hang out in camp and do some reading or bs with the ladies.

Than all too soon it was time to pack up and head home. With my construction trailer loaded up with meat and gear we headed back towards civilization, dang it. What followed was a thirty hour non-stop ride back home to northwestern Pennsylvania; ferries, customs, food and bathroom stops included. When I got home I found myself surrounded by a family happy to see me, my two kids jumping up and down for hugs.

It was a great trip and one of my most memorable. But in a way it was unfulfilling as I only got to see just a small part of what Newfoundland has to offer. The folks there are amongst the nicest I've ever met and the countryside has me wanting to explore more. As of yet we haven't made it back up. We had a trip planned for '09 but our plans were dashed at the last minute when my wife's work took back some requested vacation time and in doing so we didn't have enough time to make the journey in the fashion we wanted. We ended up here instead. But we'll make it back up someday…:elkgrin:

Well thank you for travelling along in the Way-Back machine. Please return your chairs into their pre flight postions and remember to power down the tachyon temporal displacement reactor on your way out...those things get a bit messy when the get heated up.

 

[HARDTRAILZ]

Thanks for the story and great pics.

 

[cipioxx]

yum...

I wish I had the opportunity to hang out with you guys. I am not a hunter, but I am damned sure and eater...