I Was the Youngest Duck Poacher in Saskatchewan

This story, “Half 1: Crane Fever — I Hunted to Eat,” appeared within the Could 1970 concern of Out of doors Life. It started with the editor’s observe under.

Ted Updike, whose image seems under, is a 69-year-old retired trapper who spent 25 winters within the distant roadless wilderness of northern Sas­katchewan. Typically touring and dwelling with the Cree, he got here to know moose, caribou, wolves, bears, and sled canine about in addition to any man ever has. Residing now within the city of Love, on the sting of the bush north of the Saskatchewan River, he nonetheless appears ahead to a fall moose hunt every year and tends just a few traps in winter. 

Updike begins his life story on this installment, telling of his boyhood and early trapline years. In forthcoming points he’ll reveal his strategies of hunt­ ing large sport and of discovering his means by way of un­ acquainted and unmapped nation, and can inform of the numerous thrilling encounters he has had with quarrel­ some moose and bears.

I suffered my first and final assault of buck fever after I was 12, though I suppose it could be extra correct to name it crane fever.

It was 1913, and we have been dwelling on the Saskatchewan prairie, 90 miles north of Regina and never removed from the Quill lakes. The prairie was alive with Canada geese and sandhill cranes, and geese fed within the grain­ fields in flocks that will need to have numbered within the hundreds of thousands. The likes of these days won’t be seen once more.

One fall night my older brother Ryburn proposed that he and I’m going out the subsequent morning and attempt to get some meat for the desk.

My gun was an previous Stevens Favor­ite .22 that one other brother had given me two years earlier. A lever­ motion single-shot, that rifle was ex­actly what its title claimed — a favourite with the boys of my day in each the USA and Canada. It was marketed in such magazines as Youth’s Companion and American Boy and was featured within the Sears Roebuck catalogs.

Ryburn had a gun that was in a category by itself, an historic 12 gauge hammerless double-barrel with the protection and locks so worn that it was apt to go off of its personal accord at any time. Ryburn by no means loaded it till he was near sport and able to shoot.

That previous shotgun by no means killed any­ physique, nevertheless it scared fairly just a few folks half to loss of life earlier than it was lastly discarded. Cash was scarce and weapons have been expensive in these days, and so the double was saved in use far longer than it ought to have been.

[Not long after the morning of the crane hunt, Ryburn sold the shotgun to a neighbor, warning him of its pecu­liarities. A couple of falls after that, Ryburn, the neighbor, and I undertook to crawl up on a flock of ducks that were feeding in a grainfield. We were worming up a low rise, with the neigh­bor between Ryburn and me and a little to our rear, when there was a thundering whump, dirt flew almost in­ to our faces, and ducks flailed up in a cloud. The old gun had fired both bar­rels without anyone having touched the triggers.

[The neighbor passed it along, again with a proper warning, to a Russian immigrant farmer who had been in Canada only a year or so. But the new owner took the gun into the house without remembering to unload it, and hung it on nails on the wall. The fam­ily was sitting around talking one eve­ning when the double cut loose with no help from anybody — both barrels again blasting a hole through the wall and causing a small panic. That was the last time it ever held shells.]

Ryburn and I began out on our goose-and-crane hunt earlier than daylight that morning in 1913. It was chilly, with frost on the grass, good for what we had in thoughts. Earlier than it was gentle sufficient to shoot, we separated. He’d conceal within the bulrushes on the finish of a small lake, and he despatched me the opposite strategy to scare birds over him.

In regards to the time it began to get actual gentle, I got here to a low ridge. I knew sufficient to sneak over a spot of that sort, taking loads of time and never exhibiting myself till I came upon what was on the opposite aspect.

What was on the opposite aspect this time was a flock of 12 or 15 sandhill cranes, and after I poked my head excessive they have been solely 50 toes away, inside simple vary of my .22. However I hadn’t counted on the extraordinarily eager eye­ sight of cranes.

They noticed me the moment I noticed them, they usually moved about as nimbly as so many wild turkeys. And the shock of seeing that flock of huge stately birds so shut at hand was an excessive amount of for a 12-year-old boy. I lay there within the frosty grass and gawked at them, birds as tall as I used to be and as heavy as tur­keys. Their lengthy necks have been up­ stretched, their crimson crowns shining like jewels within the morning solar.

It was essentially the most thrilling factor that had ever occurred to me, and I didn’t even keep in mind to boost my rifle.

They didn’t give me a lot time. They opened their nice wings, took just a few fast hopping steps, and have been airborne and passing swiftly out of vary. Solely then did I notice that I hadn’t shot.

I’m 69 now. Within the practically 57 years since that fall morning on the prairie, I’ve by no means once more been rattled by the sight of sport. And that was the one time in my life that I ever failed to tug the set off after I was after meat for the desk.

My father had died in 1907 after I was six, leaving Mom with a household of eight-four boys and 4 women. We lived then at Oswego, Illinois, simply south of Aurora, the place I used to be born.

Shortly earlier than his loss of life Dad had made a visit to Saskatchewan, intending to maneuver the household there and take up a

homestead. By the point Dad died, my oldest brother was sufficiently old to file on a homestead, and as a widow our moth­ er would even be entitled to 1 / 4­ part of land. So we determined to make the transfer, all however one older sister, who married and stayed in Illinois.

We landed on the city of Lockwood, solely to seek out that though loads of homestead land was out there, one of the best had been taken and what was left was both alkali or too stony for farming. We lacked the cash to maneuver once more, and there was no welfare or assist for moms in these days. We settled down in a home with unplastered partitions that allow the winter winds by way of in chilly gusts. The subsequent few years have been arduous ones.

An older brother and sister married and left residence. It was as much as these of us who have been left to offer for ourselves and Mom as finest we may.

My brother Ryburn, who was with me the morning of the crane hunt, was virtually 4 years older than I. He went to work at 13, driving a group of oxen within the fields, and for the subsequent 4 years nearly all of his wages went to assist Mom, my two little sisters, and me.

My oldest brother, Elmer, gave me the used .22 after I was 10. It shot nicely, and with it ar.d a small reddish­ brown canine named Sandy, I wandered the prairie all summer season, searching geese for meals. It was unlawful a part of the time, however geese have been about our solely supply of meat. And I nonetheless take satisfaction in the truth that at the same time as a boy of 10, searching from necessity as a lot as for enjoyable, I by no means killed something however drakes.

The canine and I’d lie in tall grass or behind willows on the fringe of a slough and wait till a drake swam shut sufficient for a head shot. I’d kill him, Sandy would carry him in, and we’d lie and wait once more. I’ve by no means forgotten the peace and contentment I loved in these years, wandering the prairie alone with my canine.

My worst drawback was to get cash for ammunition. Black-powder .22 shorts price 20¢ a field. That quantity was a small fortune to me. As a final resort I offered just a few geese and raised sufficient money for shells. At times I even collected sufficient to grad­ uate quickly to smokeless powder. If I keep in mind rightly, these cartridges have been 25¢ or 30¢ a field.

I nonetheless keep in mind my first sale. I had shot seven geese that day, and a hunt­er who’d had no luck supplied me $2 for them.

I can image that scene as vividly as if it had occurred yesterday. The barefoot child sporting a battered previous hat and bib overalls with patches on each knees, carrying his geese and his beat­ up .22, his head not reaching the person’s shoulders. The hunter with a double­ barreled shotgun cradled within the criminal of 1 arm, the opposite hand holding out the pair of greenback payments, unparalleled wealth for the boy. And off to 1 aspect my little curly-haired mongrel, his head cocked, watching the proceed­ings with the identical curiosity he took in all of my affairs.

As quickly because the sloughs froze arduous sufficient to hold me within the fall, I trapped muskrats of their homes. Good pelts introduced 10¢ to 12¢. I additionally caught just a few weasels, and in the event that they have been of their white winter coat and enormous and prime, they have been value 35¢ every.

The sport I shot and the cash I comprised of trapping meant the differ­ence between consuming and never consuming for the Updikes in these years.

I used to be most likely the youngest duck poacher in Saskatchewan. However even then I used to be following the rule that I’ve obeyed ever since: I hunted to eat. I’ve lived within the bush or on the sting of it from that point to now. Hunt­ing was in my blood way back to I can keep in mind, and I take pleasure in it immediately as a lot as I did after I was a boy. However I’ve but to take an animal simply because I needed a trophy.

I’ve no quarrel with trophy hunt­ers. Principally they’re first-rate sports activities­ males, selecting their sport with nice care and passing up much more animals than they kill. However as for myself, a lot of the meat I’ve eaten within the final 50 years has been moose, caribou, elk, or deer, and I get extra satisfaction from trying to find our winter’s meals provide than I’d from amassing an enormous rack solely for the fun of taking it.

I give up faculty in grade eight, the spring I used to be 13, and began work­ ing within the village blacksmith store, turning the forge blower and doing different gentle work. I switched to a steam threshing outfit that fall, labored on farms till I used to be 16, after which went to a logging camp north of Prince Albert for the winter. That was the place I acquired the concept of submitting on a bush homestead as quickly as I used to be sufficiently old.

When the time got here, in 1921, I picked a quarter-section close to what’s now Love, a grain-elevator city of 140 peo­ple just a few miles north of the Saskatche­wan River and 70 east of Prince Al­bert. Love wasn’t there then. We needed to journey 55 miles south by path to the railroad and Tisdale, the closest city. A person by the title of Harvey Snider, who lived six miles from my place, saved a provide of groceries in a room constructed onto his home, hauling them north the 55 miles. That room served us as a retailer.

From simply north of the Saskatche­ wan River to the arctic barrens, the nation was roadless bush, completely wooded aside from just a few meadows and willow flats. It has since developed into a superb farming space. Immediately each a railroad and a freeway cross the re­ mote homestead that I first filed on again then.

A homesteader, to “show up” his declare, needed to reside on it six months of the yr for 3 years and needed to do

$500 value of clearing and bettering. With most of us, the clearing was executed with an ax and a grub hoe.

The homesteader, to earn sufficient cash to reside on whereas he introduced his land underneath cultivation, had two decisions. He may work winters in a logging camp or sawmill, or he may entice. With my leanings, it was solely pure that I selected to entice.

In 1922 I went north to a wilderness trapline, with a canine group hauling a toboggan loaded with my provides. I spent each winter that means for the subsequent 25 years. Some years I had a associate; different occasions I trapped alone. I like folks and firm, however I by no means acquired lonesome if I spent three or 4 months within the bush on my own.

Once I headed into the bush within the fall of 1922, I had a associate, Ches Rea. Ches had the beginning of a trapline — one cabin on a small lake and a few miles of path cut-in the nation north of the Torch River, alongside Caribou, Fall­ing Horse, and White Gull creeks. He additionally had a group of 4 mongrel canine, acquired very large however good employees.

I purchased some traps and different equip­ment, and we minimize extra path, discovered a trapper’s cabin that wasn’t getting used, moved in, and have been prepared for the winter. It turned out that the cabin belonged to Joe Johnson and a associate, however that they had an enormous line and eight cabins and weren’t utilizing this one on the time.

Joe and I turned companions just a few years later. He’s useless now, however I re­member him as among the finest woods­ males and most interesting males I ever wintered with.

I had discovered one lesson on the house­ stead earlier than Ches and I began entice­ping. The identical rule prevailed there within the bush that had ruled me within the earlier years on the prairie: you hunted otherwise you didn’t eat.

My oldest brother Elmer, the identical one who had given me my first .22, later bestowed on me a .25/20 Win­chester. It wasn’t a lot of a moose gun, nevertheless it introduced down my first moose.

I used to be out after deer in the future in De­cember 1921, trying to find meat that I wanted urgently. There was snow on the bottom, and whereas coming again to my homestead cabin empty-handed shortly earlier than darkish, I crossed a moose observe. It was contemporary, and about the very first thing I seen have been drops of blood alongside it. Once I appeared extra intently I noticed that the moose was touring on three legs. With that handicap he shouldn’t be arduous to kill.

However nightfall was gathering, and it was late within the day to take a observe, even a wounded animal’s. I assumed it over and determined that the moose may wait till morning. The climate was clear, with no menace of snow, and I’d be surer of getting him in daylight.

Proper after breakfast I went again and picked up the observe. The moose had been down a few occasions, and after I handed his second stopping place the signal was very contemporary. The wind was in my favor, and the timber and alders have been so thick that I acquired inside 30 yards earlier than he noticed or heard me. He knew he was being trailed, for he was stand­ ing dealing with his backtrack.

As he turned to run I put a bullet into the guts area and one other close to his kidneys. Even with the sunshine wallop of the .25/20 (these slugs weighed solely 86 grains), the 2 photographs have been sufficient to do him in. I tracked him 1 / 4­ mile and located him useless. Another hunter had pushed a bullet by way of his entrance leg above the knee, breaking the bone.

Since then I’ve killed loads of moose that furnished extra thrills and motion, however he was my first. I had sneaked up on him truthful and sq., and I used to be happy with him. Much more im­portant, he meant stew within the kettle for the remainder of the winter.

My homestead cabin burned in a bush hearth the subsequent spring (1922), and I misplaced the .25/20 together with most of my pos­classes. The next fall I purchased a used .38/55, additionally a Winchester. It was previous however shot nicely, and it was heavy sufficient for moose. I made a one-shot kill with it shortly after I acquired it, however I later traded it for a buckskin co.at and borrowed a .303 Ross for my first entice­ line winter. That was a rifle the Cana­dian Military had utilized in World Conflict I.

The subsequent rifle I purchased was a .35 Remington Mannequin 14A. I acquired it from a Nipawin dentist after a profitable deer hunt that he made with Ches and me. It was one of the best rifle for moose and elk that I ever owned.

All of the weapons of my grownup years had one factor in frequent: they have been rifles a person may reside by within the bush. There was one exception, the .22. Many occasions, for the sake of lightness, I carried solely the .22. With it I may decide off rabbits, grouse, ptarmigan, and even  fish and  preserve myself  in meat.There was at all times wildlife of some form within the nation I trapped.

For large sport I’ve at all times pre­ferred a large-bore rifle with a heavy bullet. The previous .45/90, .405 Winchester, and .40/82 have been all good moose killers. So was my Remington .35. I traded it off after three years and have been sorry ever since.

In bush nation most sport is shot at lower than 100 yards. I’ve killed moose and caribou at distances of solely 10 or 15 yards. You don’t want a light-weight, quick bullet for that type of capturing, and the heavy bullets smash bone and do their job with out destroying a whole lot of meat.

Not that the lighter rifles gained’t kill nicely for those who place your photographs proper. At one time I went again to a brand-new .25/20 as a result of it was gentle to hold. I drilled two photographs into the shoulder of the primary moose I used it on. He dropped proper there, however when a companion and I appeared him over we may discover just one bullet gap. Then we dressed him and acquired the reply. Contained in the lungs, which have been badly blown up, lay each bullets, just a few inches aside. That they had gone in at precisely the identical spot.

“I see now what you do with that popgun,” my associate remarked. “You shoot as soon as to punch a gap after which put one other one within the gap to kill him.”

All of the years I trapped, and far of the time spent on my homestead, I lived largely off the land. I can’t recall a single time I ever ran out of grub totally and needed to go hungry. I could have eaten nothing however moose meat for per week at a time, however that wasn’t too unhealthy. I believe the worst I ever fared was after I had nothing however boiled sucker for just a few meals, with no salt.

Feeding his canine was typically a much bigger drawback for the bush trapper than feed­ ing himself. I’ve used canine of nearly each dimension and breed, mongrels included. The quantity of meals they re­ quire relies upon, after all, on the load of the canine.

After years of trial and error I got here to the conclusion that for a trapline inside 50 miles of a settled space Col­lies have been one of the best. They’re quick, intel­ligent, and arduous working. Again in re­mote bush, nevertheless, I discovered Huskies higher. And for heavy freighting on lengthy trails, a cross between St. Bernard and timber wolf was finest. These cross­ breeds weren’t simple to deal with and have been more likely to make hassle if strangers, both human or canine, got here alongside. However they have been virtually tireless and will en­dure much more hardship than every other breed.

As a common rule an excellent group will haul its personal weight 16 to twenty miles a day if the going just isn’t too unhealthy. However which means the canine should eat nicely. A 100-pound canine requires 5 to seven kilos of meals a day, extra if he’s working arduous and you’re feeding him fish as an alternative of meat.

Each time I meant to haul sup­plies into unusual nation, I made it a rule to go in on my own first and organize a provide of canine feed by hunt­ing, fishing, or shopping for it from Natives. That trick saved me the difficulty of hauling it in afterward.

The toughest journey I can recall was one I made in January of 1928 to Massive Sandy Lake, 75 airline miles north of the Saskatchewan River, with my half­ner Joe Johnson and his spouse Vera. The Hanson Lake Street runs previous Massive Sandy now, however then it was all distant and tough nation, accessible solely on foot or by canine group. Joe had determined to construct a buying and selling submit there for commerce with the locals, and I agreed to provide him a hand. Earlier than we have been way more than began, nevertheless, Vera acquired in poor health, and Joe by no means carried out the mission.

We have been driving three groups and touring as gentle as we may, with the naked requirements and two luggage of traps, however that wasn’t gentle sufficient. Joe and I had 5 canine apiece; Vera had three. Snow got here late that winter, however when it got here it was very deep. The going acquired so unhealthy that we dropped off the traps and I loaded my sled gentle and went forward on my own to interrupt path.

That evening I had one of many closest calls of my life. I camped on Mac­ Dougal Creek and went to mattress with a fireplace nonetheless burning within the small range that heated my tent.

There may be at all times some hazard in a state of affairs of that sort, particularly in case you are burning dry jackpine, spruce, or tamarack that comprises pockets of pitch. Because the wooden burns down, the hearth eats into these pockets they usually ignite with a small explosion, sending small red-hot chunks up the stovepipe. If a kind of chunks occurs to fall on the tent, you’ve acquired a fireplace in your palms in a rush.

That occurred to me that evening, however fortunately I used to be not but asleep. I noticed the outlet burn by way of the canvas and flames begin to lick up, however earlier than the hearth may make any headway I beat it out with my palms. After that I punched holes in a sirup pail with a spike and rigged a spark arrester on the stovepipe. The holes tended to clog with soot, however I used to be capable of sleep worry-free.

(I believe it was precisely that type of accident that introduced such nice arduous­ ship to Olive Fredrickson and her younger trapper husband on the Slave River in Northwest Territories within the spring of 1923. She described that tragic tent hearth in her story “Nightmare Spring” in OUTDOOR LIFE final July.)

By then we would have liked meat badly for ourselves and the canine. I went forward to the North Mossy River and camped there to hunt moose, however I had no luck. Joe and Vera overtook me, bringing pet food sufficient for 2 days, caribou meat that he had acquired from two trappers that they had met on the path.

Joe had a camp on Massive Sandy, the place he meant to construct his buying and selling submit. It was 11 miles forward throughout a large muskeg. He knew the best way, so he went forward with a light-weight load to interrupt path.

I put in one other day of searching, however the temperature had dropped to 30 under, and I got here again to camp empty­ handed and with two frozen heels. Once I acquired in, Vera had a caribou stew prepared and bannock baking on prime of the range. Joe got here again at darkish to report that he had discovered a Cree household camped in a lean-to at his cabin.

We had a wonderful supper that evening, however the canine went hungry, and we knew we have been in a nasty spot.

We set rabbit snares, however there weren’t many rabbits within the space, and we caught none.

We drove our three groups on to Joe’s cabin the subsequent day, leaving the tent the place it was. However we discovered the household in the identical repair we have been in; that they had no contemporary meat and have been dwelling on pem­mican. That they had are available with a pony, nevertheless, and so didn’t want pet food. The daddy had killed a moose again within the fall. He took Joe and me to the kill, and we introduced again the bones for our canine. They chewed them as much as the final scrap. Poor fare however higher than nothing, and proper then the groups had no extra hauling to do.

A few days later the person bor­rowed a few of the canine and certainly one of our toboggans for a visit up the lake. Whereas touring on the ice a few miles from camp, he noticed a moose com­ing. He unharnessed the canine and turned them free, they usually went after the moose like so many wolves. Whereas they held it at bay the Cree walked in and shot it. We had meat once more.

However one streak of unhealthy luck appeared to observe one other. Two weeks after that I killed a yearling bull on the North Mossy. We didn’t want the meat proper then, so I left him on the ice. Once I went again, slush and water had come up and frozen the moose in strong.

I used to be splitting the carcass down the again with my ax, to take the highest half again to camp, after I seen my canine standing out on the river, lifting first one foot after which one other. Three or 4 inches of moist slush was creeping down over the ice and had overtaken the group. That type of flooding was a standard winter prevalence on north­ nation streams and lakes as heavy snow pushed the ice down and water was compelled up on prime of it.

My canine have been sporting canvas boots to maintain snow from balling between their toes. A canine will get accustomed to these boots quick and can even put a paw up in your leg to have them placed on. However the moist boots have been freezing to the canine’ toes now, and I needed to minimize them off in a rush and discard them. The journey again to camp with the moose meat was something however simple.

Learn Subsequent: A Widowed Homesteader Learns to Hunt Moose, or Die Trying

In the long run Joe needed to take his sick spouse out to the settlements, and I fol­lowed them. All these weeks of labor and hardship have been for nothing. However within the lifetime of a bush trapper, that kind of expertise wasn’t precisely new.

In OUTDOOR LIFE subsequent month I’ll re­late extra of the adventures that befell me through the years.