I Was the Youngest Duck Poacher in Saskatchewan

This story, “Half 1: Crane Fever — I Hunted to Eat,” appeared within the Might 1970 problem of Outside Life. It started with the editor’s notice beneath.

Ted Updike, whose image seems beneath, is a 69-year-old retired trapper who spent 25 winters within the distant roadless wilderness of northern Sas­katchewan. Usually touring and residing with the Cree, he got here to know moose, caribou, wolves, bears, and sled canine about in addition to any man ever has. Dwelling 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 huge recreation and of discovering his means by 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 once I was 12, though I suppose it could be extra correct to name it crane fever.

It was 1913, and we had been residing 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 should have numbered within the tens of millions. The likes of these days is not going to be seen once more.

One fall night my older brother Ryburn proposed that he and I am 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 identify 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 recreation and able to shoot.

That previous shotgun by no means killed any­ physique, but it surely scared fairly just a few individuals half to loss of life earlier than it was lastly discarded. Cash was scarce and weapons had been pricey in these days, and so the double was stored 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, excellent for what we had in thoughts. Earlier than it was gentle sufficient to shoot, we separated. He’d cover within the bulrushes on the finish of a small lake, and he despatched me the opposite approach 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 facet.

What was on the opposite facet this time was a flock of 12 or 15 sandhill cranes, and once I poked my head excessive they had 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, and so they 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 had 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 bear 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 had been airborne and passing swiftly out of vary. Solely then did I understand 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 recreation. And that was the one time in my life that I ever failed to drag the set off once I was after meat for the desk.

My father had died in 1907 once 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 search out that though loads of homestead land was accessible, 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 in chilly gusts. The subsequent few years had been onerous ones.

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

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 workforce 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 once I was 10. It shot properly, and with it ar.d a small reddish­ brown canine named Sandy, I wandered the prairie all summer time, looking geese for meals. It was unlawful a part of the time, however geese had 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, looking from necessity as a lot as for enjoyable, I by no means killed something however drakes.

The canine and I might 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 bought just a few geese and raised sufficient money for shells. From time to time I even accrued sufficient to grad­ uate quickly to smokeless powder. If I bear in mind rightly, these cartridges had been 25¢ or 30¢ a field.

I nonetheless bear in mind my first sale. I had shot seven geese that day, and a hunt­er who’d had no luck provided 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, unprecedented wealth for the boy. And off to 1 facet 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 onerous 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 had been of their white winter coat and huge and prime, they had been price 35¢ every.

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

I used to be in all probability 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 bear in mind, and I get pleasure from it at present as a lot as I did once 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. Largely they’re first-rate sports activities­ males, selecting their recreation with nice care and passing up much more animals than they kill. However as for myself, many 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 might from accumulating an enormous rack solely for the fun of taking it.

I stop 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 identify of Harvey Snider, who lived six miles from my place, stored 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 apart from just a few meadows and willow flats. It has since developed into a wonderful farming space. Right this moment 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 price of clearing and enhancing. With most of us, the clearing was performed 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 might work winters in a logging camp or sawmill, or he might 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 workforce 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 individuals 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 workforce of 4 mongrel canine, acquired very huge however good employees.

I purchased some traps and different equip­ment, and we reduce extra path, discovered a trapper’s cabin that wasn’t getting used, moved in, and had been prepared for the winter. It turned out that the cabin belonged to Joe Johnson and a associate, however they’d 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 top-of-the-line woods­ males and best 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, but it surely introduced down my first moose.

I used to be out after deer at some point 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 monitor. It was recent, and about the very first thing I seen had been drops of blood alongside it. Once I seemed extra carefully I noticed that the moose was touring on three legs. With that handicap he shouldn’t be onerous to kill.

However nightfall was gathering, and it was late within the day to take a monitor, even a wounded animal’s. I believed it over and determined that the moose might 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 monitor. The moose had been down a few occasions, and after I handed his second stopping place the signal was very recent. The wind was in my favor, and the timber and alders had 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 center 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 had been sufficient to do him in. I tracked him 1 / 4­ mile and located him useless. Another hunter had pushed a bullet by 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 honest 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 pos­periods. The next fall I purchased a used .38/55, additionally a Winchester. It was previous however shot properly, 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 Warfare 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 had been rifles a person might 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 might choose 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 giant recreation I’ve at all times pre­ferred a large-bore rifle with a heavy bullet. The previous .45/90, .405 Winchester, and .40/82 had 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 recreation 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 taking pictures, 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 properly in case you 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 seemed him over we might discover just one bullet gap. Then we dressed him and acquired the reply. Contained in the lungs, which had been badly blown up, lay each bullets, just a few inches aside. They’d 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 completely and needed to go hungry. I could have eaten nothing however moose meat for every week at a time, however that wasn’t too unhealthy. I believe the worst I ever fared was once I had nothing however boiled sucker for just a few meals, with no salt.

Feeding his canine was typically an even bigger drawback for the bush trapper than feed­ ing himself. I’ve used canine of nearly each measurement and breed, mongrels included. The quantity of meals they re­ quire relies upon, in fact, on the burden 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 had been one of the best. They’re quick, intel­ligent, and onerous 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 greatest. These cross­ breeds weren’t simple to deal with and had been more likely to make hassle if strangers, both human or canine, got here alongside. However they had been virtually tireless and will en­dure much more hardship than every other breed.

As a basic rule workforce will haul its personal weight 16 to twenty miles a day if the going just isn’t too unhealthy. However meaning the canine must eat properly. A 100-pound canine requires 5 to seven kilos of meals a day, extra if he’s working onerous and you’re feeding him fish as a substitute of meat.

Each time I supposed 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 Huge 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 Huge Sandy now, however then it was all distant and tough nation, accessible solely on foot or by canine workforce. Joe had determined to construct a buying and selling put up there for commerce with the locals, and I agreed to offer him a hand. Earlier than we had been rather more than began, nevertheless, Vera acquired ailing, and Joe by no means carried out the venture.

We had been driving three groups and touring as gentle as we might, with the naked requirements and two baggage 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 night time 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 accommodates pockets of pitch. Because the wooden burns down, the hearth eats into these pockets and so they 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 fingers in a rush.

That occurred to me that night time, however fortunately I used to be not but asleep. I noticed the outlet burn by the canvas and flames begin to lick up, however earlier than the hearth might make any headway I beat it out with my fingers. 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 in a position to sleep worry-free.

(I believe it was precisely that type of accident that introduced such nice onerous­ 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 wanted 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 they’d met on the path.

Joe had a camp on Huge Sandy, the place he supposed to construct his buying and selling put up. It was 11 miles forward throughout a large muskeg. He knew the way in which, so he went forward with a light-weight load to interrupt path.

I put in one other day of looking, however the temperature had dropped to 30 beneath, 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 high 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 fantastic supper that night time, however the canine went hungry, and we knew we had 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 had been in; they’d no recent meat and had been residing on pem­mican. They’d are available in 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 one in all 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, and so they 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 comply with 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 stable.

I used to be splitting the carcass down the again with my ax, to take the highest half again to camp, once 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 workforce. That type of flooding was a typical winter prevalence on north­ nation streams and lakes as heavy snow pushed the ice down and water was compelled up on high of it.

My canine had 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 had been freezing to the canine’ toes now, and I needed to reduce 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 had 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.