Been fortunate to see a lot of cool things and have some rather unforgettable moments in the bush. Harrowing weather conditions, big waters, unexpected visitors in camp, unexplained noises in the night… ya spend enough time in the outdoors and eventually there will come an odd, heart pounding experience that takes your breath away. And some of those big gasps may even involve wild animals too, or even… the spirits! These are just a few such Beastly Bush Tales from over the years.
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THE COCONUT BEAR.
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Suddenly woke with my heart rip racing and chest gonna esssplode! The entire tent smelt like coco cabana. Just a foot or two off my left ear a nosey bear was sniffing at the canvas wall. On my back I laid still, adrenalized and nervous, eyes wide. The sniffing continued, inside my shelter this strong aroma of coconut from a cream I’d lathered on my sunwindburnt face before settling to sleep. Then, the light shuffle of a couple sneaky foot steps… the pulse quickened.

Maybe the bear sensed something about me that wasn’t worth the risk. Had been a couple days already up in the North French bush, my man flesh could have been a bit ripe to the taste? Stiff and still in the moment none of that shit was going through the head just then though, only rather the drawers. A few more steps were taken and the bear was surely at the tent door.

Searching in the dark I tiptoe-fingered along the floor for the hatchet, alls I had to defend with. There was some kind of snort-snorting twice from the visitor, what seemed like a long pause before the feet lightly shuffled further away. So fucking awake at this point having the bear in camp, just me and it, that stupid asshole! Kinda knew ahead of time there’d be trouble this night too, cause when returning from upriver back to camp near sunset, I spotted ‘em on the shore across a channel not a hundred meters from my island.

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CLING-CLANG!!!
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!

“GET OUTTA HERE BEAR! GET OUTTA HERE! GET!!! GET!!!

Stashed near the bow of the WarCanoe was my cooler of food. The bear was there, it had tripped an alarm system, the anchor rope, which caused the anchor post and chain to clingity-clang! About thirty miles out of town here after spring break-up nobody’s around so, that recently hibernated hungry beast gets into the boat and I’m risking getting Gilligan’d on the island. “GET OUTTA HERE! GIT GOING, I hollered again!!! A soft splash into the water and then nothing…

Turning on the flashlight in the tent I checked my watch, the time 11:05pm. Could never forget that because maybe it was right but likely it was wrong, the watch had actually stopped. That bear scared it death? Lit up and shaking a bit, there lay the hatchet at the foot of the sleeping bag. Tropical fruits still passed the nares, karma is a bear. That watch would never wake up and I’m not sure if that night I’d get back to sleep?

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The next morning in the mud by the bow of the boat was its signature. That night was the closest I’d ever been to a bear in the wild.

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THE MISGUIDED MOOSE!
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I was King of the castle, ruler of all my domain. Nobody in the world but me out there… except maybe some imaginary friends.

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Afternoon came and I headed out upriver towards Esko… didn’t want to go all the way though. Rounding a bend I saw a moose duck into the woods, making that three in the week. This section of the river although a little hard on the skeg, is kind of enjoyable.

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Fishing was killer slow for the day. A fallfish and a pike in the morning, that’s it! Returned to camp for dinner and decided for evening I would sit out off the backside the island again and just dunk meat.

Only so much birds chirping, geese honking and beaver tail slappin’ a man can handle. Besides that, inside the lodge I could here toddler beavers playing and squeaking at each other, and they were having more fun that me. Missed some hooksets and enjoyed the odd sody-pop when finally a pike!!!

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This fella had the hook deep and he departed with a fashionable chartreuse Jig-A-Joe throat-ring. Great pike for the North French. It’s a walleye river with a tonne more suitable waters for them. The Moose and even Cheepas seem more pike friendly in my opinion soooo, in other words I was quite happy with this one.

Faint sounds of swish, swish, swish, swish caught my attention. Was half asleep waiting for fish but off in the distance I wasn’t dreaming when catching site of a cow moose trotting up the west shoreline towards me. Crouching down I went for my camera at the front of the boat then took a low, still position to wait for the moose to come closer.

There was no way it would smell me, I was down wind of it. Swish, swish, swish, swish… the old and mangy looking beast approached.

Along it’s shore cane a high embankment where some upper ground had given way and avalanched some trees into the river. Where the moose was heading there would be no way it would climb up the vertical clay banks and into the bush and, it would sure have a time stepping over that landslide too. I waited… Before reaching said obstruction the moose stopped.

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Looking perplexed the moose then looked over at my boat. I was still and silent as a stone. The moose entered the water and next thing I know its moving like a torpedo straight at me. Holy frig can these beasts swim fast too and it was no she either, it was a bull!

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Half way across he didn’t change course. Maybe 40 meters and closing… 30…. 20…. my heart is in my throat. Suddenly I grab the paddle, stand up tall, smack the water and give a loud “HI-YAH!!!”

Takes him a minute to realize I’m not the gradual tapering shoreline he’s probably used before to get up the bank and onto the island. He does a 90 degree right and goes about five meters upstream before finding his legs on bottom. Then he takes a little time to spin around, snort and grunt, stare at me and consider his options..?

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I am no less than about 35 feet from the beast. Sitting in the boat at the shallowest point of the island, he’s looking at a vertical bank nearly as tall as himself he’d have to climb or, go through me… Up the island shoreline remains steep all the way for some distance plus, he’d have to swim or trot over soft bottom far up current. No question, I’m in this bull’s road. I begin trembling some but try my darndest to hold the camera steady. He’s still not moving. He’s HUGE! He’s been staring at me too long now and not making a peep. I’m staring at this bull moose and my insides are screaming. So big and fast he could be on me in an instant.

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So many pictures didn’t turn out after this point… Finally, he moves over to the shore and stands up. Throwing his front legs atop the steep bank, in memory his enormous height standing on hind legs is a flash before the bull quick and simple does one big chin-up to heave its entire self up. In that one big move he’s made it, a leap and pull-up of Olympic standard. And now, still close but well above me on shore he’s even more impressively large and scary. Again we’re back to some stand-off as it towers over staring down at me in the WarCanoe…

On the fringe of a nervous breakdown I give first. Very slowly turning my back I stepped gingerly to the rear of the boat. My anchor was the other way, out on the shore towards the moose but not attached to anything and just laying on sand. I was tempted to just fire up and gooser in reverse as hard as possible, to tear away anyway. One pull of the Honda and it revved loud, when I looked back to the moose before shifting into gear, he was gone.

Grabbed the anchor and raced around the island to see if he would hit my camp but that moose had already cut through about 150 meters of bush, cleared my site and was then racing up a high hill on the opposite shore.

No more fishing for the day I started the fire and swigged heavily off the flask ti’ll lights out.

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BUCKETLIST BEAR BREAKFAST!
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Dreary evening before Mike and I ended our day early and pitched the tent on a rather big island for this river. It was only so big I think because the water was low, there was this field of short grasses to a treeline where we settled. All this to say, we were farther back from the rivers edge than normal…

Coldest night so far in the tent but I slept warm and heavy. My dead watch read 5:35am, right on schedule, same as every other day since it had died. The sun hadn’t even cracked over the trees before we were both up and ready to roll. Mikey was frisky and out the door to play with his camera, all just to capture some morning rising glory.

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Tunes blaring upon his return, we folded up our innards in the tent before sitting down to greasy foods and hot drink. Things definitely damp but drying under the warming light, we busily tended to breaking camp.

All gear carried down and set aside the waters edge, in the process of placing the last half of our items into the canoe out of the corner of my eye I spot it upriver. “POLAR BEAR MIKE,” I shout in a whisper! I’m already going for the camera, adrenaline accelerating quick The bear isn’t that far across the river on a point, now heading into the water, maybe 75 yards away at most, so I begin running off towards it. “Drew! Where you going, lets get everything in the canoe,” I hear over my shoulder. Doubling back and scurrying about I help Mike with finishing the tasks as quickly as humanly possible, then grabbing the gun and Mike his camera, we set off up the island to the bear.

Having lost time the bear was already in the water and just circling now further away from us. The bear kept a curious distance. The river deep enough there, only the bear’s head would easily show, Mike and I must have snapped 10,000 lousy, blurry, long range pictures of it. Occasionally it would turn to look but after a seemingly long while it swam on towards the opposite bank and then further upriver. I wanted soooo frickin’ badly to be closer to it, the bear was just too incredibly magnificent not to be drawn towards. However, that packed canoe ready to go wouldn’t mean shit to us if a polar bear was to lay chase. No paddling, no running, no hiding could keep us untouchable from such a sizable beast possessing its speed and endurance. Only the shotgun and some well placed slugs might be the answer.

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Mike and I just couldn’t seem to leave and neither would our bear. Now well away it watched us from the water parked off the most distant point, near an upriver dogleg right where beyond was a out of sight. Did it smell our dinner or breakfast bacon grease in the breeze, I dunno? Do want to think it was only just heading by when it passed our camp, our music and morning chores kept us too preoccupied to really notice. Shooting those sunrise pictures, Mike only an hour earlier had been out alone along the riverbank closest to that opposite shore, had the polar bear been watching him from inside the trees?

Days later after our flight home, Mike Veilleux co-owner and pilot with Hearst Air would explain that in all the decades of their operation flying hundreds of anglers into the Sutton, they have yet had any bad (being fatal or experiencing injury) incidents between bears and humans. Knocking on wood, Mike V further explained that the bears during this time of year are in a state of “wandering hibernation.” That yes, they will be opportunistic for a meal, but that they are not as aggressive or actively hunting like they do during their long Arctic winters. Having seen the paw prints days before, the sheer size of them and now this great white beast of a bear in the fur and flesh, for Mikey and I it was a chance of a lifetime. Especially on this aleady bucketlist Sutton River trip.

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THE WATCHING WINDIGO.
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Hiked out of town one weekend afternoon in Attawapiskat. It was around late March maybe, there’d been some warmth then that winter, cause plenty snow had thawed flat on the land but then weather turned cold again, and all froze back up real hard. Makes for easy hiking on the rivers and trails and this day was a beauty, not a breath of wind, mostly sunny, and just below zero. The kind of day one gets excited about.

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Walking west I’d pass by St. Mary’s Memorial site, cross the river at First Rapids and continue on a trail not far, just a kilometer or so. On an icy pond several teenagers were playing hockey, I passed ‘em on by and upon reaching the Victor Diamond Mine Road turned north along it for a moment.

Off the river then, just out of the open clear and up into the treeline I stopped to sit and have lunch. In the pack was the regular order, tuna with black pepper on white and in the thermos some hot coffee. All was so quiet except for the odd distant cheer of those boys on the pond. The road had been plowed, cleared, but Victor Mine was in its infancy then and the traffic along it was short-lived, likely over after those warm spells. Stared down the open road ahead, which stretched straight for a mile before it’d “T” north to the mine or south to loop back to town. That’s what I intended to do, just walk the loop, a total round trip about six kilometers or so.

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Finishing lunch I stood, sipped the last of the coffee and screwed the cup back onto the thermos then got on my way.

CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!!!

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The hair on the back of my neck shot up, might have gone blind for an instant too, I stopped dead in my tracks after only a few steps and turned a hard look directly left. Something LOUD, something there, I couldn’t see anything and whatever it was had froze. Stunted black spruce, a sparse forest of it, bush that the further one peers into surprisingly just arrives at a quick wall. Don’t know, couldn’t say, maybe a depth of view thirty to forty feet, maybe fifty if focusing enough through some cracks? Can still remember, still see it, some branches and trunks sharp-eyed as an owl while many of those trees a bit like the blur one’d get watching from the windows of the Polar Bear Express passenger car. Just moving colors on a train ride… No idea how long I stood looking into those woods, probably less than a minute, a real eerie feeling. I began again.

CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!!!

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Two steps or three that I don’t remember, only that it wasn’t one! However many I took it took the same and stopped the moment I did. Honestly, no bullshit, I was fucking scared out there! Twenty-five years old, alone, on this ice road and being fucking stalked by something in the woods. This time, I didn’t stand and look long though, the feet got moving again sooner.

CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!!!

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Aaaaaaaaaaaand… repeat! Did it again. Same shit! Not sure if it did it again and again and again but there was the same outcome four, five, maybe but maybe not six times total. Two or three steps, some one or the other but not one, you know what I mean from what I said before? There was a still panic, like a body numb while your brain is on fire. What is this in the woods? What the fuck is big, crunching like that and fucking with me? At this point, some point I pulled the knife hanging sheathed from my belt and took it in hand. Dad’s old “Rambo” knife he’d given me, you know the one, with the compass that screws off the handle so you can store matches inside? Not quite the Crocodile Dundee “that’s not a knife, this is a knife,” knife, but still a pretty significant Excalibur of a blade to wield at a foe.

Didn’t say a word… Held the knife out forward, John Snow of the Knights Watch at the ready, eyes upon the wall of spuce… That was all.

I continued walking on down the road, Rambo in hand and kinda freaked out I suppose. Only about a mile to the “T” anyhow, then a river crossing over to the Healing Lodge Road and back to town. Thought about it every second though, no idea what that could have been. Like, one wouldn’t think a bear, or moose, something big would behave quite like that? Would it?

Just before the “T” at the left side of the road a beaten path through the snow. A game trail of some sort it was narrow and well traveled. Put both my boots together pointing forward, that’s about the girth of it. Curious, I stepped up over the snowbank and began to follow, heading into some thin scattered alders and rather short spruce stands. The trail gently bent a couple times taking me in just beyond where the road could no longer be seen, and there it ended in a small clearing, the animal prints packed down everywhere over a spot not much bigger than a dinner table for eight. Looking about me it was then I noticed four or five ties of orange marker tape wrapped around the bases of some thicker trees. Below one of those tapes, chain-link dropped into and under the snow. Immediately an “ohhhh FFS” thought came over me, I was standing on traps.

Backing out gently, a short distance I’d walk away without springing one of them boobies. Come to think of it, the snowpack in the bush was so hard after thawing and refreezing that my footsteps were never breaking through the crust… probably those traps were jammed up solid too? Got me wondering after though… CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH… what was it in the bush that was breaking through?

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Hiked out of town that one weekend afternoon in Attawapiskat. It was around late March maybe, there’d been some warmth then that winter for plenty snow had thawed flat on the land but then weather turned cold again, and all froze back up real hard. Makes for easy hiking on the rivers and trails and this day was a beauty, not a breath of wind, mostly sunny, and just below zero.

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… Couple weeks later while standing outside sharing a dart during the early morning hours of a nightshift, old man Abel out of the blue says to me, “you’re friend with the Windigo Andano…” Odd thing of that was, I hadn’t at all told him what had happened…

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Thanks for reading…
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