Well, this is going to be a little bit of a different story for you this time folks. This isn’t a story of a scary close call or a charging dangerous predator. It isn’t a story a trophy or an impossible shot. It’s the story of a boy, who idolized his father and wanted to be just like him. It’s the story of a father who took the time to be with his son and help him accomplish his dreams. In my mind a true and beautiful hunting story. So as usual, let’s get right into it.
The year was 1981 and perhaps the finest year and erra, the planet has ever known. I was 12 years old. The world was a lot smaller back then and if you wanted to learn something, you couldn’t look it up on YouTube or take an online course. You had to find a friend or relative that was experienced as well as kind and loving enough to teach you what they knew. I had a teacher, a mentor, a great mountain man named Harvey Remple, my dad. At the time I called him “Pa” because of my love for the TV show “Little House on the Prairie” and my great interest in all things from the olden days. My grandpa Wilf, who live just a mile down the road used to tell me of those days. Riding his horse to school and on the weekends hitching a team of Clydesdales to go logging with his father. Well, my dad had a truck, a skidder and we did have a T.V with three channels, but besides that I don’t think things had changed that much yet. I caught a bus to school, spent my evenings and weekends playing and doing chores on the farm. Every Saturday I’d pedal my bike 3 miles to the community hall for kids club. I always stopped halfway at the bridge to look for fish and try to catch a frog. My trustee, smooth haired fox terrier “Ringer” with me wherever I went. Happy to run at the side of my bicycle.
My dad was 6 foot tall 200 pounds. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t fix or a job he couldn’t do. He had the looks of movie star, the mind of an inventor and heart of a true leader. The love, care and respect my mom gave him each and every day was evident even to me as a child. She kept their relationship filled with love and joy, and in my entire childhood I never seen them argue, not once. They modelled the perfect relationship, setting the bar pretty high. In fact, all three of their children ended up divorced as we were unwilling to settle for anything less than what we’d seen.
“Dad, dad, dad! what do you think of this? Do you think this would be good for bear hunting?” I asked my dad around the kitchen table in the evening. I loved pestering him with questions and I think dad was pretty used to it as I was the youngest. The only rule was “no talking when the weather was on the news.” So from 6:35 to 6:42 each evening I did my very best not to talk. I think I was successful about half the time. Dad would retire to the living room to watch the weather report while drinking his tea and perhaps even have a 10 minute cat nap, exhausted from his hard work on the farm and sawmill. But after that, when he woke up, I’d get my chance, my chance to spend time with dad to pick his brain about all things outdoors, hunting and fishing related. To make plans, to build dreams, hunting adventures, campsites, equipment, rifles, and ammunition. I would pour through the S.I.R. Mail order catalog out of Winnipeg Manitoba. That catalogue had absolutely everything in it and was pretty much my Bible… Well, besides my actual Bible, which was highly encouraged and read in my family. Here’s a picture of that catalog, and I’d appreciate it if any of you that grew up reading and looking through this would mention that in the comments…anyways, my excitement for hunting had grown even more over the past month as I had just finished taking the required course to be allowed to purchase a hunting license of my own. You see in Canada you have to pass a fairly intensive hunting education course Before you can carry a rifle or hunt. The course teaches you a lot about safety and a lot about animal identification and safe hunting practices. It’s called the core program which is an acronym that stands for conservation and outdoor recreation education… Who makes these up? Anyhow it’s a good program with both a written and practical exam you need to pass at the end. I’m all in favour of it and think that proving your education on these topics before wandering around in the bush with a loaded weapon is an excellent idea. Dad had recently spent many evenings, quizzing me about the identification of ducks as that was a large part of the exam. “We don’t even have these kind of ducks around here, dad.“ I complained “ why do I have to learn to identify a “surf scooter” or a “harlequin duck? I just wanna shoot a bear.”! “ Yeah that’s kind of stupid but, maybe one day you’ll wanna hunt ducks too” dad said wisely.
Oh, I wanted to shoot a bear. I wanted to be a big man and take down a dangerous predator. Mostly I want everyone to know. You see in small towns a man develops what’s called a reputation. Mine had a boost with being son of Harvey, but with it came big boots to fill and high expectations. I figured if I could kill a bear at 12 years old and then move onto Deer and maybe even someday the king trophy of my town, a big bull elk. That with a few stories of honesty and hard work would solidify my reputation in this community. With only a few hundred people around, only a few places to work and not many girls to chase that I wasn’t related to…a young man’s reputation was everything.
So here I was the young Hunter ready to prove himself. I wanted to shoot a bear so bad I could taste it. It was going to be a huge scary looking blackbear. One that women would fear and hold me in the highest esteem as a brave protector. “ Let’s go bear hunting tomorrow dad. I’m talking big bear, huge bear, the biggest scariest bear you’ve ever seen.” Dad was pretty happy to take me out hunting although as a busy farm and business owner, he had many restraints on his time. So many things he must’ve put aside just to take me hunting. Something I never even thought of at the time for as a kid all I thought was “who would wanna work when you could go hunting.” Well in British Columbia we are not allowed to bait bears in. No you’re not allowed to use meat or scent of any kind. Finding a black bear can be tricky in the fall in that area as the grizzlies come into the valley bottom to feed on the spawning Kookanee fish. And where you see grizzlies you won’t see black bears as a Grizzly will take the opportunity to chase. Beat up or kill any black Bear it can.
Dad decided that the best plan of action for us was too cover lots of territory. So we drove his 1978 GMC pick up down pretty much every dirt and back road in that valley. Sometimes it seems like the more you want something the harder it is to find. Well luck was not on our side, and I successfully identified every black burnt tree stump for 100 miles around.
Finally the snow started flying and with the days getting cold and bears heading to hibernation it was time to give up for the season. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get one in the spring.” Dad said as there was another bear season then. “The spring!” I exclaimed oh my gosh, that was so so long away, and I’ll have turned 13 by then darn it” it was my goal to get a bear before I became a teenager. Oh well, first lesson on hunting disappointment I suppose….there would be more to come.
Spring came and I was back to pestering my dad to take me hunting. “I’m talking big bear, huge bear, mean looking bear.” I said “let’s go get them dad!” my dad kind and patient as ever kept bringing me out with the same luck we had the season before…nothing, no bears anywhere. My dad could tell that I was getting discouraged as I would now hop in the truck and say “I’m talking any bear, little bear, scrawny bear, ugly bear” “oh no, we’ll find you a big one.” My dad said, but his optimism was misplaced. For some reason this was the great bear drought of 1982.
Eventually, I got my wish. We were driving down a logging road, and as we crested the hill, the road curves slightly towards a small single lane bridge. Dad started slowing the vehicle and to my utter and utmost surprise a bear came bounding out of the bush stood on the road, just in front of the bridge. He was exactly like I had asked for that morning, scrawny and ugly. Dad brought the truck to a stop and I heard him say “wow that’s a pretty ugly little bear. You might not wanna” but I didn’t catch the rest as I was already bailing out the door jamming the clip into my dad‘s trustee .243 calibre bolt action rifle. Keeping one eye on the bear I noticed he was starting to look nervous and I could tell he was going to run. He was only 75 yards away, and I only had time for a quick freehand shot. With that scope turned up to nine it didn’t seem too difficult and I think with all the suddenness and excitement I forgot to be nervous as I brought up the rifle and shot straight through the chest. He ran about 100 yards into the bush and bawled a bit like they sometimes do. We waited some time and went in after him finding him dead. We drug that bear out to the road and got him into the box of the truck. We took him home to where we could skin him out and do the butchering with the tractor to hang em from. We called my uncle and grandpa to come help as well, mostly just to make sure they’d see my accomplishment firsthand. We skinned that bear out, head, paws and all and I even sent it out to get the hide tanned. I still have that bear today might be small, but my pride was huge. As I look back on it now I think of how it was my dad‘s story too and how I would’ve loved to have heard him tell it. I think he’d call it “the year my son went hunting crazy, and took up a lot of my time” Thank you, dad. Thank you to all Dad’s or men out there that take the time to take a boy or a young man hunting. The reward is time well spent, memories that never fade respect and thankfulness you will hold forever.
