First off, sorry it’s been so long since my last write-ups. My wife gave birth to our first son “Wesson” ( I think its a fitting name to his lineage) on April 28, 2018. 24 hours after he was born he was rushed to the Stollery where he spent months recovering form surgeries, infections and other ailments. Today he is strong and healthy. He’s actually quite large and looks like his great grandfather on my Mothers side. Her side of the family are Viking men and women. Funny side note my great grandfather’s original deed to his homestead in Spruce View, Alberta is written as NWT. He staked the homestead when it was still the North West Territories and not Alberta. I’ve spent the last couple years being a new father and learning a lot about my mother’s side of the family. Might have a story for you weight lifter out there if interested? Grandma (mom’s mom) passed away last spring and we learned of a long lost side of Icelandic relatives from her recent visit to Iceland.
With this whole Covid 19 and Isolation taking full force all I can think of is my bear hunt this spring! I’ve found myself doing my usual spending the late hours of the night going though my gear and making lists for my hunt. I happened to stumble across the old film projector and slides and it got me thinking about his thread again. I hope all is well with everyone’s ‘new normal’ and you are all safe and trying to enjoy your family time in today’s current circumstances. I apologize, I haven’t researched with my family the other topics I last posted but I can write to one of them as I was directly involved in it. I was a young lad, Maybe 10-11? So here goes:
Addition, sorry for the ranting, as it turns out this story might be more that one story. And it feels nice to write out memories when stuck at home.
Growing up I lived on an acreage in and OLD house that my Great Grandfather (married to my mother’s side, another story on its own) lived in. I would have been a modest house in its day but in my day it was an eye sore. I used to get made fun of on the school bus and at school all the time growing up, which usually resulted in fist fights. Although, the thing I found the worse was the name calling. No matter how many times I dished out the fists or got my ass whipped, the words stung the most. I used to cry myself to sleep many nights. Kids can be the worst! The house was a two story, 3 bed room house that even had a cellar (short height concrete basement). This house was on a quarter that was still owned by my mom’s family and it was farmed by someone else. I was the middle child, my older sister and my younger brother and I spend our child hood exploring the land my great grandfather grew up on. I was told that the house I grew up in was actually in its second plot of land. Originally, it was the old Burnt lake General store. Any of you from Red Deer might know that Burnt lake Gas station? Our house originally rested there and when my great grandfather was a boy his family lived in the top floor of the house and the main floor was where the general store was. If memory serves me right, I believe some in the 30’3-40’s it was rolled on logs by horse about 25 miles south/west to it’s plot of land I grew up on. This used to boggle my mind as a child, that would have been feat of its own it today standards let alone back them.
My father worked in the oilfield and my mother worked for the GOA as a Secretary. We grew up fairly poor but looking back now we had a very rich life. Every spring like clock work my father would get laid off of work and we’d use this time to go out west and cut wood, bring it home and get to splitting the wood for the long winters ahead. Our house did have running water but it did not have a furnace, we used a wood stove. Even with that old stove working all night we still had quite a few drafty areas as the walls of the old house were insulated with horse hair and sawdust.
This particular spring/summer of my childhood, my father decided to take my brother and me on a month long trip (which turned into the whole summer and part of the fall) to the place he grew up and spent his childhood. The Yukon. My grandpa used to say this trip was ‘for the boys to become men and the men to remember where they came from”. It comprised of me and my younger brother (the boys) and my Grandpa and his son, my Father (the men). The four of us traveled in my Grandpa’s half ton, loaded with camping gear and fishing poles. We traveled by day and camped by night. My father would drive, grandpa was older and shouldn’t have been behind the wheel anyways. And my brother and I would sit cramped up in the fold down seats in the back (you remember those old school extended cabs with the tiny fold down seats behind the driver and passenger seats?). We’d sit back there and just listen to grandpa tell stories. Some times we’d stay in a particular spot for a week which allowed my father and grandpa to meet up with old acquaintances. And sometimes we’d drive for days to go the next place. Just to give you and idea, the trip started heading north to the Yukon, and after an extended stay there on our way home we ended up continuing south to Montana and doing the same thing for another month. This time we were visiting old cowboys exploring ranches and learning to fly fish in the Montana Rivers.
I found out later in life that my grandpa was quite the hardass and very military like when my father was younger. My Grandpa and my father got into a lot of fights when he was growing up. On a side note, one of them, when my father was about my age on this particular trip resulted in him running away from home and living in Fort Edmonton, in the winter, for over a month! He was eventually caught by the police and brought back to Grandpa. Crazy child! As it turned out, this particular trip was in a lot ways for my father and grandpa to rekindle. I did not know any of this at the time, I didn’t even know that my father and grandpa just recently stated to talk to each other again from a 2 year hiatus. Grandpa used to call the house and speak to my mother and us kids but looking back at that period of time he never spoke to my father. So this trip was for them getting back to their roots and us kids experiencing the great outdoors. My Grandpa had a very quiet and unspoken wisdom. He used to say ‘wise men speak when they have something to say and fools speak because they have to say something’. Looking back that really explained a lot about him. It was funny though, on this trip he was almost like a child himself. I think it must have felt good for him to go back to his home. He got to rekindle his friendship with his son and spend time mentoring his grandsons at very important parts of their lives.
By the time this whole trip ended the four of us were as thick as thieves. Lots of great stories and memories shared. One memory in particular sticks out more than the others, this is the one regarding the title. I feel it sticks out so much not because it was unbelievable or so outrageous but because of who my grandpa was. He was such a stoic figure in my life that this particular instance showed his human side. And hopefully some of you who are reading this can relate.
From what I remember the four of us were driving in my grandpa’s truck somewhere in the Yukon. I remember it was about mid after noon because we had already eaten breakfast and were now looking for a nice place to stop and make lunch. I remember being perched in the back of the truck on my tiny seat. I was looking over my father’s shoulder listening to grandpa talk about the time his bush pilot friend crashed an airplane, his plane was never found, assumed dead, and months later he returned home after crafting a new prop out of wood. Wow! When all of a sudden my dad swerves hard, I could hear the screeching of tires and I felt weightless as I watched my little brother lift off his own seat. As quick at the swerve happened somehow it righted itself just as quickly. My father and Grandfather were obviously shaken up but I remember them being VERY angry at someone. I guess as we were nearing an approach on the highway a semi truck pulled into our lane right out in front of us. It was a very close call but my father managed to narrowly miss the truck which sent us through the ditch and back up onto the road. Now my father was a great man, as all biased children feel about their own father’s I’m sure. Although, under that greatness was a temper that would sometime show itself. Usually that temper was saved for when my siblings and I would cause havoc. I remember one time my brother and I stumbled across these tiny chunks of lead in my fathers study. These little pieces of lead were perfectly, symmetrically formed and were 10 times better that the rocks for our slingshots! They were way smaller and heavier than a normal rock and man did they fly out of the slingshot! We must have went through 3 coffee cans of these projectiles until we ran out. When my father returned from work a few days later we were met with that temper. Not only did we use up all his 44 mag castings, we somehow managed to wreck two windows in the house and kill one of the barn cats. Might I add, we did a poor job of burying the evidence, when my father arrived home he found our 4 large dogs digging up and eating the cat carcass.
This same temper arrived on scene in its usual manner. I remember my father looking in his side view mirrors and slowly muttering something under his breath. A short time later, as we continued down the road, the mustache rubbing started. As a child I used to remember seeing him rub his massive mustache with his thumb and pointer finger. As a young kid it appeared my father was contemplating the whole world. The adult in me now remembers it like he was deciding on how to react next. I remember my grandpa telling my father to pull over and to let him give the truck driver a piece of his mind. And my father arguing with my grandfather against this idea. This bickering went on for a few minutes and halted when that same truck started to approach us from behind. I remember looking out the back window and asking my father why this truck is so close to us, does he not see us? The truck was so close to the bumper of the truck that I couldn’t even see the windshield, all I wanted to do was wave to the driver. Maybe that would alert him to our presence? I remember my father steering the pickup to the shoulder of the road, seeing the large truck zoom by us and hearing its deafening horn slowly descend as it pulled away.
Oh man, if I was a fly on the wall on the inside of the truck! My Grandpa and father were some kind of mad! The new profanity I witness too was enough to get me all the way though high school and partly though my adult life. This went on for a couple minutes. I remember my father trying to pass the truck as he wanted him to pull over but the truck was not allowing that. Every time we attempted to change lanes the truck would change lanes with us, it was futile. Minutes went by and for some reason my father decided to let it go. He let off the gas peddle and we watched the truck slowly disappear out of sight around the next bend in the road. At the next intersection we pulled off the road and found a little secluded place by a creek to have lunch. We made sandwiches on the tail gate and grandpa finished his story about his buddy the bush pilot. Afterwards we made back for the road and continued on our way.
About an hour later I remember my grandpa asking my father if that truck in front of us in the same truck? And I remember him responding by cussing under his breath. Not like it mattered anymore to us kids, we had just heard every cussword know to man only a few moments ago, but I guess he was in a calmer state of mind now. I remember my father asking my grandpa ‘what is he doing?’ no sooner did he say that I noticed the truck slowly moving off to the shoulder. The truck didn’t slow down, it was still travelling at highway speed but it appeared to me moving over to allow us to pass. I vaguely remember my grandpa telling my father to punch it and pass him, as he was reaching under the seat. And my dad telling my grandpa that this is what the truck driver wanted. He said that as soon as we get beside him he’ll force us off the road. I remember my grandpa telling my dad to commit to pass and if he starts to move back into our lane to slam on the breaks. With that my father decided to attempt to pass. We slowly accelerated and started to gradually gain on the truck, as we got to about half way past the truck it appeared my father was wrong and this truck just wanted us to pass. I remember my grandpa saying ‘boy he’s lucky and him setting down a bear pepper spray container in the cup holder’. As soon as he set down the container the large truck started to swerve into our lane and my father slammed on the brakes. Once again we narrowly missed getting run off the road. Only this time, the large truck had over committed its attempts to ram us off the road and started to lose control. My jaw dropped, I can remember seeing a massive truck which seemed larger than life, swerve and twirl like it was gliding on ice. I was in awe. The truck ended up falling to its side and sliding into the ditch. It was actually quite graceful. I remember seeing the large back doors of the trailer breaking open and what appeared to be candies fall out! Typical child brain, of all things to say at a time like that, my brother and I yelled simultaneously “Gobstoppers!” As my father and grandpa yelled “Wholly Sh-----t!” It looked liked thousands of mini multi-coloured jaw breakers bouncing down the road.
This next part I didn’t witness but I’ll try my best to describe what I remember hearing. My grandpa convinced my dad to pull over so we could check on the driver of the truck. As grandpa told it; Grandpa opened the door of large truck and asked the confused driver if he was ok. The driver replied ‘yes’, so grandpa said ‘ok, good’ and punched him right in the nose. Now my grandpa was pretty old and frail at the time and even though he could move around well and waded through the river just fine with a bamboo fly rod. I still have a hard time imagining him reaching out a touching someone on the nose. Maybe it was a story he’d later tell his buddies over coffee at the local A&W. Mind you with that said, I do remember him leaving the truck and a couple minutes later returning with a grin and a couple partly damaged boxes of candies.
The adult in me cringes at this last part but what can you do now? My grandpa got back into the truck and we drove away. I remember looking out the back window of the truck thinking I hope those candies don’t all go to waste.
Later on that day we found a pretty secluded spot by a creek to set up camp. As my dad was maneuvering the truck around I remember asking my grandpa what that container was he put in the cup holder earlier. I had never seen a can of bear spray at the time, my grandpa was the kind of fella who always had a rifle or shotgun for bear protection. He grabbed it from the cup holder and like a gitty child he said ‘that fella is lucky I didn’t have this on me earlier or I would have given him something to really cry about!’ and with that I heard a loud ssssshhhhhhhtttttt! I pictured my dad letting the air out the shop compressor, but instead I witnessed huge stream of orange liquid hit the windshield and back-splash all over the four of us. We were all left drenched, hacking and gagging.
Every time I mention that moment to my brother we both break out laughing. We remember the old man and his old man erupting into a laughing fit! They were both half out of the truck hunched over laughing and hacking and gagging. Meanwhile my brother and I were stuck in the back yelling at my grandpa to open the small suicide door to let us out!
That trip I witnessed and experienced a lot for a young lad. I saw and heard my grandpa tell my father that he loved him for the first time, which I didn’t know was a thing until many years later. I rode a horse into a remote area to fly fish. I learned to fly fish! I went to a retirement home and met some amazing bush pilots and heard their stories. I got to fly in my grandpas apprentices bush plane. I shared my first kiss with a beautiful girl who lived in Montana, who is now a pilot for the US forces. I witnessed a native pow-wow and later watched the men, women and children catch jumping salmon from a river. I was mock charged by my first and only grizzly bear. I got to steer a tour river boat through miles canyon and into the Schwatka lake. Any many many more experiences. Both my father and grandpa have both passed but this trip is one that my brother and I still reminisce about. Every once and a while my brother and I remember old stories and we get to tell them to his small kids. I see the awe in their faces, they look like what I imagine we did as young children hearing wonderful stories of the great outdoors from grandpa.
As it turned out, that year my dad was not able to find work and he and my mother decided to extend our trip to allow us to live and learn new experiences. That trip started a new family tradition for us. Every year mom and dad would pinch their pennies and in the spring when my father got laid off we would camp the whole spring and into the summer. We spent months camping in, BC, Alberta, Yukon and Montana mostly.
When I did come home from that tip it must have been late September because I remember feeling like I missed a lot in school. In previous years I was used to coming back to class after summer break and I would sit in the back and listen to all the city kids tell stories about the trips to Mexico, Hawaii or some other fantastic place and they seemed so unimaginable. When I returned from summer break that year I arrived to my first class scruffy haired, bruised, scabbed, and beat-up and sun burnt. I probably looked like that poor kid everyone made fun of. But, none of that mattered any more. I felt 12 inches taller and bullet proof. From that summer on I didn’t get into another school yard scrap. Maybe my confidence made me a less desirable target or maybe I just didn’t give a crap anymore about the school yard gossip. Either way, I just didn’t find myself in those situations anymore. I found a new strength I didn’t know I had. I found myself sharing my stories with all the city kids. My brother and I would get together and teach a lot of the other kids how to catch fish and even how to snare gophers in the school yard
And, I never cried my self to sleep over name calling again. Girls? Umm, I may have spent a few nights crying about girls though, but that’s allowed. Those girls are a different bread of mean
I know this isn’t the typical story of an old mans tales like the others, but I find it’s appropriate to tell in our current time, and to this particular audience. I hope it reaches you all in the same way it made me feel to write about. I hope each of you can take some time to remember your past. The good, the bad and even the ugly parts of it. Take this time of isolation to help create memories with your family and loved ones. You never know, you might change someone’s life for the better.
Messing with Bear Spray While Driving
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