Wayne in BC
New member
Back about nineteen seventy and five, i left the city very much alive
......
I was heading for my buddy's ranch near Caroline Alberta to do a bit of fishing for the day. About a mile from his house was the old home place that his Grandad had homesteaded and that is where i headed after checkin in and saying howdy. Jim was busy welding up a new stock trailor and said he may join me later on the crick. I mentioned that i wanted to sight in my new 270 also and maybe plink a bit and Jim said......if you see them dang groundhogs that are undermining the foundation on the old barn, whack em! said i.........
This "crick" is known as Alford creek and is actually famous for its wonderful and challenging fishing. It begins as a strong flowing spring from a hillside a few hundred yards from where the old homestead house used to be. Small, you could jump across it easily in many places and it was seldom more than a foot or so deep but ran clear and teeth cracking cold. At some time in the late 40's Brown and Brook trout had been stocked in it and thrived.
A challenge for a flyfisherman with many areas of thick willow, it was none the less, awesome fishing with hard bodied hard fighting trout of sometimes 2 lbs but mostly averaging 6-12 inches. We would sometimes keep a couple for supper but mostly released our catch and today i just wanted fun, not dinner. There was one old Brown Trout of maybe 5 lbs that lived in a deep hole under a willow overhang that we called "Snag". Snag had been hooked by me and most others that fished there numerous times with the same results.......if you used a fine enough leader to fool him after crawling on yer belly for 50 ft, (2 lb test!), his first reaction was .....where is my snag? And round and round the willow root he would go, it was a game!
So i tried for "Snag". Did the crawl thing and casted sidearm for a time but he was being coy that day so i stood up after 10 minutes and waded into the willow pile, freezing my butt some, and spooking Snag up the crick, then retrieved the two fly's that i had snapped off on a branch
whilst sloshing back to the truck, a movement at the base of the old hog barn caught my eye and turning to stare, i spotted three Marmots all sitting up watching me from beside the foundation so i continued casually to the truck, hoping they would stay put.
When i said i wanted to sight in the new 270, i meant a new load i was working up, having already been happy with its performance with 150 gr bullets, i had decided to try out 130 gr Hornady's in front of 59-1/2 gr of H-4831, the old military surplus powder many of us still used. I knew the point of impact would be different with the 130 gr but figured it would be close enough for a fat Woodchuck at 75 yards.
As i put away the flyrod and eased the rifle from its case the Chucks were running around and ignoring me, they were used to fishermen but did not know about murderous young b#stards like me
I sat down on the truck seat and rested the rifle on the window ledge with my coat under it, nice and steady. The crosshairs sat squarely in the center of a fat chuck and soon he was no more. There were now five chucks all frozen in place, then suddenly ducking under the cement footing of the barn. Five minutes of waiting brought another sneaking out to be met by a fountain of sand next his nose, uh oh......these rounds are definitely not going quite right, hmmmmm. I sat for another 10 minutes hoping a little left windage would fix the problem. Out came another and i overcompensated, missed.....argh! The chuck spooked though, pobably from the cement dust htting his butt and across open ground some 60 ft to disappear into a junk pile of old timbers and hog crates lying in a hollow. It was scared and kept popping up amongst the rubble here and there while i wasted ammo......
Frustrated now i put down the rifle and decided to play Sheriff with my six shooter, Ruger single six .22 magnum, much cheaper on ammo and sorta sporting i thunk at the time as i eased up to the junkpile and sat crosslegged about 30 yards away.
Mr Chuck obliged by popping up next to a cardboard box and i missed twice
:blush: In the next 5 minutes i emptied the pistol twice at the Chuck running through the junk, and properly embarrassed had moved up to about 10 yards away and was reloading.
The Chuck popped up again by the box and was sitting still, i drew a bead, knowing this time the sucker was a gonner, only to hear Jim shout from his rapidly approaching truck, one word over and over DON"T DON"T DON"T!!!!
Turning as Jim exited his truck, i saw the look of horror on his face and thought i had accidentaly killed someone and sorta asked Jim the same in a small questionable voice. Jim just said, for chrissakes Wayne! Don't you remember me telling you about that old dynamite that i was going to burn?!!! Um, well, yes,so?.......SO he says, that is it in the cardboard box you are shooting at! It is old and bleeding nitro and i am surprised that you are not in a million pieces you idiot!
:blush: Yep, Whistle Pigs are dangerous game folks and btw the scope was loose.........
......I was heading for my buddy's ranch near Caroline Alberta to do a bit of fishing for the day. About a mile from his house was the old home place that his Grandad had homesteaded and that is where i headed after checkin in and saying howdy. Jim was busy welding up a new stock trailor and said he may join me later on the crick. I mentioned that i wanted to sight in my new 270 also and maybe plink a bit and Jim said......if you see them dang groundhogs that are undermining the foundation on the old barn, whack em!
said i.........This "crick" is known as Alford creek and is actually famous for its wonderful and challenging fishing. It begins as a strong flowing spring from a hillside a few hundred yards from where the old homestead house used to be. Small, you could jump across it easily in many places and it was seldom more than a foot or so deep but ran clear and teeth cracking cold. At some time in the late 40's Brown and Brook trout had been stocked in it and thrived.
A challenge for a flyfisherman with many areas of thick willow, it was none the less, awesome fishing with hard bodied hard fighting trout of sometimes 2 lbs but mostly averaging 6-12 inches. We would sometimes keep a couple for supper but mostly released our catch and today i just wanted fun, not dinner. There was one old Brown Trout of maybe 5 lbs that lived in a deep hole under a willow overhang that we called "Snag". Snag had been hooked by me and most others that fished there numerous times with the same results.......if you used a fine enough leader to fool him after crawling on yer belly for 50 ft, (2 lb test!), his first reaction was .....where is my snag? And round and round the willow root he would go, it was a game!
So i tried for "Snag". Did the crawl thing and casted sidearm for a time but he was being coy that day so i stood up after 10 minutes and waded into the willow pile, freezing my butt some, and spooking Snag up the crick, then retrieved the two fly's that i had snapped off on a branch
whilst sloshing back to the truck, a movement at the base of the old hog barn caught my eye and turning to stare, i spotted three Marmots all sitting up watching me from beside the foundation so i continued casually to the truck, hoping they would stay put.When i said i wanted to sight in the new 270, i meant a new load i was working up, having already been happy with its performance with 150 gr bullets, i had decided to try out 130 gr Hornady's in front of 59-1/2 gr of H-4831, the old military surplus powder many of us still used. I knew the point of impact would be different with the 130 gr but figured it would be close enough for a fat Woodchuck at 75 yards.
As i put away the flyrod and eased the rifle from its case the Chucks were running around and ignoring me, they were used to fishermen but did not know about murderous young b#stards like me
I sat down on the truck seat and rested the rifle on the window ledge with my coat under it, nice and steady. The crosshairs sat squarely in the center of a fat chuck and soon he was no more. There were now five chucks all frozen in place, then suddenly ducking under the cement footing of the barn. Five minutes of waiting brought another sneaking out to be met by a fountain of sand next his nose, uh oh......these rounds are definitely not going quite right, hmmmmm. I sat for another 10 minutes hoping a little left windage would fix the problem. Out came another and i overcompensated, missed.....argh! The chuck spooked though, pobably from the cement dust htting his butt and across open ground some 60 ft to disappear into a junk pile of old timbers and hog crates lying in a hollow. It was scared and kept popping up amongst the rubble here and there while i wasted ammo......
Frustrated now i put down the rifle and decided to play Sheriff with my six shooter, Ruger single six .22 magnum, much cheaper on ammo and sorta sporting i thunk at the time as i eased up to the junkpile and sat crosslegged about 30 yards away.
Mr Chuck obliged by popping up next to a cardboard box and i missed twice
:blush: In the next 5 minutes i emptied the pistol twice at the Chuck running through the junk, and properly embarrassed had moved up to about 10 yards away and was reloading.The Chuck popped up again by the box and was sitting still, i drew a bead, knowing this time the sucker was a gonner, only to hear Jim shout from his rapidly approaching truck, one word over and over DON"T DON"T DON"T!!!!
Turning as Jim exited his truck, i saw the look of horror on his face and thought i had accidentaly killed someone and sorta asked Jim the same in a small questionable voice. Jim just said, for chrissakes Wayne! Don't you remember me telling you about that old dynamite that i was going to burn?!!! Um, well, yes,so?.......SO he says, that is it in the cardboard box you are shooting at! It is old and bleeding nitro and i am surprised that you are not in a million pieces you idiot!
:blush: Yep, Whistle Pigs are dangerous game folks and btw the scope was loose.........
I bet you often wonder about that box full of old explosives, what if you had hit it with a bullet at that distance of 10 yards. While you were not hitting the Marmots, you were still having fun with the new ammo load. It appears that you had a great day...fishing, varmit hunting, and visiting with an old friend. I loved this story...kinda felt like I was there with you. Please have a great day! Kelley (Texas) 
