For nearly six and a half months, Monty McKenzie, owner of Manitoba-based McKenzie Outfitters, and I discussed the hunting opportunities that his operation offered to helplessly addicted bear hunting junkies like me. After speaking with several of his references and seeing photo after photo of the trophy-sized bears that his clients were consistently tagging, I quickly made arrangements to hunt during the first two weeks of his 2008 spring bear season.
As the winter months passed, Monty and I kept in close contact with each other nearly every week, whether it was by telephone or via E mail. However, it was during one of our numerous telephone conversations that I sensed something wasn’t quite right. Monty seemed uneasy about something and I could hear it in his voice.
“Steve, I’m a little worried about the weather. Spring is coming in very late this year. In fact, most of the lakes are still covered in ice, including the lakes that harbor both of my bear camps,” he said.
“Well, do you think the ice will be gone by the time that we get there,” I questioned.
“I’m not certain. Normally, the ice has melted off by the middle of April, and now it’s nearly May. I’ve never had to deal with this before; it’s really starting to concern me.”
“Me too,” I added.
With those questions and concerns looming in our minds, we hung up the phone and spent the next few weeks closely watching the weather report for east-central Manitoba. As the weeks passed, the weather report did not look promising. It was predicting below-normal temperatures for the majority of our hunt. However, in spite of the daunting forecast, we did get word of a slight glimmer of hope. According to one of the float plane pilots, the ice on one of the two base camp lakes in Monty’s bear allocation looked like it was beginning to recede. This was documented during a routine fly-over of the area.
Given the fact that this lake is located smack dab in the middle of eastern Manitoba -- and nowhere near civilization as we know it -- hypothesizing exactly when the ice would recede enough to be able to land a float plane on it was a farfetched guess at best, but at least the chances of honoring our departure date were starting to improve.
Throughout the time of our maddening observation and guesstimating on the weather and ice, the telephone and E mail conversations that Monty and I exchanged took on a similar tone, and increased in volume. We constantly discussed the situation and what we should do, almost to the point of obsession. Monty seriously considered pushing the dates back another week, but one of his clients was not able to change his travel plans due to a complicated work schedule. This client also mentioned to Monty that taking a bear was of secondary importance -- the adventure itself was the main objective -- so we decided to take a chance and stick to our original plan by rolling the dice on the ice being gone by the time of our scheduled arrival.
It was 5:30 a.m. on the morning of May 10, 2008. Although Monty and I still had no idea if the float plane would be able to land on the lake or not, my truck was packed and I was ready to go. And, since it was well past the deadline to change my hotel reservations, I went over my checklist in my mind one last time, hugged and kissed my wife goodbye and started heading north.
From my hometown of Springfield, Missouri, I drove 775 miles to Fargo, North Dakota. I left Springfield that morning wearing shorts and a tee-shirt with the temperature hovering in the lower 70s. By the time I reached Sioux Falls, South Dakota, the temperature had plummeted, dropping nearly 40 degrees in less than 8 hours. Forging ahead, in spite of dropping temperatures and ice-slicked roads, I made it to my first waypoint right on schedule.
It was 5:15 p.m. when I arrived in Fargo and the weather still had not improved. I then checked into the Holiday Inn Express, got settled in for the night and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I awoke at 3 a.m. and was back on the road by 4:30. After another 153 miles of driving, I stopped to fuel up my truck in Pembina, North Dakota at the last gas station on the US side of the border. A few minutes later, I pulled up to guard’s window of the Emerson, Manitoba, Canada Border Patrol Headquarters. I answered a few routine questions and was sent on my way.
I then took Canadian Highway 75 north to Winnipeg for nearly an hour and a half. Just outside of Winnipeg, I headed East on Winnipeg’s Perimeter Highway 100/101 and exited on Highway 59 North. I headed North on 59 for a few miles and then chose Highway 44 East, heading toward the city of Beausejour.
After a quick stop in Beausejour to purchase my Canadian fishing license, I headed North on Highway 12 and then took Canadian Road 304 East through the small, sparsely inhabited hamlets of Stead and Manigotagan toward Bissett, Manitoba -- the home of the float plane base. After another 45 minutes of driving down a windy, dirt road that cut through the remote Canadian wilderness, I arrived in Bissett at 11:10 a.m., approximately six and a half hours after I left Fargo.
See Map of Winnipeg, Manitoba and the Highways leading to Beausejour, Manitoba and Bissett, Manitoba.
Around noon, I finally met Monty at the Blue Water Aviation command center after nearly a year of telephone conversations and electronic correspondence. As expected, I found him to be as equally cordial and sociably responsive in person.
Accompanying Monty was his crew and one of his clients, which included Kara Thompson, Tim Haveman and Mark Spiers. Kara was appointed camp cook for the week; Tim was our assistant guide and Mark was a seasoned bear hunter from Pennsylvania. We all exchanged handshakes, “how-do-you-dos” and brief introductions before gathering our equipment.
After getting all of the hunting gear, food and bear bait weighed in and calculated by the float plane staff, we proceeded to load all of these accoutrements into the vintage 1960 model de Havilland Otter for our 40 minute float plane jaunt to Giraffe Lake. Ironically, Hobb’s Lake, the alternate base camp location of Monty’s bear allocation, was still frozen over with ice and completely inaccessible by float plane.
Around 2 p.m., we stuffed ourselves into the Otter along with all of our gear, like we were human sardines, and spent the next two-thirds of an hour enjoying the sights from above.
Flying by float plane is an eye-opening experience in itself. The scenery is utterly breathtaking as the plane soars near cloud level. With large sections of timber gradually fading into the endless horizon and countless waterways dotting the landscape, the view can only be described as a true wilderness setting.
After coming to a safe and somewhat surprisingly smooth landing, we noticed that there were patches of black ice still covering small sections of the lake while we were slowly taxiing toward the shoreline. With the plane securely tethered on shore by ropes to several well-placed trees, we unloaded our gear and took a quick, two-dollar tour of the area.
There was no time to waste. We had to act fast. The sky was threatening to rain, and we had to erect three camp tents before we could store our gear and relax for the night.
Stay Tuned for Day 1
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Bowhunting Backcountry Bruins
