Next Season: Swamp Deer

All season long, every day looked promising. He was so elusive, but you were sure the Buck would finally walk into your sights.

But it didn't happen.

You could feel that big buck just writhe with glee - if that is possible for a deer - when he dropped another can of 'deer season whoop-ass' on you again.

Why, you even got a bit of a chuckle. "Dang! That deer is schooling me hard. Givin' me a complex you are Big Boy. A regular complex! Next year. That's MY year. You wait and see who's laughing then. Yeah!"

Alas this season ended on the same note as the previous 3. Despite your confidence filled pronouncement, you got your butt kicked again:
Hunter 0 ... Buck 7.

Seven times you'd come to the hunting ground. Seven times, in hand, a perfectly engineered planned. Seven times YOU went home seeing nothing more than beautiful sunrises, memorable sunsets, dozens of birds and small animals. You observed as nature used the shade creatures, formed as the clouds, dancing across the sky to trace the passage of time for all in attendance; you included.

Each day that passed, you left the woods later and later. Sure the hot coffee, soup and a very welcome, 3 fingers of Scotch, were always a luring siren. But a stronger pull; even stronger than the urge to hang the Buck on the cross-beam, was keeping you in the woods.

In the early days when you first started hunting you didn't understand. It just didn't figure! Dingle-crackers!... it was cold, wet, tiring, cramped, windy ... it was down-right miserable at times. But so many times, you didn't even notice it. You even began enjoying it.

That's it. You stayed longer because you just plain liked being in the woods.

After a time, you began to realize that finally, you had begun to act natural.

Everyone who is veteran hunter of a few years, knows that no one needs to head out to their stand at 4am in the morning. Only a masochist or a neophyte would do this. Right?

Well, yes. For the first few years.

Then you would just keep on doing it, because you realize there's no better place to get your morning shut-eye, wake-up to warm coffee and a roll, see the sun rise, hear the birds wake-up ritual and watch the entire woods world come to life.
Any questions?

Naturally you did your fair share of eyelid surveys. Most likely this was when the Buck got His chance to see you as well. Yeah. if you hadn't been having such a good time you might just have taken that 'big bad boy' home this year. Eh?
But you never laid so much as an eye-twitch on the Buck. Yeah. That's true. That's OK. There's next year.

To keep in pattern with the previous years, you religiously went back to the scene of your miserable failure to revel in it's success.

Because you knew he still roamed the hills, woods, creeks and swampy bottoms. He was still there; whether you were or not.

The wind would drop and the frost clinging to the trees, glistening like diamond dust with the first rays of the sun would shimmer in place; or the high-noon shadows pouring through the leafless canopy would suddenly go mime; or the misty glow of the forming evening fog would provide a sanctuary backdrop for the moment you'd see him.

Ah, but not before He had slipped silently out of his bed. Never quite revealing his 'serta-in-the-grove', stealing his way to a splendid spot, befitting of his regal offering: your annual chance to see Him. Then He would offer his annual greeting snort. On cue, as choreographed as a Shakespearean actor, you look up!

There HE is.

Wow! He's grown so much. His rack has become huge; intoxicating. His massive shoulders and neck still showing the muscle and blood engorgement of the rutting and mating ritual and exercise.

What a sight He is.

What an opportunity. Yeah, you think, "OH! If only it as still 'in season'! If only I had my bow! If only ...", but this fades and gives way, to just .. "Wow. He is beautiful. I know he'll spook and be gone for another year. Wouldn't I love to capture this image to look at any time of year?" And that's when you raise the camera and take the 3 photos you get before He is out-of-sight.

Make no mistake about it ... this IS His domain.

You know it.

He knows it.

So do all the other animals in the woods.

"Yes.", you say to yourself. The the ephemeral wisp of the moment takes on a Brigadoonesque atmosphere. Time just seemed to stand-still while He stood there.

Surrounded by the royal walls of his riparian realm. Each woodland surface draped in the muted glow of the diamond dust of late fall frost. Winter is soon to appear. His rack will once again fall, feed the mice of the woods and possibly tantalize a woodsman seeking the fallen coronets.

The ice fog hangs thick across the winter wheat field in the distance. "My, Oh, My!" You repeat to yourself as you remember how it provided the ermine backdrop so fitting this royal creature.

The fog begins sending drizzles. skittering down through the branches now as you make you way back to the truck.

One last time you turn and look at the opening where He, The Buck, stood, showing Himself to you. A shiver runs through your system. No, it's not the cold. It's the anticipation.

You're already planning the next seaon.

Streamside: A Freestone Mystery

”Yet, this type of ‘weirdness’ is the nature of such mystery.” story ©2010 Les Booth; painting, Streamside, ©2010 Diane Michelin

Freestone Palette Colors trace wild run Essence of time freely flows Life intensifies Freestone Mystery Penticton Herald, ePenticton Herald News Josh Mavenhome Penticton Herald / Saturday Edition 10/24/09
 

Many unsolved mysteries exist around the world, but the 1998 unexplained disappearance of a Victoria, BC woman still has people down in Keremos shaking their heads.

This clip, from the article, written by my uncle Thomas Mavenhome, about the 1998 cold case, fills in some background for those unfamiliar with the 11 year old mystery.

'Four weeks ago, Provincial Conservation Officer, Sarah Tumewatter, and BC Fisheries Biologist, Jon McCormick, stumbled upon a mystery on Bumblechoock Creek, north of Keremos, BC. The events of 23 September, 1998, still remain no closer to being resolved than they did on that fall Sunday afternoon, 4 weeks ago.

"We have no clues, other than the personal items and still alive brook trout, found, yesterday, on the banks of Bumblechook Creek. We are quite baffled. We simply have no idea where Jane Manson is today.", said officer Tumewatter in an interview on Friday; 23 October, 1998.

Jan Manson, well known Victoria resident, is an attractive 32 year old, red-haired, athlete, fly-fishing aficionado, respected outdoor artist and conservation advocate. Ms. Manson, single, went missing Sunday 23 September. The answers to her whereabouts are still a complete mystery.

Tumewatter and McCormick were conducting a 10-year stream assessment of Bumblechook Creek, along a remote stretch of water in the upper reaches of the rough country, north of Keremos, BC, when they came upon a very strange scene.

Tumewatter and McCormick rounded a bend on the creek to find, neatly laid out on the rocks beside the stream, a fly-rod and reel, a landing net and a very much alive, brook trout.

Officer Tumwatter said both she and McCormick spent over 2 hours combing the area, after placing a call to report the strange findings to the Penticton BCCO office. Within an hour after the phone call - they were joined by other BCCO personnel. BCCO carried on the search, around-the-clock, for the next 14 days.

By the time the official search was canceled, nothing had turned up. No prints. No clothing. No personal items. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There were no shoe prints anywhere. None. No prints of any kind. Not along the creek; into the creek bed; nor back up into the woods. McCormick said it was as if Manson was,"... just transported away. Gone. Without a trace". '

Ms. Manson's 1998 2-dr GMC Jimmy, bearing the custom trademark of a - Screaming Brook Trout - located on both lower door panels and rear tailgate, was nowhere to be found in the vicinity. Despite extensive searches all across Canada, Alaska, the lower 48 United States and even into Mexico, no trace has been found.

Bumblchook Creek', is said to have more than the occasional black bear and a rare appearance of cougars. But neither animal is suspected to be involved in Manson's disappearance.

BC Conservation Officers identified the owner of the fly-rod, reel and landing net and therefore the missing person - as Ms. Manson - from the name, email address and drivers license number, marked on each item.

Many speculations have arisen over the years as to the whereabouts of Ms. Manson.

Some say Manson fell into Bumblechook Creek's icy waters, drowned and was swept downstream, over the 14 meter waterfall, downstream roughly 1/2 kilometer. But the water was thoroughly checked; above and below the falls. Nothing turned up. Most feel this was most unlikely.

Others say, she fell, suffered a concussion and amnesia then either staggered out of the area or was possibly lost and died of exposure. But that too, seems unlikely. The area was thoroughly searched; thousands of motorists and people in the area were canvased; nothing; not so much as a 'maybe', was uncovered.

One popular theory is that Manson, a very pretty 32 year old, was abducted and kidnapped by the fabled remnant of the Spanish conquistadors, said to be living in the wilderness around Bumblechook Creek. No one has officially documented the veracity of the claims as to whether these mythical residents really exist. But wild and fantastical stories abound. With many claiming to have had contact with them; and some even claiming to be descendants.

The list of speculations continue, and continue to grow. Many are fantastical enough to even make sense. But not seriously, unless you're under the influence of mind altering chemicals first.

Yet, this type of 'weirdness' is the nature of such mystery.

Maybe it's to be as Tumewatter said in an interview on the 5th anniversary of the unsolved missing person's file. "Some things just remain a mystery. Until something else shows up, that's how we'll have to look at this case."

Yes, maybe so.

For now we only have the image of the fly-rod, reel, landing net and a live brook trout to help us conjure up the actual events that have led to this mystery.