Moose Hunt with My Parents

The year was 1969. I was 13 years old, and I was on a moose hunt with my parents.

My mother would start cooking a couple of days before we would leave. Bannock, maybe 2 of them, and a blueberry pie. The berries had been picked early in the fall. There was a coffee pot and coffee. I can't remember if there was bacon and eggs, but I don’t think so. Probably eggs, but no bacon.

Mary (Pruden) McMahon, the author’s mom.

My dad and I would get the guns ready. He had a .303 British, and we brought a .22 in case we spotted a rabbit or some chickens (grouse). I brought my .177 calibre pellet gun, just in case I had to shoot some of the “house guests” who were living where we planned to be bunking down for the next few days.

Les McMahon, the author’s Dad (left) and Wilfred Macadamia, who lived with the family for years and was like a brother to Neil.

I never could sleep the night before we went on a hunting or camping trip. We were always allowed to bring a friend camping. There would be lots of fishing and running around in the bush, treeing squirrels and trying to knock them out of the trees with sticks. Always hunting something!

We were up early the next morning. The truck was loaded with the Air Tight Heater, some stove pipe, food, pots and pans, and guns. We were heading for a hunting camp about 35 miles north of Big River, Saskatchewan. We headed north on Highway 55 for thirty-two miles, turned onto the Dore Lake Road, and drove approximately another three miles. There it was, our home away from home: Moose Camp.

I can't remember if there was a door on the cabin. I know that there were no windows, but my dad was prepared. We had plastic for the windows. We put two layers on the two windows, fixed the door, and put the stove and stove pipes up. I was in charge of the wood, so by the time I had enough wood the cabin was getting cleaned by my mother. Well, we got the fire going, and as always, my dad was gone looking for sign or tracks, whatever you prefer. That's how it went every time. My dad would get back, and everything was done. He was tricky that way!

Well, the first day, Dad headed out down the trail that went back to Rat Lake. He was going to check it out, scouting out the area between our cabin and the lake. Me and Mom cleaned and got the bed ready. It was a platform in the corner made out of boards. We piled the blankets on thick because it was going to get cold overnight. My dad got back: no moose. We ate supper and had pie for dessert. It was my favourite time of the trip because some house guests were coming out, scurrying around the cabin floor, and my 200lb father was up on our bed, scared worse than the mice, yelling, “Get your pellet gun!”

It was a couple of nights of shooting mice—making sure I got rid of them all—hunting with my dad, and spending time eating bannock and jam with my mother in our hunting cabin that was snug as a bug. Even though we didn't get a moose, my dad shot a deer on the last day we were there.

I would give everything to do it again.

Thanks for listening to my memory.

Neil McMahon.

NEIL MCMAHON. I was born on July 16, 1956, in Big River Sask. I am the youngest son of Mary (Pruden) McMahon and Leslie McMahon. I am of Métis decent. I have spent my whole life working, hunting and exploring the bush. I worked in the logging industry from the age of 16, starting at the Big River Sawmill. I left the sawmill at the age of 21, and went logging for Bill Piche and Don McGrath, running a line skidder. In 1992, I got together with Debra Daley and her daughters Marly and Cassie. Our family loved to camp, fish and hunt. We have two wonderful grandchildren. I found a love for the bush at a young age and continue to spend as much time as possible wondering around in the forest.  It will be the place I love ‘till the day I can no longer explore.

“people stories” shares articles from Folklore Magazine, a Saskatchewan History & Folklore Society publication.