FISHING AND HUNTING IN QUEBEC
FISHING AND HUNTING IN QUEBEC
I am 26 years old; I was born at Chicoutimi, Saguenay, that is why I am called by my dear ones, "Blueberry," of which I am so proud. The beautiful scenery of this region developed the love for fishing and hunting; the mountains have made me an admirer of liberty, and the beautiful Saguenay river is the paradise of the fisherman. I am a commercial traveler in the drug line. I also keep a drug store myself at Chateau Richer 15 miles below Quebec. There I have a club named "Le Club de la Montagne Ronde." I am the administrator of that club. It is a very good territory for fishing and shooting. We have wolf, lynx, beaver, marten, bear, moose, deer and snowshoe rabbits in quantities, also partridges.
,1 have a complete outfit for photography. My best companion is "Bijou," a splendid two-year old cocker (brown) spaniel; he never lost a partridge. My other good friend is "Kruger," a 150-pound dog. This one is to drive me into the forest on an Indian sleigh ten pounds in weight, six feet long.
In September I was on the road for my firm. In the afternoon my work was finished and the hotel keeper suggested to me to kill a deer two miles from the village. We started immediately with an old Sneider gun. I stopped for the first time in a field of oats to see the tracks. They were so numerous and so fresh that I was sure to kill one in a short time. It was 20 minutes to five and I sat on an old log of wood. Suddenly as I was seated I heard a noise like cracking in the brush a few yards from me. I looked and I saw only part of the deer. I shot him and he fell at the first shot. I had enough for that day. We were back at the hotel at seven o'clock and at eight o'clock we had a good steak to eat. The deer weighed 180 pounds. The 20th of September at the Quebec railway station I met two hunters from Quebec. They were coming back from our club, disappointed that they had killed nothing but a couple of dozen partridges, as they had gone there for a moose. I consoled them, promising them a moose steak in a few days. At this they laughed at me. They told me, "You had better stay here, George, and save your expenses."
The day after I left home at three o'clock in the morning for the concession, nine miles from the village. Just as I arrived there the rain began. I lost about all the day at a farmer's house. At two o'clock I told our game keeper
to be ready at 2:30. We left the guide's house at three o'clock. We were at our camp; we ate a little, but that five o'clock tea was bad for the guide, as he caught a serious toothache. Pitre Picord was his name.
"Well, Pitre," I told him, "remain here and I will go and call the moose alone." He was glad of the proposition. After ten minutes walk from the camp, I called. At the first call the moose answered me and a few minutes after he was on the opposite side of the lake, about 700 yards from me. I shot the moose in the shoulder". Then he ran back in the bush. I was sure that I had struck him; but I was afraid of losing him. I was obliged to cross the lake on a beaver dam. I looked for the moose tracks and I found them after a few minutes, but I again lost them. My little Bijou was with me. He smelled the track and suddenly he changed the direction and yelped and yelped. I called him, but he refused to come. Surprised that the dog was so disobedient, I looked ahead in a thick patch of bush and the buck was there waiting for me. I shot him the second time in the neck and he was dead. It was 5:35 p. m. and as it began to turn dark I left the moose there for the day after. When I came back to the camp, the guide asked me "How many squirrels did you kill?" He believed me only when he saw the blood on my knife. The animal was 1350 pounds and I had enough to send a steak to each one of my friends, the hunters of Quebec. This was a good shot in a short time.
In October I went with our club to build a camp; as the camp wasn't yet finished, we were staying under the tent. One of my friends asked me to call for a moose. The night was so dark that we couldn't see ten feet before us. I called it on condition that he would shoot him. He said "yes." The law forbid me to kill more than one. Two minutes after I had called the moose, we heard a noise in the valley and he was approaching quickly. My friend (Pierre Premont was his name) said, "I don't want to shoot that devil; he will kill me before I kill him." He lit some matches to make the animal afraid. After that trip he came with me; but he didn't talk any more about moose.
Last summer once a week I fished our lakes. On every trip my good friend, Emile Premont, the president of the club and I were loaded with beautiful trout, varying between ten inches to twenty inches. Three years ago I was going to Les Escoumains on the north shore of the St. Lawrence river and about six miles from Tadousac on a rock, I saw a big black bear. He was about 1,000 yards from us, but 80 to 90 feet high. The horse did not smell it. I had no gun, only a .38 caliber revolver; therefore I ran behind to find some of your compatriots (Americans) to ask them for a gun; but they had none. They arrived just in time to see him going behind the rock.
Another day I was at St. Andre in Kamouraska county, and near a barn I saw a deer Quickly I stopped the horse. I had no revolver, so I got off the bogie and took a stick and began to walk up to the deer. The animal was looking at me, not at all afraid. I was surprised and just as I was going to strike him, I heard the voice of a charming young blond girl laughing and she told me, "Monsieur, kill me, but not the deer, please." "No," I answered to the sweetheart, "I will certainly not kill you, but kiss you." On this she ran into the house, leaving the deer there.
G. V. D. de St. Pierre,
Fur, News. Fur News, January 1916.
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