Sounds like east coasters, while they're working in AB, yet there's no work in their provinces....
How long till we see wide spread Sustenance hunting ?
- Thread starter scott_r
- Start date
Sounds like east coasters, while they're working in AB, yet there's no work in their provinces....
Just an old story on sustenance hunting . George , Giorgio , was on old family friend , long gone now . He was about 11 years old , the man of the house with two younger brothers and his Mom living up in the mountains of central Italy . His father had been killed the year before . Also the year before the Germany army swept through their little mountain village and searched every house . They told the residents , anyone caught with a gun will be shot on the spot .
That was a year ago , this was a year later and anything Mom could sell was sold , the last of the money was gone and the last of the food was about to be gone . George knew there were rabbits down in the low country in the thick bushes and knew where his Dads ancient flintlock pistol was . He had actually shot it a couple of times way back when he was just a kid . He poured powder down the barrel and dropped in a couple of spoons of shot and rammed a rag down in the barrel to hold the powder and shot in place . He poured more powder in a cigarette paper to prime the pan later , stuck the gun in his pants under his jacket and headed to the low country .
For a couple of hours he crept through the bushes but nothing moved and just when all seemed lost he spotted a little brown patch of hair , and then it moved , a rabbit . George went to his knees and tore the end off the cigarette paper , pull the hammer to half #### and primed the gun . The rabbit hopped farther away into thicker bush and Georges glasses were fogging up from breathing and sweat as he made his way under the brushes . He took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt and now could clearly see the rabbit about 7 or 8 paces away . He thumbed the hammer to full #### , sighted down the barrel at the rabbit and pulled the trigger . As the smoke cleared the rabbit was bouncing and spinning so George took off straight at it .
He grabbed the rabbit , held it and gave it a whack with the butt of the pistol as an amazing sense of accomplishment came over him . A single rabbit wasn't much but it was something for his family . He saw movement and around him were black boots . George looked up and saw guns aimed at him and not just Germans but by the color tabs , these were SS . George was a dead man . One of the SS guys took the pistol from Georges hand , looked at it and said something in German to the others . They all broke out laughing as they passed the ancient old flintlock around . They took a step or two closer to look at the rabbit and did some more talking in German . The guy who had taken the pistol from George handed it back to him , said something in German , with a smile and with that the SS guys walked away .
George retired from Ontario Hydro 30 , maybe 35 years ago . He had been a sustenance hunter .
That was a year ago , this was a year later and anything Mom could sell was sold , the last of the money was gone and the last of the food was about to be gone . George knew there were rabbits down in the low country in the thick bushes and knew where his Dads ancient flintlock pistol was . He had actually shot it a couple of times way back when he was just a kid . He poured powder down the barrel and dropped in a couple of spoons of shot and rammed a rag down in the barrel to hold the powder and shot in place . He poured more powder in a cigarette paper to prime the pan later , stuck the gun in his pants under his jacket and headed to the low country .
For a couple of hours he crept through the bushes but nothing moved and just when all seemed lost he spotted a little brown patch of hair , and then it moved , a rabbit . George went to his knees and tore the end off the cigarette paper , pull the hammer to half #### and primed the gun . The rabbit hopped farther away into thicker bush and Georges glasses were fogging up from breathing and sweat as he made his way under the brushes . He took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt and now could clearly see the rabbit about 7 or 8 paces away . He thumbed the hammer to full #### , sighted down the barrel at the rabbit and pulled the trigger . As the smoke cleared the rabbit was bouncing and spinning so George took off straight at it .
He grabbed the rabbit , held it and gave it a whack with the butt of the pistol as an amazing sense of accomplishment came over him . A single rabbit wasn't much but it was something for his family . He saw movement and around him were black boots . George looked up and saw guns aimed at him and not just Germans but by the color tabs , these were SS . George was a dead man . One of the SS guys took the pistol from Georges hand , looked at it and said something in German to the others . They all broke out laughing as they passed the ancient old flintlock around . They took a step or two closer to look at the rabbit and did some more talking in German . The guy who had taken the pistol from George handed it back to him , said something in German , with a smile and with that the SS guys walked away .
George retired from Ontario Hydro 30 , maybe 35 years ago . He had been a sustenance hunter .
Back in the days when times were hard for a father of 3, he had to put meat on the table. Being a good archer he used his skills to get what he needed to feed his family. I still remember it and the story behind it is heartbreaking. Not a single oz of meat was waisted and I learned how to respect, gut and butcher a deer. If you can't meet your needs, it's better to harvest and thank God for the food he puts on the table than stealing from others.
That's a good story to pass along Jaaska, thanks for that. Just forwarded the text of it to my son (next to me on the couch - he doesn't like to read from my screen) who is 13 and might enjoy it.
My father was a boy during that war, near the Dalmatian coast just across the water from Italy. Aged between about 5 and 10 during the war's impact on that region. He told us so many stories... but not a lot about subsistence hunting. He was the youngest of his siblings by several years, and even his two older sisters were partisans doing battle first with Italians then with Germans. The Italians weren't so bad, though of course they killed at times and were killed in turn. The Germans were a very different story, bringing truly dark things like torture, burning people in their homes, mass shootings and so on into play. But all the while the kids would get up to mischief, hide out in a well or a cave, go fishing, this and that in terms of invention and finding ways to stay alive while not getting too bored.
By the time he was 9 years old my father had become quite talented with a slingshot made from a stout little forked stick and a length of 'kutchouk' or something like that he called it, a length of rubber (I never learned any Croatian). While out on his adventures in the latter part of the war, without quite so many worries about German encounters owing to his siblings and others having largely dealt with that situation, he came across a very large Siberian goose as he called it. Had to be 15kg, he swore. He had one disc of lead, about an ounce, in the pocket of his shorts. He ducked into the tall wheat and loaded the pouch of his slingshot and waited, watching as the goose came within range, perhaps 25 metres. When it looked like the goose might be considering flying off, he pulled the thing back and let go, making a small whistling sound as he told the story, then seeing the goose leaping up and down flapping its wings... but without a head. He had parted the head from the body cleanly. That night his family ate very well. There were 14 in the house at that time. They still had wine, hidden away underground, so everyone was feeling fat and drunk.
I suppose the older brothers and sisters must have hunted now and again to keep everyone alive. They were expert at hiding in the hills, watching for when it was safe to visit the small town, with skills learned the hard way in their efforts to save what they could of their country probably being useful in hunting. Fierce people. Some of the things they did in the 'tit-for-tat' battle with the Germans gave me nightmares as a kid. Stuff our dad probably should have kept to himself. But he was a life-long drunk since childhood, never really did deal with any of it, indulging in 'talk therapy' I suppose.
My father was a boy during that war, near the Dalmatian coast just across the water from Italy. Aged between about 5 and 10 during the war's impact on that region. He told us so many stories... but not a lot about subsistence hunting. He was the youngest of his siblings by several years, and even his two older sisters were partisans doing battle first with Italians then with Germans. The Italians weren't so bad, though of course they killed at times and were killed in turn. The Germans were a very different story, bringing truly dark things like torture, burning people in their homes, mass shootings and so on into play. But all the while the kids would get up to mischief, hide out in a well or a cave, go fishing, this and that in terms of invention and finding ways to stay alive while not getting too bored.
By the time he was 9 years old my father had become quite talented with a slingshot made from a stout little forked stick and a length of 'kutchouk' or something like that he called it, a length of rubber (I never learned any Croatian). While out on his adventures in the latter part of the war, without quite so many worries about German encounters owing to his siblings and others having largely dealt with that situation, he came across a very large Siberian goose as he called it. Had to be 15kg, he swore. He had one disc of lead, about an ounce, in the pocket of his shorts. He ducked into the tall wheat and loaded the pouch of his slingshot and waited, watching as the goose came within range, perhaps 25 metres. When it looked like the goose might be considering flying off, he pulled the thing back and let go, making a small whistling sound as he told the story, then seeing the goose leaping up and down flapping its wings... but without a head. He had parted the head from the body cleanly. That night his family ate very well. There were 14 in the house at that time. They still had wine, hidden away underground, so everyone was feeling fat and drunk.
I suppose the older brothers and sisters must have hunted now and again to keep everyone alive. They were expert at hiding in the hills, watching for when it was safe to visit the small town, with skills learned the hard way in their efforts to save what they could of their country probably being useful in hunting. Fierce people. Some of the things they did in the 'tit-for-tat' battle with the Germans gave me nightmares as a kid. Stuff our dad probably should have kept to himself. But he was a life-long drunk since childhood, never really did deal with any of it, indulging in 'talk therapy' I suppose.
Exactly. Having heard hundreds of my father's stories from those years and at least 1/3 of them the stuff of nightmares, I have to acknowledge now that I've reached the same age he got to before he died (58) that I'd likely be an addict of some kind just the same were I in his shoes. Every one of his siblings was an alcoholic. They had to do things no one should ever have to do, forced to become monsters in a sense by powers beyond their control. In just the first few years after the war he lost several school friends to various ends which seemed to be linked to the maladjustment. From his way of telling it, most kids drank before they left for school in the morning and quite a few drank during school. Wasn't the wine that killed him though. It was a too-short ladder on icy steps and a head full of anger at a Toronto politician who hadn't paid for a basement renovation. Distracted ladder descending. Almost as bad as cellphone-distracted ladder descending.
An Eastern Canadian to boot.
A privileged group that gets full participation in our electoral system.
Third Rail
CGN Ultra frequent flyer
Given the cost of beef these days and so many more being unemployed (for who knows how long?), I wouldn't be surprised if there is an uptick in sustenance hunting. Couple it with guys just being bored wanting to do something. And what are the odds of getting caught?
Actually if you step outside the box; beef is expensive, yet I'm lead to believe that cow prices are down...not for the faint of heart... but butchering one yourself isn't that formidable actually.
- Location
- Blaster land, Okanagan BC
It’s not much different that gutting and breaking down any other large game aside from the size and weight of them, I helped a buddy butcher one of his and I wouldn’t want to do it under stress or a time limit. Which would be happening if you were rustling one out in the bush, the ranchers around here aren’t wise to mess with.
And what are the odds of getting caught?
They used to hang horse thieves ? There's a story about a rancher who reported to the local law enforcement that there was a unique situation to be found a few miles out of town. A cow apparently died, giving birth to a man, deceased as well.
Grizz
They used to hang horse thieves ? There's a story about a rancher who reported to the local law enforcement that there was a unique situation to be found a few miles out of town. A cow apparently died, giving birth to a man, deceased as well.
Grizz
fingers284
CGN Ultra frequent flyer
- Location
- Alberta Cowboy Ranges
I've had 4 neighbors offer us meat if it gets to a "shtf" scenario, 2 with beef, one was moose meat and another was a bunch of Buffalo
Cow prices are way down in Ontario, though I'm not sure about out west. The problem here is that Cargill has put all the competing meat processors out of business, so they can dictate the market prices to the farmers. My FIL has farmed beef here for almost 50 years and said the normal high/low cycles are basically gone.
I follow Ontario Farmer, courtesy of a friend, and the idea of having a beef operation in Ontario, among other things puzzles me. Seems to be very little slaughter capacity, no real feed lots and the government just shut down a major plant. There is no room for scale of production, like we have it. Now, tell me, why the Hell would anyone bury nuclear waste in a densely settled area, adjacent to a Great Lake, when you have thousands of square miles of Canadian shield available to you ?
Grizz
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