Consistency of Kamia Kennels – we have below 6 of the 17 magnificent males from Tora, they are all brothers from the same sire, Bram. Tora has an upcoming litter in the fall of 2013, once again with Bram.
Lots of these boys are much bigger, and older as of the time I am writing this, I am simply using the photos of each at the similar age time frame, lot's of great photos of these boys thanks to all the owners all over the site. I've been getting these photos of the boys as they grow and get sent in and have been wanting to do a little story, and just the other day, got the photo of Jocko, most of the others had come before, Ryker and Torsten of course long before, they are first litter, but I thought, well since they are hunting boys I always dreamt of hunting with six big fellas, I spent a lot of time in Northern Saskatchewan, I like it there, thought why not write a hunting story, so I have it below, besides I have a snow storm outside today, go figure, Lake still frozen, end of April, so might as well write this, it's Sunday April 21, 2013.
Neat day today also, just found out that my nephew Dan and his wife Reena, just had a brand new baby boy this morning, the second they have now. His Name is Gunnar Carlson, his older brother is Walker, Congratulations to Dan and Reena, pretty neat for sure. Called my Dad, he was pretty excited, another great grandson for him, I haven't spoke to Dan's Mom, my sister Marlene yet, but a big congrats to her also, today she is also a granma again now. Two grandsons she has. Dan and Reena run the ReeDan Ranch, they know the country I speak of well, they are an outfitting guiding, horse training couple, and regularly ride the Northern Sask regions where they live of course. In a different story it was their dog that was lost to the wolves that time, they lived for years up the road I speak of below. They still have the old Miramar, Polar, a good big boy, he watches over Walker and now Gunnar as well. We are all very happy for them.
Finn - Son of Tora and Bram - Second Litter
On a snowy day, some bush cover, later in the afternoon, you could have all six of these boys out hunting and never would you be able to tell who is who. These are 3 different litters, all from Tora and Bram, but two brothers from each litter represented. I was lucky to have the owners of these magnificent boys all send in photos of the big fellas at roughly the same age. Sure there might be a month difference here or there, and the season is different, but there is no mistaking where these boys come from. You can spot an ancient lineage Kamia Male among hundreds of Elkhounds.
Our many thanks to all the folks who own these big fellas for sending in the photos, and especially to Gerald for sending the top two banner images of their other brother, Wolf, sitting on his first Bull Moose, and of course resting up after a good hunt right next to the bulls head, which gave me the inspiration of course to write this imaginative tall tale.
And for the kids that might read this, to be sure this is a tall tale, but it does have some scattered facts through out. It's not often I write about the true instinctive hunting skills of these dogs, the actual hunt, or the actual work they have been doing for centuries, so this story was a rewarding and fun time for me. Besides, my goodness when I was setting stuff aside for this story and was looking through the photos of these six young fellas, all pretty much identical, I was compelled to go back to the roots of their heritage, these are the old hunting lines yet, and these boys, well they are the true representation of old. Please Enjoy.
Jocko - Son of Tora and Bram - Third Litter
Imagine this, it's late fall, your up by Lac La Ronge way, Saskatchewan's 5th biggest glacier lake, 1400 square kilometres, the lake is bigger than the state of Connecticut, monster big fish, Northern Saskatchewan, land of 100,000 lakes, Moose, Big Bull Moose, range all over there, it's taken you and the boys almost 5 hours drive from Prince Albert National Park, where you had spent the day before hiking out to Grey Owls cabin. On the way to up to PA you went past the spot where the Mighty North Saskatchewan and South Saskatchewan rivers meet, you and the boys walked down to the rivers. They seem to know the river, could be they know their mother, grandmother and grandfather have stood at the headwaters, or they may know and smell their other brother, Aksel, who drank from the headwaters at the very beginning of the North SK River one time right at the icefields where she starts, your not sure, but they are happy there. They can sense good things.
Your trucking along in your trusty old bronco, 35 years of motoring in, never left you stranded, you finally find the old road, more like a trail you have been looking for. It takes you winding along, full of potholes, only you and roughly 50 other Canadians even know about this trail. You come to the end, park, you and the dogs step out. Nothing but wilderness for a couple thousand miles now between you and the Northwest Passages, where ole Eirik the Red and his crew found their way through from Greenland to the west coast, you find yourself to be thinking about the old dogs on those boats, big old ancestors of these big fellas, Norway viking dogs, they would be proud of this crew, big ole Norway Viking dogs yet, still moving around on the water now and then, even if its a canoe.
The boys are happy to be out, they have been sleeping, all good travelers. Unload your limited gear, a few of the boys will have a pack, not all. You unload your birch bark canoe you bought off the old French / Metis trader Francios Two Fish, you carry the canoe for the first stretch of portage/trail, then you and the boys need to cross a nameless lake, which most likely after this trip, has had more Elkhounds paddle across than white men. You decide to name this lake Gravatten Lake, a mix of Grahund and Sötvatten ( Swedish for fresh water). The dogs think that sounds good. You hear the Loons, nothing quite like the cry of a Loon, water is clear, see way down, sand is white, clean as can be. Hard to believe.
The boy's sit quiet for the most part, however all come alive when they see a beaver paddling, you know, they will have a bad time in the water swimming with a full grown beaver, lots of dead retriever dogs who messed with a beaver in the water attest to that fact no sir, on shore, no problem, but over the side here, not so, so it's Sit Down Now. These all listen well, and they especially know the word Now, besides, they don't like swimming that much anyway, although beaver has been on the menu only a generation back or two, so they lick their chops but sit, good thing, just about capsized. Your skills learned many years ago as a young kid at a camp not far south of here, camp Kipabiskau in canoeing comes in mighty handy. The dogs are instinctive seafaring dogs, but they are young yet, so it's best to be careful, it would be a long swim. You haven't swam across a cold northern lake since your teens, all the trips your mom made taking you to swimming lessons, bless her heart, even though you were positive the ice hadn't left the lake yet when taking them, wow that water was cold, all good skills to have, but still, best keep the canoe upright. Besides, every farm kid knows if you don't want to pick rocks and roots, take swimming lessons.
Gunnar - Son of Tora and Bram - Third Litter
The boys, they know their old Great Grampa came from these parts, he was a big old Silver Swedish boy, thick, heavy, tall and mean, and they know the story of how he killed and pulled home a half a mile a big old beaver for his pups first meal, one of those pups chewing on that old beaver of course was a little rascal with a big white chest. This little rascals mother was a prolific female, 13 in this litter, she was a lean taller dark female, strong and fast. This pup, this little guy with a big heart, was always playing with his brothers, but snarling & chasing the Crows and Raven's off that ole beaver even as a little tiny rascal, he still hates them today, a would be famous Elkhound. He would one day carry this old lineage forward, his name, they knew it well, Grampa Takoda. They all think, look how big Grampa Takoda got eating that old beaver, has to be good. They can see that beaver is fat, they know mighty good dogs, ancestors no less have feasted on those fatso's in the late fall, but alas boys, today you have bigger fish to fry. But just the same, you won't go hungry up there anyway, if push came to shove, the boys could bring one home to camp anytime to keep you going. Pays to have the boys with the instincts close to the surface out here.
You reach the other side no problem, best catch a couple fish here and feed the boys, you can't even get the fish off the hook and they have it and run off, you have to get it back, you try using the old Leave technique some fancy dog trainer whispered for you to try to teach, good luck with that, they think its a game of Keep Away, you finally get it then cut it up, it's a big Northern Pike, enough for all of them, now you have a little rest. You leave the canoe now, and after a long day and 1/2 to hike in, your where no one hunts but the serious. No road hunting, high priced, big calibre, Leopold scoped Weatherby carrying wanna be's here. Just you now with the boys. Morning at camp is early, you've had a good sleep under the stars which you can actually see up here, Northern lights danced around, wow, slept on some northern white spruce bows off the damp ground, your old Woods 3star, -40 rated down filled, with sections plumped up with Elkhound inner coat of course from spring brushings, sleeping bag is worn, but mighty warm. You sleep pretty sound with these boys watching out for you, no stinky fat bears going to raid your campsite, that's a fact, these boys are some of the Elite in the world of bear dogs, and it's guaranteed none walk North America soil as good.
Just the same, the boys were tied for the night, you can't have them charging out at midnight all fired up, young males, dark out, they would just as soon charge first, ask permission later. All your boys are awake already. You have a small fire, get a coffee, fresh brewed, not fresh ground, have a snack, some smoked Greyling you had caught on a fishing trip earlier in the summer along with some Kolbasa your old butcher friend made, and cheese inside a bannock bun cooked on a willow stick you just happened to have the ingredients for.
Torsten - Son of Tora and Bram - First Litter
The boys are restless, fresh snow fell during the night, the air is crisp. No pollution here, cleanest air on the entire planet is here. Leaves are all turned on the poplar and birch, most blown off this late in the season, the Evergreens are mixed in, a pretty place. Pincherries, wow, you can smell them everywhere, saliva fills your mouth the smell is so intense and rich, sure would be good to have a few hat fulls for making some pemmican and or jelly, but not this trip, just some late birds feasting on them before heading south. You can hear tons of Geese flying overheard, all the dogs, they watch them, this is the highest concentration flight path of the Canada Goose, massive V's overhead. Awesome.
Hunting season, no greater time for an ancient lineage Elkhound, the boys are happy and excited, wound up no doubt, everyone of them is head up, they know, this what they live for, a lot of bouncing up and down on the front legs, pounding the ground, lets get going they say. They run a short ways, stop, look back, come on already they say, these are the communicator lines, no better dog in the bush in the entire world, none, good dogs for here. No one for many many miles around but you, the dogs, and the big Bull you and they just know is out there. You load your 1 piece of new gear, your new Badlands ultralight 1lb 5oz pack with gloves, rope, axe, canvases, check you have your trusty green river skinning blade with deer antler handlegrip, your old 30-30 lever action has some scrapes but still is dead on at 100 yards. You can still see that far as well in good light, Bonus, scope not needed, no good in bush anyway, dogs will help you get up close, open sites are fine, life's good.
The boys are wanting to go, can't wait any longer, you hit the trail into the wind.
Ryker - Son of Tora and Bram - First Litter
The boys pick up a scent right away, winds toward us, all heads up, only half mile from camp, whining with anticipation, they go, all silent, in a second you are alone. You move slow, into the wind, listening, waiting for them to tell where. 12 minutes later, they have him, now, it's loud and clear, they let you know right where they are, nice steady barks, some moving, you can tell, North , North West. You hustle, don't want to be too winded, can't shoot straight, you come up quiet, no need to worry though they muffle your sound with the constant barking in his face, you come into the wind, the boys have him moving in a slow circle, always in front, taunting, slowing him, keeping him for you, great big Bull, tons of fat on him, he isn't worried about them, but plenty distracted, it's time for a nice steady aim, the old bull is relaxed, he knows not of you, he is focused on the dogs, meat will be tender because he is relaxed even though he is an old bull. You take careful aim, you know the boys expect you to shoot straight, for crying out load they think, don't miss now, we have him standing right here, your aim is true, the boys think your a hero but the true hero's stand around the old bull, sniffing all around, they jump up on him, sit right next to him, a great hunt, Thank the Lord.
They know, tons to eat this winter. None of the boys are goofy, they know this is their prize as much as mine, but just the same, they know, the Big Dog hasn't said eat. Lot's to do yet, these boys are working boys. Couple of them would like to claim some portion, you lay down the law, it's all yours till you say, nobody doubts your resolve. They relax. You can't have a couple of the boy's tying into each other over a fresh moose steak, but they know better, besides, all brothers, virtually never an issue but just the same, you give em all the old grit your teeth, point your finger, you better be paying attention routine, none of them ever question that. These are good boys. They are the personable lineage, they would never offend you, they are like their mother, Tora, one of the greatest Canadian Kamia Elkhounds, she has never been in trouble in her life, she is a model of the perfect old world Elkhound, she as well as they would never be too stubborn, they live to work in sync with you. Happy and content with you is what they strive for. Besides, for centuries their job was to stop them, not rip them up, so for them, it's instinctive to wait, to sit by the Bull. To them, this is how it's done.
Kobe - Son of Tora and Bram - Second Litter
They rest while you get him skinned out, takes a bit but you get it done, all those Saturday's in the fall at the farm, and your uncles, helping and learning to butcher, again, then, you would much rather have been elsewhere, but the knowledge learned, it's like riding a bike. Could have used some help though with this big bugger. Good thing you have that big old Green River skinning blade, those little baby knives, sure couldn't pound on the back of them with your axe now could you, would've been nice to have one of those folding saws, maybe next year. Now time to prepare for hauling. Then you find some straight tamarack poles for travois, Tamarack works great, sap goes out of them early, branches turned a bright orange already, the only Evergreen to change color, some know them as the Larch, they have good spring but won't break, many is the corral you built with Tamarack rails and posts. The boys are strong, big thick boned, strong backs, deep chests, big power, they can each pull twice their weight, you should get the old dressed out Bull out in one trip. The black bears will be on this carcass by nightfall, no coming back here. Debone till late morning, this cold there are no flies, or bugs or anything, you split it up 7 ways, get the canvas, load the boys each a travois, take as much as you can carry, in your younger days you would have packed his head out, he probably was a 205 score, likely biggest set of antlers in history, alas though, you'll only share that by memory, by the time you get home, it might be 207, for some by Sat in the Tavern it might even have been 210, but no matter, for sure not packing that out, not at this age, and you all head on back to the canoe. It's still a long three day trip home. Deepfreeze will be full with this now, had a good summer fishing but still enough room for this. Big roast supper coming up after he hangs a bit, Moose feast for the boys all winter. Life's Good!
Of course that's just my imagination, or is it? Either way sure would be neat wouldn't it.
