Hunting & Feasting on Catalina Island

Elk shepherds pie, venison neck curry, celery root gratin and venison heart tartar

Trevor has been very excited to have an opportunity to hunt mule deer on Catalina Island, one of 8 channel islands off of the California coast. For the salty sea dog that he is, the chance to sail to a hunting location, hopefully hunt and harvest a deer and then process it on the boat was really a dream come true. I would be tagging along as designated chef, tea maker and take the opportunity to catch up on some holiday crafting and projects while at anchor down there.

We loaded up with groceries for 4 for a week, refueled the boat with the knowledge of a very light wind forecast and packed a few large coolers in anticipation of some fresh venison. We pulled anchor at 5am last Tuesday and head south to Catalina. We had a lumpy and windless start thanks to some lingering swell from our breezy channel, but it smoothed out once we reached Ventura and was glassy from then on. We had a puff of wind in the code zero for a few hours before it was back to being a part-time motor boat. I don’t mind motoring nearly as much as Trevor does. The relentless hum of the engines send me into deep and otherworldly naps, and I know I don’t have to bother with trimming sails. I’m a lazy, fair weather seawoman it seems. I often wish I was one of those excitable, technical sailor girls decked head to toe in the latest Helly Hansen gear, chomping at the bit at the thought of a sporty sail and some wicked wind, but I’d rather be making puff pastry in the galley, adorned in cashmere and handing out fresh coffee to my crew at about 6kts.

We arrived at the island by 9pm and blindly nosed our way into an inky black anchorage for the night. I become so disorientated at night, and can’t tell a seagull from a fishing buoy, or a rocky outcrop from a moored boat, but luckily Trevor has been eating all of his carrots and we navigated unscathed.

We motored on down to Avalon early the next morning to collect our guests who caught the morning ferry over. The boys sorted their tags out with the Nature Conservancy chap, we picked up a few last minute supplies and I made a b-line for the ice cream shop for a late morning snack. It was the only “handmade ice cream” place in town and my hopes were high. After paying a whopping $9 I noticed a sign saying all of their ice creams are made with corn syrup and non-fat milk. I ate it anyway, but was disappointed that collectively humans have been able to screw up ice cream on top of all of the other culinary and health-related atrocities. Is it really that hard to make a bloody ice cream? Just another way we have overcomplicated something so incredibly simple.

We left Avalon hastily and head up the island to a small anchorage where Trevor had glassed a buck earlier that morning from the boat. The terrain was steep, imposing and plunged into shade by 2pm. The ascent would begin vertically from the beach until the guys would be able to scout the other side of the ridge from the top. I dropped them off in the dinghy and watched as they stumbled upwards like a rogue pack of mountain goats heading for fresh alpine pastures. I popped the kettle on and settled down on the couch to enjoy the serene afternoon and plan our first meal together. Our friends Joel and Ben gifted us some elk meat from a hunt earlier in the year and I decided to use the ground meat in a shepherd’s pie.

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