Wild Bologna (pronounced baloney) (Newfoundland Folklore)
Created | Updated Apr 11, 2009
The story goes of the wild bologna (baloney) being a nocturnal creature common in the interior of the island of Newfoundland, Canada. It looks exactly like a bologna except when alive it has it's arms and legs, and sports a ridge of hair that can only be described as a mohawk on it's head.
The wild baloney walks on two legs, but more often it runs. It has seldom been seen standing still, and if one is lucky enough to see such a thing, it is usually just before the wild baloney is captured, and taken home to be eaten.
The best way to catch a wild baloney is just as the sun is going down. They travel at night, and usually live near the top of a tree at the edge of a bog. They immediately go for a run as soon as they wake for the night, and zip down the side of their tree, and make off across the bog at what has been clocked by some observers as 90 mph.
Never will a human being ever catch a wild baloney using conventional means - even if you could train your rifle on one, it might outrun the bullet - so a Newfoundlander named Jarge came up with a way to catch the wild baloney.
The first thing you have to do, according to Jarge, is make sure you don't wear your rubber boots to the hunting site. You'll want something sturdy on your feet though because you certainly don't want your car anywhere near the place either. Wild baloneys love rubber, and they will eat anything made of rubber that they come across in seconds. They have a wonderful sense of smell, and to them nothing smells sweeter than rubber. The wild baloney, incidentally, has incredible eye site as well, so once you've laid your trap, it's best to walk back the road a ways out of site. The wild baloney is as deaf as a stone however, so you could bring a garage band with you, and it would never be spooked in the least.
As stated before the wild baloney has a great sense of smell, and eyes like an eagle. It isn't obvious to the average hunter how to fell one; it has to be stopped somehow to be effectively captured because the only way (virtually) to kill one is to shave the mohawk off it's head. This exposes the brain, and renders the baloney lifeless.
Jarge decided that what must be done is establish the running grounds of a wild baloney, and then get there an hour or so before sundown. He drove his car right up to the edge of the bog where the wild baloney had it's tree, and even left the engine running while he made the preparations. When he was done, he jumped back into his car, and drove back the road a mile or so, changing his rubber boots into sneakers, and hoofing it back to the edge of the bog. Jarge could see the wild baloney's tree from behind the huge rock he was crouching behind, and he waited for the sun to go down and the action to begin.
Jarge maintains to this day that it was only the rustle of a branch of the tree in question that tipped him off to the activity of the wild baloney. He knew then that it was on the move. Within seconds, Jarge had his wild baloney skinned and ready for the trip home. He was reluctant to share with anyone how he'd done it, as wild baloney was a rare delicacy right up there with salt water rabbit in Newfoundland, but he agreed because his inability to resist telling a good tale won over his desire to keep it under wraps.
"Sure b'y, 't was easy as pie," said Jarge. "I knew how good his eye site was see b'y, so I sprinkled a bit of pepper on the girt big rock I was hidin' behind, and just waited. I knew that as soon as he noticed anything different about his immediate surroundings, which is considerable when you take into consideration that he travels at ninety miles per hour, that he'd have to stop and investigate. They're like cats for curiosity too see b'y. So he stopped to investigate the pepper, and had a sniff, and wham, beat his head off the rock with a wicked sneeze, and I had him. Knocked himself out cold junk on the rock. Nothing to it after that, I took him, and went back to the car, and put me rubber boots back on, and that was it."
Wild baloney is prepared in the kitchen much the same as bologna you buy at the grocery store, but it is relished as a rare treat in Newfoundland homes.
Special thanks to Jamie Simms of Little Bay, Newfoundland for providing the version of this story as I relate it.
The wild baloney walks on two legs, but more often it runs. It has seldom been seen standing still, and if one is lucky enough to see such a thing, it is usually just before the wild baloney is captured, and taken home to be eaten.
The best way to catch a wild baloney is just as the sun is going down. They travel at night, and usually live near the top of a tree at the edge of a bog. They immediately go for a run as soon as they wake for the night, and zip down the side of their tree, and make off across the bog at what has been clocked by some observers as 90 mph.
Never will a human being ever catch a wild baloney using conventional means - even if you could train your rifle on one, it might outrun the bullet - so a Newfoundlander named Jarge came up with a way to catch the wild baloney.
The first thing you have to do, according to Jarge, is make sure you don't wear your rubber boots to the hunting site. You'll want something sturdy on your feet though because you certainly don't want your car anywhere near the place either. Wild baloneys love rubber, and they will eat anything made of rubber that they come across in seconds. They have a wonderful sense of smell, and to them nothing smells sweeter than rubber. The wild baloney, incidentally, has incredible eye site as well, so once you've laid your trap, it's best to walk back the road a ways out of site. The wild baloney is as deaf as a stone however, so you could bring a garage band with you, and it would never be spooked in the least.
As stated before the wild baloney has a great sense of smell, and eyes like an eagle. It isn't obvious to the average hunter how to fell one; it has to be stopped somehow to be effectively captured because the only way (virtually) to kill one is to shave the mohawk off it's head. This exposes the brain, and renders the baloney lifeless.
Jarge decided that what must be done is establish the running grounds of a wild baloney, and then get there an hour or so before sundown. He drove his car right up to the edge of the bog where the wild baloney had it's tree, and even left the engine running while he made the preparations. When he was done, he jumped back into his car, and drove back the road a mile or so, changing his rubber boots into sneakers, and hoofing it back to the edge of the bog. Jarge could see the wild baloney's tree from behind the huge rock he was crouching behind, and he waited for the sun to go down and the action to begin.
Jarge maintains to this day that it was only the rustle of a branch of the tree in question that tipped him off to the activity of the wild baloney. He knew then that it was on the move. Within seconds, Jarge had his wild baloney skinned and ready for the trip home. He was reluctant to share with anyone how he'd done it, as wild baloney was a rare delicacy right up there with salt water rabbit in Newfoundland, but he agreed because his inability to resist telling a good tale won over his desire to keep it under wraps.
"Sure b'y, 't was easy as pie," said Jarge. "I knew how good his eye site was see b'y, so I sprinkled a bit of pepper on the girt big rock I was hidin' behind, and just waited. I knew that as soon as he noticed anything different about his immediate surroundings, which is considerable when you take into consideration that he travels at ninety miles per hour, that he'd have to stop and investigate. They're like cats for curiosity too see b'y. So he stopped to investigate the pepper, and had a sniff, and wham, beat his head off the rock with a wicked sneeze, and I had him. Knocked himself out cold junk on the rock. Nothing to it after that, I took him, and went back to the car, and put me rubber boots back on, and that was it."
Wild baloney is prepared in the kitchen much the same as bologna you buy at the grocery store, but it is relished as a rare treat in Newfoundland homes.
Special thanks to Jamie Simms of Little Bay, Newfoundland for providing the version of this story as I relate it.
