This year his hunting has been limited to essentially one tag. An Oregon rifle mule deer. This would be his first mule deer hunt, and on top of that, it would be his first trip backpacking in on a back-country style hunt (live off of your supplies packed on your back from more than one day).
As we loaded up the packs at the trailhead I was already concerned about a couple of things. First, I've always packed in solo. I don't have nice equipment for two. I can't afford to purchase more backpacking equipment (football, dance, school equipment has wiped me out!). We were going to use some sub-par supplies, like a 3-man, 1 season, heavy Walmart tent for example. We were just leaving the trailhead and the cold, cloudy sky began spitting snow flurries. Oh boy, this could be an interesting experience for Hunter, I thought as our legs began burning under the weight of our packs.
Our goal was to reach a patch of live timber a few miles away. I'd camped there before and being that most of the area's trees were burned and dead, a live patch of trees made laying your head down at night much less stressful, especially when the wind was blowing. We walked and walked. Many more charred trees have fallen since the last time I was there and it took some real effort to climb over the fallen logs.
Evening was upon us and snow flakes continued to strike our cheeks occassionally but not at a fast enough rate to stick on the ground. We finally made it to an old familiar rock that I know attracts bucks, but we were still 3/4 mile from my old camp. My mind told me to continue, but my legs, back, and son said, "drop your pack, claim your spot here". We dropped our packs and walked onto a rock ledge to see what was out there. "Dad, it feels like I'm floating." Hunter said raising his arms in the air and free of the 50 pound monster on his back. Immediately we jumped 5 little bucks from below us. "We'll camp here." I told Hunter.
We watched a herd of elk excitedly moving through a meadow of grass. The herd bull danced around his harem like a collie corraling a band of sheep. Just below us, another bull let us know he was around with loud bugles and breaking of limbs. What a great way to finish the evening. We walked back to the packs and set-up camp in as safe as a spot as we could. There was one old pine within striking distance of the tent if by chance that one tree decided to fall in the next couple nights...but what were the chances since it had been standing for over a hundred years? I took the chance.
We ate a dehydrated dinner, which I think surprised Hunter how tasty and filling it was. Sleep came quick but so did the storm. At 3 am I woke up to the sound of massive downpours and strong winds. I did a quick assessment in the tent to make sure the rain fly was working. The fly was working but the wind and rain had clobbered the tent walls below the fly where Hunter's sleeping bag was against the tent...his bag was soaked.
I woke him up and made sure he scooted his bag away from the tent wall. There was a half inch of rain in the corner of the tent. Not Good. I knew we couldn't spend another night as the temperatures hovered around freezing and we couldn't afford to get wet. The rest of the night was cozy for Hunter as he curled up and slept like a hibernating bear. That kid can sleep. I couldn't sleep nor wait for the light of opening morning.
Finally, we got dressed and stepped outside to an eerie setting. The wind howled through the dead trees with a ghostly howl, the fog was settled in distorting your vision at close range. Honestly, I was excited but nervous how the day would go. The thought of being packed into the high-country with my son, (who has little packing experience) and the thought of his clothes and sleeping bag being wet, and the threat of more precipitation and cold in the wilderness is very intimidating to me. It's one of my biggest fears. Perhaps that is why I do it. I like to stare my biggest fears and punch them right in the face.
We walked slowly over the first ridge below camp, no reason to hurry since you couldn't see very far anyways. We sat down behind a rock protecting us from the cold, windy fog and overlooking a small bench below. We weren't there for more than 3 or 4 minutes when suddenly a nice 3x4 buck materialized from the soupy fog just 40 yards behind Hunter. "Hunter, big buck right behind you!" I whispered. "ya right"He replied. He swiveled his head and tried to get the rifle up but the buck disappeared as fast as it appeared into the fog.
"Not a bad way to start the morning" I smiled. After a few minutes, we made our way down the ridge as the fog would clear out momentarily only to reappear. We made our way overlooking a small basin of burnt timber and waist-high browse. We watched and listened, only to hear shots from other lucky hunters nearby. We planned to continue down the ridge when I caught a glimpse of deer below us sneaking through the basin.
I knew it was a buck as I saw a flash of antler before it disappeared over the next ridge 100 yards away. Hunter couldn't get the shot off so we moved quickly to try and catch him in the next small canyon. We rounded the ridge and found not only one, but two mature bucks sneaking out as quick as they could. Hunter leaned against a standing burnt tree and picked the only grey body that presented the shot. After the rifle report, the other buck bolted but he was alone now. Hunter put a great shot on the buck...but I didn't expect anything less. This was his first mule deer.
The buck was extremely healthy and large-bodied. His antlers stretched wide to nearly 26". We boned out the buck and made the long trek back to the truck. We slept at the truck that night and spent the next morning hiking back in a snowstorm to retrieve our camp. Hunter's friend Hunter Hartman was camping back at base camp and filled his tag opening morning as well. He hiked in and helped us retreive camp. Thanks Hunter H!
What a trip for two growing Hunters.
1 comment:
Congratulations on the first mulie. The best part is the memories made with father and son hunting together.
Post a Comment