Hunter and I followed the Oregon trail from Wyoming back to Oregon to finish something we started earlier this year. While living in ORegon, Hunter drew his Columbia whitetail tag out of Roseburg and I had a general season blacktail tag. Before we departed Oregon in August to our new home in Wyoming, we did a little scouting for our Oregon hunts.
In our scouting trips we found some solid bucks that, although we've been busy with life, had been in the forefront of my mind since. We loaded up the old Chevy and we were off! Hunter got his driver's license the day prior to the trip which helped me as he got to take a turn behind the wheel, although I didn't sleep much.
PART I: Whitetail hunt. We pulled into Hunter's whitetail area at noon hour and it was warm. Not the kind of weather for a good deer hunt but you take what you get. We spent the rest of the day, tired from driving, in the area where we spotted the big buck two months prior. I love watching my son packing a rifle and enjoying the outdoors. I pushed a small whitetail buck to Hunter that first evening and found a shed antler of the type of buck we dreamed of. We also saw a few nice blacktail bucks and whitetail does but no sign of any other whitetail bucks.
We stayed at a friends house and were in our glassing area by first light the next morning. We glassed and glassed. The terrain isn't awfully steep nor thick for Oregon standards. But the thick blackberries and poison oak patches that exist are where the whitetails go for cover. 15 minutes into glassing we uncovered a small group of whitetails that included a nice buck, along with some small bucks and does.
The buck had a more graduated level of intelligence, as he broke away from the herd and literally ran into a blackberry tangle and disappeared. I smiled as I told Hunter that where it vanished is only 50 yards from where Corrine's buck bedded the year before! Hunter knew we had that buck pegged and it would be there for the remainder of the day, so he decided to make a still-hunt down a canyon where he jumped a great big buck this summer.
HE wasn't so lcky this time around and we met up at the base of the canyon where he only jumped some does. He decided it was time to go after the bedded buck so we made our way into position. We snuck within 100 yards from the location and got ready for the wait. We glassed for any sign but it was to thick to see hide or hair. "Have faith", I said,"he is still in there". "How do you know?" "It's big buck behavior". So we waited...and waited. Finally,after some rest and restlessness, we made a plan for Hunter to slowly walk above where the buck was bedded and watching for any sign of him.
We were both taken back by the sound of ripping berry vines and breaking sticks below. "Here he comes!" I shouted. The buck bolted into the open directly away from us. hunter took a knee and tried to steady the crosshairs as the buck stopped to get one last glimpse. Bang! the buck turned and ran over the ridge without another chance for a shot. I thought Hunter was going to trip over his lower lip as he fell next to me. I didn't know how to react. He hasn't missed much. We were silent for a while.
"Well, you wanna give up or go get him?" I questioned. Like any teenager, he rolled his eyes with a mumble. He was visually upset but soon got over it as we were headed towards the canyon where the buck ran. We positioned high in the canyon with a great lookout. We glassed, quiet, wondering where the buck might have run off to. Finally, I told Hunter I'll walk back downhill to where the buck had entered the canyon and make a big push through one of the nastiest poison oak patches on the landscape. He was all for it.
I found the trail where the buck hit the brush in the canyon and was startled when the buck jumped up right there headed Hunter's way. I slowly made a circle, jumping a few other deer as well. Just as I wondered if the plan was going to work, I heard the bang of Hunter's rifle. I then heard it again. Usually two shots isn't a great sign of a solid hit. "YEAH!!!! DAD!!!!!" I then heard echoing down the canyon. One of the sweetest sounds.
So, that is the story of Hunter's Columbia whitetail. I couldn't have been more proud of his persistence and abilities.
PART II: Blacktail
Steve and I packed into some backcountry for a night. Of course, the weather was beautiful for a hike but terrible for hunting blacktail. We pushed hard to get on the summit by evening. We dropped our packs at camp with the glow of evening. I shimmied over to a ledge under camp and immediately eyed a young buck looking my way. So much for thinking I was stealthy quiet. He burned a hole right through me.
The next morning, we picked up a handful of younger bucks headed to their beds early. Although a trigger wasn't pulled it was nice to get back into some familiar country with a good friend and see a few deer.
In late summer, Trapper Spencer and I came across a great big blacktail. It was one of my favorite blacktail experiences--staring at such a huge buck. I said farewell to Steve and hopped in with Trapper and we were off for two days to look for the brute. With dry, sunny weather, our plan was to go in after them in the heavy timber.
Folks, if you've never stepped foot in blacktail cover, it will be hard to understand the difficulty of first, just getting around in the brush quietly, second, happen across a buck that hasn't spooked way ahead of you, and then third, and most important, shooting and killing it. That third step is critical and it cost me the blacktail of a lifetime on this trip.
Our plan was to each take a side of a strip of timber and slowly walk towards each other at a real slow pace, glassing and watching our every step. It took us 6 hours to make it 3/4 mile a piece, where we met up. Trapper had jumped a group of does...I wasn't even that lucky. But we knew big bucks lived in this timber. I told Trapper to take the next level down below and continue the direction he was heading and I would head back and get the truck at a lower level from where Trapper walked.
I began my walk a bit faster than I had been going knowing Trapper had just passed through the area when suddenly, down below I spied what looked like a white face staring back at me. The big black body sent chills up my spine immediately. Adrenaline had my nerves on edge. I've waited for this moment forever. I pulled my rifle up and tried balancing on the down tree I was balancing on. I looked like a drunk man on a tight rope. My crosshairs bounced in and out of the buck's body as he stared a hole through me. I turned to my left and decided I could quickly lean my shoulder against the nearest standing fir. I took a step left, brought the rifle up now with more support just in time to see the buck spring from it's bed like a bottle rocket and dissappear from my life...forever.
I had just screwed up my chance on a mega-buck with over-sized black antlers beyond his ear width. I'm still troubled and disturbed. When I picked up Trapper he said, "Why didn't you just shoot when you had the chance". Hard to argue with him. Very few people could make that shot, but Trapper is one of them, and he did the next morning.
He ran into the same situation and shot a different large buck 4 times before he finally brought it down. 4 shots are better than none...I was proud of Trapper. He deserved that buck and puts more effort in than anyone I know. We got it loaded up and quarter and hanging back at camp. I had one last evening to hunt...
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| This buck had one of the largest blacktail bodies I've seen |
With time running out, I told myself that I would pass on a small yearling buck, but anything else might be in trouble. Trapper told me he would do a drive on an extreme sloped patch of timber. My plan was to still hunt it and try to find a buck bedded while Trapper was pushing my way. I had worked the patch a quarter mile when I jumped a couple deer that blew snot all the way down the mountain scaring everything in there path. "Damn does", I shook my head and moved on. I approached a small bluff that looked good enough I might see a hundred yards down into the brush and timber. I snuck up to the edge and put my glasses up. I quickly glassed up a deer hind-end bedded. I leaned to my right to get a full body view and noticed a pretty little rack atop a white face staring up at me.
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| My shooting position. The buck is center of the photo. I'll buy you lunch if you find it. |
Now, this slope was so steep I think if I spit I wouldv'e hit it in the head; however, bullet distance was around 100 yards. I got into position, looked around for a possible bigger buck in the area, looked again for a bigger buck, then waited a bit longer for Trapper to push a bigger buck my way. Finally the jitters were killing me and it was time to put meat in the pack. With a dead steady rest, I squeezed the trigger...with no reaction from the deer. I crushed another round into the chamber and quickly decided to aim low on the hairline. The buck laid it's head down, without even a kick. A great way to end such an awesome Oregon hunt.
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| Even here in Wyoming, the blacktail flame is still lit inside of me |
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