Packin out, the day After
I hadn't planned to go hunting this year but my nephew called me and asked me if I would take him hunting. I said sure! Bought a tag, sharpened up the broadheads, and scouted out one of my old Honey Holes.
I'm 62 years old. Five years ago, I got bucked off a Horse, while guiding in the Bob Marshall wilderness, rolled over a cliff and broke my back and neck. It's been a long recovery. This year, I finally got back to where I could hike in the mountains again.
Long story sort, my Nephew didn't show up, so I decided not to let my tag go to waste. I headed out to my hunting spot.
It's one of those places most people just drive right by. The ground rises up about 30 feet next to the road; blocking the view for any would be scouters. If you take the time to walk up that little hill to a view point, you are greeted with a scene any veteran mountain Whitetail hunter would give his eye teeth for!
There is a stand of Quaking Aspen, 40 to 50 feet tall that run through a valley beginning near the road and trailing up the mountain into a dense conifer forest, mostly Spruce and Alpine Fir. Somewhere high up on the mountain a spring headwaters a little brook that runs down through the Aspen and then secretively goes back under ground just before it gets to the road.
The browse in the area is lush and diverse. In short Whitetail deer heaven! In all the years I've know about this place, I've both heard, and seen, hundreds of truck loads of hunters drive by on the road but never have I ever seen anyone else hunt this spot. A Deer hunter's dream come true; beautiful country, lot's of game, and no competition!
As I crept slowly up to my stand, I thought about what a beautiful day it was. Sun shining intermittently with occasional flurries of big fluffy snowflakes. The wind blowing in my face as I approached my destination I thought, “How wonderful it would be to share this with someone.” After all the years of keeping it to my self, I was wishing for a hunting partner.
Continuing quietly through the emerald green conifers with my nose filled with the pungent odor of their pitch and needles, I thought back over my 62 years and all the hunts I had been on, the people I had met and known, and the sight of an old buck slippin through the woods, intent on an errand only he knew about.
One of those thoughts was of being on an Elk hunt back in the 70's when suddenly a big mountain snow storm came up. You know, one of those blizzards where you can't see. Bout as soon as it come up, it moved on and was over as quickly as it had started. It left a pristine covering of glistening diamond filled snow on the forest floor.
As I continued to hunt in the newly fallen snow, I came across a large deer track.
Now you know that had to be fresh! I followed it, out of curiosity, and in just a few minutes, I caught up to one of the biggest 5x5 Mulie bucks I had ever seen. I just stood there and enjoyed the sight until he disappeared in the thick Oak brush.
On another hunt, my first Elk hunt, 12 years old, I remembered Hiking with my Father, brother, and my old uncle Allie up to the Cement Basin up under Mount Rainier. I can still feel my nearly frozen toes.
There wasn't all the hunting gear and creature comforts we enjoy now.
We didn't kill any Elk that year, probably because of us noisy kids being along, but my Dad and uncle seemed to be happy just to have us there and my brother and I had a grand old time. Eight days in the woods with no school, nobody tellin ya to do this or that, and listening to old hunting yarns by the fire at night; sides splitting from all the laughter. How could it possibly be any better!
I knew right then and there this would be something I would want to do all my life!
Those were just a few of the memories flooding my mind and my heart as I neared my stand.
As I got to the Buck crossing it was as if the Lord asked me if I would like one more hunting memory.
With tears welling up in my eyes I said, “Yes Sir.”
Well I took my place and looking the crossing over I saw, not to far to my right, a fresh Buck scrape.
It was early for the rut to be in full swing but that was a sign the Bucks were cruising; looking for potential mates.
I made a few doe bleet noises and just as the woods returned to silence I caught movement. In my peripheral vision I saw an ear twitch. Next moment he came out into the open with the sun reflecting from his perfectly symmetrical 4x4 rack and the next thing I remember I was walking up on my Trophy!
My 2011 Buck
Well I guess you know, after that, the work began. I tried to drag the Buck out of the woods but it didn't take long for me to realize I had done that for the last time.
I set about skinning and quartering that buck right where he lay. By the time darkness showed up, I had packed the hind quarters and the head back to my truck.
Happily exhausted, I knew I would have to wait for morning to go back for the rest.
Who knows, maybe this will be my last hunting memory. Age, and the circumstances of life, bring an end to all such things eventually, but one thing I will always have, are the memories of great hunts, fine friends, and loving family; maybe, those are the best trophies of all!
Slippin through the woods
