Tuna!

We interrupt this hunting season to bring you...

TUNA!

 
The week after returning from elk hunting Craig and I had an opportunity to make it out for tuna.  We left port at Grays Harbor in Washington for the 42 mile run to the warmer Pacific tuna waters and soon got on the fish.  At the rate we were catching we easily could have doubled or even tripled the take, but a storm was moving in quickly and we had to head in early to ensure a safe bar crossing.  

Here's the video from the trip.  Wish we got more footage of the fishing/catching, but when the reels are screaming the camera has to play second fiddle!

Oh - and if you've never had fresh grilled tuna belly, you should!  My oh my is it tasty! 

Cheers,
-c2

2013 Elk Season Video

Here's a short compilation of a few clips from our Oregon and Montana archery elk hunts.  No bulls hit the dirt this year, despite getting in tight seven different times.  The heat in the early Oregon season, and the wet toward the end of our Montana season left us with only a few days of prime elk activity, and we just couldn't find a clean shot opportunity.  No problem though - there's always next year!




Cheers,
-c2

Archery Elk Season 2013

Our 2013 archery elk season is now in books, and unfortunately, we didn't manage to make an entry this year.  Despite covering more than 70 miles on the ground in both Oregon and Montana, and getting in tight on seven different bulls, a clear shot never presented itself.  

In Oregon, I had the unique experience of capturing the two bulls I got close to on camera.  The first was a decent 5x5 with a small herd of cows that was browsing in a clear-cut.  The second I picked up on a trail camera 12hrs before I located him and his harem in an expansive stand of old Doug Firs.

 

The weather this year ran the gamut.  Hot and dry early on, cold and heavy rains midway through, cool with dense fog toward the end.  The clouds at least offered some different perspectives of the coastal mountains.

The big Rosie's just weren't talkative during the time I was down, though I did work up some other hunters with a Herd Bull reed from Phelps Game Calls.  I left them before I called them in across the big creek, but they continued to bugle after me as I left..

In the end, to only sustenance I could provide the local vultures was the carcass of a Ruffed Grouse.  The 37yd shot was on the mark, but the thick undergrowth swallowed my arrow, leaving me with what I believe to be my most expensive grouse to date! 

It was time to leave Oregon behind and head East to Montana.  We suffered a late change to our game plan due to some of Craig's work commitments, but it was probably just as well.  With the weather that blew in, we would have found ourselves camped in a few feet of snow in the location we had originally planned to target.  Besides, work first - play later..

Our season opened warm and dry.  The Yellow Jackets and Baldfaced Hornets were prevalent, but not wholly obtrusive.  For some reason, we stumbled across as many broken nests as whole nests.

Craig had scouted and hunted the area two or three weekends prior in an effort to find a bull for his son.  After setting up camp the first evening, we went for a drive so I could familiarize myself with the topography.  We stopped at an old skid road that side-hilled a major ridge and went for a little hike.  A short way in, I let out my first locator bugle of my Montana season, and immediately drew a response from high on the ridge.

Not a bad start!

We quickly shot up the ridge to intercept the bull.  Well, "shot up" probably isn't entirely accurate.  It was more like a moderately progressive four-point crawl up the insanely steep hillside.  

We set up with Craig forward just at the crest of a bench, and me calling from much further down the side of the ridge.  It wasn't long before I saw Craig freeze and slowly add tension to his bow string.  As he came to full draw I couldn't help but grin - with over 70 miles of boot tracks laid down in Oregon prior to this moment, the idea that a half-mile hike in Montana would yield a shooter bull spawned an ironic chuckle from somewhere deep inside.

I don't know how Craig's nerves were holding up, but the combination of anticipation and concern at the shot taking so long to develop had me standing on the toes, heels hanging high off the sheer slope.

And then it happened.  The unceremonious let-down that experienced archers are all too familiar with.  

At 35yds, the bull never presented a clear shot, and eventually retreated to the safety of the far side of the ridge.  He was a solid six on his right with long club on his left that hung low enough below his head to be visible from the off-side. 

With a week of opportunity ahead, we relished in the experience and enjoyed what would be one of our only clear night sky's of the week.

The next morning found us side-hilling below the same ridge line.  The abundant sign we observed the evening before left no doubt there were more elk than the 6xClub on this ridge.  

It was just a half-mile further up the ridge when the sound of Craig's Watermelon reed from Glacier Country Hunting Calls drew a response.  

Are you kidding me?  Barely a mile and a half into Montana and we were already on our second bull?

We made our second thigh-burning push up the ridge and set up.  The bull closed the gap quickly and stopped perfectly on a small bench just 45yds above me.  Perfect except for the low stand of Cedars concealing a clear view from both hunter and quarry.. 

Time passed, bugles were exchanged, and the mountainsides warmed under our last clear day.  Soon the morning downdraft yielded its' advantage, and as the thermals switched the cautious bull was rewarded for his patience with the scent of our presence.  He paused briefly to give us one last curious look before trotting off into the underbrush. 

We picked up two more distant bugles that day, but nothing we could get close to.  

  As the week progressed we pushed the length and intensity of our hunts each day, but it seemed that mother nature was bent on outpacing us.  While her ever souring disposition set us back on our heels occasionally, she also offered us new and unique insights into her domain.  For the first time in my years afield I finally witnessed my first ever Montana Timber Dork.

Elusive little buggers.  Amazed me how it simply seemed to appear from nowhere behind the trees..

The wet, wind and fog intensified.  Whether the bulls couldn't hear our hails or we couldn't hear their retort, I can't say, but their shrill notes grew few and far between.  

Near the end of our week we decided to start high on a ridge we had located some bulls on a few days earlier.  We left one rig at the bottom and began the 50 minute drive to our starting point in another.  The change in scenery beginning our descent was almost surreal.

We were far from the first to travel this path.  Rest in peace Mr Hardin.

The long ridge ridge proved to be little more than a nine mile nature hike.  

With a day and a half remaining for us, we planned one more hard push; a repeat of the 16 mile, 5,000ft vertical effort we logged a few days prior.  We had already located bulls and copious fresh sign on the North side of the ridge, so held high expectations for another encounter.  

We struck out long before light, but still didn't crest the ridge until late in the morning.  After some food and rest, we swept the first two big bowls without success.  It was as we reached the section that gave way to more tightly splintered finger-ridges that we finally struck up some action!

Over the next several hours we verbally sparred with four or five different bulls, twice pulling mature bulls to under 50yds.  Whether lucky or wise, the big bulls never surrendered a clear shot.  


During one set-up, the bull we were targeting retreated downhill a spell and proceeded to lay waste to a sapling pine.  While he busied himself with thinning the forest, a lonely young spike-x-fork arrived, eager to meet the new bull in the neighborhood (Craig).  He wandered between us for a solid five minutes before Craig, concerned he would cut our wind, bark and bugger the rest of the herd, sent him trotting off with a well placed rock to the rump! 

At that point it was me that almost buggered the herd, as I had to dig deep to keep from laughing out loud!  Don't know what it is about desolate ridge tops and long days that can give a grown man a fit of the giggles for little good reason..

On our final day we pushed up the crest of the ridge where we first located the 6xClub.  The struggle to make the climb was as much a mental challenge at this stage as it was physical.  Fingers were freezing, bodies overheating, bad wind, rain and no responses.  After several hours we stopped to break.  

We were studying the GPS trying to determine just how punishing the nest stage of our climb would be when we received our first response of the day.  It started with one, then two, then a third.

Wolves.

Best as we could tell, we figured them to be 4-500yds below us.  In a way, it was a fitting conclusion to the week.  A definitive end to this years' journey.  

We picked our way back down the ridge line, packed and made for Craig's place.  The remnants of a Pacific typhoon were just beginning to whip the trees, but with a cold beer in hand and college football on the big screen, it was little cause for concern.

It was another great year in the elk woods..

Cheers,
-c2

A Montana Deer Hunt

It seemed I had no sooner put away my gear after Blacktail season when thoughts of returning to Montana for Mule deer began to fill my mind.  We had experienced a great week hunting elk there in September, and I was especially looking forward to getting back for deer since my Godson would be joining us.

Deer sightings were low where we had spent our time during elk season, so my elk hunting partner, Craig, had gone back for another week to scout some other units.  Unfortunately, the results of his efforts were that we checked more units off our list of potentials than we added.  After consulting with a new friend we met during our elk hunt (thanks Ian!), we settled on some areas, planned a rendezvous point with my cousin from Wisconsin, and embarked on the long drive.

A brief tour through one of the area valleys the night before gave us some hope for the next day!  Though we planned to target Mulie's, our tags were also good for Whitetail, and I wasn't planning on getting too picky if the right opportunity presented itself.

Next morning we started out high.  There had been a good storm roll through the week before that helped to start pushing the deer down a bit lower, and we hoped to intercept some of them.

The scenery was well worth the hike, and there was even a close encounter with a couple moose, but even with an old snow there was little in the way of sign.

The next few days proved frustrating.  We had several sections of public land that we planned to target, but found that the access routes didn't allow public easement.  It seemed like we were blocked at every turn; either by snow or private lands that kept our target areas landlocked.

Despite the challenges, young Wyatt continued to keep after it and trouped right along with us.  One morning Wyatt and I hunted together.  I tried to muster every bit of "good hunt luck" I could in hopes of being able to guide him to his first buck, but bambi wasn't in the cards that morning.

During our nightly routine of pouring over the maps, Pete identified a couple areas NW of where we had been focusing that looked promising.  We decided to start with some of the smaller state plots before turning our attention to the larger section. 

The smaller state plot was again a bust.  We quickly changed plans and headed into the larger section Pete had identified.  It wasn't long before started to find some critters.

The new area provided a mix of terrain that allowed for some periods of still hunting through the timber patches, as well as opportunities to glass the valleys and breaks.

We split ranks and scoured the long ridge.  Sign was plenty, and I quickly glassed up a respectable young buck and watched as he trotted some 500+yds down through a snowy meadow toward me.  He wasn't quite the caliber of buck I was hoping for, but I was newly invigorated to finally be in the mix!

The last morning we were again met with high winds, a biting chill and a distinct lack of deer. 

During lunch we made plans to go back to the long ridge.  Craig would take Wyatt across the river while Pete and I coordinated our strategy for the main ridge.

The winds were up again that afternoon, but so were the deer, though most were of the antler-less variety.  As daylight began to dim, Craig and Wyatt began the move back down toward the river.  Out of the wind and with twilight coming they quickly came upon a small group of does followed by a young - and lucky - Mule deer buck.  Wyatt took aim, but as quickly as he had appeared, the young buck slipped back into the underbrush of the breaks.
 
It seemed that Wyatt's opportunity had just passed.  After four hard days of hunting, there were less than 30 minutes left to make it happen.  Craig tried to explain that it was still "prime time," and that the best minutes of the day still lay ahead, but I don't know that his words carried much meaning for Wyatt at that point.

Easing into one of the last big draws before dropping down the chute to the river, Craig caught movement, "Deer! Get on it but don't shoot until I confirm it's a buck."

Before Craig could finish his command Wyatt had taken a knee and centered his cross-hairs.

"Wait, wait, wait... It's a buck!" - BOOM!!

Craig had barely finished the sentence when Wyatt's .300 barked.  This buck wasn't going to slip away!

Wyatt field-dressed the buck by himself under the combined glow of his headlamp and his father, and then made the steep climb back down to the river.  In the morning Pete started the long drive back to Wisconsin, and Wyatt, Craig and I traversed the river one last time to retrieve the buck under safer daylight conditions.

 

While so much of this hunt remains a mild frustration for me, it still stands out as one my most enjoyable as well.  My remaining regret isn't that I didn't bag a dandy of my own, but that I couldn't be there in person to watch my Godson take his first buck.

Congrats Wyatt!   Aaron and I are looking forward to building a nice antler mount for you when you're ready!

On the way home we passed a small Montana town whose name struck a chord with me. Those who know Jimmy Buffett will know it.  The church windows aren't broken anymore, but the town is still slippn' away...

Cheers,

-c2

Blacktail 2012

It was around 25 years ago when my father first introduced me to Blacktail deer hunting. Since that time I have expanded my hunting pursuits to most big game I can get a tag for, but the pursuit of the grey ghost is still most dear to my heart.

I missed the season opener this year returning from a fantastic archery elk hunt in Montana (albeit no tags punched…), and other responsibilities and commitments prevented me from getting into the Blacktail woods until the last week of the season.  With rain in the forecast and a month separating me from my last hunt, I was chomping at the bit to be back among the wet ferns and game trails of the Siskiyou’s!

The clouds were good enough to refrain from releasing their deluge until after we had camp put up, though from then on our rain gear was a constant companion.

My first morning found me watching a wide fern bench under a canopy of old firs with pockets of alders slowly shedding their leaves.  While still absorbing the view I caught movement!  A layer of fog was just rolling in, but I could just make out that the source of the movement was a cat.  I have become accustomed to seeing bobcats in the area and assumed this to be another one, but when it passed a fern and into full view I could see I was very wrong.  

Mountain lion!  Bino's down and rifle up!

The big cat slipped in and out of view as it navigated the ferns, his movements as fluid as the fog that was working to shroud him.  I steadied myself for the shot and waited for it to emerge from behind an old alder, but like the fog, it seemingly evaporated into thin air.  

This was my first ever lion sighting, and despite not punching my tag on it, the experience alone ensured that day one was a success!

In the days that followed we worked hard at our soggy endeavor, and were rewarded with multiple sightings of does, a few small bucks and a couple of very close encounters with some roving bands of Roosevelt elk.  As with so many years before, there was a hatch of centipedes (I think?) that seemed to swarm the base of every tree.

I’ve spent every Halloween of the last decade dressed as a hunter, and this year was no exception. ; )  The rain seemed to be letting up this morning and I briefly considered leaving my rain gear in my pack, but only 10 minutes into the hunt the skies opened again and I was glad to be wearing that portion of my “costume!”

An hour later I approached the edge of a timber stand that had been thinned a few years earlier.  After easing through a border of small alders I paused to scan the area.  The fog wasn’t too bad, and at times I could see out to almost 200yds – a rare distance in the area I frequent.  I was almost startled when I noticed the familiar shape of a Blacktail buck standing 80yds to my right!  It did not take long for me to determine that he was a shooter in my book.  It did however take several more minutes for me to ease into position for a shot on the muddy hillside I was leaned up against.

I must have had a fair bit of moisture in my barrel, because when I touched off the round it looked to me as if I’d just fired a black powder round with the cloud of mist that instantly materialized in front of my barrel!  Needless to say I did not see the hit, but watched as the buck bounded 40yrds or so before finding his final resting place.

Pop was hunting a ridge about a mile away and had heard the shot.  We made plans to rendezvous, grab some stout packs and then return for the deer.  Pop led the climb down to where the deer lay and was the first to get a good look at him.

“He’s not a monster, but he’s a keeper,” he said with a grin.  I’d have to agree.
  

Bro made it down in time to help with the fun part.  We quartered and boned him where he lay and made the climb back out.  This view doesn’t do the the thigh-burning incline justice!

After Bro and Pop finished their evening hunts we were able to properly toast the buck.  Last year we celebrated with dark IPA we brewed ourselves and titled “Cascadia Blacktail Ale.”  Home brewing has been slow this year, so we settled for a “Nice Rack” IPA by Southern Oregon Brewing.  Just seemed appropriate.

With some extra time now on my hands I headed out the next morning with the camera to hopefully collect some shots.  The rain had really put a damper on my opportunities to exercise the shutter this year, and I was a little disappointed that this day held more of the same.  Here are a few of the local scenery.

That morning while I was off doing nothing particularly interesting, Bro had hunted into the deer equivalent of a high school dance!   He was in an area we have dubbed “Sorority House” on account of the high number of does we typically see there.  The wind was up, the rain was coming down, the girls were out and apparently the boys wanted to play!

There were several small bucks that had been moving with the does for a while when another buck came in and ran them off.   This was clearly the dominant buck in the area! 

Soon after the young bucks were run off a doe appeared, moving quickly from out of the vine maple.  This time of year, that’s a sign to have your rifle at the ready!  Bro did, and when the dark horned buck following the doe appeared Bro leveled, fired, and put him to rest in his tracks.

Let’s just say that if this was the same dominant buck, he was mature for his age!  Bro said he was initially a little disappointed at the size, but said his thanks and explained, “He was down, he was mine now, and man was that a dang fun hunt!”

The view from camp was just getting better!

Over the next day and a half the weather started to dry up, and the deer movement seemed to go down with it.  Pop continued to hunt hard with the memory of tagging his buck a few years ago in the last five minutes of the last day.   Mid-day we set up for some rattling sequences, but to no avail.

In the end, Pop didn’t get the opportunity to notch his tag.  While that certainly is the primary goal, it is not the mark of successful trip for us.  It may not have been a monster year, but there is no doubt it was a keeper!

I have the points to draw a Willamette Valley tag next year, provided I secure access to some land.  On the way out we passed this picturesque little farm.  It got me thinking about what opportunities and memories next years’ hunt, or maybe hunts, may hold…
  

Cheers,
-c2

Bull Sounds - Montana 2012

While we didn't punch our tags during our 2012 Montana hunt, we did manage to get into some elk.  

One particular day we hiked up a high ridge separating two big bowls.  We saw several moose throughout the day, but after nearly eight miles of hiking, we didn't raise a single bugle.  The weather was hot, the ridge was steep, and we were getting discouraged.  

We decided to put a stop to our ascent and try a different approach.  I'm not sure what was going through my head at that moment, but I decided to run up the ridge another couple hundred vertical feet just so I could say I crossed the 9,000' mark that day.  I reached my goal, threw out a few bugles, and then took a few minutes to remove some clothing layers before turning to head back down to Craig and Pete.  

I hadn't made it 50yds when I saw the boys approaching.  Apparently I had drawn a response from a bull that I hadn't heard!

Craig worked the bull for some time, but couldn't get him to commit.  No matter - in the process of calling this bull Craig had fired up another bull in the adjacent bowl.  We made a plan and took off for the hot bull.

After a couple of adjustments, we had the bull coming in.  He was no monster, but a solid 6x6.  As the bull worked his way up the steep hill toward us, I pulled out my little point-and-shoot camera and switched it to video.  When the bull got closer I lashed the camera to my belt and let it dangle.  The result was 30 min of the worst video ever.  I did a bit of editing in an attempt to make a terrible video palatable.  

I wouldn't call it a success...

There is no critter footage in this clip, but it provides a limited example of the sounds of our (Craig in this case) calling and the responses from the bull. 

After the bull gave us the slip we continued deeper into the bowl.  We quickly got another response and went to work.  We were on a solid 4x5 in no time and had Pete set up for the shot.  Three times I watched Pete go to full draw, and three times I watched him let down on what I thought was a clear shot.  The young bull eventually got nervous and left.

It turned out that Pete's peep wasn't lining up for some reason and he wasn't comfortable letting an arrow loose.  On closer inspection we discovered one of the cords of his string had broke!   Pete had to put his bow away for the evening until we could make it back to camp to make some repairs. 

All in on that day - afternoon/evening really - we heard nearly a dozen different bulls.  It was incredible.  The bottom of the bowl echoed with their calls.  That alone was worth the price of admission.

That night we made some crack repairs to Pete's bow, but another opportunity to draw never materialized. 

But there will be others next year.. 

Cheers,
-c2   

Some 2012 Montana Elk Hunt Pics

After spending the last several years competing with the canines in Idaho, my elk hunting partner, Craig, and I decided to give Montana a go.  After a fair bit of research, we settled on a spot.  This year was also going to be a bit different as my cousin Pete was making the trek out from Wisconsin to hunt with us.

Two scouting trips, multiple calls to the bio, rec tech, forest service employees and others, we felt confident heading in.  But after two hard days of hunting the only bugle we heard was just behind our tent - at midnight.  

We collectively decided to move to "Plan B."  

Almost immediately into Plan B we were into elk, spotting them high on the open hillsides, and talking with them in the timber.  For several more days we worked the area drainage's and brought bulls in close each day.  I found myself at full draw on a mature 6, but didn't have a clear enough path to release my arrow and eventually let down, buggering the bull.  

Pete got the opportunity to draw three times on a young 5, but his peep wouldn't center and he too decided to hold off.  Good thing - we discovered he had a major issue with his string that needed repair and re-sighting.

In the end we left Montana with its' elk, but brought home many new memories.  The vistas were at times nothing short of stunning.  The pictures just don't do it justice. 
 
In five and a half days of hunting we laid down 74 miles of boot tracks.  I know there are a lot of guys that won't blink at that, but it plum wore me out!  And I can't wait to do it all over again...

Here are some pics from the trip:

Headed in

The lake near camp.   Drove Pete nuts that we didn't get a chance to fish the plentiful trout it held.

Craig and I went in early to set camp and made the five mile hike back in with Pete once he arrived.   A short break to relax with a coffee (have to say I love the Starbuck's Via's for this!) and we were off.

The view was worth the hump to the top.

But we needed a break on the way down..

Making our plans for the last few hours of light.

No elk heard or seen, but we counted the day as a success nonetheless.  Dinner time.

What?  I didn't shave all that pack weight for nothing.. ; )

The vistas are always enjoyable in elk country, but sometimes the little things up close have some unique interest of their own.

The smoke in the sky made for dull daytime skies, but really amplified the sunrises and sunsets.

After another quiet morning hunt we loaded up and headed back out to the trucks to strike out for Plan B.

A thunderstorm was rolling through Plan B, bringing some much needed rain to the area.

Pete's interpretation: "Do Not Enter"

Low point - only 2,000 vertical feet to go.

Storm break.

A ridge with a view.

My folks drag this silly thing around with them on their travels and work it into photos here and there.  Figured little "Sapphire" needed to visit Montana, so I kidnapped it.   You can imagine the grief I got from Craig and Pete as I packed it up..

I'd be lying if said I wasn't disappointed not punching my tag on an elusive Montana bull, but despite the lack of the traditional "trophy shot," it was still a trophy hunt!

Here are a few more random shots.  Hope you've enjoyed!

 

 

Cheers,

-c2