Boot Tracks Outdoors is a small group of friends and family dedicated to a life outdoors. Our aim is simply to share our experiences through stories, discussion, photos and video. We hope you enjoy the view from our Boot Tracks as much as we do!
Had a fantastic week in the Idaho back country hunting elk with Craig during the 2011 season. Unfortunately, we weren't able to close on our opportunities and
left with un-punched tags so there aren't any "trophy shots" here.
It was a long week filled with many miles of hiking and thousands of feet
up and down. Flat exhausting, but I can't wait to do it again. We'll see
how things go in the Montana draw in 2012 and maybe change the scenery
a bit.
For now, here are few pics from the trip. Hope you enjoy.
We've arrived.
Heading in.
First bugle.
Our home away from camper.
These little guys were thick in places.
Second breakfast.
Our last obstacle before getting to the "easy" trail out.
Glamor shot of me and our makeshift waders (trash bags and duct tape).
Worked okay until Craig slipped and took a full bath... Good thing I
got that on video. ; )
Actually saw the owners of these tracks make them. The smaller one is from one of the wolf pups.
Ahh… A warm shower, a cold beer and a loving wife - what more does a fellow need? As it turns out, after a week of hunting elk in the wilds of North Idaho, that’s it!
And what a week it was… This was my first endeavor at archery elk hunting and I was jazzed at the opportunity to do it with one of my closest friends, Craig. In the last several years Craig has managed to bag a couple of dandy wall hangers of his own in addition to helping call in several other trophies for his other hunting buddies. I was looking forward to learning a lot, but even more toward sharing the experience with such a dear friend.
In the months leading up to the trip I checked and re-checked my gear and spent hours wearing out the bearings on the elliptical, hoping I would be in tip-top shape by hunting season. I did manage get in shape, but “tip-top” isn’t the way I’d describe it… Thirty minutes sweating on a strange mechanical contraption, and crossing 3-4kft in elevation in the Idaho wilderness are two very different things! Thank goodness for Advil…
The first morning found us pushing our mountain bikes up one of the very few roads in the area. After a 45 minute push it was time to mount up for a couple miles of down hill. Now, it has been a good 15 years since I’ve done bike riding of any duration, so despite the cliche about ‘just like riding a bike,’ I think I looked more like a circus bear than Lance Armstrong!
The scenery was beautiful, and more than once I almost wrecked trying to soak it in.
Making our first stop high in a meadow overlooking two ridges, we paused to bugle. Craig had his tube to his mouth and was about to blow when a bull bugled just inside the timber below us! Was it supposed to happen so fast? Enough with soaking in the scenery – time to move!
Again with the trained bear routine – we blasted off on the bikes to try to get to the timber in time to set up. Well, Craig blasted off. I kind of just sputtered forward…
I initially thought that Craig had wrecked when I rounded a corner to find him and his bike laid down in the trail. The bull was closer than we thought and had wandered out of the timber and into the meadow, bugling the whole time! Craig was laying out of sight of the bull and franticly motioning for me to get down and get ready. We set up in one of the few stands of trees available and began to call to him. Though the bull came toward us for 20 or 30 yards, he clearly had something else on his mind as he broke into a trot toward the other side of the meadow. We rode to the timber and took off on foot after him, jogging a good portion of the way, but could never quite catch up. What a way to start the week!
A long-ish hike and short ride later we dumped the bikes and headed out on a day-long hunt down a ridge that ran back toward camp.
We had eight or nine responses to our calls that day. I know that each bull has a unique sound, but was still surprised at how varied they really are. One let out 3-4 long and low growls before bugling, and another never grunted or chuckled at all -- he just flat screamed at us. The wind was right for us to go after the growler so we pushed hard to close the gap and get inside his comfort zone before calling again.
We set up and Craig started working the bull with a series of different bugles, cow calls and tree raking. For some reason I didn't really expect the bull to come in - I was just excited to hear this bull bugle so close! When I first saw movement through the thick brush some 60 yards out my heart really started to pump! He continued to bugle as he moved up the hill. He was coming from an angle that was blocked from my view by dead fall, but by now I could smell him and hear his every step. It sounded like he was going to step on me when the top of his left main beam first came into view, and when he tilted head back to bugle and revealed his G1's and 2's curling up in front of me at 25 yards, my adrenaline kicked into overdrive!
For nearly another ten minutes this bull meandered between 15 and 30 yards from me, all the while bugling, raking trees and occasionally giving me a curious look. Twice I had drawn back and twice the shot eluded me. My heart was thumping so hard I was afraid the bull would hear me! The adrenaline, the excitement and the strain of holding full draw for extended periods gave me the shakes so bad I thought my teeth might start chattering! They didn't, which was good because the bull moved again toward one of my only shooting lanes. For the third time I drew and held. The bull spotted me and froze, but was soon more intrigued with Craig's calls than me and moved forward. His vitals came into view and I loosed my arrow. Thwack!!
The bull spun and barreled down hill. But he didn't go down. I hadn't seen the flight of the arrow, but I knew immediately that where I wanted it to fly, and where I sent it, were in two very different places. The broadhead buried itself up to the shaft in the tree that was behind the big 6x6. Even though it was the first day of the hunt, I knew opportunities like this would be few and far between, and I was angry at myself for the mistake.
However, the miss was clean and the experience was everything I could have imaged. The trip was already a great success! I had my opportunity at an elk, so it was my turn now to call.
I'm not terrible with a reed, but next to a caller like Craig I sound more like a wounded duck than a bull elk. Despite this handicap we were still able to get a few bulls going. We couldn't close on either and decided to give it another go at the growler I had missed. Three or four hours had passed, we had a different caller and put together a different strategy in our approach.
It worked!
Soon we had the bull close. I was also a bit close and could still see Craig when he drew back. I watched as he held his draw. My own arm was getting sore by the time he finally let down! I put out a series of cow calls and soon Craig was drawing back again! This time though, he sent his arrow on its' majestic arc.
The Idaho pine trees seem to have little respect for the majesty of an arrows flight. The arrow caught an errant branch and deflected harmlessly into the woods. Two misses in one day on the same six point bull. What a start!
We headed down the ridge toward camp, but didn't get another response the rest of the evening. It was long hike with a
dangerously steep ending. Unfortunately we zigged when we should have
zagged and came out a mile or so too far that way -->
The next day the weather had changed from cool and overcast to clear and warm. With all of the activity from day one I had great expectations for day two, but the woods seemed to go silent. Despite the lack of responses on the long ridge we were patrolling, we had a great day. What a view to start the day with!
We reached the high point of the day and took a moment to soak up warm rays of the sun that were beginning to warm the canyons. It was all downhill from here.
After breaking for lunch where Craig shot a nice 6x6 a few years prior, it was time for a nap.
I finally
roosted the slacker from his slumber and we struck off down the ridge
again. Despite our best efforts we still couldn't raise a bull, though further down we did run across this curious little Pine Martin.
Though it didn’t take him long to go from curious to agitated….
With all of his growling and posturing I thought he just might charge! Lucky for us he eventually let us pass. : )
We continued down the ridge uneventfully with Craig leading the descent until we reached a brush chocked section that was especially thick. The terrain was steep and we were almost swimming through the brush. Stepping forward I felt a sharp pain just below my knee. Oww!!! Holy shmokes!! And other choice words…
I looked down to see what manner of stick I just thrust my knee into. To my horror I saw one of Craig’s arrows, pointy side up at my feet! We had our bows on our backs and the thick brush managed to catch one of his arrows, breaking it loose from its’ quiver with an unfortunate accuracy. With immediate pressure and some crack first aid techniques (alcohol swabs, extra large band aid, Neosporin, an ace bandage and duct tape), we were back on the hunt, albeit a fair shot more slowly.
Craig showed me the arrow saying, “Look, there’s a mark where it stopped. It only went this deep.” “This deep” was a quarter inch! Certainly not life threatening, but plenty deep when the leg the wound is in belongs to you! So now I own a G5 shaped scar on my knee…
With all seriousness, this little event could have been far worse. Had that arrow been an inch or more either direction I could have sliced my calf through, or worse ran it through my thigh and femoral artery due to the extreme slope of the terrain. I’ve always kept a decent first aid kit in my pack, but this little accident provided cause to re-examine my first aid and “ten essentials” kits. I now don't venture into the backcountry without a satellite messenger device or a sat phone. The injury was really just a bad scratch, but watching your own blood course over your boot miles from nowhere was a good wake-up call. Stay prepared.
Not too far after the stabbing we came on this picturesque little fern meadow.
After a slow and steep decent we
finally reached the river. On the other side was an established trail
that took us on relatively mild hike out. We managed to keep our feet
dry by duct taping our rain gear to our boots.
The hurt from
the hiking and the broad head was sufficient and we decided to sleep in
on day three. We headed into town for some more supplies (mostly the
medical type), but by evening couldn't help ourselves and headed back
into the trees. I got a little turned around at one point driving back
to camp, but luckily some kind soul let us know where we r.
Whew! That was close! The next day we trekked up to retrieve the bikes we left them on day one. We made good time in the dark and got into some decent spots to call by day break. We didn't get any responses initially, but it wasn't long before we heard an unsolicited call. “Bwwaaap!” It was a moose! His paddles weren't very big, but holy smokes are those big bodied critters! We traded calls with him for a little while, but he already had his cow so he wasn't going anywhere.
The rest of the hike was largely uneventful. We got one elk to bugle shortly after the moose, then everything went quiet. Not sure if it was the weather or the wolves that caused the elk to clamp down on their vocals, but didn't hear another elk until dark.
The alarm sounded early the next morning. Again. Why do I do this? My legs hurt. I’m tired. Wouldn’t it better to just sleep in? I guess I could, but then I’d miss watching the forest come to light around me. It’s my favorite part of the day, and I feel closer to God at these times than any other.
And what a difference a day can make! The bulls were on fire! Hours and miles passed quickly as we worked several bulls before taking a break to refuel. This old snag caught my eye. What to you see?
After our early lunch we bailed off the main ridge to hunt some of the fingers that stretched deeper into the canyon. Our first bugle on the finger ridge drew an almost immediate response from right above us! Craig and I looked at each other with our eyes wide and whispered in unison, “Go!” Craig spun and ran down hill while I ran up and to the side. A quick check with the range finder put all lanes at the top pin. I had just knocked an arrow when I heard the bull running towards us. Running!
He let off the gas some 30 yards out and slowed to a walk, taking the best possible in. Three more steps and he would be behind cover so I could draw. Five steps after that he would be broadside right at 20 yards. I was actually going to get my bull. With one step remaining before I could draw the bull suddenly spun on his heels and retreated from the direction he had come! Arrgghh!!
He had winded us. Not expecting a bull to come from above us, we got busted by the thermals. The bull stuck around a good 40 minutes raking trees and bugling at us, but he wasn’t going to come in again. While we played with him we heard another bull bugling back at us from further down in the canyon, and he sounded like he was getting closer.
As quickly as we could we moved a couple hundred yards further down. Craig threw out a bugle and again got an immediate response from the bull down below. This time the wind was right and we had a bit more time to set up. I again didn’t have a shooting lane that was beyond top pin. We just need the bull to cooperate and I might punch my tag.
He came in quiet. As he eased up the hill he stopped to rake a tree. I couldn’t see him, but the sound of his antlers against the tree was so much deeper than the others I heard, I couldn't help but imagine that we was big. Then he stopped. For several minutes he didn’t move or talk. My legs were starting to ache from the position I was standing in. I guess Craig couldn’t take it anymore either because he eventually gave a very low bugle that I noticed he pointed up hill. That was all it took!
The bull started moving up hill, the thick brush snapping under his heavy steps. He closed the gap quickly and sounded as though he would present himself to me at any moment. I was ready.
But he didn’t come up! There was a large downed tree that he moved around rather than over, causing him to skirt my position! It was at this point that Craig figured out the set up had gone sideways and the bull was going to go straight to him! And he was still standing with just a bugle in his hands!
Craig picked up his bow and knocked an arrow just as the bull crested the ridge above him. As the bull passed behind some trees Craig drew back. By now the bull had come into view for me, though the downed tree prevented a shot. I could see only his left royal and whale through the tree limbs. The mass. The length. I could hardly believe what I was looking at.
I heard Craig’s bow release its’ energy and caught the glint of the arrow as it rocketed toward its’ mark. This time there would be no miss. The big bull grunted at the impact of the broad head and spun, crashing into the canyon. He was hit hard. It was only a matter of seconds and we heard him go down.
When I reached Craig he was almost sick from the excitement, the adrenaline and the emotion of the moment. It had happened so fast. And now we waited.
45 minutes passed before we decided to move. We found the blood trail quickly, and I led the walk down the hill to find the beast. After picking through the brush for 70 or 80 yards, I directed Craig around a small tree. This is what he saw.
We took our time to admire the great animal, took some pictures, and began the process we had worked so hard get. After he was butchered, we hung the quarters and filled our packs with everything else and set off for the hike out. Here are a few moments before the pack out.
As far into the canyon as we were, we figured the best route out would be through the bottom. Oops. Five long and painful hours later we made it to the truck.
Once we were back at camp we could afford ourselves a little bit of time to celebrate.
Dorks on both sides of the lens... We were relieved to have one load in, but we still had all four quarters to get out, and the weather was showing no signs of cooling down. Anything we couldn't get it out the next day would likely spoil. We needed help.
We decided to ask a couple of young fellas from Moscow, ID at a nearby camp if they would be willing to lend a hand. We would hunt them in and even pay them, fairly handsomely, for their labor. Initially it didn't look good, but they eventually agreed. What a relief!
We slept hard that night, and 3:30 came especially early the next morning. Exhausted, we gathered our gear and headed out to meet the Moscow boys. By the time the sun cast its' first rays across the horizon I had forgotten I was tired. Or maybe it just didn't matter.
We heard just one bull in the morning, but he was a long way out and getting farther. No matter. We had a lot of ridge left to hunt.
But the bulls never responded to us. The day before was electric with activity, but this day -- nothing. We were just about a mile from where we hung the quarters when we put it together. Square in the middle of one of our boot tracks from the day before was a wolf print. No wonder it had gone silent.
Our next concern was the meat. If the wolves were anywhere close, surely they could smell the carcass, and the meat was hanging only 30 yards away in a shaded draw. At this point we quit hunting and moved quickly, and loudly, toward where the meat was hanging. Relieved, we found it untouched.
The Moscow boys each strapped a front quarter to their pack frames while Craig and I filled our packs with the boned out hind quarters. The pack out was once again grueling, but we made it to the truck by mid-afternoon. The Moscow boys beat us out and had left the front shoulders covered and in the shade. We stopped by their camp on the way out to see how much we owed them. They wouldn't take a red cent. “Just return the favor for someone else some day.” Go figure. I escape to the wilds of Idaho in part to get away from humanity, and wind up meeting some of its' best.
That afternoon we broke camp and hit the road for Craig's place in Spokane. Ahh.. A warm shower, a cold beer, and a loving wife. What more does a fellow need? Well, my own loving wife would be a good start! But I'll see her in just one more day. Time to drift off to sleep reflecting on my week in the Idaho wilderness...
“One of the great dreams of man must be to find some place between the extremes of nature and civilization where it is possible to live without regret.” ~Barry Lopez
This quote has resonated with me since I first ran across it many years ago. For me, that place is Blacktail deer hunting in the Alsea unit of Oregon with my father and closest friend.
This year our season started with some great Blactail weather – rain! I got down to our area a little early and went for a drive to kill some time before setting up camp. It wasn’t long before I ran into this little Rosie and his harem.
I had some brief meetings with this troop a half a dozen more times through the season. Too bad I held an archery tag for elk and my season was had already ended…
Despite the great weather there were no bucks to be found for us on opening day, just a few does here and there. It was nonetheless an enjoyable start to the season. The view of the low clouds and fog swirling through the canopy made the biting wind at the tops of the ridges bearable.
After a long day in the woods it was time to head back to camp. This year we decided to keep things a little more ‘mobile’. Though simple, it is surprisingly comfortable.
The following morning the weather mellowed and midway through what was a beautiful morning hunt I spied the first antler of the season! I couldn’t make out the size exactly. Was it a respectable fork or a small three point? After a very brief stalk I was within range. It was fork, and after 20+ seasons chasing Blacktail in the Alsea, it was the first of it’s kind for me.
Ok. So it wasn't on the hoof. Still, it helped make that day stand out and was the first shed I’ve found in that area.
After a returning home and spending a few hard weeks paying the bills, it was time to head back out. The first four weekends of the season came and went with no bucks sighted and relatively few does and fawns seen. It was coming to crunch time, but we weren’t in rush. It has become our tradition to spend the last week or so or the season dedicated to the pursuit of the black ghost. In years past my father has always left early to return to work (I say work-aholic, he says good Protestant work ethic..). This year however, he planned to stay the entire week!
We finished packing and headed for the hills on Friday with a full seven days of Blacktail season - and a wet forecast! - ahead of us. We got out a little late and found ourselves setting up in the dark. Oh well, we’ve done this many times before. Unfortunately, Aaron wound up heading arse-over-teakettle while stringing up camp and twisted himself up pretty good. He spent the better part of the first day with back spasms and resting a nasty bruise from an aggressive Alder stump.
My day started off great with fantastic morning hunt. I didn’t see any hair, but got into a lot of sign. It was while I was wrapping up my evening hunt when I thought I heard a twig snap. Then several. Then what sounded like wood burning? I quickly pushed over a ridge and into the neighboring clear cut and was greeted by this.
Turns out a crew was just out burning the slash while the wind and the weather were right. Made for an interesting evening for me though!
I should mention here that for the second season in a row I was lucky enough to hold two tags. The first was the standard OTC Oregon Western Rifle Deer, the second was a 600-series spike or antlerless deer tag. These 600-series tags can be filled by any legal means; meaning rifle, handgun, black powder or archery. I hunted archery successfully for my first time last year with this tag, and hoped to repeat again this year. The heavy rains the next morning ensured that I hunted with the rifle. Over the course of roughly five hours I saw one fawn, two doe and three small bucks. I had intended to hold out for at least a medium sized deer this year, so they lived another day. Buck sightings can be few and far between where we hunt, so passing any legal buck isn’t easy, but it can be strangely satisfying.
The rain eased that evening so I went out with the bow. When it finally got too dark under the canopy I started out, and just happened upon a spike browsing his way away from his afternoon slumber. It was a classic case of two dimwits crossing paths at the same time. I don’t even remember what direction the wind was blowing! We both stopped and stared at each other over the 50+ yds that separated us. The young buck apparently decided I wasn’t a threat and began feeding again. I moved as quickly as I thought he would let me to close the gap to something closer to my range.
At 30 yds I felt I had pushed as far I could go and was getting anxious that he would bolt at any moment. I steadied my pins on the target and loosed my arrow.
Thwack!!!
The young deer bucked like a mule bolted up and into the timber. I listened intently to his thrashing and was astonished to see him barrel back down into view only to pile up not 70 yds from me! What a thrill!
Despite seeing the downed buck I held my position for another 10 min or so to ensure I didn’t prompt a second wind, though mostly I think it was to calm my nerves.
The arrow passed clear though on a solid double lung and gave me my first archery buck. He won’t be making any books, but is a special trophy for me all the same.
When I got back to camp I was surprised to find Aaron already there and skinning his own buck! He had hunted down a narrow finger ridge that has consistently held many good rubs over the years, and this year was no different.
Shortly into his hunt he heard a critter moving through the brush below. He pulled out his rattle bag and “rolled the bones” for 20-30 sec while he made his way up the hillside to conceal his outline behind a few small Alder trees. No more than 30 sec after he stopped rattling a young fork came charging into view!
Initially Aaron had decided to pass on this buck, but after quick consideration of his back injury, the generally close proximity to the road, this being the first buck he had ever rattled in, and the painfully tempting 20 yd neck shot the buck was presenting, well… Boom!
He’ll eat good! Now we just need to find the bad boy that actually made that rub.. After a good rest it was time to hit the timber again. After all, my father and I both still had our regular season tags to fill. We hunted some of our favorite old sites and explored several new ones but saw little in the way of deer activity.
We passed some of the time back at camp flicking sticks. I have a new Blacktail Bow by Norm Johnson on order, and after the way I shot last week I’ll need to practice some more so I don’t embarrass myself when my bow finally arrives! Aaron however stayed quite consistent.
By mid-week I was beginning to feel frustration starting to set in. I began questioning whether I was trying too hard to force something, if I was doing something wrong, if it just wasn’t year. Having filled my 600-series tag with a nice young buck, and having had opportunity to let some other small bucks walk, I knew this wasn’t a fair attitude.
I sought Aaron’s input as I began to strategize on my evening hunt. Where to go?
His words were quick and simple, “You know what you need to do. Just as deep as you can, go where no one else has been, or at least where they don’t want to go.”
I could think of such a spot, but felt it was better suited for hunting earlier in the day. And I didn’t like the idea of that hike out at night. However, the wind was right. I had a feeling Aaron was too… Heading in I found I kept having to slow myself down. It was a long thick trail that eventually broke steeply down hill into some old timber that held a large Alder grove at the bottom. Though this was my destination, my entire route held opportunity, so it was important to move slow and stay alert. It was raining hard and I couldn’t hear myself move, so keeping my snails’ pace was tough.
I had already passed a nice overlook that gave me a good 100-150 yd view of the Alder grove, but with the wind still favoring me I decided to move closer. Despite the rain it was beautiful under the tall canopy. I was glad Aaron pushed me to make this decision, even if all I saw was that doe moving through the ferns ahead of me.
As the doe passed ahead of me I shouldered my rifle. I'm not sure why really. It wasn't as if she would somehow miraculously grow horns. But I did anyway. And when I did, she caught the movement and froze in her tracks.
When you find a doe this time of year stay awake – a buck is likely not too far behind.
I looked behind the unmoving deer to see if she had fawn in tow or maybe some aggressive buck tailing her. Nothing. Maybe my error wasn't as costly as I thought.
But then, from the where she has just emerged, the ferns and vine maples began to sway and shake. That can’t be a fawn!
Into the open came a buck walking with a head full of steam! When he saw the doe fixated on me he too froze dead in his tracks. Immediately his snapped his head to see what the doe was looking at. Alert, he seemed to lock eyes with me instantly.
What I could see of his rack met with my satisfaction, and with the rifle already to my shoulder I simply slid the cross hairs over his shoulder and… nothing! What the?
The safety was still on. You would think this was my first deer…
I eased the safety forward, the 30-06 Browning erupted, and ten yards from where he stood, my second deer of the season fell.
He’s a heavy 2x4 with brow tines, one of which is broken part way down. I radioed Aaron, took some pictures, field dressed him, and when Aaron got there we skinned, quartered and packed him out. It was a late, long haul, but very well worth it.
Thanks again for the help bro!
Aaron has named him the Stud buck, owing to his 2x4 frame…
We later named the area I tagged him "The Lumber Yard."
Three tags were now filled and two days remained for my father to fill the fourth. We all got going a little late the next day. While pop continued his pursuit, Aaron and I explored a nearby creek.
Some native Coho were still making the push to their spawning grounds and appeared to have this fella’s full attention!
One way or another, time was running out for those fish. To some degree, the same was true for dad. He had hunted hard six days straight and had barely seen hair, much less bone. Only one day to go before we put ’08 in the books…
Next day he hunted one our favorite old ridges – the first place he had ever taken me hunting and where I bagged my first deer. It made for a wonderful hunt but produced no deer.
That afternoon was fairly calm for us, but a good storm was coming.
As dad embarked on his last hunt for the year Aaron and I began packing up camp. As sunset came I pulled the gambrel from the tree. Aaron and I decided that would be good luck for pop, though neither of us really believed it truly.
We continued about our work for another 10 min or so when the radio suddenly crackled.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
I picked up radio when it crackled again, “Pop, is that you?”
There was a short pause and then, “Roger. Can I get hand?”
Nothing like waiting until the last minute! Turns out this fella was also milling about a young lady-in-waiting when he happened to cross dads’ sights.
All in, it was another great season.
There is a reason I look forward to this time with such anticipation each year. There is purpose to our venture, but the adventure is much more the goal. It was a wonderful week in the woods with two of the people I admire most. Of course, that freezer full of venison is awfully nice too!
Guess this marks the end of the end of the 2008 saga. Now it will be a long 11 months devising a strategy to locate the buck that left his mark here…
