Blacktail 2008

“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…

Cheers,
-c2