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