M
Mule_Deer_Crazy
Guest
Sometimes reality is way worse than fiction. Figured many of you have been there before and could relate - enjoy!
WE MAY NEED A ROOT CANAL & A NEW PAIR OF BOOTS,
BUT BOY THIS HUNTING THING?S SURE FUN!
Some time back (1 year, 5 months, 14 days and 3 hours to be exact), I had finally managed to put together the mother of all hunts. This hunt would take place in the rugged setting of central Idaho and was going to be the ultimate elk and deer adventure. Little did I know what lay in store for me..., it definitely turned out to be a ?Mother? alright!
To protect the guilty I won't use Manlow?s real name, we'll call him Steve. Steve had already harvested a nice buck on an earlier hunt and was just along for fun? Since I still had an unfilled elk tag (I like to hunt ?em not kill ?em), we went over a couple days early to see if there were any dumb elk left.
Steve knew of a shortcut that would drop us right into the area we were headed. However, coming in from that side we had to go over a pass that was well covered with snow. Reality set in when we started having trouble ten miles before we got to the top. With the F-250 chained up we kept plugging away at getting over the mountain.
A strange sensation overtook me as I realized the speedometer was reading 75 mph, yet we were going backwards down the hill. About two miles before the pass, we (I use that term loosely, as I was the one driving) got stuck on a switchback and in the process of trying to get up and around, overheated the truck. To say the least, Steve?s short cut was becoming a full-blown ?white-knuckle? experience.
While waiting for the truck to cool down, we added up the hours it would take us to back track and come in from the other side; only an additional six hours. This was not what we were hoping to encounter, especially at two o'clock in the afternoon. While we were sitting there some guys in a Chevy came by and after several attempts made it up past the switchback (man it hurts to say that), and they were dragging bottom worse than us.
If a Chevy can make it, certainly a Ford could?! ?We?re on a mission now, get back in the truck Steve,? I hollered! After a couple of runs (which Steve had - he claims as a result of my driving antics) we finally made it past the switchback and were on our way again. Not only did we make it, we managed to lose one of the chains as well, adding to our well-rounded experience.
We headed to the closest phone to let the girls (wives in laymen?s terms) know we had arrived safely, no thanks to Steve?s shortcut! About a third of the way there I glanced out the window to see a huge bull standing on the hillside about 60 yards away. Steve must have thought I got a ?Charlie Horse? the way I slammed on the brakes and dove in the back for my gun.
The country was pine habitat with scattered openings, so I headed up the ridge where the bull had been standing to see if I could catch him going up through another opening. Just as I get to where he was, I can see Steve down on the road waiving his arms like a madman. My lungs were already burning so I wasn't all that excited about running back down the hill, but I didn't want him to start hollering and scare the elk (I was saving that for myself), so down I ran.
Upon my arrival, he's slurring (with a little drool coming out of his mouth) something about two big trucks by the bull on the road above the hill! As my eyes followed his gnarled finger, the victim of a horrible gutting accident, I see two huge bulls waltzing (at least I think that's what they were doing) up the hill and into the timber, with a moderate sized 5X5 behind them. Later Steve would described the 5X5 as a little fella that still had milk on his lips! Heck I don't remember, with all the excitement and action it could've been a naked lady and I wouldn't have known the difference. Well, I might have noticed a naked lady!
I was absolutely amped! All of the sudden the 5X5 swings around and comes back through the opening they had just gone up. At this point, being cavalier hasn't got me a dang thing so I decide he's plenty good enough to shoot, or should I say shoot at!
Don't listen to Steve, he makes it sound like I had a 60 yard standing broadside shot, which doesn't make for much of a story - course that's why I'm telling the story and not him, besides it was every bit of 70 yards. Anyway, Steve somehow distracted me causing me to miss the bull and in disbelief I jacked the rest of my bullets out on the ground without firing a single shot.
I kept thinking ?easy come... easy go,? only problem is everything's been going for me lately. What a way to start a hunting trip, we hadn't even managed to get camp set up yet. Steve was kicking himself the rest of the way to the local watering hole muttering, "If only I'd bought an elk tag." I casually reminded him that if he'd bought an elk tag none of this would have even happened.
Thanks to those stupid elk we got to set up camp in the dark; in the snow. Camp consisted of a nice flat along the Something Fork of the Idunno River with a hot spring (lukewarm in 20 degree weather) rigged into a shower. It was pretty chilly the first night because we didn't haul fire wood with us, so Steve and I had to zip our bags together to stay warm. He seemed to enjoy that a little too much and thought maybe we should keep them together even after we got some firewood, "In case the fire goes out," he said! This was starting to remind me of a bad Burt Reynolds movie, ? Yea, that's right - DELIVERANCE!?
As we munched on trail mix, Steve wondered what it would be like to spend a week in hunting camp with an exposed tooth nerve, so he busted off a 1/4 of his back molar. Next thing I know he's spitting trail mix all over me and the inside of the truck. ?What the heck are you doing Steve,? I yelled? With chunks of chewed up M&M?s, nuts and rice crackers falling out of his mouth he cried,?I yoke eye hooth on da tail hix!? I looked at him much like you'd look at someone who just peed on an electric fence and said, "Get your hands out of your mouth boy, I can't understand a word your saying." He just stuck his mouth in my face and said, "See for yourself!" As I checked it out I couldn't help but think, "Boy he's sure gonna feel that in the morning." Lucky for him it only hurt when he ate, drank or took a breath.
We finally had our fill of chasing those crazy bull elk. The Elk Gods were obviously not going to smile upon us - they were apparently too busy laughing! We begrudgingly modified our expectations from the ultimate elk and deer hunt to an awesome deer hunt.
The opener found us looking for a big buck seen earlier. We tried to get into position before daylight and ended up staring down, straight down, into a snow filled ravine one ridge away from where we wanted to be. Before I could suggest we go back down and around, Steve whacks me on the back whispering "Good job!" This caused me to lose my footing and I went snowballing into the icy creek below. It was too steep for me to get back to him so Steve reluctantly worked his way down, giving me several sacrificial falls so I wouldn't beat him upon his arrival.
Thirty frozen minutes later, we spotted a 190-class buck feeding across the hillside opposite our position, followed by a spike. Quietly Steve whispers, "We'll get a bigger one, let him go." As a matter of fact, I can still hear his words today as I gaze longingly at my unpunched tag. Anyway, we (meaning Steve) let him go and continued to freeze our things off (noses, hands, feet, ears... you know, our things). We continued waiting for the ?BIGGER? buck, but he never showed up - big surprise there since everything else was coming together so nicely!
Apparently I had the signals mixed up. I thought that when Steve waved his middle finger at me it meant don't shoot. Steve grabbed me by the #&%$@, lets just suffice it to say it wasn't a friendly grab, and mumbles, "Two opportunities; two screw-ups! Man, if the highway of opportunity ever intersects with the highway of preparedness, you're going to have a head-on collision!?
The next day found us hunting a couple completely different areas up river. A friend (supposedly) of Steve's told us that he had waded the river with garbage bags one time and it worked pretty well. Boy was that a stupid idea! There's nothing like starting the day wet and cold and then going hiking in the snow. I sure hope nobody I know saw me, we must have looked like a couple of morons!
In just three days, three long days, we had gone from our pick of bucks to not even being able to find a buck. We had already lowered our expectations from the ultimate big game hunt to an awesome deer hunt, and we were about to further downgrade to a nice camping trip!
We headed for town to find some call girls, I mean find a phone to call the girls (our wives were impressed with that little Freudian Slip)! Tired of eating stone soup (I didn't pack much food because Steve assured me we could live off the land), we figured we'd get a warm meal at the Starlight Bar and Grill. Being Halloween, another wonderful omen, the town was having a family potluck and since the school was shut down because of asbestos (let's just say it's kind of a back-woodsy little town), the potluck was being held at the tavern. When I asked them about the sign ?No Minors Allowed,? they replied it's a typo. It's supposed to read ?No Miners Allowed.?
The long hard days were starting to take their toll on our bodies, but boy were we having fun, and our blisters weren't even bleeding yet! The rule of thumb I like to use on a hunting trip is ?When your hunting partner starts looking good, it's time to pack up and head home.? However, there's still the issue of looking macho as you tuck your tail and run. That night I loaded the stove up to burn extra hot and put my wet boots reeeaaal close (as in setting on it) - you know, to make sure they'd be dry in the morning. Steve awoke to a slurry of expletives as I threw the globs of melted rubber and leather that used to be my boots, out in the snow.
As we headed home, Steve chuckled, ?This trip cost us a root canal and a pair of boots, but boy this huntin thing?s sure fun - ain?t it?!? Fighting back the tears, I mumble ?Yea, ain?t it!?
WE MAY NEED A ROOT CANAL & A NEW PAIR OF BOOTS,
BUT BOY THIS HUNTING THING?S SURE FUN!
Some time back (1 year, 5 months, 14 days and 3 hours to be exact), I had finally managed to put together the mother of all hunts. This hunt would take place in the rugged setting of central Idaho and was going to be the ultimate elk and deer adventure. Little did I know what lay in store for me..., it definitely turned out to be a ?Mother? alright!
To protect the guilty I won't use Manlow?s real name, we'll call him Steve. Steve had already harvested a nice buck on an earlier hunt and was just along for fun? Since I still had an unfilled elk tag (I like to hunt ?em not kill ?em), we went over a couple days early to see if there were any dumb elk left.
Steve knew of a shortcut that would drop us right into the area we were headed. However, coming in from that side we had to go over a pass that was well covered with snow. Reality set in when we started having trouble ten miles before we got to the top. With the F-250 chained up we kept plugging away at getting over the mountain.
A strange sensation overtook me as I realized the speedometer was reading 75 mph, yet we were going backwards down the hill. About two miles before the pass, we (I use that term loosely, as I was the one driving) got stuck on a switchback and in the process of trying to get up and around, overheated the truck. To say the least, Steve?s short cut was becoming a full-blown ?white-knuckle? experience.
While waiting for the truck to cool down, we added up the hours it would take us to back track and come in from the other side; only an additional six hours. This was not what we were hoping to encounter, especially at two o'clock in the afternoon. While we were sitting there some guys in a Chevy came by and after several attempts made it up past the switchback (man it hurts to say that), and they were dragging bottom worse than us.
If a Chevy can make it, certainly a Ford could?! ?We?re on a mission now, get back in the truck Steve,? I hollered! After a couple of runs (which Steve had - he claims as a result of my driving antics) we finally made it past the switchback and were on our way again. Not only did we make it, we managed to lose one of the chains as well, adding to our well-rounded experience.
We headed to the closest phone to let the girls (wives in laymen?s terms) know we had arrived safely, no thanks to Steve?s shortcut! About a third of the way there I glanced out the window to see a huge bull standing on the hillside about 60 yards away. Steve must have thought I got a ?Charlie Horse? the way I slammed on the brakes and dove in the back for my gun.
The country was pine habitat with scattered openings, so I headed up the ridge where the bull had been standing to see if I could catch him going up through another opening. Just as I get to where he was, I can see Steve down on the road waiving his arms like a madman. My lungs were already burning so I wasn't all that excited about running back down the hill, but I didn't want him to start hollering and scare the elk (I was saving that for myself), so down I ran.
Upon my arrival, he's slurring (with a little drool coming out of his mouth) something about two big trucks by the bull on the road above the hill! As my eyes followed his gnarled finger, the victim of a horrible gutting accident, I see two huge bulls waltzing (at least I think that's what they were doing) up the hill and into the timber, with a moderate sized 5X5 behind them. Later Steve would described the 5X5 as a little fella that still had milk on his lips! Heck I don't remember, with all the excitement and action it could've been a naked lady and I wouldn't have known the difference. Well, I might have noticed a naked lady!
I was absolutely amped! All of the sudden the 5X5 swings around and comes back through the opening they had just gone up. At this point, being cavalier hasn't got me a dang thing so I decide he's plenty good enough to shoot, or should I say shoot at!
Don't listen to Steve, he makes it sound like I had a 60 yard standing broadside shot, which doesn't make for much of a story - course that's why I'm telling the story and not him, besides it was every bit of 70 yards. Anyway, Steve somehow distracted me causing me to miss the bull and in disbelief I jacked the rest of my bullets out on the ground without firing a single shot.
I kept thinking ?easy come... easy go,? only problem is everything's been going for me lately. What a way to start a hunting trip, we hadn't even managed to get camp set up yet. Steve was kicking himself the rest of the way to the local watering hole muttering, "If only I'd bought an elk tag." I casually reminded him that if he'd bought an elk tag none of this would have even happened.
Thanks to those stupid elk we got to set up camp in the dark; in the snow. Camp consisted of a nice flat along the Something Fork of the Idunno River with a hot spring (lukewarm in 20 degree weather) rigged into a shower. It was pretty chilly the first night because we didn't haul fire wood with us, so Steve and I had to zip our bags together to stay warm. He seemed to enjoy that a little too much and thought maybe we should keep them together even after we got some firewood, "In case the fire goes out," he said! This was starting to remind me of a bad Burt Reynolds movie, ? Yea, that's right - DELIVERANCE!?
As we munched on trail mix, Steve wondered what it would be like to spend a week in hunting camp with an exposed tooth nerve, so he busted off a 1/4 of his back molar. Next thing I know he's spitting trail mix all over me and the inside of the truck. ?What the heck are you doing Steve,? I yelled? With chunks of chewed up M&M?s, nuts and rice crackers falling out of his mouth he cried,?I yoke eye hooth on da tail hix!? I looked at him much like you'd look at someone who just peed on an electric fence and said, "Get your hands out of your mouth boy, I can't understand a word your saying." He just stuck his mouth in my face and said, "See for yourself!" As I checked it out I couldn't help but think, "Boy he's sure gonna feel that in the morning." Lucky for him it only hurt when he ate, drank or took a breath.
We finally had our fill of chasing those crazy bull elk. The Elk Gods were obviously not going to smile upon us - they were apparently too busy laughing! We begrudgingly modified our expectations from the ultimate elk and deer hunt to an awesome deer hunt.
The opener found us looking for a big buck seen earlier. We tried to get into position before daylight and ended up staring down, straight down, into a snow filled ravine one ridge away from where we wanted to be. Before I could suggest we go back down and around, Steve whacks me on the back whispering "Good job!" This caused me to lose my footing and I went snowballing into the icy creek below. It was too steep for me to get back to him so Steve reluctantly worked his way down, giving me several sacrificial falls so I wouldn't beat him upon his arrival.
Thirty frozen minutes later, we spotted a 190-class buck feeding across the hillside opposite our position, followed by a spike. Quietly Steve whispers, "We'll get a bigger one, let him go." As a matter of fact, I can still hear his words today as I gaze longingly at my unpunched tag. Anyway, we (meaning Steve) let him go and continued to freeze our things off (noses, hands, feet, ears... you know, our things). We continued waiting for the ?BIGGER? buck, but he never showed up - big surprise there since everything else was coming together so nicely!
Apparently I had the signals mixed up. I thought that when Steve waved his middle finger at me it meant don't shoot. Steve grabbed me by the #&%$@, lets just suffice it to say it wasn't a friendly grab, and mumbles, "Two opportunities; two screw-ups! Man, if the highway of opportunity ever intersects with the highway of preparedness, you're going to have a head-on collision!?
The next day found us hunting a couple completely different areas up river. A friend (supposedly) of Steve's told us that he had waded the river with garbage bags one time and it worked pretty well. Boy was that a stupid idea! There's nothing like starting the day wet and cold and then going hiking in the snow. I sure hope nobody I know saw me, we must have looked like a couple of morons!
In just three days, three long days, we had gone from our pick of bucks to not even being able to find a buck. We had already lowered our expectations from the ultimate big game hunt to an awesome deer hunt, and we were about to further downgrade to a nice camping trip!
We headed for town to find some call girls, I mean find a phone to call the girls (our wives were impressed with that little Freudian Slip)! Tired of eating stone soup (I didn't pack much food because Steve assured me we could live off the land), we figured we'd get a warm meal at the Starlight Bar and Grill. Being Halloween, another wonderful omen, the town was having a family potluck and since the school was shut down because of asbestos (let's just say it's kind of a back-woodsy little town), the potluck was being held at the tavern. When I asked them about the sign ?No Minors Allowed,? they replied it's a typo. It's supposed to read ?No Miners Allowed.?
The long hard days were starting to take their toll on our bodies, but boy were we having fun, and our blisters weren't even bleeding yet! The rule of thumb I like to use on a hunting trip is ?When your hunting partner starts looking good, it's time to pack up and head home.? However, there's still the issue of looking macho as you tuck your tail and run. That night I loaded the stove up to burn extra hot and put my wet boots reeeaaal close (as in setting on it) - you know, to make sure they'd be dry in the morning. Steve awoke to a slurry of expletives as I threw the globs of melted rubber and leather that used to be my boots, out in the snow.
As we headed home, Steve chuckled, ?This trip cost us a root canal and a pair of boots, but boy this huntin thing?s sure fun - ain?t it?!? Fighting back the tears, I mumble ?Yea, ain?t it!?
