backstory:
I had set aside Fri-Tues for the high hunt. Free of family and work obligations, my only choice was where to go. I had narrowed it down to 2 places. Both I had been to several times. My first choice was a spot that usually has *some* game, and I'd shot a bear there before. I'd always seen deer there, just no legal deer. The second was a spot I knew had deer, but the last time I went there was flagging going down the creek bottom until close to the access trail, a clear sign that other hunters knew about it. Would they be there at the opener, and no deer would be left. The weather was better at the second spot, but even though I knew I'd be fighting the fog and rain I went for spot #1. Figured I'd have a good chance at a bear, and a buck would be an outside chance but a possibility.
Drove my kids to YMCA Fri morning, and headed up to the trailhead. Made fairly quick work of the 9 miles in. At the 6 mile marker I could have tried a stalk on a bear I saw about a mile away but was running low on water, I hadn't set up camp, it was a few hours until dark, and there was a storm coming in. So decided to 'save it for the next day' and make it until camp (9 miles in). I half expected some guys with stock to be up there, but they weren't... but there was another fella in the camp spot I wanted to take. But he was an awesome sport and we shared the area. Then the fog rolled in, like 100 yd visibility. We each headed in different directions to stake a spot for a dusk hunt, but it was terrible. Visibility alternating between 40 yards and 120 yards, maybe. Nothing doing.
Day 2 we each started the morning in similar areas. Me up on a ridge, him on a bench. Visibility was terrible again, and worse higher up where I was. My fateful partner saw a few does feeding up and bedding in a meadow. I saw nothing but wet blueberry bushes, fog, and bear *censored*. After that morning, I headed to camp and grabbed a cup of coffee, bailed out my light weight 1 man tent, and headed east towards some promising blueberry meadows...they looked promising for bear anyway which I figured at this point was my most likely option. But, nothing. 10 miles logged that day. Headed back to camp, I felt dejected as the fog bailed in even more. All day, it was 100-400 yard visibility...mostly on the 100 side. And it seemed to be getting worse. And I kept thinking about the bear I'd whimped out on the day before. Would that be my only opportunity this trip. Maybe I'd just skip the dusk hunt, and drink the mini gatorade bottle I'd refilled with tequila? But, despite the loud sound I was making through wet blueberry bushes brushing against my rain pants, I habitually slowed down as I came into one of the last small meadows before camp.
Holy crap! There was a wide body buck just there staring at me broad side, 80 yards away! Just guessing because I lost my range finder earlier that day, but he looked huge. I had a judgment call to make. Just looking at me, there was no way to tell how many points he had on either side. But, judging from his large body, and how wide his antlers were, I knew he was a mature buck. For the first time in my life, I shot without ascertaining his point count (I've passed up many a buck for this very reason). It was a poor shot, really. I did go down to a kneeling position, but rushed it for sure. The shot went off, and as he wheeled and seemed to stumble I was confident I'd hit him, but not how well. I waited for a few minutes, but cognizant that I had a few hours until sundown I slowly headed up to try to track him. I saw a few recent tracks in the direction he went, and found a leaf with a flea-sized speck of blood. Okay, he's hit, I thought. Then another 10 feet and another flea-sized speck of blood. At this rate, I could be in for a long trail. And it had started to rain.
At that point, I searched for the next likely path. And noticed a ghost-white buck to my my left, seemingly hiding under a fallen tree to my left. He gave out one last dying breath and was done. Yes!!
I'll spare some details on the rest of the story, but those who've done this know it was when the real work began. My newfound hunter friend helped process the deer, which was a big help. Comraderie in the field! I'm no stranger to schadenfreude on high buck, but that's awesome when you can get each other's back. The next day after I boned out the meat (and he helped me with the sawing off the skull cap with my tiny saw), we parted ways. I took a whole pack (camp + meat) about a mile and a half until the first big incline, then ferried meat the rest of the way over that day and the next. I stupidly tried a stock on the bears (now two) in the field I'd seen earlier. I smelled like deer blood and jungle rotted feet, the air wasn't moving, and I crashed through brush and berry bushes and had to do the "veggie belay" often with poor results to get there. Needless to say the bears were gone when I got there, but at least I know a better route next time. Glad I didn't have another long round trip of carrying meat the next day. Having enough trouble walking today as it is!
Thanks for listening. Well, reading really. Over and out.
