Ok. Story inspired by Bob33’s post this evening.
Finishing grinding and wrapping the burger last week followed by the putting away of my hunting gear. While in the shop cleaning my beloved M77 that same afternoon I started to reflect on my blacktail season. Mixed emotions of being glad it’s over and grateful for yet another year seeking those gray ghosts. Or maybe it was the fumes from the cleaner and Hoppes oil?😊
I had the late buck tag for my favorite GMU. I’ve been fairly successful there thru the years but the last four years I have done little hunting for blacktails as we’ve done several out of state hunts during late October/ early November. I saw a fair numbers of does. One small buck. I prefer deep timber and there are no longer any huntable cuts anymore. All overgrown.
I also wasn’t seeing any rubs. Surely there was a buck or two in close proximity to the does I was consistently seeing? After three hard days spent in the timber I was scratching my head and admittedly getting frustrated. Time for a change up. The afternoon of the third day I dropped elevation to check out an old overgrown skidder than side hilled about mid slope of old growth for about two miles. I’ve connected in there before but it’s probably been 8-10 years since I’ve been back in there. The road is so overgrown where it comes off the mainline you have to know it’s there. It’s that kind of road.
Anyway, starting up in there I start to just say bag it. It’s just too brushed up. Then I saw a fresh rub on a jack fir. Hmm… I did turn back but came back in the next evening but with my lopers and started cutting my way in. More rubs… fresh tracks coming and going up the skidder. A buck was really working this road.
Next morning I’m walking in during the predawn. It’s cold. It’s going between rain and snow showers. The weather man says big storm is coming in. Heavy mountain snow forecasted so I figure it will be a bitch getting back up higher as I really dislike driving in heavy mountain snow. I tell myself I’m staying in here all day and going to be successful.
There’s a steep finger ridge that drops down on the skidder a ways in. I’m headed there. It takes me what seems like forever to get to my jump off point. But I’m hunting well. Moving slow. Stopping against trees to hide my human form. I have the wind. Did I mention that the weather was nasty? I get to where I need to start climbing. It’s slow going. First rattle out of the barrel I have to negotiate moving thru noisy salal. After that the incline really starts. And it’s brushy. Lots of vine maple. After a bit the brush subsides and the timber opens up quite well. I keep telling myself. Two, three steps then stop. I’ve scored here before. I have good wind. I go from tree to tree. It’s snowing. I slowly start to side hill thinking I’ll catch the game trail back down to the skidder. Movement to my upper right. Buck. Not the “big” guy but a decent fork. He’s feeding along, doesn’t notice me. I do not bring my rifle up but I do kneel down on my right knee. He goes behind a big tree. Quickly my mind starts to do the math… good eating fifty yards away. Only a couple more days to hunt. Haven’t gotten a blacktail in several years and more nasty weather coming. He’s in the scope now. Safety slides forward. Then it slides back. Then forward as he’s feeding slowly broadside. I deliberately picked a spot behind his left shoulder and slowly squeezed the trigger. Buck bolts towards me, nose plowing then flipped head over heels once and just like that it was over.
Now it’s really snowing. Big flakes. I’m alone. It’s steep. I’m a ways from my truck. If I live to hunt a hundred more years I will never stop thinking that’s the loneliest place on earth at that moment. Almost a foreboding feeling in the deep woods. Not like in a clearcut, etc. No one knows I’m here. My son and best hunting partner is in Maui with his family. It’s a weird feeling.
I’m not as young as I used to be. It takes me almost five hours and two trips to get him back to my truck. I’m exhausted. I’m wet and cold but feel like a champ. I’ll never tire of that feeling of pure satisfaction. I drink the lone Coors latte I’ve had in the truck the past week.
I am grateful for yet another fall. I am grateful that I’m still able to physically and mentally do this. And as I age I do think about how much longer that I can do this? There’s a certain sadness with those thoughts. But for now it’s enough. He’s not the buck I had hoped for. But the experience was everything I could have wished for.
elksnout
