Post by: sovereignwarrior509 on July 28, 2009, 04:17:09 AM
always take your time, the hunt is always worth it...
Post by: WAPITIHUNTER on July 28, 2009, 06:48:29 AM
Post by: Woodchuck on July 28, 2009, 07:14:25 AM
Post by: Skyvalhunter on July 28, 2009, 07:17:41 AM
Post by: Woodchuck on July 28, 2009, 07:46:34 AM
Post by: rose-n-arrows on July 28, 2009, 08:15:35 AM
Post by: WAPITIHUNTER on July 28, 2009, 08:35:18 AM
Check your backsight!!
That is land surveyor terminology. Always! :chuckle:
Post by: boneaddict on July 28, 2009, 08:50:36 AM
Post by: rose-n-arrows on July 28, 2009, 09:01:18 AM
My first bear. Hunting with my High school friend who I swore was afraid to see a bear because he'd go out of his way to step on a sunflower to make noise. I knew I needed to split from him if I ever wanted to get a bear. We hiked up this canyon then he was going to go back down and up the one parallell to where I was. We went our seperate ways. Long story short, I got my bear 3 miles up that canyon. I gutted him and knew it was a keeper but didn't know how to skin it. I fired several shots but my friend never answered, so I walked down to the truck. IT WAS GONE. I'm like WTF. So I tracked him out. He had drove up this other canyon. I finally hiked up it about 3 miles and found the truck. No friend. I was screaming obsenitys when I spotted him on the ridge. He came back and we went to ask my brother for help. He said the best advice I can give you is take some bee spray. So we go up tot he bear and skin him. 3 miles in to the bear. Skin him, then 3 miles out to the truck with one 120 pound pack. WEIGHED it, so thats not a fish story. Then 3 miles back up to the bear and boned him out. Then my brother shows up with a pop, then 3 miles out right at dark. That 3 miles turned into ONE HELL of a hike by the time I was done. Oh yeah, the friend didn't carry any meat because he was on the lookout for any attacking bears. :chuckle:
Good story!
Post by: Skyvalhunter on July 28, 2009, 09:51:09 AM
Post by: JackOfAllTrades on July 28, 2009, 10:52:28 AM
I've had several salt water fishing excursions with my dad over the years. One that comes to mind was one sunny afternoon we'd been fishing for summer Chinook out from the "Concrete Dock" on the east end of Anderson Island in southern Puget Sound. After a couple of shakers while trolling around way too many anglers, we decided to try our luck for some codfish north of Toliva shoal a little further east of Anderson. Pollok, True, Rock, Ling. We didn't care. Eventually we both hooked fish. At the same time no less. Bottom fish. Big Yellow Eye Cod. They were pulling the 21 foot Bayliner backwards as it idled. As we pulled and reeled from the depths, suddenly my line went slack.
Which is the case when an angler latches onto a large king Salmon laying on the bottom. A scrapper we'd say. A scrapper starts taking line, you pull with all your might and fight the fish, tighten the drag on your favorite Penn reel, then the SOB starts for the surface. Coming right at you and before you know it he spits the hook out because you can't reel in fast enough to keep tension on the line. Or he'll come up a bit, and since you've tightened your drag, he'll turn hell bent for the outer reaches. When the line goes taut, you're fresh spooled Stren snaps like cotton thread.
Not this time! I was reeling for my life. Then there's some weight to the rod tip. Cool, I caught up. "Dad, grab the net", "I might have a salmon on here". But the weight on the line and rod didn't change. No tugging. No pull. Just that 'mud filled boot' hanging from my leader. All this time dad was reeling in his catch too. Suddenly his line go's slack. Then it takes off for the bottom. Hey, it's 600 feet deep here. And who know's how much is already out with the tide drift. He say's this one didn't pull that much when he first set the hook. He tugs and pulls at the rod while the line strips from his reel. All the while, I pull my dead weight catch to the gunnel of the boat. It's a Yellow Eye. A head that's ten inches wide! Wow, that's a twenty five pound rock cod. Best eatin this side of a deap fried Red Snapper. Tender Fish-n-Chips! And that's it, that's all there was. A head with my hooks still sunk into the lower jaw. Something had bitten off the lower 2/3 of my haul. That's maybe 24 inches long and ten inches round. Dad's fighting the rod and reel with 40lb test line. Tells me to motor the boat toward the fish. He's about to lose it. I manuvered the boat as he fought. After nearly twenty minutes he pulls up the same as me. Just a head of a Yellow Eye that's about a foot across. Cleanly severed behind the gills.
What ever was in the depths of Puget Sound that day was big, had sharp teeth, and was hungry. We didn't see if there were more Yellow Eye to catch that day. Our minds quickly turned to a fresh banana split from the Dairy Queen that was just up the road from Narrows marina. We motored on in.
-Steve
Post by: halflife65 on July 28, 2009, 07:38:43 PM
After cutting the deer in half, I started leapfrogging up the hill – carrying half of it for awhile and then going back and getting the other half. At some point, the rain turned to snow and I started to get cold. I was alarmed because I was going straight up the mountain with a deer on my back and was getting cold, soaking wet and a LONG way from the truck.
I got the deer to the top of this ridge with about 3 miles still left to hike and it got dark. It was snowing really hard by this time and I was shaking badly. I pulled out my flashlight (didn’t have a headlamp yet) and started to leapfrog my deer along the top of the ridge. It was now pitch black and snowing sideways and the front (lens, bulb, everything) fell off of my flashlight and into about 2 or 3 inches of snow. Here I was, with totally inadequate gear, no 10 essentials, soaking wet, cold, pitch black, no light. For the first time in my life, my “invincible” feeling went to “totally vincible.” (I worked for loggers, the Forest Service, private foresters and, although young, had a lot of experience hiking and hunting by myself. While I had some minor scares up to that point, I had never really got into anything that I couldn’t get out of.) I ended up putting the half deer down and crawling around in the snow feeling for the flashlight parts – it was too dark to see them. I’m pretty sure that the Big Guy Above was looking out for me because I ended up finding the bulb and was able to push it into the flashlight to get it to work. I never did find the lens and the part that screws onto the front of the flashlight and had to hold it together with a finger to get it to work.
I stashed the deer under a log and walked out as fast as I could. Once I got back to the pickup, I turned the heat on all the way when I was driving out but couldn’t get warm. I drove down to Squaw Rock and rented one of those little cabins. I got down there about 9:30PM and walked in the front soaking wet and covered in blood from the deer that I’d carried on my back. The guy asked me if I was alright and I said, “No. I need a room and a six pack RIGHT NOW.” Fortunately, the guy had one of those little cabins available. I took a shower, cracked a beer and fell asleep with it in my hand without ever taking one sip. I woke up in the morning, put on dry clothes and a pair of caulked (cork) boots, walked back out there with a pack board, boned out the deer and packed it all in one load. Should’ve done that in the first place…
Anyway, that trip convinced me to plan a little better and I started my never-ending quest to upgrade my clothing and gear.
Post by: spikehunter on July 28, 2009, 07:57:19 PM
Post by: Aneoakleaf on July 28, 2009, 08:28:03 PM
Post by: grousetracker on August 01, 2009, 07:15:58 PM
Post by: Dipsnort on August 03, 2009, 02:19:01 PM
My grandparents used to live in Sekiu during the Summer for years and we would get to make a couple of trips each year to go salmon fishing with them, usually around July or August when the kings were running. The most incredible thing happened the Summer after my High School graduation, August 4, 1981--you may have seen the story in the news when it happened...to me.
It was a chilly morning and thick fog shrouded Clallam Bay, causing us to make the trip out very slowly so we could avoid other boats and the bell bouy. Fortunately the fog was patchy so we could occasionally find the point that marked our way. The swells were much smaller than normal, making for a pretty comfortable ride and meaning that I shouldn't have much concern about seasickness that gets to me occasionally.
Just as were rounding the point we spotted a pod of killer whales behind us, probably not more than 50 yards. They came in and out of our sight due to the rolling fog but it was clear they were approaching closer and closer. My grandpa hated to see them because he knew it would make fishing tougher than it had to be. He has always been a very stern man but occasionally relished the thought of getting your goat when the opportunity presented itself, which it did on this day, because I made it clear that I was extremely nervous about seeing these orcas so close to the boat at o'dark thirty with land too far away and I wanted to bump up the speed and get the heck out of Dodge! :o
Soon I found myself leaving my seat at the rear corner of the boat for the relative safety under the bow. But at the same time I could feel the seasickness starting to overtake me (I guess my fear didn't help in this regard!) and I knew it would be seconds before I would be blowing chunks over the side of the boat. Unfortunatly for me the orcas were within 20 yards when I couldn't hold it any longer and I ran back to the back of the boat to relieve the pressure. I can't express the helplessness I felt at being sicker than a dog and having to get so close to those whales as they approached both sides of the boat, the dorsal fins of the males towering over my head! :yike:
No sooner had I begun chumming the waters when my grandpa busted out laughing and then he kicked me in the butt to suit his perverse pleasure of witnessing my precarious situation. I can tell you that I have never been so happy to have been wearing a life jacket as I was in that moment because I was dizzy and caught off guard enough that I fell overboard right into the lap of the orcas! Add the shock of the cold water temperature to the mix and I thought I was going to die at that very moment--I was desperately frantic and had completely given up all at the same time! No sooner had I hit the water and tasted the bitter salt water than one of the large male dorsal fins came up out of the water just behind me and I felt it gripping me with its teeth and pulling on my leg...kinda like I'm doing to you right now.
Ok, that's all I got. :chuckle:
Post by: Austrian Hunter on August 03, 2009, 02:31:14 PM
If it's ok I'd like to share a pretty incredible fishing story.
My grandparents used to live in Sekiu during the Summer for years and we would get to make a couple of trips each year to go salmon fishing with them, usually around July or August when the kings were running. The most incredible thing happened the Summer after my High School graduation, August 4, 1981--you may have seen the story in the news when it happened...to me.
It was a chilly morning and thick fog shrouded Clallam Bay, causing us to make the trip out very slowly so we could avoid other boats and the bell bouy. Fortunately the fog was patchy so we could occasionally find the point that marked our way. The swells were much smaller than normal, making for a pretty comfortable ride and meaning that I shouldn't have much concern about seasickness that gets to me occasionally.
Just as were rounding the point we spotted a pod of killer whales behind us, probably not more than 50 yards. They came in and out of our sight due to the rolling fog but it was clear they were approaching closer and closer. My grandpa hated to see them because he knew it would make fishing tougher than it had to be. He has always been a very stern man but occasionally relished the thought of getting your goat when the opportunity presented itself, which it did on this day, because I made it clear that I was extremely nervous about seeing these orcas so close to the boat at o'dark thirty with land too far away and I wanted to bump up the speed and get the heck out of Dodge! :o
Soon I found myself leaving my seat at the rear corner of the boat for the relative safety under the bow. But at the same time I could feel the seasickness starting to overtake me (I guess my fear didn't help in this regard!) and I knew it would be seconds before I would be blowing chunks over the side of the boat. Unfortunatly for me the orcas were within 20 yards when I couldn't hold it any longer and I ran back to the back of the boat to relieve the pressure. I can't express the helplessness I felt at being sicker than a dog and having to get so close to those whales as they approached both sides of the boat, the dorsal fins of the males towering over my head! :yike:
No sooner had I begun chumming the waters when my grandpa busted out laughing and then he kicked me in the butt to suit his perverse pleasure of witnessing my precarious situation. I can tell you that I have never been so happy to have been wearing a life jacket as I was in that moment because I was dizzy and caught off guard enough that I fell overboard right into the lap of the orcas! Add the shock of the cold water temperature to the mix and I thought I was going to die at that very moment--I was desperately frantic and had completely given up all at the same time! No sooner had I hit the water and tasted the bitter salt water than one of the large male dorsal fins came up out of the water just behind me and I felt it gripping me with its teeth and pulling on my leg...kinda like I'm doing to you right now.
Ok, that's all I got. :chuckle:
:yike:
Are toy for real? That must have been scary? What did your Grandpa said? Did the Orca pulled you under? Did it hurt? Come on man don;t stop. :chuckle:
Post by: Dipsnort on August 03, 2009, 02:33:38 PM
Post by: EastWaViking on August 03, 2009, 02:44:28 PM
Years ago, me and my hunting buddy Jeff (clipboard guy) decided to hike into a great spot up by Republic to hunt some mule deer. We had been to it several times, but decided we would go in a different.... better, way. We parked the rig early and started hiking, we hit the head of the canyon that would take us to our destination and we saw a small ribbon of smoke coming up through the trees on the other side. We hurried around and found a smoldering, small forest fire. We switched from hunters to fire fighters and scooped dirt, stomped flames and generally did our best to put out the fire which was about the size of an average backyard. We got it pretty well contained then hurried to the highest point to see if we could get a cell signal. We did, and Jeff was able to contact DNR. Later we saw a plane heading that direction to take care of business. Back to hunting...and smelling like smoke. We started hiking the direction of the pile of rock we called "shooter's point" This was back before we switched to bow hunting. We hiked and hiked and bush whacked for hours. Finally just as the sun was starting to fade, we popped out on a hill where we could see a bit better. There was the cayon and the point we where headed for.... BEHIND US and about a mile away, on the other side of a huge windfall bottom. We looked at each other and scratched our heads. We had already walked at least 10 miles and realized we couldn't get there before dark. What should be do? About then we notice an old cat trail below us about a mile. We figured that would lead us to the road that heads back down to the main highway. Well, we decided to play it safe and just get out of there.
Down off the mountain to the cat trail, which did lead to a road. We hiked, and hiked. Just before it was totally dark we saw 13 1/2 spray painted on a tree. Huh? Must be the road number. We hiked a bit more and saw a 13 painted on a tree! OH NO, is that the miles to the paved road? A little further and we saw a 12 1/2, yep. We still got a long way to go. Luckily I had a water purification pump, so we filled our water bottles and strapped our rifles onto our day packs and kept hiking. At on point we came face to face with a large black object that came crashing out of the brush, we both were scrambling for our pistols... then it mooed. Stupid cow. We finally got to the road and were able to call a friend to come and rescue us. We were SO tired, and had hiked 25 miles or more. Our friend picked us up and took us to Republic where we found a bar and had some dinner, neither of us could hardly walk at that point. (I was wearing high heeled logger boots, not really meant for hiking.) He then drove us back to the truck where we crashed, it was somewhere after midnight by then.
I'm not really sure what we were thinking. I guess we were planning to spending the night at shooter's point, but we didn't have sleeping bags or much food.... I guess we were just young and foolish, but it makes for a good story.