Post by: dblakney on September 28, 2010, 01:09:37 PM
A few years back my hunting partner and I were hunting the Entiat Mountains on a cold early morning bow hunt. We were camped under the watchful presence of Sugarloaf peak and awoke to a crystal clear morning high in the range east of Chumstick. As the sun began to light the night time sky and night turned to day we finished our morning preparations, slammed the last bit of coffee, and headed out into the timber to begin our hunt. As we approached the site we fittingly named the “Honey Hole” it lived up to its name as there was a large mule deer doe feeding on the morning dew soaked buck brush. With the wind right and cover on my side I crept slowly closer and closer to within 40 yards. With the snap of a twig under my feet she looked up and stared unknowingly but aware. That glare seemed to last forever, I held my position still; no movement. The steam was rising slowly from the cold damp ground and the sun was breaking the crest of the horizon, then nothing. Shocked that she went back to feeding I felt comfort and realized how perfect the stock as the cool breeze blew against my face, straight on. Again I moved forward found my window drew the bow and loosed the arrow. All things slow down, the arrow flies straight to its target, I follow it through the shot as it smacks loudly like smashing wood with a mallet as she bucks. Her hind legs flail into the air and she is off and running. At this point I am flushed with adrenalin, overjoyed and confident in the outcome. Early celebrations give way to what was to become on a long cold sugarloaf morning.
Several hours had passed and still no sign… No blood no arrow tracks lost in the thick brush that covers the sandy ash laden ground of a once thick forest burned by fire. The contrast of the dead standing lodgepoles stretching to the dark blue sky, like tooth picks on a homemade play dough mountain, gave way to eerie sensations and an overwhelming feeling of loss. I could not abandon my deer, but it was time to regroup and re assess the situation. We pulled back out of the area and found a good spot to sit and rest and re-consider what had happened. All things race through the mind, did I miss? Was that sound of my arrow crashing into her just dead wood? A stump or log? Can’t be I knew I hit her, I saw my arrow fly true! Was it my shot placement, did I miss the mark? Did I wound her? Is she a mile away and suffering, dying, returned to nature? It can be a confusing feeling, disappointment, insecurity, needing to dive head first into the stalk. Never give up. My hunting partner made a suggestion, probably not altruistic, but still having a few hours to hunt that morning he wanted to check out another location just a short walk away. We discussed our options and felt it was not a bad idea to move away, hunt, then come back and search in a few hours. It was around 9:30 am and the thought of leaving my dear was devastating, but leaving the area and letting things settle for me and perhaps a wounded animal was the best thing we could have done, at least we thought.
We hunted for two more hours that morning pushing timber over several drainages with little to no sign. And it was time to return and search for her once again. Back at camp we got the truck and drove to a location closer to where we would search again. My hunting partner was a bit reluctant, but I knew, knew I had made contact. We left the majority of our gear; bows, and some heavier items stashed in the truck where we parked behind a slash pile close to the road. We hiked the nearly a mile or so to our location and began to search for sign again when it happened! Two hours later and just as I was about to give up hope, turn around, and head back to camp in disbelief, I saw it. Like pasta sauce stained on a brand new white shirt there it was, lying on the ground beneath my feet next to my boot, the blood trail. Overjoyed as I fell to my knees to closely inspect what I had found I called out to my good friend. “Blood… I have Blood!”Tiny specs of somewhat dried but still wet blood became more and more prevalent as we followed the trail. For nearly thirty minutes we slowly made it closer and closer and there she was. Excitement yielded to the realization that I forgot something important. It had been nearly eight hours since I made the shot and I knew we needed to act quickly, but in unloading my gear I had left a few important items back at the truck (I now keep my tags and field dressing necessities in a separate dity bag for time like this). At that moment I realized those important items were nearly a mile away. My hunting partner volunteered to run as fast as possible back to the truck and grab my bag and his camera. Unbelievably fast he returned in little time and I began the hard work of filed processing. She laid up on the side of a northwest facing slope surprisingly and thankfully still slightly protected by the shade of that dead standing forest and a cool afternoon breeze. To think this morning, this day, could get any stranger was an afterthought, as I got down on my hands and knees cutting around her back side when I heard those dreadful words… “Dude a Cougar”
Just to my left hand side about five feet away from me was a stump, and behind that stump a small brushy green bush. As I began to insert my knife and make my cut my hunting partner uttered three words. At the time I thought to myself, keep working, I did not hear that. As those three words were not registering. Then again, as I slowly began to look up at his face I knew, “DUDE A COUGAR” meant only one thing. Paralyzed with fear as he held the front leg of my dear he began to back up. Stopped by a fallen log nearly toppling him over I realized by the body language it was serious. Turning to my left to see that small green bush dwarfed by a massive cat creeping in on its front forearms was a sight I pray to never see again. The Cat was fixed on my hunting partner. Instincts prevailed and as I tossed my hunting knife over my shoulder in a jerk reaction I grabbed the closest stick (twigs in reality) I could find. As the cats face turned to see me rising from the earth I charged at it with its face sneering it began to turn towards me. In a pouncing position it laid waiting as I charged. I took two steps and bellowed the most primal scream I have ever heard from a man and leapt towards the cat. With little hesitation it reacted in a promising manner turned bounded over a large fallen log and made its way. With hearts pounding we watched as the cougar quickly ran through the clearing and into the distance. As its pace slowed and running turned to a trot the cat leapt gracefully across a fifteen foot raven and into the tall stand of trees across the drainage. To this day I have never finished field dressing and hauling a deer back to camp faster than we did that day. I will never forget the time spent on this hunt as it is etched in my memory forever.
Post by: steen on September 28, 2010, 01:17:48 PM
Post by: dblakney on September 28, 2010, 01:30:47 PM
Post by: dblakney on September 28, 2010, 01:33:05 PM
Post by: ICEMAN on September 28, 2010, 09:31:43 PM
Post by: Caseyd on September 29, 2010, 12:35:05 AM
The cougar probably fled from the smell of sh!t in your shorts :chuckle:
Post by: whacker1 on September 29, 2010, 06:36:02 AM
Post by: dblakney on September 29, 2010, 10:13:24 AM
Post by: BlackRidge on September 29, 2010, 10:39:22 AM
I'd be cleaning my underwear in addition to the deer :P
Post by: remington300mag on September 29, 2010, 10:44:20 AM
Post by: BlackRidge on September 29, 2010, 10:47:14 AM
Do you carry a sidearm?
Post by: dblakney on September 29, 2010, 11:49:15 AM
Post by: dblakney on September 29, 2010, 11:53:35 AM