Good Memory Bucks

[bigmacc]

Heres one that got my memory going by whats happening in the world today.

My Uncle Larry had been out of the Marine Corps for just a few years, he was my moms younger brother. He idolized my dad who was of coarse much older than him and kind of followed in his footsteps, my dad was also a Marine. Well, when I was 15 or 16 my dad was Ironworking up in Alaska, every time he had the opportunity to work up there he would jump on it, he loved the state and had worked up there off and on since he was just a kid when my great grandparents had some fishing interests up there. He worked on the pipeline for years(another whole box of stories ) but this was a different job and it would keep him away from hunting camp which tore him up. He wanted to make sure I made it over, mom was working for Boeing at the time and other relatives would be bouncing in and out of Little Bellingham, dad wanted to make sure I got there. Grandma and grandpa said they would handle it but the problem was I was on the wrestling team and couldn't miss any school or matches(I went to state that year), and dad didn't want them driving back and forth with me, enter Uncle Larry.

Uncle Larry hadn't did much hunting in his life but wanted to, he had been overseas for years and in Viet Nam. Now was his chance . Dad told him over the phone what to take, where to go depending on the weather, wind, etc, etc, etc., Uncle Larry soaked it up, him and I planned our trip, what to take, what to eat and on. Well, Uncle Larry had a red Volkswagen Beetle, we crammed everything into that thing and on top. I thought we were staying at Little Bellingham but oh no, dad had other plans for us. The weather was at the point that dad figured a certain spot would be the place to be, he told Uncle Larry that you got to be in there early and since we only had a weekend he said it would be best if we just camped in there, we did. The very first morning I killed a big 2 by 3, we cut him up, hauled him to our little camp, we later drove down to Little Bellingham to share the story. There were 15 or 16 deer hanging at grandma and grandpas camp, the firelight was perfect with all the bucks hanging head up. I remember Uncle Larry just being mesmerized by the people and the camp, it was truly a classic deer camp, complete with history, characters and stories. He had heard the stories my dad had told him and they were all true, he loved it, he soaked it all in, he was hooked. We drove back to our little place up at $56&*9(some on here know the spot) and hit the sack. We had to leave the next afternoon in order for me to be back in school on Monday for a "wrestle off", my coach said not to worry about it but the guy that was challenging me was a friend, I owed it to him I felt. We went out and hunted the same turf I had killed my 2 by 3, we sat there for dang near 4 or 5 hours , we seen around 50 deer or so if I remember right, Uncle Larry said something like, isn't that weird that there was no bucks. We went back to camp, loaded everything into that VW including my cut up buck! We headed down the road, we got no more than a mile or so down the road when a 2 point jumped the road, Uncle Larry hit the binders, the buck went down a steep hill, Uncle Larry jumped out trying to get his rifle out of the back seat, he did and he had bullets handy, the buck went a few hundred yards downhill, Uncle Larry killed him, I remember him saying, "Your dad is gonna let me have it, he told me not to shoot a deer downhill" . Well, we got him up hill, in a few pieces  , Uncle Larry was very proud of that buck as was I, as was my dad, its still talked about. Uncle Larry never made it to camp again, he was diagnosed with Leukemia a year later or so and passed away a couple years after that. I wish he and I would have had many more years to hunt together. R.I.P Uncle Larry

[bigmacc]

 Just got back from my sons place over in eastern Washington, most all of our families hunting memorabilia, pictures, mounts etc are all in his mancave, a 20 by 40 foot building he built just for the "stuff". Walked around and looked at a lot of pictures we had blown up and framed years ago, looked at piles of antlers he has stacked in corners, euro mounts galore and a few head mounts, it came out better than I could have imagined. Lots of pictures of the Little Bellingham bunch going back to the 1930,s, some he had colorized, really neat. My dads and my grandmas old Black Bear hunting coats, Filsons, fishing poles from Alaska, old binos, scopes, suspenders, crushers and boots, just amazing. Every item conjures memories.

Walking around I noticed a picture of a couple fellas who weren't actually part of the Little Bellingham camp but they always looked forward to us pulling in and us the same with them. They camped a hundred yards away from us, hunted hard and would always come to one of our fires every night to BS and look at our bucks, we always had them hanging, head up and the firelight would always conjure up stories and they would sit and listen to them for hours, if we would have let them . If I remember right, both worked for the postal service at the time(late 60,s-70,s), I remember one was named Bennet but can't remember the other fellas. They camped next to us for over 25 years, we never seen a buck hanging at their camp, ever. One year they came back from the evening hunt, grabbed a shot of coffee/whiskey and strolled over to our camp. We had just killed 3 bucks that morning and now had 14 hanging(thats the picture we took of them) that particular year. We all sat around talking when one of my pardners asked if they seen anything today, I think it was his pard that replied "nope, nothing", it didn't faise me until Bennet said(this is gods truth) "I've never even seen a doe over here". Yep! I asked him, for as long as you been coming over here you've never seen a doe? He said never, his pardner had seen a few but that was it, we were all baffled to say the least. They said the only reason they come over every year was to see what we would kill and maybe they would bump into one also. It took a lot to believe these guys had only seen a few does over 25 years or so, they hunted hard, guys would see their rig at a trailhead before daylight and see it still there after dark, baffling. One year, one day they were setting up their camp, my pardner and I said lets send them into a spot they can kill a buck, we walked over and welcomed them and talked awhile. We told them of a spot my great grandma hunted time to time and she said it was ok with her if we sent them in there, we did. It should be automatic to kill a nice local deer, they were always there, little spindly horned 2 and 3 points, should be a slam dunk. They got back to camp about the same time as usual, only this time they pulled right into our camp, didn't stop to get their coffee/whiskey, Bennet got out of the truck and said it would be an honor to hang their buck with ours . A couple of us walked over to the truck and when they opened the back there was a hell of a buck, not a spindly 2 or 3 point but a big ole roman nose 4 by 5! We got him on the pole with ours, helped them get him cleaned up and skinned and took a picture of them. They were like old veterans now, years after, they would come into camp and now they had a story, they told it every year, they never killed another buck. Right place, right time I guess, Til this day, I don't know if they could see

[bigmacc]

I have been corrected  , the “postmen” ( which is what we used to call them), actually killed a few more bucks, in fact 3 to be exact, I stand corrected 👍If Bennet and his buddy are on this site, I’m sorry. Thanks to another member for pointing that out👍

[bigmacc]

Ok, I've been asked to tell this story, its of the buck with the collar on it that I've told in other topics, now "heres the rest of the story"

It was 40 or so years ago, my dad had an ironworker buddy who had dropped dead of a heart attack, he had a son who was an apprentice at the time. My dad felt obligated to take Larry under his wing so to speak and watch over him. Larry was in his early 20,s and had never been hunting in Washington, he was from a whitetail state and was looking forward to chase mulies. He hunted with the little Bellingham camp for a few years, killed a few small bucks here and there when one year Larry had a cast on his arm from an on the job injury, he still came hunting. One day he and my brother who was in his teens at the time went into an area where they killed the collared buck(not going to tell that whole deal again), a big old buck who's batteries had went dead a couple years prior, well, Larry decided to celebrate back at another camp (not part of little Bellingham) and proceed to forget about where he left my brother AND forgetting to wait for him and bring him back. Hours had passed, my dad and I finally tracked down Larry, drunker than a skunk, had a huge buck, but no brother/son. Needless to say, my dad was not happy, S@#T pretty much hit the fan, the excitement of Larrys buck wore off in a hurry. My dad, myself and 4 or 5 other guys from camp went out in the dark to try to find my brother, going off of where Larry last seen him , we went into a particular area and fanned out, snow on the ground and snowing. Someone came in and got a couple of us, someone had picked my brother up on a road miles away. A couple guys waited at a rendezvous spot to let the others know he had been found. My dad got back to that camp, wet, tired and let Larry have it, I thought he was going to drop him where he stood, he did not.

It was a huge buck with a cool story and that was memorable enough, but another reason I remember this buck is because of the other story. Larry and my dad didn't talk for awhile and my dad regretted that because a couple years later Larry got into a bar fight, they took it outside, the other fella jumped in his rig and ran Larry over in the parking lot and killed him, now you know the rest of the story of the collared buck....R.I.P Larry.

[OutHouse]

Heres one that got my memory going by whats happening in the world today.

My Uncle Larry had been out of the Marine Corps for just a few years, he was my moms younger brother. He idolized my dad who was of coarse much older than him and kind of followed in his footsteps, my dad was also a Marine. Well, when I was 15 or 16 my dad was Ironworking up in Alaska, every time he had the opportunity to work up there he would jump on it, he loved the state and had worked up there off and on since he was just a kid when my great grandparents had some fishing interests up there. He worked on the pipeline for years(another whole box of stories ) but this was a different job and it would keep him away from hunting camp which tore him up. He wanted to make sure I made it over, mom was working for Boeing at the time and other relatives would be bouncing in and out of Little Bellingham, dad wanted to make sure I got there. Grandma and grandpa said they would handle it but the problem was I was on the wrestling team and couldn't miss any school or matches(I went to state that year), and dad didn't want them driving back and forth with me, enter Uncle Larry.

Uncle Larry hadn't did much hunting in his life but wanted to, he had been overseas for years and in Viet Nam. Now was his chance . Dad told him over the phone what to take, where to go depending on the weather, wind, etc, etc, etc., Uncle Larry soaked it up, him and I planned our trip, what to take, what to eat and on. Well, Uncle Larry had a red Volkswagen Beetle, we crammed everything into that thing and on top. I thought we were staying at Little Bellingham but oh no, dad had other plans for us. The weather was at the point that dad figured a certain spot would be the place to be, he told Uncle Larry that you got to be in there early and since we only had a weekend he said it would be best if we just camped in there, we did. The very first morning I killed a big 2 by 3, we cut him up, hauled him to our little camp, we later drove down to Little Bellingham to share the story. There were 15 or 16 deer hanging at grandma and grandpas camp, the firelight was perfect with all the bucks hanging head up. I remember Uncle Larry just being mesmerized by the people and the camp, it was truly a classic deer camp, complete with history, characters and stories. He had heard the stories my dad had told him and they were all true, he loved it, he soaked it all in, he was hooked. We drove back to our little place up at $56&*9(some on here know the spot) and hit the sack. We had to leave the next afternoon in order for me to be back in school on Monday for a "wrestle off", my coach said not to worry about it but the guy that was challenging me was a friend, I owed it to him I felt. We went out and hunted the same turf I had killed my 2 by 3, we sat there for dang near 4 or 5 hours , we seen around 50 deer or so if I remember right, Uncle Larry said something like, isn't that weird that there was no bucks. We went back to camp, loaded everything into that VW including my cut up buck! We headed down the road, we got no more than a mile or so down the road when a 2 point jumped the road, Uncle Larry hit the binders, the buck went down a steep hill, Uncle Larry jumped out trying to get his rifle out of the back seat, he did and he had bullets handy, the buck went a few hundred yards downhill, Uncle Larry killed him, I remember him saying, "Your dad is gonna let me have it, he told me not to shoot a deer downhill" . Well, we got him up hill, in a few pieces  , Uncle Larry was very proud of that buck as was I, as was my dad, its still talked about. Uncle Larry never made it to camp again, he was diagnosed with Leukemia a year later or so and passed away a couple years after that. I wish he and I would have had many more years to hunt together. R.I.P Uncle Larry

That was a great read bigmacc!   

[bigmacc]

Heres one concerning a deer killed by my nephew in a certain spot, his dad(my brother) killed a nice buck in the exact same spot years prior, before my nephew was even born, 2 deer died for sure by these two but the circumstances could not have been more different

My nephew was looking to kill his first buck, I think he was 13 or 14 and it was a year the deer were moving in waves. The weather would hit up high and a couple days later we would be in certain areas and kill 4 or 5, seeing 40 a day give or take, then, like someone turned off the spicket, nothing. This was in 2010(I think). I had killed a nice buck in this particular spot, I talked with my brother and said Cletus(well call him in this story ) may get another one there if I could take him. Well, my brother brought Cletus to a spot we agreed on meeting at, he and I started out in the dark, well before daylight, about a 4 mile hike into this particular spot, a spot that a friend of my great grandmas used to sit, her name was Milly, she killed some huge bucks off this spot back in the 1930,s-40,s, she later went to war as a nurse and when she returned, never went hunting again.

Cletus and I got to the "rock" about 2 hours before daylight, it was cold and I remember the wind blowing out of the north. I told Cletus that my dad(his grandpa) could gage a deers movement by the wind, not necessarily by snow and cold but by the wind and where it came from. Something thats been pounded into all of us since the get go, wind. I won't go any further. We both layed back for a nap, everything we had thrown over the tops of us for warmth, till this day none of us use the "fancy" clothing .  I remember waking up and seeing it real light out, I looked at my watch, we had missed the "golden hour" by about an hour. I remember putting my binos on a spot that was well past where I would usually start glassing, thinking while we were sleeping they would be "right about there" , Ill be danged, soon as I put my glasses up(Cletus was just awakening  ) I seen about a dozen or so does, I ducked back behind some cover and told Cletus "get your eyeballs on", theres a bunch of big migrators down the hill, all black as coal and heavy but I don't see no horns, "just kick back and be ready", he chambered a round, a few minutes had went by, I slithered up to the edge and peeked over, now we had a "pack string" of about 20, single filling up this trail, I told Cletus theres gonna be a buck in this bunch, maybe two, but be ready to shoot because one of them is gonna be a big fella. I layed there for about 5 minutes or so, bringing up the rear was a nice 2 by 3, then a spike, then a  nice 3 point (that actually was smaller, bodywise than the does) then another 4 or 5 does , and one more buck, head down, trailing the rest of them. I asked Cletus, "you ready", yep, I said get on your belly and crawl over here, he did, I said "get him in your scope, he's the last one", he did. I said "put it on his shoulder and squeeze", he did. Buck down, a monstrous 4 point, ( I posted pictures before of this buck), He's gonna have a hard time with bettering himself after this guy. The buck was displayed at a prominent sporting goods store for 1 year I believe( ) it was a dandy for sure. Of coarse this buck is still talked about in camp, he's the one that we had a picture of with another pardner standing next to it with a sawsall acting like he was cutting the horns off :chuckle:I,ll have to talk with his dad and see if I can tell the story of him when he killed his buck off "Millys spot", its a good one

[LDennis24]

I sure wish your old posts were still on here. I would love to see some of those big ole boys you talk about having pics of. I'm sorry for the BS you have endured when telling these old stories about big bucks on other threads. That one about Larry I sure won't forget. Thanks again bigmacc!

[teanawayslayer]

I sure wish your old posts were still on here. I would love to see some of those big ole boys you talk about having pics of. I'm sorry for the BS you have endured when telling these old stories about big bucks on other threads. That one about Larry I sure won't forget. Thanks again bigmacc!

[LDennis24]

Not to thread jack or get this off course but uh.....

There needs to be a bigmacc story thread. You sir, should write a book!

[bigmacc]

Not to thread jack or get this off course but uh.....

There needs to be a bigmacc story thread. You sir, should write a book!

I appreciate that sir, thats why I'm putting these stories on here, you all can enjoy them and the folks I know can save them, theres a few family members on here that know these stories from front to back, they know. I have many more, I just need permission to tell them because the culprits are still alive ....between all of us, theres pictures to back up all the stories. I posted about 30 or 40 pictures years ago.

[High Climber]

Not to thread jack or get this off course but uh.....

There needs to be a bigmacc story thread. You sir, should write a book!

I appreciate that sir, thats why I'm putting these stories on here, you all can enjoy them and the folks I know can save them, theres a few family members on here that know these stories from front to back, they know. I have many more, I just need permission to tell them because the culprits are still alive ....between all of us, theres pictures to back up all the stories. I posted about 30 or 40 pictures years ago.

BigMac, please find a way to put a digital watermark or something on your photos and post them again! Don’t let the A-holes ruin it for you (ruin it for us)
I would buy your book 

[Humptulips]

I recently read this thread through and really enjoyed it. It seems like Bigmacc is doing the heavy lifting though. I thought I should add a story. This thread has been pretty centered on the Methow so I will diversify it out. This took place on the Humptulips side of Quinault Ridge, specifically on the Phillips Cr rd. The area is all overgrown now because the forest Service has given up on logging but at the time there were still pretty big clearcuts that attracted deer and elk. Time frame is the mid-80s.
There were three big clearcuts and one small one at the end of the road and Dad and I decided it was a likely place for a morning hunt. We weren’t the only one though as when we approached the fork in the road near the end there was a pickup sitting waiting for daylight. We got out to talk to him and it was a local guy we knew. Of course he planned on going the same place we were settled on. We all agreed he would hunt that fork of the road which was two big clearcuts separated by a recently logged strip that had blown down. We went the other way which was a big clearcut and a smaller one. I was going to go down a middle ridge that divided the cut into two big canyons while Dad walked the road down one side and through to the smaller cut.
Where I left the road, the ground kind of humped over for a ways making it hard to see very far, extenuated by three and four foot tall fir trees. I barely got started when I jumped a buck and he was out of sight in an instant. I knew he was a nice buck, turned out to be a three point. I ran down the hill to where I could see a bit better and after a while I saw him sneaking up the other side of the canyon. On that side it went up to a ridge that kind of broke down in three benches. He was just coming up onto the highest bench. I took a rest on a stump and when he stopped on the bench squeezed one off. About a 200 yard shot. He dropped and laid there. I knew when I crossed the draw he would be out of sight for quite a while so I sat still and watched him for several minutes. No movement so I finally got up and headed down into the draw. Maybe five minutes later I gained the other side and there he lay. I poked him with the rifle barrel. Behind me there was a chunk so I turned around and laid my gun down on it and turned around to dress the deer. At this point the damn thing jumped up and took off. He went downhill and over the bench and out of sight. I grabbed my gun and raced after him. When I got to the edge of the bench he was right at where the next bench ended. I hastily threw the gun up and the damn scope was fogged over. I fired a shot anyway and of course missed as he went out of sight over the bench. I hurriedly gave chase but was cleaning my scope this time as I went. I got to the next edge and there he was a couple steps away from going over the last bench and out of sight forever as there was doghair below this. This time I could see though and shot him through the ribs quartering forward. I had succeeded in chasing him to the farthest point from the road but at least he was down for good this time. As I remember right the first shot had hit him high and found that point just below his spine and high on the lungs. He couldn’t breathe well or he probably wouldn’t have stopped twice for me to shoot at him. I made a pack out of him and dad came down and packed my gun out.
We never heard a shot from the other fork of the road so I dare say if we had went where we wanted we would have went home empty handed that day.

[bigmacc]

I recently read this thread through and really enjoyed it. It seems like Bigmacc is doing the heavy lifting though. I thought I should add a story. This thread has been pretty centered on the Methow so I will diversify it out. This took place on the Humptulips side of Quinault Ridge, specifically on the Phillips Cr rd. The area is all overgrown now because the forest Service has given up on logging but at the time there were still pretty big clearcuts that attracted deer and elk. Time frame is the mid-80s.
There were three big clearcuts and one small one at the end of the road and Dad and I decided it was a likely place for a morning hunt. We weren’t the only one though as when we approached the fork in the road near the end there was a pickup sitting waiting for daylight. We got out to talk to him and it was a local guy we knew. Of course he planned on going the same place we were settled on. We all agreed he would hunt that fork of the road which was two big clearcuts separated by a recently logged strip that had blown down. We went the other way which was a big clearcut and a smaller one. I was going to go down a middle ridge that divided the cut into two big canyons while Dad walked the road down one side and through to the smaller cut.
Where I left the road, the ground kind of humped over for a ways making it hard to see very far, extenuated by three and four foot tall fir trees. I barely got started when I jumped a buck and he was out of sight in an instant. I knew he was a nice buck, turned out to be a three point. I ran down the hill to where I could see a bit better and after a while I saw him sneaking up the other side of the canyon. On that side it went up to a ridge that kind of broke down in three benches. He was just coming up onto the highest bench. I took a rest on a stump and when he stopped on the bench squeezed one off. About a 200 yard shot. He dropped and laid there. I knew when I crossed the draw he would be out of sight for quite a while so I sat still and watched him for several minutes. No movement so I finally got up and headed down into the draw. Maybe five minutes later I gained the other side and there he lay. I poked him with the rifle barrel. Behind me there was a chunk so I turned around and laid my gun down on it and turned around to dress the deer. At this point the damn thing jumped up and took off. He went downhill and over the bench and out of sight. I grabbed my gun and raced after him. When I got to the edge of the bench he was right at where the next bench ended. I hastily threw the gun up and the damn scope was fogged over. I fired a shot anyway and of course missed as he went out of sight over the bench. I hurriedly gave chase but was cleaning my scope this time as I went. I got to the next edge and there he was a couple steps away from going over the last bench and out of sight forever as there was doghair below this. This time I could see though and shot him through the ribs quartering forward. I had succeeded in chasing him to the farthest point from the road but at least he was down for good this time. As I remember right the first shot had hit him high and found that point just below his spine and high on the lungs. He couldn’t breathe well or he probably wouldn’t have stopped twice for me to shoot at him. I made a pack out of him and dad came down and packed my gun out.
We never heard a shot from the other fork of the road so I dare say if we had went where we wanted we would have went home empty handed that day.

 ....Great story, as if we were there. You ever do any hunting up around Camp Grisdale? My grandpa (my moms dad) logged for Simpson back in the day, the last of the real "logging camps", grandpa and grandma lived up there for 15 or 16 years I believe, back in the 50,s and 60,s, man they killed some big elk and blacktail up in there. Once again, great story

[Kamo2112]

Not to thread jack or get this off course but uh.....

There needs to be a bigmacc story thread. You sir, should write a book!

I appreciate that sir, thats why I'm putting these stories on here, you all can enjoy them and the folks I know can save them, theres a few family members on here that know these stories from front to back, they know. I have many more, I just need permission to tell them because the culprits are still alive ....between all of us, theres pictures to back up all the stories. I posted about 30 or 40 pictures years ago.

BigMac, please find a way to put a digital watermark or something on your photos and post them again! Don’t let the A-holes ruin it for you (ruin it for us)
I would buy your book 

 

[Humptulips]

I recently read this thread through and really enjoyed it. It seems like Bigmacc is doing the heavy lifting though. I thought I should add a story. This thread has been pretty centered on the Methow so I will diversify it out. This took place on the Humptulips side of Quinault Ridge, specifically on the Phillips Cr rd. The area is all overgrown now because the forest Service has given up on logging but at the time there were still pretty big clearcuts that attracted deer and elk. Time frame is the mid-80s.
There were three big clearcuts and one small one at the end of the road and Dad and I decided it was a likely place for a morning hunt. We weren’t the only one though as when we approached the fork in the road near the end there was a pickup sitting waiting for daylight. We got out to talk to him and it was a local guy we knew. Of course he planned on going the same place we were settled on. We all agreed he would hunt that fork of the road which was two big clearcuts separated by a recently logged strip that had blown down. We went the other way which was a big clearcut and a smaller one. I was going to go down a middle ridge that divided the cut into two big canyons while Dad walked the road down one side and through to the smaller cut.
Where I left the road, the ground kind of humped over for a ways making it hard to see very far, extenuated by three and four foot tall fir trees. I barely got started when I jumped a buck and he was out of sight in an instant. I knew he was a nice buck, turned out to be a three point. I ran down the hill to where I could see a bit better and after a while I saw him sneaking up the other side of the canyon. On that side it went up to a ridge that kind of broke down in three benches. He was just coming up onto the highest bench. I took a rest on a stump and when he stopped on the bench squeezed one off. About a 200 yard shot. He dropped and laid there. I knew when I crossed the draw he would be out of sight for quite a while so I sat still and watched him for several minutes. No movement so I finally got up and headed down into the draw. Maybe five minutes later I gained the other side and there he lay. I poked him with the rifle barrel. Behind me there was a chunk so I turned around and laid my gun down on it and turned around to dress the deer. At this point the damn thing jumped up and took off. He went downhill and over the bench and out of sight. I grabbed my gun and raced after him. When I got to the edge of the bench he was right at where the next bench ended. I hastily threw the gun up and the damn scope was fogged over. I fired a shot anyway and of course missed as he went out of sight over the bench. I hurriedly gave chase but was cleaning my scope this time as I went. I got to the next edge and there he was a couple steps away from going over the last bench and out of sight forever as there was doghair below this. This time I could see though and shot him through the ribs quartering forward. I had succeeded in chasing him to the farthest point from the road but at least he was down for good this time. As I remember right the first shot had hit him high and found that point just below his spine and high on the lungs. He couldn’t breathe well or he probably wouldn’t have stopped twice for me to shoot at him. I made a pack out of him and dad came down and packed my gun out.
We never heard a shot from the other fork of the road so I dare say if we had went where we wanted we would have went home empty handed that day.

 ....Great story, as if we were there. You ever do any hunting up around Camp Grisdale? My grandpa (my moms dad) logged for Simpson back in the day, the last of the real "logging camps", grandpa and grandma lived up there for 15 or 16 years I believe, back in the 50,s and 60,s, man they killed some big elk and blacktail up in there. Once again, great story

I have done quite a lot of hunting across the river from Grisdale, actually downstream where the Ring of Fire bridge crossed the gorge. In fact I have a memorable buck story I will write out from there. I applied for a job at Grisdale in 1973 but never was hired. Later on after Grisdale was gone I logged on the upper Wynoochee the last sales that Simpsons walked away from. Mayr Bros bought the left overs but the enviromentalists stopped about half those sales because of Spotted Owls.