We were hunting Mule Deer. Last hunts with Dad.
Answered Prayers….
Part One….
A lot of folks, myself included, will tell you to be careful what you wish for, ask for, and pray for….for sometimes the costs can be much worse than what you wanted. But some things are worth the hurt, especially when you know the hurt is already coming. ~Wolf~
I don't think changes were as sudden as I like to think. Just one hunting season, not long ago, it just hit me that my hunting partner wasn't doing so well. For all of my life we had hunted together….climbed mountains, entered heavy timber, busted brush of all sorts, spent many an hour around the campfire telling tales, froze together when our camp ideas didn't work so well or a freak storm blew in…and many, many hours of just spending time together. And now my partner wasn't doing so well.
Dad was getting slower, and hunting season was coming. Hunting has always been a central part of our family. And I knew it wouldn't be too many more years before dad might not be able to go. All summer I hoped and occasionally prayed that before it was Dad's time that he would get one more big buck and see me get one as well. We weren't slouches as far as hunting went, we were just never that concerned with how big the horns were….'sides horns make mighty thin soup. We were meat hunters. We always did well overall, generally got at least one deer during the season which was enough meat for most of the year until next season. Dad had gotten one nice 4x4 muley one year, back in the 80s but, by and large we generally took spikes and two-points.
That weekend was a cold one; hadn't seen a whole lot that morning and were driving to another ridge-line to sit and watch for a bit before it got dark. We happened to go around a corner and were dropping down a finger ridge to a landing so we could sit when we saw them…about 900 yards out on a semi-open hillside were a bunch of deer. We got the binoculars out and started looking….15 doe's and yearlings was the count…and one massive buck. Massive in a way only muleys can get. From the apparent size versus the body it was definitely a big 4x4, likely larger. We discussed it a bit, and figured we'd have a small window to try for him so we went back up the ridge line and headed out across the ridge to find a couple spots to sit and wait until dark.
We got parked and split up, Dad headin' a bit farther up an old logging to watch a swale on further up while I dropped down the finger above where we spotted them to slip my way into the rocks above another swale. We were both up-ridge from where they were spotted and we figured they'd be working their way up-canyon.
As I got close to the edge, I went ahead and dropped down prone and worked the last few feet to the lip of the swale…good thing I did. As I looked over the edge of that flat rock I'd chosen…I looked straight into the eyes of a yearling doe…less than 30 feet down the hill. I froze, and just laid there until finally she decided that I wasn't a threat and went back to feeding…so I shimmied a bit and got more comfortable while I watched the swale below. The rifle was handy and most of the swale was well within rifle range. Farthest visible was about 500 yards out. Dark was starting to roll in….the gloom thickened a bit, but…I could still see quite clearly out to 100 to 200 yards without the scope so I stayed a bit longer. Then I spotted him, down amongst 3 or 4 doe's…there was some brush interfering as well. I eased the rifle up and laid the scope on him, big and beautiful……and right in the middle of them doe's and brush….no clear shot. With light fading I would need a head or neck shot for an instant disconnect so he'd drop where he stood. Them doe's wouldn't get out of the way and he didn't seem too interested in stepping out in the open for me.
Ka-Boom! That was definitely dad's '06, that rifle had always had a distinctive voice… But, he was a finger ridge over…no way in hell he could see this buck. He touched another one off and by that time the one below me had already disappeared; so I stood up and headed back up the finger ridge to the truck. Dad was waiting there when I got there and handed me two empty cases. 'No hair' was all he said at first, then he told me about the buck we had seen coming into the swale right as the light was fading along with a dozen or so does. He tried for neck shot and a running head shot…but, missed. I looked at dad and told him…."Dad, that wasn't the same buck 'cus I was watching him in my swale. There's at least two big ones in here." We drove home that night along the ridge roads and made our plans for the next day….we were definitely going back.
To those that know the area between the Swakane valley and the Entiat river valley; out around Chumstick mountain and along the Dinkelman and other ridges; you'll know that its some mighty steep country in places…and in quite a few of those holes, it can be up to 10 miles before you bust your way through and out. It's been logged a few times and there are some roads…quite a few in places; but, most are up near the tops. Good huntin' though, once you learn the area. A lot of mule deer out there.
~Wolf~
The next day we headed out to the same ridge, got there before dawn lit things up and split up again. This would be an all-dayer for us as Dad was going to pick a spot to sit along one of the finger ridges further up and I would first take a morning stand, then drop over the side…go down in that hole (canyon) 1000-1500 yards down and then work my way up-canyon until I hit the old logging road up top….about 4 miles across there in steep, brushy country.
I stayed at the same spot as the night before for about an hour and a half….then dropped over the side and went straight down for a bit. Then, still dropping down I started cutting up-canyon; I took a few minutes to check for blood in Dad's swale from the night before just in case… Found it's tracks and trailed it a bit, but no blood so I headed on. I took my time at it, using the binoculars I brought with me to scan hillsides and openings. Spotted a couple doe's but, nothing with horns so kept going. It was about two hours later (with about 4 more to go) during one of the times I was scanning my back-trail that I spotted something rather odd. Through the binoculars I could see it was a deer, a couple finger ridges back and further down into that hole. Standing in the sun. Too far to id with the binoculars, I got myself settled and laid the '06 across a log to steady it and took a look through the 3x9. I have heard of such things from some of the old-timers….but, I never thought I'd see it.
Definitely a buck, about a thousand yards back and down, sunning himself along a finger ridge. I could tell exactly how big….just big ;) There was a bit of brush along one side of him hindering my attempts to see his horns….I could just tell they were there. Decisions….decisions. What to do; I was supposed to be heading up-canyon….not haring off after a buck further down and back. But, I did. First I needed to get the range down to something I could deal with….so I dropped and head towards that finger ridge. Took some time but, got the range down to about 500 yards and paused to determine what to do. Now don't get me wrong, I have taken shots at targets out to 500 yards…but, nearly every deer I've ever shot was less than 50…with only a couple out to 150 or so. So I had to think about this and look at the terrain bit. He was still standing there enjoying the sun…still along the same finger ridge. Between me and him was a lot of rock, a bit of shale and a lot of scree. All noisy. So I decided to take the shot.
I laid across the head, shifted the cross-hairs to the top of the ears, over the ribcage and touched off. The buck showed no concern….looked to the right (towards me) and down the hill……..and went back to sunnin' himself. 'Too low', I thought….so back to the head, cross-hairs to the top of the horns, over the ribcage and touched off another one. Still unconcerned, the buck looked at the brush patch to his left and then, again, went back to sunnin' himself. Grumbling to myself about being an idiot for missing twice I decided that I was going to have to get to a range that I was more comfortable with regardless…splitting the difference didn't occur to me then…..so I head across. And yes, after an hour of moving as quietly as I could through there…..I reached the finger ridge with no buck standing there. I trailed him back and further down into that canyon for another two hours….managed to catch a couple glimpses of him; but, never did get another shot.
I was beat….tail not only draggin' but, telling me that it was gonna resign. And I was way down there and at least a mile further down-ridge from where I'd started. But, there was little choice in the matter, I would have to back up to get out as it was another 8 or 9 miles down until one reached anything even resembling a road. I rested a bit, drank some water and made my decision…up and out to the top I would go…. Time was an issue as I didn't want Dad to start worrying since I hadn't showed up yet further up the ridge and start going down to find me. So up I went….and went….and 'oh god does it ever end' I went. Ever go a mile nearly straight up non-stop……well almost non-stop. By the time I got to the top….rifle was slung cross-wise across my back so I'd have both hands free, the canteen was long-empty and I stood on shaky legs looking down. 'I ain't ever goin down there again…it would have to be a damn big buck for me to shoot one down there too.' I was rather firm to myself with that thought. Slightly rested….I started up the old logging road towards where Dad and the truck would be…..not very long later……
Ka-Boom! Would you believe that my first thought was "Ooooh Crap! Not in that hole!." Another shot, definitely Dad's '06….another…….another……..another. Then silence. The shots were well spaced…. So I started draggin that tail faster on up the road. It was about another half-hour when I spotted the bronco. Just as I reached it I heard Dad signal… two short and one long with his .22; he could see me at the bronco…..looking out along the ridge line I spotted him waving his hat at me. I dropped my gear in the bronco and grabbed the pack-boards. Just took my knife and pistol belt with me along with the boards and started up the road towards the finger ridge he was on. I didn't get far when Dad popped the 22 again to get my attention. I looked at him through my little binocs and could see him looking back with his….once he was sure I was looking he pointed at the finger ridge across from him and then downhill into that damn hole. Grumbling again I headed over the side….Did you know that empty pack boards make great sleds???? I didn't either! That is until I lost my footing and fell on my back….Wheeeeeeeee! Ah crap! Log! As the sounds of rocks, dirt and brush quieted I took stock of myself…finding no injuries I stood up beside the log that had halted my slide…..The brush around me exploded with movement and I had that pistol out before I could really think about it….I no longer carried a 22; now-a-days I carry a .41 magnum…makes a nice back-up for heavy brush situations. I shifted to each moving form, pistol in hand but not cocked….doe,…doe,….another doe. There were a couple more doe's in the mix….they headed on down the hill and out of sight.
Finally I worked my way out along the finger ridge in question….Dad hollered and had me stand there and look around a bit. I could see where several deer had come up that hillside (it was open)…..but, no dead deer. I looked, and looked some more. Something nagged for my attention….I kept having my eye getting caught by a log-pile about 300 yards downhill……finally I took out the little binocs and looked down there. I had to laugh…..
From out of a gap in the middle of that log-pile was the head (nice rack!) and the four hooves around it looking back at me. I shouted out that I had it spotted and it was definitely dead….and I dropped down to it, shucking the pack boards as I reached the log-pile. Dad worked his way to me and we drug the buck out of the hole in the log pile. Time for the work to begin…..Dad mentioned that we shoulda brought the salt and pepper as it was a wee bit to get it out. We boned it where it lay….the only reason it didn't roll further down into that hole was because of the log pile. I took the first load out…head and horns with one front leg……the first 300 yards or so was on hands and knees…was too steep to stand loaded like that. Took a bit as I was scooping deeper foot and handholds on the way out. I unloaded into the back of the bronco and headed back down for the second load. After the second load I noticed it was starting to get dark…but, back down I went for the third……
We tried to take the rest out at once…the dark was thickening and the heavier loads slowed us both down by quite a bit. I hit a flat spot most of the way back and dropped the pack there since Dad had sat down on a log and wasn't doing real well. When I got back to him his breathing wasn't good and he flat told me that if he tried to take it the rest of the way up it'd likely kill him. So I told him to drop it there and I'd come back for it….but, after the day I'd had, I wasn't doin so hot myself. We left both packs there and went to the bronco…Dad told me that he'd head to 'bronco-camp' and grab some of the boys to come help….. Wasn't until after he headed out that I thought about the flashlights in the bronco. I headed back down anyways.
I found that I could see somewhat, so what I did was to start relaying the two packboards up…goin' rock to rock. When I got one of the packs up to where the bronco had been parked; I saw lights on up the ridge which told me they were almost here to help….so I waited. The boys were a bit disappointed that there was only one pack left to get…and it weren't too far down. All total; it took just over 7 hours to get that buck out of there…and it damn near killed both of us in doing it….but, Dad got his buck. Now it was just my turn…….
~Wolf~
Answered Prayers…..
Part Two….
{A lot of folks, myself included, will tell you to be careful what you wish for, ask for, and pray for….for sometimes the costs can be much worse than what you wanted. But some things are worth the hurt, especially when you know the hurt is already coming. ~Wolf~}
Well…Dad had gotten his, and that was pretty much it for that year. The next year didn't pan out either…but then, my turn came the year after. That day was a bad start…the morning was cold and Dad hadn't been able to take the cold at all while I had done the early morning bust through the timber and brush along the lower slopes of Mt. Chumstick. This year Dad was having me make the decisions on the hunting. Once I found that he couldn't stand for much time, and such. I felt a bit on the down side…but, we was hunting, just stuck on the roads for the time being while I tried to figure out how to set up the hunting situation.
The day was warmin' up a bit and we trundled down the ridge-line road, goin' slow and watching the open areas. We pulled off on a wide spot to eat lunch and I got out of the truck. We ate and Dad seemed to be enjoying the sun warming him through the windshield so I mentioned to him that I wanted to go over the edge of the ridge and take a look for a bit and that I'd be back in a few. 'Bout then we both heard a couple shots down in that hole from where Dad had gotten that last buck.
I only went about a hundred yards off of that ridge line when things opened up, a lot. Looking across a shallow swale at the joining of two finger ridges. On one side of the main ridge was the Swakane valley, the other side….the side I was on; was a series of finger ridges dropping down towards the Entiat river. I looked the area over and saw where the swale narrowed into a small saddle over the top and it dawned on me….I was looking at an escape route. Decent cover and below sight of the ridge line….you had to be part way into the swale to where it opened up to even know it was there. It was about 400 yards across the widest point…and mostly open...I found myself a convenient log and sat down for a bit to watch it…. Over the next twenty minutes or so, I inspected that swale and saddle….noting several traces of trails coming out of various spots along the opening. Everything convinced me that if one was to sit there…one would likely get his buck. The way down to it was fairly easy and there was sun shining on the spot I was sitting…a good spot for Dad to sit. I thought about it for a bit and decided to try it the next day….I could bust the lower slopes around the area while Dad sat in comfort.
With that decided, I stood up and turned to go back; at that moment was when I saw movement…a deer 'not quite' running had just crested farther down the finger ridge I was on. I'd already id'd it as being a buck as I dropped the scope on it. It was a big three-point and was a bit ragged in its stance as it moved. I spotted the bullet hole, high in the chest region; too high for the heart/lungs and too low for the spine. That deer was dead…but, it was going to run awhile, likely a couple miles, before it went down; and it was heading for the 'escape route' that I was standing beside.
A moving target can be a might difficult to hit. I touched off the first round and the buck turned directly toward me and started moving faster. Second round through and missed, as I sent the third one a thought popped into my head… 'You're shooting over it dumbass'. As I dropped the sight picture down to the base of the bucks chest and touched off the fourth and final round…that deer was looking mighty big in that scope. I shifted the rifle completely to my left hand while grabbing the Ruger from its holster, cocking the magnum on its way up and side stepping to clear my view to the right, fully expecting to have a broadside shot at 30 feet or less as it headed for the saddle beyond me.
Utter…dead….silence. No movement….no sound of movement….nothing but an empty swale before me. And there was no way that the buck could have gotten past me without me spotting it. It would turn out that the 4th and final shot had broken the bucks neck.
So I started looking, watching the whole swale trying to spot the buck. Dad appeared above and asked me if I got him….I yelled back that I thought so as it disappeared on the last shot. He asked how big and I told him 'at least a three'. Into the swale I went…..a bit brushier than it appeared from above…but not enough to provide a deer with continuous concealment…I started working my way towards where I last saw it. Remember those couple of shots from earlier? Well….a young man, about 17 or 18 came over the top and spotted me…and came directly towards me hollering questions… 'Did you see it? Did you get him?'; those sorts of things…and he was all excited. You see, he was the one that had fired those two shots earlier. He had connected with the first shot, and missed the second running shot. And he had lost the trail of the animal…only figuring out which direction the buck had gone when I started shooting.
We met in that swale and while we searched, I caught most of the story on how him and his dad watched that buck come up the big canyon towards them all morning. I wasn't really listening at the time, just catching bits and pieces of the story. It caught him by surprise when I quit moving and stated out loud 'too far, we went past him'. I turned around and about 15 feet behind, there he lay. The young man's excitement went to new heights as we went over to it. The thoughts going through my head revolved around what I was going to do with the deer. He had lost the animal…..and figured it was gone when he heard me start shooting. Technically it was my deer. While he continued talking, I continued thinking and he helped me shift the buck around, held the legs and such, while I started guttin'. Biggest buck I'd ever taken…a very respectable 3x4 muley. For the young man it was the first buck he'd ever taken. Nice little dilemma I had goin there. What to do….what to do.
Unbeknownst to either of us, my dad and his were up there talking. Yep, about the situation us two 'youngsters' had ourselves. They discussed the situation…and it was Dad that suggested that they both just stand back and let us figure it out.
I was about half-way done cleanin' the buck when the ricochet went over our heads followed closely by the report of the rifle. The young man asked 'What was that?' but I had already taken my flame orange vest off and started slowly waving it back and forth while standing fully upright. I just told him 'Gunshot'. I must of sounded and appeared pretty calm to him…for he calmed right down before the panic took hold of him. Of course inside I was berating myself for making myself a bigger target…yet, I signalled for a bit more then hung my vest as high as I could on a scrub tree beside us. Then went back to finishing up the deer. Both our dad's had heard the ricochet and report and had taken up station atop the ridge above us, armed and watchful. There was no further shots taken. Doubtful that whomever fired that round ever knew we were there.
That young man had more energy in him for conversation than I ever remember having myself. Together we drug it up the hill and to the back of my truck and dropped it there. He went over to his dad, talkin up a storm. My Dad came over and just asked 'Well, what are you going to do?' I just told him that I was still thinking on it and got myself washed up. I had already decided…I just hadn't said anything yet. Hard to get a word in edgewise when someone gets that excited over something.
You see, it was the biggest buck I'd ever taken…but, I have taken many a buck over the last few years….'sides; it was his first buck. There was no way I could take it from him even though he had lost it. So I walked up to him and his dad and said "This is your first buck, and for me it's my biggest. We'll split it right down the middle and if you want the horns, you tag it."
Both dad's were damn proud of us. Those last two bucks, Dad's 4x4 and my 3x4 will always be something special for me.
You see, that was the last time me and Dad got to go huntin' together. But then, I already knew that hurt was comin'…..
Be thankful for what you have; and ever mindful of what you have to lose.
~Wolf~
Great story. Thanks for sharing with us. You should send it in to a few hunting rags. I think it has that kind of potential.
GREAT story, and well written!.And I agree with the above poster.Clean it up a little and submit it to a couple mags.
It has a universal truth to it, that we all must face sooner or later.
Excellent piece!
Thanks for taking the time to write it. It was worth the time to read it.
Oops. Double tap.
