It all started with a couple of text messages conveying my feelings for not getting a tag in my home state. Given that my state rarely issues over the counter tags, and that most of those tags are for large units across the state I basically am left to the luck of the draw to hunt in Nevada. Over the years I've drawn one late season elk tag, and accumulated a bunch of bonus points that have left me with little hope. Perhaps Nevada will rethink how it does business regarding draws and OTC tags, but I doubt it. Anyway, given my work schedule, my wife's school schedule, and a host of other factors I opted to join my cousin for his deer hunt in the north-eastern Idaho wilderness, right near the Montana border.
I left late Saturday night and drove six hours to northern Utah where I crashed at my sister's for three hours. Her and her family were out for opening day of the deer hunt, so I quickly unloaded my entire truck and slept for a couple hours. I woke up and drove to eastern Idaho where my cousin was loading his box trailer up for our adventure. After a pull-up contest with my cousin, which I won with 13 pull-ups, we proceeded to get things loaded so we could leave. We'd planned on sleeping in the box trailer in cots, cooking on propane stoves or over the fire, and otherwise spending all our time out hunting. We drove up to Dubois, Idaho and took off into the Wilderness area where we searched for a designated camping site. Given that it was the day before general rifle hunt opened, finding a spot to camp was a chore. Our thought was that we'd drop the trailer and spend the afternoon scouting. That turned out to be optimistic on our part. After a couple hours we found a spot right on a small stream, just off the road, where we had some peace and quiet. We dropped the trailer and went around the mountain to scout for deer.
After spotting a few sage-brush bucks and some pronghorn we settled in and waited for the last of the sun to dip behind the mountain. The sunset was amazing, but the buck we spotted at dusk was a huge bodied buck. He was smart and didn't take his eyes off us, as it got darker he dropped into a small gully below his location, and that was the last we'd see of him during the hunt. We returned to that spot multiple times and glassed, but came up empty handed every single time.
I left late Saturday night and drove six hours to northern Utah where I crashed at my sister's for three hours. Her and her family were out for opening day of the deer hunt, so I quickly unloaded my entire truck and slept for a couple hours. I woke up and drove to eastern Idaho where my cousin was loading his box trailer up for our adventure. After a pull-up contest with my cousin, which I won with 13 pull-ups, we proceeded to get things loaded so we could leave. We'd planned on sleeping in the box trailer in cots, cooking on propane stoves or over the fire, and otherwise spending all our time out hunting. We drove up to Dubois, Idaho and took off into the Wilderness area where we searched for a designated camping site. Given that it was the day before general rifle hunt opened, finding a spot to camp was a chore. Our thought was that we'd drop the trailer and spend the afternoon scouting. That turned out to be optimistic on our part. After a couple hours we found a spot right on a small stream, just off the road, where we had some peace and quiet. We dropped the trailer and went around the mountain to scout for deer.
After spotting a few sage-brush bucks and some pronghorn we settled in and waited for the last of the sun to dip behind the mountain. The sunset was amazing, but the buck we spotted at dusk was a huge bodied buck. He was smart and didn't take his eyes off us, as it got darker he dropped into a small gully below his location, and that was the last we'd see of him during the hunt. We returned to that spot multiple times and glassed, but came up empty handed every single time.
Happy to have seen such a large buck prior to opening day, we headed back to camp to unpack, cook tin foil dinners, and otherwise get ready for an early morning. Luckily my Cousin has a box trailer that he is working on converting to a movable, livable space for hunting trips, and we tested it out for this hunt. Turns out it was much better than a tent, and I felt that it was better than a tent trailer too. Anyway, after settling in and putting all my camo into my sleeping bag I dozed off on my cot after two very long days. 4:30 came earlier than expected, but the excitement of the hunt helped me overcome the chill that came from the frosty morning weather. We took off down the road and anticipated a buck given all those that we'd seen in the day prior. After just 30 minutes we were spotting and stalking. |
As an OTC unit there were a lot of hunters opening morning, and nearly all of them were road hunters. This caused us problems when we had spotted a small herd about 200 yards out. We were stalking them when a diesel driving along the road below us stopped and three people came running out with their rifles in tow. About 5 shots ensued and we knew that the chances with that buck were now ruined. We stood in disbelief at the volley of fire from the road hunting crew, but realized that is what we would be up against if we stayed in the area. As we drove out we saw two more trucks slowly cruising the road, and we knew another area would be a better bet. We drove about 30 minutes to another section of the general unit and began to glass. Immediately we picked up more hunters in trucks, ATVs, and one on a Razor. Ironically, a herd passed on a slope below the Razor. We watched two smaller bucks in the herd, and contemplated a shot. Given their size and the 309 yard shot, we opted to wait for something bigger and closer. Glassing continued till dark and day one was in the books. I'd seen more hunters than deer and stopped counting after hitting 25 hunters before lunch. We glassed as some guys seemingly walked within 150 yards of one another totally unaware of the others presence. I was never more convinced to wear orange during a hunt.
After a freezing night we woke early again and headed back to where we'd seen the bucks. We covered a lot of ground that day, with the best part of the day coming near dusk. We decided to put some serious mileage on our boots and we had been hiking, climbing, and otherwise searching for deer when we decided to overlook a river bottom. As we quietly glassed I picked up a white butt and some tall and wide tines. I'd spotted a thick bodied 4 point. Quietly I called my cousin to come over and look. With the wind in our favor we thought we had time, but the buck was moving along slowly. He jumped over the small creek and disappeared into the thickness of the river bottom. We waited and glassed and searched, but he never turned up. With the wind in our favor we hurried quietly down the mesa we were on. We talked and devised plans to get the buck to make a mistake. After an hour and a half it was evident that The Old Ghost had given us the slip. We waited, but he never returned, even as the light totally faded behind the distant mountains of Montana.
Optimistic at the size and quality of the buck, we opted to return to the same place very early the next morning. We thought we knew his pattern and we ready for a hard day of packing out a big buck. Turns out we didn't see him again for the remainder of the hunt. If I'd had a Phoneskope (http://www.phoneskope.com/) I'd have been able to get a nice photo of him. We opted to walk several miles hopeful that we'd kick up a buck. Along the way we saw a good heard of elk grazing as they moved to the treeline above. A fairly good 5x5 bull was pushing two spikes away from his harem of cows. We watched them for a bit as my cousin also had a cow elk tag that was starting in the same unit at the end of the week. He's still hopeful to fill that tag as I write this.
By the third day we tried several different places and come up empty handed every time. We saw large herds of antelope, a couple elk, a bull and cow moose, coyotes with great pelts, and plenty of does, but the bucks were eluding us. We grilled up some flank steaks over an open fire that night. We tossed around different ideas and places to go. We thought about totally moving to another section of the unit. Finally we opted to give this area one more day and see what happens.
We were both tired, frustrated, sick of the constant wind, ready for a warm shower, and ready for a deer. We walked around in a loop, glassed the river bottom, check the side drainages, ate a bit of beefstick, and decided to head back to the truck. We walked back, slowly sulky and planning out next move. As we approached the fenceline we parked near my cousin asked if I wanted to take the fenceline back and deal with all the elevation, or walk around to the road, which was flat, but was longer. I said let's take the fence and as dumb luck would have it less than 20 feet later we see a small 2 point poke his head up. He was angled away from us looking over his shoulder. Realizing this might be the best chance at a buck my cousin took a shot. He missed, which is rare, and the buck skipped off. I was still looking through my binos when my cousin shot again. Neither of us saw where the deer went, but we heard that unmistakable thud of a bullet that found its target. We were hopeful.
We looked for blood, hair, tracks. We listened for any movement, grunting, gasping. We checked the fence for sign. We looked for tine. After 25 minutes we still hadn't kicked anything up. Around 35 minutes after the second shot I found the buck. He'd went right down after the second shot and was laying near some nice tall sagebrush. It was a great shot and put the buck down right away. After my cousin laughed he said, "that's the smallest buck I've ever shot". The deer dressed out at just over 75 pounds. While my cousin wasn't overly thrilled, it was good to see a buck go down, especially since we'd see so many hunters in the area. In fact, he shot the buck less than 550 yards from a trailer where some hunters were camped (they were behind us when he shot, and the shot had a backdrop).
We went to work getting the deep gutted, loaded him into the truck, and headed back to camp after wrapping it in a tarp. We hung the deer up and skinned him to let the meat cool. As we sat around the fire that night we had some steak and talked about the hunt. We kept hearing noise over by the deer, which wasn't far from the fire. Turns out mice were coming over and snacking on the little pieces that we'd missed on the ground. Worried that they'd get into the meat we moved the deer onto the roof of the vehicle. It was just another random twist on our adventure.
We loaded up, drove back to civilization, unloaded the trailer, loaded my gear into my truck, and I set off on the long, lonely drive back to Nevada. It was a quick trip, but one that I wanted to go on none the less. My cousin lost his mom when he was about 14, and recently lost his dad. Uncle John was the one that usually got us out on adventures, whether it was canyoneering the slot canyons of the Colorado River, or chasing deer in the wilderness of Nevada, he always had something going on outside. My cousin is a pretty quiet, personal, and a non-emotional guy (unless it is road rage and telling someone they're a moron), but this trip I noticed that for the first time in the 34 years that we've been friends, that he opened up just a little bit. Maybe he's getting soft now that he's 35. Maybe it's the 2 year old he has that is making him soft. Or maybe it was sharing the hunt, the experience, and being there to keep him company. Whatever the reason, I was happy to have made the trek with him, even if it was the smallest deer he'd ever shot. I caught this picture below, and captioned it on Instagram. Sometimes hunting really is an emotional and spiritual experience, and it's not always about the size of the buck, bull, or ram, but it is about those that you share the experience with.
I noticed my cousin wore his dad's old camo vest, his old camo hat, used his old knife, and had much of his dad's old camping gear during this trip. It was a subtle reminder of the impact a dad can have on his son, and it reminded me to take my boy hunting, to spend time hunting with family even when I don't have a tag, and to appreciate the time that I am able to spend with those I love. Even if a guy like my cousin won't ever say that word to me, and I likely won't to him, there's always a brotherly bond that we share, and hunting has been one of the best ways we strengthen that bond. There are families all over this great country that share similar experiences each and every year, which is why protecting our public lands is so critical. They're one of the best remaining ways families can be strengthened in this crazy, hectic world we live in. So get out and go hunting. If you don't have a tag go shed hunting, go fishing, or go glass for deer once the hunt closes out. But take your son, daughter, cousin, sister, or someone close and enjoy the bonds that you will inevitably build in the wild.
Optimistic at the size and quality of the buck, we opted to return to the same place very early the next morning. We thought we knew his pattern and we ready for a hard day of packing out a big buck. Turns out we didn't see him again for the remainder of the hunt. If I'd had a Phoneskope (http://www.phoneskope.com/) I'd have been able to get a nice photo of him. We opted to walk several miles hopeful that we'd kick up a buck. Along the way we saw a good heard of elk grazing as they moved to the treeline above. A fairly good 5x5 bull was pushing two spikes away from his harem of cows. We watched them for a bit as my cousin also had a cow elk tag that was starting in the same unit at the end of the week. He's still hopeful to fill that tag as I write this.
By the third day we tried several different places and come up empty handed every time. We saw large herds of antelope, a couple elk, a bull and cow moose, coyotes with great pelts, and plenty of does, but the bucks were eluding us. We grilled up some flank steaks over an open fire that night. We tossed around different ideas and places to go. We thought about totally moving to another section of the unit. Finally we opted to give this area one more day and see what happens.
We were both tired, frustrated, sick of the constant wind, ready for a warm shower, and ready for a deer. We walked around in a loop, glassed the river bottom, check the side drainages, ate a bit of beefstick, and decided to head back to the truck. We walked back, slowly sulky and planning out next move. As we approached the fenceline we parked near my cousin asked if I wanted to take the fenceline back and deal with all the elevation, or walk around to the road, which was flat, but was longer. I said let's take the fence and as dumb luck would have it less than 20 feet later we see a small 2 point poke his head up. He was angled away from us looking over his shoulder. Realizing this might be the best chance at a buck my cousin took a shot. He missed, which is rare, and the buck skipped off. I was still looking through my binos when my cousin shot again. Neither of us saw where the deer went, but we heard that unmistakable thud of a bullet that found its target. We were hopeful.
We looked for blood, hair, tracks. We listened for any movement, grunting, gasping. We checked the fence for sign. We looked for tine. After 25 minutes we still hadn't kicked anything up. Around 35 minutes after the second shot I found the buck. He'd went right down after the second shot and was laying near some nice tall sagebrush. It was a great shot and put the buck down right away. After my cousin laughed he said, "that's the smallest buck I've ever shot". The deer dressed out at just over 75 pounds. While my cousin wasn't overly thrilled, it was good to see a buck go down, especially since we'd see so many hunters in the area. In fact, he shot the buck less than 550 yards from a trailer where some hunters were camped (they were behind us when he shot, and the shot had a backdrop).
We went to work getting the deep gutted, loaded him into the truck, and headed back to camp after wrapping it in a tarp. We hung the deer up and skinned him to let the meat cool. As we sat around the fire that night we had some steak and talked about the hunt. We kept hearing noise over by the deer, which wasn't far from the fire. Turns out mice were coming over and snacking on the little pieces that we'd missed on the ground. Worried that they'd get into the meat we moved the deer onto the roof of the vehicle. It was just another random twist on our adventure.
We loaded up, drove back to civilization, unloaded the trailer, loaded my gear into my truck, and I set off on the long, lonely drive back to Nevada. It was a quick trip, but one that I wanted to go on none the less. My cousin lost his mom when he was about 14, and recently lost his dad. Uncle John was the one that usually got us out on adventures, whether it was canyoneering the slot canyons of the Colorado River, or chasing deer in the wilderness of Nevada, he always had something going on outside. My cousin is a pretty quiet, personal, and a non-emotional guy (unless it is road rage and telling someone they're a moron), but this trip I noticed that for the first time in the 34 years that we've been friends, that he opened up just a little bit. Maybe he's getting soft now that he's 35. Maybe it's the 2 year old he has that is making him soft. Or maybe it was sharing the hunt, the experience, and being there to keep him company. Whatever the reason, I was happy to have made the trek with him, even if it was the smallest deer he'd ever shot. I caught this picture below, and captioned it on Instagram. Sometimes hunting really is an emotional and spiritual experience, and it's not always about the size of the buck, bull, or ram, but it is about those that you share the experience with.
I noticed my cousin wore his dad's old camo vest, his old camo hat, used his old knife, and had much of his dad's old camping gear during this trip. It was a subtle reminder of the impact a dad can have on his son, and it reminded me to take my boy hunting, to spend time hunting with family even when I don't have a tag, and to appreciate the time that I am able to spend with those I love. Even if a guy like my cousin won't ever say that word to me, and I likely won't to him, there's always a brotherly bond that we share, and hunting has been one of the best ways we strengthen that bond. There are families all over this great country that share similar experiences each and every year, which is why protecting our public lands is so critical. They're one of the best remaining ways families can be strengthened in this crazy, hectic world we live in. So get out and go hunting. If you don't have a tag go shed hunting, go fishing, or go glass for deer once the hunt closes out. But take your son, daughter, cousin, sister, or someone close and enjoy the bonds that you will inevitably build in the wild.
This pictures shows a lot more than meets the eye. My cousin and I had been hunting for three long days in the Idaho wilderness. We'd hiked mile after mile, glassed every nook and cranny, and tracked every bit of deer sign we found. Despite all this, he hadn't had a decent shot. This night we saw a large buck in the river bottom and we tried to track him down. The wind was to our advantage and we thought we had a shot at a very nice deer. Old Ghost (that's what we named him) gave us the slip. He totally disappeared, and he was a very big buck. Clearly he's big because he's smart! We hiked out to the car and started to load back up. Frustrated, my cousin walked to take a peek over the valleys below as the last remaining light hid behind the mountains. He didn't even take his binos, he just walked over and looked out over the horizon. It reminder me that I love the struggle of hunting, even when success isn't on my side. Watching him at the edge taking a quiet moment put a lot into perspective for me. It reminded me of the hunting trips I've taken with my cousin and his dad. It made me miss Uncle John more than I have in a long time, but as we started skinning the deer my cousin eventually shot, I saw my cousin use a knife that his dad got at work years ago. It was then I was completely reminded of why I love to fish and hunt. It's not the trophy, it's not the prize, it's not the bragging, it is the people. When my coworkers asked why I drove 10 hours to hunt deer for three days I know that even if I explained it they wouldn't understand. I was happy to be with my cousin and share in his hunt. Especially since his dad isn't there to anymore, although Uncle John certainly isn't forgotten. And he won't soon be, as long as we keep hunting wild places.