A Lucky Grandpa

This is a story sent to me by my grandfather, Ed Ziniker.

Enjoy!

Dear Friends,

Stoke up the fire, heat up the brew, and pull up a round. This old man will try and tell ya a huntin’ story.

What a privileged Grandpa and Father I am. This year I hunted with my son, four different Grandsons, two daughters, and a son-in-law! I’m fortunate to have so many offspring who love hunting. Even the ones who don’t hunt really like being in the great outdoors. And then of course I appreciate Willa who loves to see me doing what I enjoy. It can’t get any better and it surely creates a special bond in the family.

Hunting season started with a bow hunt in beautiful NE Idaho. The country is spectacular (and getting steeper every year.) Rob and I went over a few days before Sean came. We set up camp and didn’t waste any time strapping on our packs and heading out to glass the ridges. We started picking up elk in all the old familiar places and got our blood pumping. Funny how you can spot game a quarter mile away and think you have it in the pot.

When Sean came, we had plenty to tell him about the bulls we had been seeing. We tried to get a little sleep that night so we would be ready for the one-hour ATV ride up to the elk country from base camp.

When we started huntin’ it didn’t take long for me to realize that my leg wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be. Rob and Sean wanted to stay close by, but the elk were bugling all over. I told them to go get ‘em and I’d be a ridge runner. I was thankful to be walking God’s country again. Rob kept circling back to where he could check on me. I finally got him convinced I was OK. So then, he and Sean really covered the ground and had some awesome encounters with big bulls…. but couldn’t quite get the killing shot. Bow hunting is definitely a different game. I’m still saying that when the Indians got the .30.30, they threw away their bows, but it does give you a new dimension of the thrill of being so close. Both Rob and Sean are getting good with the bugle and various cow calls that get into a bull’s head. They got one in that Rob said was the biggest bull he has seen hunting. They guessed him over 350.

I kept hunting up and down the ridges and going a little farther every time out. I set up on a game trail that had a steep canyon right behind me. It was rocky and vertical, so I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about 360 degrees, only what was out front. It worked out pretty well and I did get an answer from a good sounding bull. We had several “chats,” then he got smart and left me. I think I “hoochy-mama-ed” a little too much.

We had been glassing a big bull that was coming out of the timber just at dark and bringing his harem of twenty cows down into the meadow grass. I told the boys I was going to go out to the edge of the meadow where there was some high grass and spend the night so I could catch the bull going back up early in the mornings. I couldn’t go in the morning or it would disturb them going out. I don’t think Rob and Sean thought the idea very smart, but they just shook their heads and said, “Go for it, Dad!”

It turned out to be quite an experience. I didn’t get a shot, but it was an adventure well worth it! I spent four nights out under the stars watching one day fade into night and then fade away and a new day come into view.

I started hearing noises like cows walking…. I looked at my watch. It was 1:30 AM! I thought, “OH NO, the moo cows are going to mess up my hunt.” Then I heard the old bull bugle. Friends, he wasn’t 30 yards from me, herding his harem into the meadow. I was pumped, because of course, if he went out the same way he entered, I had a broadside 30 yard shot. Perfect for the crossbow. So I tried to settle down, but about an hour later, I heard a quiet rustling in the grass. I looked out of my bag and there was a coyote looking down at me. That was a funny feeling, having a coyote so close and looking me over. I wasn’t really afraid, though. I figured I was a bigger predator than he was. However, I immediately thought of the wolf story the rancher had told us - about the wolf seen up on the ridge not far from where I lay. All I had was my cross bow. I felt silly, but I wanted something to protect myself with, so I got out the skinning knife Tommy H. Made me. I figured I could come out swinging and draw a little blood before the big bad wolf would eat little grey-haired Grampa…But nothing disastrous happened. At 5:30 that morning, I heard the old bull bugle and here he came the same way he entered the meadow. But…it was so dark I couldn’t see to nock my arrow. (That’s how they get to be big bulls; being smarter than we are.)

I spent three more nights chasing that old bull…. and then one morning he gave me a real show. He went out at shootin’ light but on the wrong ridge. But the sight was a thrill to behold. There’s nothing more beautiful in the mountains, than a big bull sky-lined with the rising sun shining off his antlers.

The next morning, I didn’t see my bull, but was entertained by two beautiful buck antelope locking horns and competing for a doe’s attention. You can’t be disappointed in a hunt like that, even though you haven’t yet bagged your game.

Now I have to tell you the most HAIR RAISING part of my night adventures. I had noticed that the elk were going down low into the rancher’s alfalfa fields, so I ask him if I could lay out under his pivot, as there were elk tracks all around it. He shook his head as if to say, “You crazy old man,” but he said, “Go ahead, and enjoy yourself!”

I left early enough in the day so as not to disturb the elk, and pulled the thistle out for a site to bed down in; being careful to keep some around my bed to hide in. After getting the rocks out of my bedding spot and making sure every contour was just right for this old arthritic body, I decided to pull an eight foot piece of PVC pipe up along the four wheeler to help hide it. I figured the elk were used to looking at the pipe. I lifted it up and out the other end came Mr….Skunk! I froze. I knew that if he sprayed me, I would be worse than a leper; a hunter outside the camp! It was decision time. Abandon the plan and quietly leave, or try to live with a skunk. I decided to hang out with the skunk. The end of that eight-inch pipe was looking right at my bed, so I found a five-gallon bucket and covered the end of the pipe. I didn’t get out any food, as it might invite him into my bed. I could hear him all night…in. Out. In. Out of the pipe. When I was sure he was out and about, I would turn on my flashlight, remembering how my Grandma left the light on in the chicken house to keep the skunks out.

The next morning, I got my gear together, kicked the end of the bucket…and out the other end came Mr. Skunk! I was glad to get out of that situation without a good spray job!!

The fire’s going out, Friend. Kick it back together and pour yourself another cup. Let’s go deer huntin’.

I might as well start from the beginning…when my leg started feeling better and I had visions of a good mule deer hunt. I think a big ol’ mullie is my favorite game. I called Fish and Game and told them I wanted to apply for a trophy mule deer hunt and they recommended unit #45 on Bennett Mountain. They said chances were very slim, as there were only 65 tags and a tremendous amount of applicants. I talked to several fellows later who said that they had put in for 20 years and not drawn. To my surprise, Willa walked in one day and said, “I think you drew your tag!” Rob happened to be here and he couldn’t believe it. He said, “Dad, you gotta be the luckiest man I know.” (But I already knew that because I had won his Mama.) He was remembering when I drew a special elk hunt in Gardner Montana where the elk migrate out of Yellowstone. So…it finally started sinking in that I had gotten a pretty good tag. The whole family was aware that Papa was going deer hunting - come high water!

Mari and Ted are building a house and had a tile contractor come to bid the tile work. He got out of his pickup in a t-shirt sporting a monster mullie on the front. Mari, being like her daddy, says, “Oh, are you a deer hunter?” He assured her that he was and was the cameraman and producer of Low Land Mullies, a popular film sold in Outdoor stores. She told him her dad had drawn a special tag. When she told him where, he said he had been born and raised in that country and even named his little boy, “Ben,” after the mountain. He told her that he liked to film young people on their first deer hunt and handicapped people who still love to hunt. It didn’t take Mari long to fill him in on the details of my busted leg and my long recovery. He wanted to meet together and he turned out to be a really fine guy and a real friend. My grandson, Cody found out about it and offered to be my guide and “sitter.” He was awesome; patient and owner of a super spotting scope, he loves to pick up shed horns and is excellent at field judging. He told me, “We gotta get a 190 buck.” Steve, the video man, advised me to take a 180-inch buck, which is a good buck to me. But Cody said, “Nope, you gotta go for a 190, Grandpa.”

We got to the campsite with only a couple hours of daylight left. I was ready to make camp, cook up some grub, and plan tomorrow’s hunt. But Cody says, put on your coat, Gramp, grab your binocs. We’re headed for the mountain!” What does a man say to a young energetic kid?!

Up the mountain we went, only guessing where we had been told to go. We came to a ridge that had a nice valley below it with good rims for a big buck to lie under. The wind was blowing a gale and it was hard to glass. Cody was really fighting the spotting scope, but we saw enough to get excited for the next morning; seeing several bunches of does and a couple of decent bucks.

That night Cody asked me if I had an alarm clock. I told him, “Cody, I never need an alarm clock when I’m hunting! I’m always the first one up!” But Cody was up and dressed and making hot chocolate before I opened my eyes.

Just as dawn was cracking, we arrived at our planned destination high in the canyon where we could glass the length of it. We made our way to a lone clump of bushes that made a good backdrop so we wouldn’t be seen by all the eyes out there. Just as it was getting shooting light, Cody found a nice buck. Then I spotted a couple more and there were does spotted here and there. We had zeroed in on a nice buck which we thought would go a little over 180 and I was starting to like him when Cody said, “Grandpa, forget that buck, I’ve got a dandy!” He had about 15 does and there was no doubt that they were his, because the other bucks were staying clear. He gave us a real show; giving us a good look at every angle of his rack. This seems to make a hunt special when you have time to really study them. We couldn’t take our eyes off him. Finally, I snapped out of it and gave Cody the range finder, which we were glad to have. He ranged the buck at 800 yards. I had discussed that I would like a big typical 4-point…and this was what we had in the glasses. This was truly turning into the hunt of a lifetime. I told Cody, “We can’t shoot him from here. We’ll have to make a hunt on him and close the gap. He’s a long way from in the bag.” So, we started working in on him, keeping the does in view. Cody was ahead and said that the does were bedding. We counted heads and kept our eyes on them, knowing that if we spooked one doe, our hunt was over on this buck.

We had to belly-crawl the last 150 yards to a perfect rock outcropping that Cody ranged at 350 yards. I told him as we crawled along that I didn’t want to shoot over 400 yards with the borrowed rifle. I began to get nervous as to where I had sighted the 25.06 in at the gunsmiths who had loaned me this rifle. He assured me that he had sighted it in dead-on at 100 yards and it would be on at 200 and about eight inches low at 400. But I decided to give it three clicks up. Cody game me a frown, as he didn’t like the idea. But I wanted the elevation. I threw Cody’s pack up on a rock and looked down the barrel. The buck was going up the draw away from us. I didn’t like the shot, so told Cody I was going to wait for him to turn…but he never did. He just bedded down. I whispered, “Get ready for a long wait. We gotta let him get up.” Cody found him with the spotting scope, so we had a good fix on him. Seeing those horns turning in the sun made time fly. In about two hours, a doe got up…then another. Cody said, “Grandpa, he’s standing!” I was ready for that! I pulled down all cool and collected and squeezed ‘er off. I held right where we had talked about and he humped and we heard the SMACK of the bullet. But, he didn’t go down! Then he started browsing again! I shot again and Cody saw dirt fly just above his back. This rifle had a very hair-trigger and as I was pulling down it went off just before I got down on him. I told Cody, “Don’t count that.” But he didn’t see any humor in that at this time. We were so excited that we didn’t realize how hard he was hit. I thought I had hit him on that shot, but he was still on his feet. I pulled down and had another “no-counter” because of the hair-trigger. Then, my last shot put him down, but still head up. I told Cody to go high and come down on the area so he could scan both ways easily and I would stay high and get closer. Boy, I was a happy hunter when Cody started pumpin’ his fist on the hillside! He had field judged him at 195. He went 193. I was impressed. What a hunt. Every grandfather should have grandkids like that. It’s life’s special gift.

Ed Ziniker with his big Idaho buck.