Those were the only words my buddy could mutter as the awesome buck bounded up the hill.
It was september in eastern Oregon and my best pal Johnny had a bow tag for deer. We were young, I was 14 and johnny was 15 and we were finding out just how hard bow hunting was.
We started bow hunting because we couldn’t draw a tag every year and we had to get our hunting in. The year before this hunt Johnny and I got an old hand me down bow from my aunt and uncle and started shooting. It took a while just to work up the strength to pull 55 pounds, but once we did those pie plates were in trouble. We shot until we could hit consistant at 30 yards and with tag in hand we hit the hills.
The first year turned into mostly exercise and not much deer sightings. Neither of us tagged a buck but still were happy just to be hunting. The next year I drew a rifle tag so only johnny would be hunting with a bow. During the summer we found a great little honey hole with several nice bucks running around. Johnny was getting pretty good with the old bow and every week we would go check on our bucks. Opening day couldn’t get there fast enough.
On the opener we headed to the honey hole. We saw 8 bucks that morning and blew plenty of stalks. We were quickly finding that in bow hunting hind sight is 20/20. As the season rolled on more and more stalks were attempted and blown. I know now that we were just in too big of a hurry, but try slowing two kids down when there’s a buck to be killed!
Half way through the season a bass fisherman told my dad about a nice buck he’d seen. he was kind enough to tell us exactly where and when he saw it. So with new and exciting info in hand we headed of to find Johnnys buck. We rolled into the area just as the sun was beginning to set. It wasn’t long before dad spotted a deer. It was hard to see just what it was because the angle of the sun, but with a quick look dad judged it to be at least a nice forky. Johnny and I hopped out of the boat and scurried up the hill. The buck was feeding down a draw towards water, the wind was good and the cover perfect. Things were finally falling in place. With each step the exictment and anticipation grew. We crept up over the ridged and peeked into the small draw. Suddenly Johnny froze “I can see the top of his back” He wispered. The buck was only 20 yards and unaware of our presence. “take a few more step and shoot” i said. Looking back i know this was rotten advice. It would have been a perfect time to draw, then step, then shoot, but did i mention we were young and inexperienced bow hunters! Johnny took two more steps and the bucks head snapped up. “HE’S HUGE” Johnny squeeled. The “Forky” dad had spotted was actually a dandy buck, a heavy 4×4 over 30 inches wide. The buck looked at us for a few seconds before bounding off, all the while Johnny repeated the words HE’S HUGE over and over again. The buck was kind enough to stop in the skyline and show us his beautiful rack, only adding to johnny’s misery.
As we trudged back to the boat dad reminded us over and over how beautiful that buck was. Johnny could only say, “I know, He’s Huge”
As i said before i had a rifle tag, But i better save that for another time
Loading ...I think the hunt that will always come to mind when i think about hunting experiences is my first elk hunt with my dad. I was only seven years old but full of energy and love for the outdoors. Dad always enjoyed his anual week long elk hunt and and this year he decided i was old enough to tag along (whether mom liked it or not)
I remember watching mom wave us off as we headed down the drive way. I knew i’d miss her but that feeling was replaced with complete excitment as we drove further and further down the road. Dad and i talked the whole way there, or maybe i did all the talking. Dad has told me since that i was quite a jabber box who had plenty of questions for him, most of which were impossible to answer.
Camp was only two miles from the end of the road so packing in was fun. I have since found that packing in twelve miles becomes more like work and less like fun. We loaded our faithful old mules, toby and tommy to the max. Those two mules would pack anything you put on em. I remember getting done with all the packing and realizing we had forgotten the big pot bellied wood stove. No problem, we’ll just throw it on the top of toby’s already too heavy load and head off down the trail. He had pots and pans banging and the stove precariously perched on the top of the saw buck. Not a professional pack job but it would get us there just the same.
Camp consisted of two wall tents, one for cooking and sleeping and the other just for sleeping. Dads old hunting companion Don was with us, along with his son in law John, Dons grandson Nathan, and a few other good old boys. We spent an entire day setting up tents, chopping wood, hauling water, and organizing tack. At the end of the day we had a cozy camp tucked back against the trees. I fell asleep that night to the sound of the fire crackling in the stove, the wind whistling in the trees and pops snoring away.
We had one day to scout so dad and I checked some of his favorite spots. We found a few elk here and there and i remember telling dad the elk looked kinda look like maggots out there on that far away hill. That must be why to this day we say “look at all them maggots”, whenever we spot a herd of elk. When we got back to camp we talked about the day and what we saw. Don and John had spotted a nice six point along with a couple other smaller branch bulls. The plan for the next day was to make a hunt on those elk, with any luck there would be meat hanging in camp the next day. That night the stories were flying around the tent. We were rolling with laughter and i was hanging on every word coming out of their mouths. I didn’t want to go to sleep but Dad reminded me that tomorrow was the big day.
“Wake up son, breakfast is ready”! It was no problem waking up when the smell of pancakes and sausage filled the air. We tore through breakfast, jumped into our warm clothes, i threw on my coon skin cap and we were out the door. Dad and I headed out a long ridge, with canyons on either side. I was right in dads hip pocket as we made our way through the dark of pre dawn. We found a place out of the wind,behind a big pine, and waited for light. That memory is burned into my mind, one of those times that for some reason I can recall so clearly. The feeling of anticipation, excitiment and joy to be with my pops on a real elk hunt.
We watched as the canyon slowly filled with light. “So dad, what are the chances we kill a bull today” i asked. “Oh I’d say about 72 percent” dad replied. Looking back i’m amazed at the way my dad entertained my impossible questions.
About an hour into the day we saw a few cows feed across an open hillside. Dad decided we should head off down the canyon and take a closer look. It turned into quite a hike for my little legs and by the time we made it down and back up I was whining. I was pooped and i wanted to eat but dad told me “we’ll eat just as soon as we kill an elk around this corner” Just then two shots rang out in the canyon below us. Dad had an idea where the elk might come out so we hustled out across the ridge. In a flash two branch bulls busted out of the timber running full throttle from our right to left. Dad instinctivly swung on the bigger bull and put two shots in his boiler room. In a matter of seconds we had our bull. I was jumping up and down hugging dad and hollering at the top of my lungs. Thats when dad first told me his famous words “See son, hunting gets good in a hurry!” Of course i wasn’t too suprised we got our bull, after all dad said we had a 72 percent chance!
It was a nice little branch bull, one my dad would call a rag horn. To me it was a real monster, probably the biggest in the woods. We cleaned it and brought toby and tommy to pack it out. It was cold as we neared the camp that night and dad claims i asked him to shoot me, just to get me out of my misery. The stove felt nice and dinner was delicious as normal. Dad and I told our story as we worked on our steaks, It felt great to chip in with a story of my own.
The rest of the hunt was filled with some hunting of my own. Nathan and I had brought our BB guns and that meant the chipmunks were in serious trouble. A few days later John was able to take the nice six point they had seen before season, i was a little disgusted to find that dads bull wasn’t the biggest in the woods, but also excited to see such a nice bull hanging in our camp.
All good things must come to and end and soon it was time to head home. We picked up camp and headed back to civilization. I got in on all the traditions that still continue today. Stop at the creek and take a bath, eat at the little restraunt at the bottom of the hill and of course ice cream in the next town down the road.
When we got home we unloaded the mules and watched as they ran around the pasture, happy to be home. And when we drove up the driveway and saw mom and my sisters waving on the front porch i think we were happy to be home too!
