What is an Elk Hunter? I suppose that most folks figure an Elk Hunter is somebody that heads to the mountains in the fall and wanders around in the woods for a few days. I suppose those same folks have serious questions as to the mentality of those mountain woods wanderers. What they don't get is that real Elk Hunters, now I mean real, serious, go getter types, aren't just wanderin' around in the woods a tryin to escape reality and such.
You see to a Real Elk Hunter, Elk Camp and Elk Huntin' is their reality! Elk Hunting doesn't last just during the few days before season and then end after two or three days of not seein' critters. Elk Hunting begins on your way home from Elk Camp. Really, I mean it, it is on your mind, in your dreams, filling your thoughts and dang near literally in your blood, that is if you are a Real Elk Hunter. Even as you are breaking camp, after a long a tough Elk Season, the True Elk Hunter is already beginning the next Elk Season. All during camp you've been taking mental, and pencil, notes on how you might do it differently next year, or what piece of gear or gadget you forgot or just must obtain prior to the next Elk Camp.
A funny thing happens as you pull out of Elk Camp. It is darned hard to see or even focus your eyes. You know why? Wull I do, it's because there's been tears in your eyes cause you just gave your best buddies a big ole hug and the scary thought that this just might be the last year you get to see each other at Elk Camp has flashed through yer brain. It tugs at your heart strings and pulls you closer than ever to the best friends you could ever have in this world. This may be the biggest reason we keep going back year after year, cause we just don't want to miss that next chapter in the Adventures of the Elk Hunters. Yeah, we keep showin' up, like our lives depended on it, and maybe they do? We've been there with various maladies and injuries and troubles, and as long as we can get there, Elk Camp happens! I know that we haven't all had perfect attendance, but, I can garantee that anyone who hasn't made it, has literally ached to be there and more than anxiously awaited the tales of Elk Season.
Then, when you've gotten yourself together and are heading down the road, each stretch of gravel & pavement means that your are getting further and further away from Elk Camp. There's this terrible urge to turn back or at least just stop and refuse to move on, but alas this season has come to an end, and it is now time to prepare for the next Elk Camp. Then you get to the highway. Another funny thing happens, you forget that you have to actually remember how to use a seat belt. A seat belt! What! Yeah, it's that nylon strappy thingy that you stuffed into the seat cushion when you got to Elk Camp.
I suppose that the very worst part of returning back to civilization from Elk Camp is unloading the gear from the trailer, truck, SUV, RV or whatever vehicle you use to transport all that gear. Thats why I've started following my buddy Randy's method. I just leave Elk Camp in the silver trailer, I mean, after all, that why I got the silver trailer to begin with, right? If I need the trailer fer somethin' else, well, its just temporary, the gear goes right back it.
What I'm tryin' ta get ya to understand is that Elk Huntin' isn't just something that Elk Hunters do, it's who and what they are. Deep down inside that carpenter, office worker, business owner, doctor, waiter or mail carrier lies the inner Elk Hunter. It's a year-long, full-time obsession. This obsession isn't with Elk, it isn't with being in the woods, it isn't with shooting a 30-06 or 300 Win. Mag., and it isn't with getting away from it all (whatever that is). Elk Huntin' is about relationships. Relationships with the great outdoors, with the wildlife, with the wind, with the Creator and with the incredible friends and family that make Elk Camp and Elk Huntin' so absolutely, wonderfully enticing. Yup, thats it, relationships..............
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Elk Camp Interrupted
The plans had been planned, the gear had been inventoried, the tents had been repaired, and yes, the date for Elk Camp was nearly upon us. It was October 18th and I was due to head for the mountains on the 23rd. Here's where the plans made and dreamt of were going to head downhill in a hurry, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. In fact, there wasn't much I could do period. Yup, the fear of all Elk Hunters had found me. I had been attacked by that most hated malady, the FLU!!! Now this wasn't just your average, everyday, run of the mill flu either. I had been somehow or another exposed to the PIG FEVER. So, I'm thinkin', I'll be able to kick this thing and be on the road to Elk Camp by the 24th or the 25th, tops. The good thing about that is that the season opener really wasn't until the 28th and this would give me a couple or three days in the woods before opening day. You've got to understand a couple of things here. You just hafta head up to the hills early so you can set up camp, haul firewood, scout for Elk, relax a bit, make final preparations, and take in all that is Elk Camp. This takes several days, or at least three at the bare minimum.
The 23rd came and went with me still unable to expend much more energy than it took for me to walk from the bed to the chair to the terlit and back to the bed. I was as weak as a pussy cat and not getting my strength back in any hurry. On the 24th I headed out to the shed to start getting boxes of gear and tents and such and putting them in my silver enclosed trailer. (I gotta tell ya, I really like this trailer. It keeps everything dry and protected and best of all the paint matches my Durango and well, by golly, the Durango and trailer just look darn good goin' down the road together.) Back to the gear, I carried about 3 boxes and I'm worn clear out. This does not bode well, for I have several boxes, two wall tents, two wood stoves, tent carpeting, tent frames, fold out kitchen, tables, chairs, stools, cots, pads, sleeping bags, etc., etc. to pack into this trailer. Not to mention the water jugs, gas cans, chain saw, ladder, coolers, food box...........I think you get the idea, once again I can't get to Elk Camp without a whole bunch of gear and gadgets galore.
On the 25th the Pig Fever broke and I was sweating and shivering and a just plain old mess, but afterward I began to feel better. Problem was, I still didn't have any strength or stamina. I'm figuring now that if I get to Elk Camp at all it's gonna be a whole lot later than I'm very happy with, no, I can't really explain how I was feeling and use the word happy, cause I wasn't. By Tuesday the 27th, I'm finally finding the strength to pack the trailer. It's already four days after I was supposed to have left and Deb and Spence were planning to meet me at Elk Camp on Thursday. Crapola, I'm just gonna hafta wait and go up there with them. I won't make a bit of sense for me to leave on Wednesday and them leave on Thursday. Well, by Wednesday the 28th at noon we're ready to head out, but it's really too late to make it all the way to Elk Camp and get set up before dark. We make it as far as LaGrande and spend the night.
After breakfast the following day, we finally head for Elk Camp. We get there and get camp all set up and once again I'm so tired I can hardly move. I'm thinkin' now that maybe I shoulda just stayed in town and skipped the whole thing. Well, I thought it for a fleeting moment or two anyway. So there we were, at last in the mountains, but the first two days of the four days we had to hunt were over. I've got my wife and 16 yr old with me and Spence is keen to get out and find himself an Elk. Problem is, I don't have the energy to do much hiking, so I ask my buddy Brad if Spencer can tag along with him and head into one those big Elky canyons while Deb and I hang out up on top and take it a little easier.
I'll tell ya more about this here interrupted Elk Camp later. Stay tuned for more..............
The 23rd came and went with me still unable to expend much more energy than it took for me to walk from the bed to the chair to the terlit and back to the bed. I was as weak as a pussy cat and not getting my strength back in any hurry. On the 24th I headed out to the shed to start getting boxes of gear and tents and such and putting them in my silver enclosed trailer. (I gotta tell ya, I really like this trailer. It keeps everything dry and protected and best of all the paint matches my Durango and well, by golly, the Durango and trailer just look darn good goin' down the road together.) Back to the gear, I carried about 3 boxes and I'm worn clear out. This does not bode well, for I have several boxes, two wall tents, two wood stoves, tent carpeting, tent frames, fold out kitchen, tables, chairs, stools, cots, pads, sleeping bags, etc., etc. to pack into this trailer. Not to mention the water jugs, gas cans, chain saw, ladder, coolers, food box...........I think you get the idea, once again I can't get to Elk Camp without a whole bunch of gear and gadgets galore.
On the 25th the Pig Fever broke and I was sweating and shivering and a just plain old mess, but afterward I began to feel better. Problem was, I still didn't have any strength or stamina. I'm figuring now that if I get to Elk Camp at all it's gonna be a whole lot later than I'm very happy with, no, I can't really explain how I was feeling and use the word happy, cause I wasn't. By Tuesday the 27th, I'm finally finding the strength to pack the trailer. It's already four days after I was supposed to have left and Deb and Spence were planning to meet me at Elk Camp on Thursday. Crapola, I'm just gonna hafta wait and go up there with them. I won't make a bit of sense for me to leave on Wednesday and them leave on Thursday. Well, by Wednesday the 28th at noon we're ready to head out, but it's really too late to make it all the way to Elk Camp and get set up before dark. We make it as far as LaGrande and spend the night.
After breakfast the following day, we finally head for Elk Camp. We get there and get camp all set up and once again I'm so tired I can hardly move. I'm thinkin' now that maybe I shoulda just stayed in town and skipped the whole thing. Well, I thought it for a fleeting moment or two anyway. So there we were, at last in the mountains, but the first two days of the four days we had to hunt were over. I've got my wife and 16 yr old with me and Spence is keen to get out and find himself an Elk. Problem is, I don't have the energy to do much hiking, so I ask my buddy Brad if Spencer can tag along with him and head into one those big Elky canyons while Deb and I hang out up on top and take it a little easier.
I'll tell ya more about this here interrupted Elk Camp later. Stay tuned for more..............
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
You Were Right Son
I enjoy taking my kids hunting with me. I mean, some of the very best times I've had in the field have been with a youngin' in tow. They aren't always as quiet as I'd like, and sometimes they can slow the whole process down a bit, but if I had to choose, I'd choose missing an opportunity to bag an animal if it means I get to spend some precious time with one of my kids.
Of course this brings me to a little tale about how sometimes it just won't kill ya to listen and take junior's ideas to heart. I had drawn a Spike Bull tag in a unit pretty close to home, and it allowed me to hunt from the house and be able to take along my 10 yr old son. So off we go in the wee hours of the morning to see if we can find the elusive Wapiti Spiker. I figure Junior isn't gonna be able to take too much of a hike, so I decide to drive to a couple of spots we might be able to get to and find a good place to take a short hike and sit and watch a game trail or meadow. Well, we're drivin' down this road and Junior sees a spur road and says "Dad, lets go up there". So anyway, I've got a place in mind, so I tell him, "nah, I don't think that's such a good spot". We get to where I'm certain is a better place and we bail out of the rig and head down a loggin' skiff. We aren't seein' much sign, and what we are seein' isn't fresh. At any rate, I find a spot where we can sit and watch and wait and listen and well, that's all we do, cause there isn't a thing to watch, wait for or listen to.
Back down the trail we go to the truck, and back down the road we drive. Along the way to another "sure fire" hunting spot, we pass the same spur road that Junior had mentioned before. "Hey Dad" he says, "you sure we shouldn't try up there". "Yeah, I'm sure" I tell him and keep on drivin'. We come to this "sure fire" area, and off we go again. This time we don't even see old Elk sign. Along with that, we certainly don't see any Elk. Junior is beginning to lose interest and I'm runnin' out of hunting spots. But I have one more thought in the area, and it's up past the first place we went. So off we go, drivin' past Junior's spur road again. He just looks at me this time, I shake my head and continue down the road.
Of course, we have just about the same experience at this "perfect spot" as we did the first two. Now, not only is Junior losing interest, I'm beginning to myself. "Not any Elk around here" I spew forth, and what does Junior say? "Dad, what about that one road we keep driving past, we haven't tried there yet". "OK, lets give it a try, can't be any worse that what we've done so far."
I pull off on this spur road and it only goes about a hundred yards or so and is blocked off. We hop on out and head down the trail. Good criminy, there are Elk tracks right in the middle of the track and they were put there earlier that day. Well, I'm tellin' Junior that I shoulda listened to him and he's givin me the ole ' I told ya so'. We haven't seen any animals yet, so we sit on down on this log up above the main trail and wait, and not for very long either. Along comes this young Cow and she doesn't have a clue that we are there. In fact she never does and we sit there for over 30 minutes. She gets within about 20 yards of us and we never move, she never winds us and Juniors eyes are as big as saucers for the entire time. This Cow grazes and poops and just meanders around and doesn't have a care in the world. Well, she's the only critter we see. We don't get to shoot her cause I'm carryin' a Spike tag, and the rifle never leaves my knees. Junior is all smiles and can't stop talkin' about this here Cow that gets so close to us, and who knows, if I had listened to him earlier, we might just have seen the critters that made the fresh tracks.
The darn kid had a feelin' about that spur road all day long and dad just 'knew better'. Well I learned a lesson there, cause sometimes you just have a feelin' about where to hunt. There isn't an explanation as to why, but you just know it's the right place to go. At least Junior did...........
Of course this brings me to a little tale about how sometimes it just won't kill ya to listen and take junior's ideas to heart. I had drawn a Spike Bull tag in a unit pretty close to home, and it allowed me to hunt from the house and be able to take along my 10 yr old son. So off we go in the wee hours of the morning to see if we can find the elusive Wapiti Spiker. I figure Junior isn't gonna be able to take too much of a hike, so I decide to drive to a couple of spots we might be able to get to and find a good place to take a short hike and sit and watch a game trail or meadow. Well, we're drivin' down this road and Junior sees a spur road and says "Dad, lets go up there". So anyway, I've got a place in mind, so I tell him, "nah, I don't think that's such a good spot". We get to where I'm certain is a better place and we bail out of the rig and head down a loggin' skiff. We aren't seein' much sign, and what we are seein' isn't fresh. At any rate, I find a spot where we can sit and watch and wait and listen and well, that's all we do, cause there isn't a thing to watch, wait for or listen to.
Back down the trail we go to the truck, and back down the road we drive. Along the way to another "sure fire" hunting spot, we pass the same spur road that Junior had mentioned before. "Hey Dad" he says, "you sure we shouldn't try up there". "Yeah, I'm sure" I tell him and keep on drivin'. We come to this "sure fire" area, and off we go again. This time we don't even see old Elk sign. Along with that, we certainly don't see any Elk. Junior is beginning to lose interest and I'm runnin' out of hunting spots. But I have one more thought in the area, and it's up past the first place we went. So off we go, drivin' past Junior's spur road again. He just looks at me this time, I shake my head and continue down the road.
Of course, we have just about the same experience at this "perfect spot" as we did the first two. Now, not only is Junior losing interest, I'm beginning to myself. "Not any Elk around here" I spew forth, and what does Junior say? "Dad, what about that one road we keep driving past, we haven't tried there yet". "OK, lets give it a try, can't be any worse that what we've done so far."
I pull off on this spur road and it only goes about a hundred yards or so and is blocked off. We hop on out and head down the trail. Good criminy, there are Elk tracks right in the middle of the track and they were put there earlier that day. Well, I'm tellin' Junior that I shoulda listened to him and he's givin me the ole ' I told ya so'. We haven't seen any animals yet, so we sit on down on this log up above the main trail and wait, and not for very long either. Along comes this young Cow and she doesn't have a clue that we are there. In fact she never does and we sit there for over 30 minutes. She gets within about 20 yards of us and we never move, she never winds us and Juniors eyes are as big as saucers for the entire time. This Cow grazes and poops and just meanders around and doesn't have a care in the world. Well, she's the only critter we see. We don't get to shoot her cause I'm carryin' a Spike tag, and the rifle never leaves my knees. Junior is all smiles and can't stop talkin' about this here Cow that gets so close to us, and who knows, if I had listened to him earlier, we might just have seen the critters that made the fresh tracks.
The darn kid had a feelin' about that spur road all day long and dad just 'knew better'. Well I learned a lesson there, cause sometimes you just have a feelin' about where to hunt. There isn't an explanation as to why, but you just know it's the right place to go. At least Junior did...........
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
This Is What It Really Means
You know, there is this book, and it is pretty thick, that is full of all kinds of interesting information about what the English language really means. It's called the Dictionary of American Slang. Well, I'm thinkin', I really believe there should be another book, one that I and all you other Elk Hunters and Wannabes will truly relate to. Let's call it the Dictionary of Elk Camp Slang. It's gonna have some pretty odd entries for certain, and I'd love to have lots and lots of help writing this here book. You see, these slang terms can be pretty localized and some of the Elk Camp Slang that is really familiar to me might not be so easily understood by you, and so it goes the other direction as well.
Well, here goes, and in no order of importance nor alphabetically arranged. You see it really doesn't matter, you'll get the hang of it.
BUNG FODDER: This is the term used by many for the commonly known, toilet paper. See it really isn't all that odd, lets break down the term. Bung; being a slang term for manure, poo, doo doo, or s#*t. Fodder; being that part of the feed that would soak up the liquid part of the feed that makes it easier for the hogs to feed. There, see, it makes all the sense in the world, or at least the world of Elk Camp.
SHE'S A LEPER: This is the term used to characterize a lone Cow Elk feeding along the canyon wall with no other animals anywhere near her. Now I don't know why she's off by herself, maybe she does have a dread disease, or more likely, she's just found a right fine place to feed and doesn't feel the need to share her lunch.
MOUTHWASH: Ever heard of Peppermint Schnapps?
VITAMINS: Everyone knows that fruit is full of vitamins and other good stuff that's good for ya, right? Cranberries are no exception! Cranberries in the form of cranberry juice make it so much easier and enjoy gettin' those vitamins, and cranberry juice mixed with HRD vodka is all the better for sure.
THE ELK ARE WHERE YOU FIND EM: This is the term uttered by Elk hunters who have yet to see any Elk. You see, if you're still talkin' about findin' em, instead of talkin' about what you've already found, then you must not have found em yet. See what I mean?
THE SPIKE WAS DANCIN': This is the term spewed forth in an attempt to describe the circumstances as to why, for cryin' out loud, you didn't just shoot the bloomin' spike.
BILLY GOAT: Now normally you would think this is the term for a male goat. Nope, fraid not. This is what you call the Elk Hunter that climbs the steepest mountains, decends the deepest canyons, and generally logs more miles in one Elk Season as most of us do in 2 or 3 seasons.
BUNSEN: Ever use one of these little burners in science class in middle school. Nope, sorry, Bunsen is a much bigger burner. Normally used to start large backfires or to burn weeds along a farmer's fence line. Bunsen is used simply to easily start a fire in the woodstove inside a wall tent. If you are inexperienced, don't try this at home!!
FANNY PACK: I put this one in here for any Aussies or Kiwis who happen to read this blog. Here in the USA, a fanny is a rear end, a bottom, a buttox or your behind. Now I know that you folks call the front part of the female anatomy a fanny, so this definition is here to ease your collective minds. Just think Bum Bag every time an American says Fanny Pack, okay?
PEA SHOOTER: This is the term used to define what one Elk hunter may think of as too small a caliber to hunt Elk. It is not a straw used to blow spit wads at the back of Emmy Lou's head in history class.
HOT FOOTIN' IT: Now one way this is defined is by being in a hurry and taking quick steps cause you are in a hurry. Nope, not what I'm talkin' about here. Hot Footin' It is when the fire you set goes out, but the rock you built the fire on is still hot and you end up standing on the hot rock and melting a hole through the bottom of your boot. I have no idea where this definition came from, but I can feel, er I mean, understand it.
JUST FER DRILL: This term is used when you what to kill a little more time before the evening hunt and you decide to head down some trail that you've never seen Elk on, but, doggone it, you will some day.
FRIGGIN' WOLVES: This is how Elk Hunters refer to the States ineptitude in handling intrusive species that indescrimitively kill thousands of Elk each year. Ask me how I really feel??
Well, there's a start. If you have more, I'd love to hear em. Keep em comin, cause I know you've developed some of your own slang terms.
Well, here goes, and in no order of importance nor alphabetically arranged. You see it really doesn't matter, you'll get the hang of it.
BUNG FODDER: This is the term used by many for the commonly known, toilet paper. See it really isn't all that odd, lets break down the term. Bung; being a slang term for manure, poo, doo doo, or s#*t. Fodder; being that part of the feed that would soak up the liquid part of the feed that makes it easier for the hogs to feed. There, see, it makes all the sense in the world, or at least the world of Elk Camp.
SHE'S A LEPER: This is the term used to characterize a lone Cow Elk feeding along the canyon wall with no other animals anywhere near her. Now I don't know why she's off by herself, maybe she does have a dread disease, or more likely, she's just found a right fine place to feed and doesn't feel the need to share her lunch.
MOUTHWASH: Ever heard of Peppermint Schnapps?
VITAMINS: Everyone knows that fruit is full of vitamins and other good stuff that's good for ya, right? Cranberries are no exception! Cranberries in the form of cranberry juice make it so much easier and enjoy gettin' those vitamins, and cranberry juice mixed with HRD vodka is all the better for sure.
THE ELK ARE WHERE YOU FIND EM: This is the term uttered by Elk hunters who have yet to see any Elk. You see, if you're still talkin' about findin' em, instead of talkin' about what you've already found, then you must not have found em yet. See what I mean?
THE SPIKE WAS DANCIN': This is the term spewed forth in an attempt to describe the circumstances as to why, for cryin' out loud, you didn't just shoot the bloomin' spike.
BILLY GOAT: Now normally you would think this is the term for a male goat. Nope, fraid not. This is what you call the Elk Hunter that climbs the steepest mountains, decends the deepest canyons, and generally logs more miles in one Elk Season as most of us do in 2 or 3 seasons.
BUNSEN: Ever use one of these little burners in science class in middle school. Nope, sorry, Bunsen is a much bigger burner. Normally used to start large backfires or to burn weeds along a farmer's fence line. Bunsen is used simply to easily start a fire in the woodstove inside a wall tent. If you are inexperienced, don't try this at home!!
FANNY PACK: I put this one in here for any Aussies or Kiwis who happen to read this blog. Here in the USA, a fanny is a rear end, a bottom, a buttox or your behind. Now I know that you folks call the front part of the female anatomy a fanny, so this definition is here to ease your collective minds. Just think Bum Bag every time an American says Fanny Pack, okay?
PEA SHOOTER: This is the term used to define what one Elk hunter may think of as too small a caliber to hunt Elk. It is not a straw used to blow spit wads at the back of Emmy Lou's head in history class.
HOT FOOTIN' IT: Now one way this is defined is by being in a hurry and taking quick steps cause you are in a hurry. Nope, not what I'm talkin' about here. Hot Footin' It is when the fire you set goes out, but the rock you built the fire on is still hot and you end up standing on the hot rock and melting a hole through the bottom of your boot. I have no idea where this definition came from, but I can feel, er I mean, understand it.
JUST FER DRILL: This term is used when you what to kill a little more time before the evening hunt and you decide to head down some trail that you've never seen Elk on, but, doggone it, you will some day.
FRIGGIN' WOLVES: This is how Elk Hunters refer to the States ineptitude in handling intrusive species that indescrimitively kill thousands of Elk each year. Ask me how I really feel??
Well, there's a start. If you have more, I'd love to hear em. Keep em comin, cause I know you've developed some of your own slang terms.
Monday, August 31, 2009
More Gadgets and Gear
I don't know why, but it seems that no matter how much gear or how many gadgets you have, you still don't seem to have the one piece or part that you need. Either that or the gismo you have should have been replaced. Yeah, you've been there, you know you have, or is it just me???
Back when Shep was a pup (that means a while back), I was headed to Elk Camp in my trusty FJ40 Landcruiser. It was the third day of Elk season and I was anxious to get there since I had had to work the first couple days of the season. I went to work in in my hunting clothes and hit the road right afterward. The trip to Camp wasn't really all that long, but the anticipation just made it seem like forever and a day.
I pull into camp with about an hour's daylight left and really don't expect to see anyone around camp with daylight still burnin'. But there they were. This only meant one thing; they had downed an Elk or maybe two. Sure enough, I was right! Randy and his dad had gotten back to camp just ahead of me and were attempting to hang the critters on the meat pole. By attempting, I mean that this chore was getting harder by the minute. You see, the rope they brought along for this very purpose wasn't going to hang a small deer, let alone a Bull Elk and a Cow as well. Just as I pull up the rope breaks......again.......and the Elk go tumbling to the ground.......again. This is not working as it was supposed to, nope not at all. Well the old Landruiser had a 4-ton PTO winch on it and I pulled up and we hauled the Elk up onto the meat pole with ease, what a deal. Sure beats bustin' a rotten rope.........again.
That isn't the end of the gear troubles for this trip, not at all. You see, it sure is nice to have a PTO winch, and plenty of cable to pull yourself out of trouble or haul a critter up into a tree or heck, hook it up to a potato digger if you so choose. Problem is gettin' a balled up in gumbo mud when there isn't a tree or big ole rock to be found to hook onto to give you a little helpin' hand. See I figured I'd head down this gumbo mud road and take a look see. I went on down the road and got out and went on a little hike and hunted around for a couple of hours and then decided to head back up. Well when I get back to the gumbo mud section of this here road the ole Landcruiser just isn't having anything to do with getting back up to the main road. I'm slippin' and slidin' and makin' some big ole ruts and there's this fella comes by on the main road and he just sits there a 1/2 mile away and watches my futility. He's likely wondering what kind of an idiot would try to drive down there when it's wet out. But me, I already know what kind of an idiot it would take. Well, I'm not completely without an idea to get myself outta this predicament, cause I've been there before. Not on this road, but, well, I'll tell ya about that one another day, or maybe I'll just keep it to myself, ya never know! I head off and gather up some pine and fir bows and stuff em in the ruts to try and get some traction and after about 3 whirls at this I finally get some momentum and up the hill the Landcruiser roars. Whew............
But wait, there is yet another gear and gadget mishap to come. The next day, I'm on the mountain by myself. You see Randy and Ron had to head out and along with them went the trailer full of gear, so I borrow Ron's Coleman stove to make cookin' a bit easier. I figure I'll sleep in the Landcruiser if it's too cold or rainy and I'll be good as gold.
I climbed up above this saddle and was sittin' there watching a game trail that looked as if it had been the main travel path for many a critter goin' over the saddle. Sure enough, along about 1/2 hour before dusk along comes this Cow Elk. I hunker down and wait for the Bull that surely must be with her. Wait, there comes another one, and another and another and, dad-burn-it, they are all Cows. Thirteen Cows to be exact and not a single antler. It didn't matter how long and hard I stared at them through my binos, I just couldn't get any of them to sprout horns. Well, they never see me, so I figure, this is a pretty good spot, and I back off and head down to the trusty Landcruiser just after dark. I pull out the borrowed camp stove and get ready to fix up a can of beans and some bacon for dinner. I fill the tank with white gas and pump up the pressure. I light a match and then turn the knob to allow some gas into the burner. Right here is where things go all to pieces. You see, I've never had a Coleman stove do this before, it turns into a torch with a flame about 3-4 ft high and I'm pretty sure this isn't normal. I get the knob turned back off, but not before scorching the bloomin' lid to the stove nice and black. Anyway, I let it cool down and I just put the thing away. Cold beans and Vienna Sausage for me that night. This stove never pulled that trick again for me or Ron or anyone, but it always had that big ole black scorch mark on it to remind ya that it could.
Well, I never saw another Elk that trip. I suppose the screaming and the big flame out on the Coleman stove scared em off, I don't know. Main thing is we came home safe again, despite our best efforts otherwise. More lessons learned, more gear and gadgets to be obtained. And thus the journey continuous.............
Back when Shep was a pup (that means a while back), I was headed to Elk Camp in my trusty FJ40 Landcruiser. It was the third day of Elk season and I was anxious to get there since I had had to work the first couple days of the season. I went to work in in my hunting clothes and hit the road right afterward. The trip to Camp wasn't really all that long, but the anticipation just made it seem like forever and a day.
I pull into camp with about an hour's daylight left and really don't expect to see anyone around camp with daylight still burnin'. But there they were. This only meant one thing; they had downed an Elk or maybe two. Sure enough, I was right! Randy and his dad had gotten back to camp just ahead of me and were attempting to hang the critters on the meat pole. By attempting, I mean that this chore was getting harder by the minute. You see, the rope they brought along for this very purpose wasn't going to hang a small deer, let alone a Bull Elk and a Cow as well. Just as I pull up the rope breaks......again.......and the Elk go tumbling to the ground.......again. This is not working as it was supposed to, nope not at all. Well the old Landruiser had a 4-ton PTO winch on it and I pulled up and we hauled the Elk up onto the meat pole with ease, what a deal. Sure beats bustin' a rotten rope.........again.
That isn't the end of the gear troubles for this trip, not at all. You see, it sure is nice to have a PTO winch, and plenty of cable to pull yourself out of trouble or haul a critter up into a tree or heck, hook it up to a potato digger if you so choose. Problem is gettin' a balled up in gumbo mud when there isn't a tree or big ole rock to be found to hook onto to give you a little helpin' hand. See I figured I'd head down this gumbo mud road and take a look see. I went on down the road and got out and went on a little hike and hunted around for a couple of hours and then decided to head back up. Well when I get back to the gumbo mud section of this here road the ole Landcruiser just isn't having anything to do with getting back up to the main road. I'm slippin' and slidin' and makin' some big ole ruts and there's this fella comes by on the main road and he just sits there a 1/2 mile away and watches my futility. He's likely wondering what kind of an idiot would try to drive down there when it's wet out. But me, I already know what kind of an idiot it would take. Well, I'm not completely without an idea to get myself outta this predicament, cause I've been there before. Not on this road, but, well, I'll tell ya about that one another day, or maybe I'll just keep it to myself, ya never know! I head off and gather up some pine and fir bows and stuff em in the ruts to try and get some traction and after about 3 whirls at this I finally get some momentum and up the hill the Landcruiser roars. Whew............
But wait, there is yet another gear and gadget mishap to come. The next day, I'm on the mountain by myself. You see Randy and Ron had to head out and along with them went the trailer full of gear, so I borrow Ron's Coleman stove to make cookin' a bit easier. I figure I'll sleep in the Landcruiser if it's too cold or rainy and I'll be good as gold.
I climbed up above this saddle and was sittin' there watching a game trail that looked as if it had been the main travel path for many a critter goin' over the saddle. Sure enough, along about 1/2 hour before dusk along comes this Cow Elk. I hunker down and wait for the Bull that surely must be with her. Wait, there comes another one, and another and another and, dad-burn-it, they are all Cows. Thirteen Cows to be exact and not a single antler. It didn't matter how long and hard I stared at them through my binos, I just couldn't get any of them to sprout horns. Well, they never see me, so I figure, this is a pretty good spot, and I back off and head down to the trusty Landcruiser just after dark. I pull out the borrowed camp stove and get ready to fix up a can of beans and some bacon for dinner. I fill the tank with white gas and pump up the pressure. I light a match and then turn the knob to allow some gas into the burner. Right here is where things go all to pieces. You see, I've never had a Coleman stove do this before, it turns into a torch with a flame about 3-4 ft high and I'm pretty sure this isn't normal. I get the knob turned back off, but not before scorching the bloomin' lid to the stove nice and black. Anyway, I let it cool down and I just put the thing away. Cold beans and Vienna Sausage for me that night. This stove never pulled that trick again for me or Ron or anyone, but it always had that big ole black scorch mark on it to remind ya that it could.
Well, I never saw another Elk that trip. I suppose the screaming and the big flame out on the Coleman stove scared em off, I don't know. Main thing is we came home safe again, despite our best efforts otherwise. More lessons learned, more gear and gadgets to be obtained. And thus the journey continuous.............
Friday, August 28, 2009
Gadgets & Gear Galore
Why oh why do Elk hunters think they need to bring something new to Elk Camp every single year? Pretty silly question, isn't it? There really is no answer to this question, but there likely are many, many theories.
I think back to some of the first Elk Camps I was lucky enough to be a part of, and to tell you the truth, the accomodations and comfort were, shall we say, rough and, well, rougher. One I remember from 20 plus years ago was particularly rough. We had teamed up with a couple of other fellers that were familiar with the country we were wanting to hunt. Our assembling of gear was a bit comical, to say the least. First of all we didn't have a tent, we didn't have a tarp, and we certainly weren't staying in a cabin or hut. So here we are headed into the high country without shelter, why we are still around to tell some of these stories is certainly a miracle. But survive we have, and we will continue to tell old tales til we are, well, old.
The nights were pretty darn cold, and luckily it didn't rain, not too much anyway. Wet gear is a bummer for sure. To make matters worse, the first night found Greg, one of our new hunting buddies, without a sleeping bag, or a blanket. Nope, he didn't bring a thing. Now it wasn't all his fault, you see, Denny was supposed to have shown up at camp that evening, but he didn't, and along with Denny, neither did Greg's sleeping bag. We did bring along something to build a fire, so at least we had flames and smoke. More on the flames part later. We've got a fire ring built of rocks and Greg figures he'll just curl up by the warm rocks. Which works pretty good until there's a sprinkle of rain and on top of that the hot rocks are melting the frost in the frozen ground and after a few hours Greg is curled up in the mud.
By the time morning rolls around and Denny rolls into camp, we, and particularly Greg, are fairly miserable and definately in need of some gear and gadgets. We get warmed up and shove some eats in our bellies and we are off. We are off to get our bucks. Now I know that this here blog is about Elk Camp and Elk Hunting, but I just couldn't resist telling you this tale. We head off along this hog back we refer to as The Imnaha Divide or Beeler's Ridge. This thing is steep on both sides and at some points only about 6' wide. The views are magnifecent to say the least and because of those views, you can only imagine what a hike down into these big ole parellel canyons would be like. Well we found out for sure about two hours into our hunt. Greg pulls up and pops this 3 pt muley that is standin' just below the ridge. This buck doesn't drop right there or slide a little ways and get hung up in some brush, OH NO, he slides and tumbles and slides some more and tumbles a whole lot more. Off down into this big ole ravine and out of sight. Well, Randy and Greg and I head on down after this critter and it is steep and lots of shale rock, and well, it is a miserable climb down. All the while we're thinkin' about what its gonna be like to climb back up out there with a deer.
Well, we finally find the critter, get it field dressed and split in half. Do we have any packs with us? Heck no, who needs gear and gadgets anyway, right? Well Greg takes the head end, Randy takes the tail end, and me, I'm the feller who winds up haulin 3 rifles and two fanny packs (bum bags for you Aussies and Kiwis). On the way out my pack comes open and I spread part of my gear down the canyon. Of course I don't know this until I've gotten quite a ways up the slope. I take off all my load and head back down the canyon picking up matches and compass and bung fodder, but the only thing I cannot find is the knife I had gotten from my Grandpa. I searched and searched, but never was able to find it. I still think about it every time I'm in the woods and it bugs me to this very day.
Well, it's one heck of a climb and we are havin' day dreams about chain saw winches and dear carts and all manner of helpful gadgets and gear. The cold night of the night before had also definately burned off and it was unseasonably warm to boot. By the time we are up to the top of the ridge we are out of water and still havin' about 2 hrs of hiking Beeler Ridge before we get back to camp. About 1/2 way to camp there is this water trough and a spring runnin' into it. I'll tell you what, that spring water was probably the best I've ever drunk.
Well we get back and there is this funny lookin' rectangular charred black imprint on the ground over the top of the fire pit. It's about 6' long and 30" wide and looks pretty odd. Yeah, its just the same size as the cot mattress that ole Randy had borrowed from his dad. The wind had picked it up and laid it down right smack dab in the middle of the fire pit and it was now no more than a reminder of a softer nights sleep.
Lets see now, no tent, missing a sleeping bag, no meat packs, no deer cart, a lost knife, no more cot, what else could we forget or ruin?? Well fortunately for this group, we had pretty well reduced our losses at this point. Along about dusk we shoot another young buck, this time I get the honors and he's a nice forkey horn. We haul him up out of the canyon after dark using a lantern to guide our way out. Hey, we remembered something, we did have a lantern! That was it for our taking of deer on this hunt, and poor ole Greg even had a sleeping bag for the rest of the trip. Lots of lessons learned and put to use in later hunts and hikes. We're all still found roaming the woods every Fall in search of Elk, Deer, Grouse, Varmints, Etc. Lesser guys would have given the whole idea up after a trip or two, but we have perservered and lovin' Camp more and more each year. Get on out there and enjoy it with us, you'll be glad you did!
I think back to some of the first Elk Camps I was lucky enough to be a part of, and to tell you the truth, the accomodations and comfort were, shall we say, rough and, well, rougher. One I remember from 20 plus years ago was particularly rough. We had teamed up with a couple of other fellers that were familiar with the country we were wanting to hunt. Our assembling of gear was a bit comical, to say the least. First of all we didn't have a tent, we didn't have a tarp, and we certainly weren't staying in a cabin or hut. So here we are headed into the high country without shelter, why we are still around to tell some of these stories is certainly a miracle. But survive we have, and we will continue to tell old tales til we are, well, old.
The nights were pretty darn cold, and luckily it didn't rain, not too much anyway. Wet gear is a bummer for sure. To make matters worse, the first night found Greg, one of our new hunting buddies, without a sleeping bag, or a blanket. Nope, he didn't bring a thing. Now it wasn't all his fault, you see, Denny was supposed to have shown up at camp that evening, but he didn't, and along with Denny, neither did Greg's sleeping bag. We did bring along something to build a fire, so at least we had flames and smoke. More on the flames part later. We've got a fire ring built of rocks and Greg figures he'll just curl up by the warm rocks. Which works pretty good until there's a sprinkle of rain and on top of that the hot rocks are melting the frost in the frozen ground and after a few hours Greg is curled up in the mud.
By the time morning rolls around and Denny rolls into camp, we, and particularly Greg, are fairly miserable and definately in need of some gear and gadgets. We get warmed up and shove some eats in our bellies and we are off. We are off to get our bucks. Now I know that this here blog is about Elk Camp and Elk Hunting, but I just couldn't resist telling you this tale. We head off along this hog back we refer to as The Imnaha Divide or Beeler's Ridge. This thing is steep on both sides and at some points only about 6' wide. The views are magnifecent to say the least and because of those views, you can only imagine what a hike down into these big ole parellel canyons would be like. Well we found out for sure about two hours into our hunt. Greg pulls up and pops this 3 pt muley that is standin' just below the ridge. This buck doesn't drop right there or slide a little ways and get hung up in some brush, OH NO, he slides and tumbles and slides some more and tumbles a whole lot more. Off down into this big ole ravine and out of sight. Well, Randy and Greg and I head on down after this critter and it is steep and lots of shale rock, and well, it is a miserable climb down. All the while we're thinkin' about what its gonna be like to climb back up out there with a deer.
Well, we finally find the critter, get it field dressed and split in half. Do we have any packs with us? Heck no, who needs gear and gadgets anyway, right? Well Greg takes the head end, Randy takes the tail end, and me, I'm the feller who winds up haulin 3 rifles and two fanny packs (bum bags for you Aussies and Kiwis). On the way out my pack comes open and I spread part of my gear down the canyon. Of course I don't know this until I've gotten quite a ways up the slope. I take off all my load and head back down the canyon picking up matches and compass and bung fodder, but the only thing I cannot find is the knife I had gotten from my Grandpa. I searched and searched, but never was able to find it. I still think about it every time I'm in the woods and it bugs me to this very day.
Well, it's one heck of a climb and we are havin' day dreams about chain saw winches and dear carts and all manner of helpful gadgets and gear. The cold night of the night before had also definately burned off and it was unseasonably warm to boot. By the time we are up to the top of the ridge we are out of water and still havin' about 2 hrs of hiking Beeler Ridge before we get back to camp. About 1/2 way to camp there is this water trough and a spring runnin' into it. I'll tell you what, that spring water was probably the best I've ever drunk.
Well we get back and there is this funny lookin' rectangular charred black imprint on the ground over the top of the fire pit. It's about 6' long and 30" wide and looks pretty odd. Yeah, its just the same size as the cot mattress that ole Randy had borrowed from his dad. The wind had picked it up and laid it down right smack dab in the middle of the fire pit and it was now no more than a reminder of a softer nights sleep.
Lets see now, no tent, missing a sleeping bag, no meat packs, no deer cart, a lost knife, no more cot, what else could we forget or ruin?? Well fortunately for this group, we had pretty well reduced our losses at this point. Along about dusk we shoot another young buck, this time I get the honors and he's a nice forkey horn. We haul him up out of the canyon after dark using a lantern to guide our way out. Hey, we remembered something, we did have a lantern! That was it for our taking of deer on this hunt, and poor ole Greg even had a sleeping bag for the rest of the trip. Lots of lessons learned and put to use in later hunts and hikes. We're all still found roaming the woods every Fall in search of Elk, Deer, Grouse, Varmints, Etc. Lesser guys would have given the whole idea up after a trip or two, but we have perservered and lovin' Camp more and more each year. Get on out there and enjoy it with us, you'll be glad you did!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
My First Camp
Everyone who has this Elk camp fever that I do caught it from somewhere or someone or both. It's something you just can't stop and once you are bitten by the Elk camp bug, you've got the fever for which there truly is no cure. Now you could skip a season or two and tell youreself all manner a lies but you'll be back, It's a certainty. What kind of lies you ask, well how bout this one? "I just don't have the time". Sheesh, thats as lame as a foundered pony. Time? This is the time of your life, if you don't take the time, it is lost forever. You can't go back and visit last years camp that you didn't make it to, it is gone, finished, passed on, and stuck with a fork for it is done. The memories that you won't be a part of will carry on forever in someone elses heart and mind.
Here's another one, "I'm just not in shape to climb hills". What it really means is that you've been to tied to TV to get your sorry behind out to take a walk. I should know, I've been that character. I'm no slim Jim, I've never been accused of being off my feed. But I'll tell ya this I'm gettin my steps in every day and gettin' the ole legs & lungs ready. And besides, you don't have to be the half billy goat feller that heads to the steepest canyon he can find, just cus it's there. I mean for cryin' out loud, when I can't hike in woods, somebody better help me set up a chair in a blind and I'll set there and wait em out, cause the Elk are where you find em and I intend to find em for years to come. I'd even be glad to be the camp cook & fire minder. At least I'll be there to hear the stories and see the faces that tell all the wondrous stories when the rest of the crew gets in off the mountain.
I caught this bug when I about 12 years old. That the first time I got to go to Elk camp. It was an honor above honors and my Dad asked me to go with him and his buddies. Holy cow I could hardly believe it, I had come of age!! I had to be the most excited kid in the whole world, or at least in Eastern Oregon. We were hunting in an area that allowed a hunter to shoot whatever he saw. We refered to it as havin' a "hair tag". I can't even remember how many times I had asked, heck I'll be honest, I begged to go to camp. But I was always too young. Now I was going and I even had a coveted "hair tag", it meant that I didn't have to wait to see a bull, I could get me an Elk, any Elk would do just fine.
First problem was tha I didn't have an Elk rifle. Dad had a 30-30 carbine that I got to hunt deer with, but he didn't think it was big enough for Elk. So we borrowed a 45-70 single shot Ruger #1 from Ron. Now thats a lot of rifle for 12 year old kid, but I wasn't yer normal 12 year old. I was already standing about 5'-10" and wasn't a bean pole either. So we took out this blunder bust of a gun and went target shootin'. That means we filled up some jugs with water and went out to the hills and shot em from about 150 yds. Well, I hit the jug and figured that was good enough. We weren't big on sightin' in to real high standards, but if you could hit the jug you were in business.
I'll tell you more about this first Elk camp a little later, until then, make sure you get those youngins out there and enjoying camp. It's a gift that they will cherish more than a silly ole video game for sure. Keep on dreamin' bout the next camp, cause it'll be here before you know it.
Here's another one, "I'm just not in shape to climb hills". What it really means is that you've been to tied to TV to get your sorry behind out to take a walk. I should know, I've been that character. I'm no slim Jim, I've never been accused of being off my feed. But I'll tell ya this I'm gettin my steps in every day and gettin' the ole legs & lungs ready. And besides, you don't have to be the half billy goat feller that heads to the steepest canyon he can find, just cus it's there. I mean for cryin' out loud, when I can't hike in woods, somebody better help me set up a chair in a blind and I'll set there and wait em out, cause the Elk are where you find em and I intend to find em for years to come. I'd even be glad to be the camp cook & fire minder. At least I'll be there to hear the stories and see the faces that tell all the wondrous stories when the rest of the crew gets in off the mountain.
I caught this bug when I about 12 years old. That the first time I got to go to Elk camp. It was an honor above honors and my Dad asked me to go with him and his buddies. Holy cow I could hardly believe it, I had come of age!! I had to be the most excited kid in the whole world, or at least in Eastern Oregon. We were hunting in an area that allowed a hunter to shoot whatever he saw. We refered to it as havin' a "hair tag". I can't even remember how many times I had asked, heck I'll be honest, I begged to go to camp. But I was always too young. Now I was going and I even had a coveted "hair tag", it meant that I didn't have to wait to see a bull, I could get me an Elk, any Elk would do just fine.
First problem was tha I didn't have an Elk rifle. Dad had a 30-30 carbine that I got to hunt deer with, but he didn't think it was big enough for Elk. So we borrowed a 45-70 single shot Ruger #1 from Ron. Now thats a lot of rifle for 12 year old kid, but I wasn't yer normal 12 year old. I was already standing about 5'-10" and wasn't a bean pole either. So we took out this blunder bust of a gun and went target shootin'. That means we filled up some jugs with water and went out to the hills and shot em from about 150 yds. Well, I hit the jug and figured that was good enough. We weren't big on sightin' in to real high standards, but if you could hit the jug you were in business.
I'll tell you more about this first Elk camp a little later, until then, make sure you get those youngins out there and enjoying camp. It's a gift that they will cherish more than a silly ole video game for sure. Keep on dreamin' bout the next camp, cause it'll be here before you know it.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Anticpation "or" Dang Long Time til Wapiti
Oh my word!! This year is just draggin, for cryin out loud!!
Every year, my huntin' partners and I fill out these confounded controlled hunt applications. We get our copies of the huntin' regulations, Oregon calls it a synopsis. Then we study the thing and try to figure out how on earth to fill out our applications in a manner that will, God willin', get us Elk tags for the upcoming season. We have this one special spot, and NO I'm not gonna spill the beans about it, that we're shootin' for every year, but it is one tough son of a gun to draw. The last time we had good fortune shine on us was 2003. Now for Pete's sake, that is now 6 long, long years.
What makes this so downright irritating is that back when shep was a pup (that means a long while ago), we could just go down to the local sportin' goods store and buy our tag and hunt just about anywhere we dang pleased. Not now!! There's this preference point system that gives you another point every time you are unlucky. It's like winnin' cause you lost. The more you lose, the more points you get, and eventually, or so the story goes, you get to hunt where you want to.
Well, for 5 straight years we have been winning, or is that losing? I'm not sure how to look at this thing called "preference points". I mean really, if I have a preference, it's not to be messin' with points unless I'm counting them on a bull's rack. Enduring, yes I said enduring, 5 years of of "winning" has gloriously come to an end. We have lost all of our preference points, they are all gone. We drew that tag, that beautiful, wonderful tag. We are headed back to our favorite haunt to pursue the mighty bull of the woods in ________. Now you didn't really think I was gonna tell ya where did ya?
So here's the thing. We applied for this tag May 15. We patiently, well not very patiently, wait until mid June to find out the results. Then, having heard the fantastic news, we now have to wait and wait and wait until the end of October before we can finally be in the woods. So in the meantime, we plan and we plan and we search for that new piece of gear that we are just certain we cannot make it through another season without.
We'll continue emailing each other weekly if not more often with silly emails like; "wapiti, wapiti,wapiti" and "the elk are where you find em" or "it's just 17 weeks until Elk season". We seem to be acting very strangely, very strangely indeed. Our families and friends are beginning to wonder if we are completely certifiable or just plain ole nuts! Our thoughts drift off to mountain and meadow, to stream and wallow, to trails and rocks, to Bulls and, well, Bulls. Our evenings are spent pouring over "Bugle" magazine and reading short stories by Jim Zumbo (our hero). It is only July, and I fear that by late August there will be a very serious need to begin a new chapter of Elkaholic Anonymous. There will likely need to be an intervention as well, and maybe even the reading of a self-help book or two.
This Elk camp can not come along too soon. We will be ready, we will be lean, mean, Elk huntin' machines. Our minds and bodies will be fit and prepared to encounter the wilds and successfully bring meaning to the ceremonial hanging of the meat pole, which cannot be done without the ceremonial meat pole dance. Brad always leads the dance. He is a dancin fool, even performs a nightly snow dance until the flakes begin to fall, but that is a tale to be told at a later date.
Anxious, yeah I'd say so. This is the year, the year of the "Any Bull" hunt. This is the year we have been hoping for, praying for, searching for and yearning for. And it is still three plus months away. Will we survive until Elk camp? We'd better, cause, well, this is the year!!
Every year, my huntin' partners and I fill out these confounded controlled hunt applications. We get our copies of the huntin' regulations, Oregon calls it a synopsis. Then we study the thing and try to figure out how on earth to fill out our applications in a manner that will, God willin', get us Elk tags for the upcoming season. We have this one special spot, and NO I'm not gonna spill the beans about it, that we're shootin' for every year, but it is one tough son of a gun to draw. The last time we had good fortune shine on us was 2003. Now for Pete's sake, that is now 6 long, long years.
What makes this so downright irritating is that back when shep was a pup (that means a long while ago), we could just go down to the local sportin' goods store and buy our tag and hunt just about anywhere we dang pleased. Not now!! There's this preference point system that gives you another point every time you are unlucky. It's like winnin' cause you lost. The more you lose, the more points you get, and eventually, or so the story goes, you get to hunt where you want to.
Well, for 5 straight years we have been winning, or is that losing? I'm not sure how to look at this thing called "preference points". I mean really, if I have a preference, it's not to be messin' with points unless I'm counting them on a bull's rack. Enduring, yes I said enduring, 5 years of of "winning" has gloriously come to an end. We have lost all of our preference points, they are all gone. We drew that tag, that beautiful, wonderful tag. We are headed back to our favorite haunt to pursue the mighty bull of the woods in ________. Now you didn't really think I was gonna tell ya where did ya?
So here's the thing. We applied for this tag May 15. We patiently, well not very patiently, wait until mid June to find out the results. Then, having heard the fantastic news, we now have to wait and wait and wait until the end of October before we can finally be in the woods. So in the meantime, we plan and we plan and we search for that new piece of gear that we are just certain we cannot make it through another season without.
We'll continue emailing each other weekly if not more often with silly emails like; "wapiti, wapiti,wapiti" and "the elk are where you find em" or "it's just 17 weeks until Elk season". We seem to be acting very strangely, very strangely indeed. Our families and friends are beginning to wonder if we are completely certifiable or just plain ole nuts! Our thoughts drift off to mountain and meadow, to stream and wallow, to trails and rocks, to Bulls and, well, Bulls. Our evenings are spent pouring over "Bugle" magazine and reading short stories by Jim Zumbo (our hero). It is only July, and I fear that by late August there will be a very serious need to begin a new chapter of Elkaholic Anonymous. There will likely need to be an intervention as well, and maybe even the reading of a self-help book or two.
This Elk camp can not come along too soon. We will be ready, we will be lean, mean, Elk huntin' machines. Our minds and bodies will be fit and prepared to encounter the wilds and successfully bring meaning to the ceremonial hanging of the meat pole, which cannot be done without the ceremonial meat pole dance. Brad always leads the dance. He is a dancin fool, even performs a nightly snow dance until the flakes begin to fall, but that is a tale to be told at a later date.
Anxious, yeah I'd say so. This is the year, the year of the "Any Bull" hunt. This is the year we have been hoping for, praying for, searching for and yearning for. And it is still three plus months away. Will we survive until Elk camp? We'd better, cause, well, this is the year!!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
A Great Friend Passes On
I haven't been very faithful of late in sharing with you all about Elk camp and what makes Elk camp so doggone enticingly interesting. One of my huntin' buddies, Randy, sent me an email the other day that reminded me of so many absolutely hilarious and heart warming moments spent at camp. This email message was sent to let me know that one of our own had passed. Never again will Elk camp be quite the same, even though Rosco had not been out on the mountain for a few years now, we never failed to spend a moment or two each day reminiscing about our dear old friend.
Rosce started showing up at camp when he was just a pup. A ball of fur, chocolate lab, happy to just be there, pup. Always up to something and keeping those big ole "don't you really want to scratch my belly" eyes right on whoever was nearby. Now Rosco had a boy, named Ryan, and Ryan loved this ole lab just as much as a boy could possibly love a dog, and Rosco loved him back just as strong.
Now to illustrate this, I gotta share a story that was passed on to me. Ryan and his best friend and huntin' & fishin' partner were out huntin' ducks, as they often did on an Autumn weekend and along with them, of course, was Rosco. They were huntin along the river bottom and along the old railroad track near home having a great time shootin' ducks, watchin' Rosco retrieve and generally havin' as good a time as a couple of teenage outdoor types could have. Now this was all about to come to one real abrupt close, when to all of their surprise, a big ole Mountain Lion decided that this here trail along the railroad line was his and he wasn't interested in sharing it. This big ole tom has his ears laid back and his teeth bared and he is just about to have a real up close and personal pounce on these boys when Rosco jumps right in between the cat and the surprised hunters. Well here's the deal, this here Chocolate Lab would have gladly sacrificed himself for these young fellers, but because the boys were able to both unload their shotguns into the cat, Rosco was spared. Now I ask ya, can you have a better friend than this? I think not!
Rosco was protective for sure. He even protected entire meadows from invaders who dared to think that it would be all right to set up camp too close to his people's camp. We had been up at camp for 3 or 4 days, gettin ready for the upcoming opening morning. We had hauled wood, scouted for Wapiti, readied our packs, studied the maps, and just generally allowed the joy of all that is Elk camp to soak in. On the afternoon before opening morning we were all sittin around camp tellin tales and havin good ole belly laughs, when along comes this early 70's chevy pickup with a canopy on back, it slows down and the occupants take a gander at OUR meadow and then they drive on by. We commence to sayin things like; whew, sure glad they went on by, and looks like we've still got the meadow to ourselves, when here comes this ole truck again. This time they pause for a few seconds and pull on ito the meadow and start in to gettin ready to set up their camp, in OUR meadow. These fellers spread out their tent and are about to start puttin' it up, when along comes our dear friend Rosco. Well, he plants himself right smack dab in the middle of the canvas and starts in to barking. Now Rosco does not have a soft little bark, nor does he have a rather normal bark. This guy has a big ole deep chested, I mean business, type of bark. He's standing his ground and has the invaders standin back not knowin what to do. Here's where this gets funny! Randy's wife comes over to him as he sits there in his camp chair and says "aren't you going to do something", and Randy remarks, quite simply and very matter of factly "nope, he's just protecting our privacy". Well, he eventually calls Rosco off, and we have a chat with the invaders, who are darned apologetic about being invaders. They seem like pretty decent fellers and I guess they figured we were as well. Anyway, we shared OUR meadow, and had to remind ole Rosco now and then that it was gonna be okay. They were only there for a couple of days and then the meadow was back to normal.
I'll share more about Rosco later, but I sure hope you get the idea about what kind of friend he was. We miss him dearly, and we'll share Rosco stories at every Elk camp from now until we can't get up on the hill anymore. Rest in Peace ole friend, you were like no other.
Rosce started showing up at camp when he was just a pup. A ball of fur, chocolate lab, happy to just be there, pup. Always up to something and keeping those big ole "don't you really want to scratch my belly" eyes right on whoever was nearby. Now Rosco had a boy, named Ryan, and Ryan loved this ole lab just as much as a boy could possibly love a dog, and Rosco loved him back just as strong.
Now to illustrate this, I gotta share a story that was passed on to me. Ryan and his best friend and huntin' & fishin' partner were out huntin' ducks, as they often did on an Autumn weekend and along with them, of course, was Rosco. They were huntin along the river bottom and along the old railroad track near home having a great time shootin' ducks, watchin' Rosco retrieve and generally havin' as good a time as a couple of teenage outdoor types could have. Now this was all about to come to one real abrupt close, when to all of their surprise, a big ole Mountain Lion decided that this here trail along the railroad line was his and he wasn't interested in sharing it. This big ole tom has his ears laid back and his teeth bared and he is just about to have a real up close and personal pounce on these boys when Rosco jumps right in between the cat and the surprised hunters. Well here's the deal, this here Chocolate Lab would have gladly sacrificed himself for these young fellers, but because the boys were able to both unload their shotguns into the cat, Rosco was spared. Now I ask ya, can you have a better friend than this? I think not!
Rosco was protective for sure. He even protected entire meadows from invaders who dared to think that it would be all right to set up camp too close to his people's camp. We had been up at camp for 3 or 4 days, gettin ready for the upcoming opening morning. We had hauled wood, scouted for Wapiti, readied our packs, studied the maps, and just generally allowed the joy of all that is Elk camp to soak in. On the afternoon before opening morning we were all sittin around camp tellin tales and havin good ole belly laughs, when along comes this early 70's chevy pickup with a canopy on back, it slows down and the occupants take a gander at OUR meadow and then they drive on by. We commence to sayin things like; whew, sure glad they went on by, and looks like we've still got the meadow to ourselves, when here comes this ole truck again. This time they pause for a few seconds and pull on ito the meadow and start in to gettin ready to set up their camp, in OUR meadow. These fellers spread out their tent and are about to start puttin' it up, when along comes our dear friend Rosco. Well, he plants himself right smack dab in the middle of the canvas and starts in to barking. Now Rosco does not have a soft little bark, nor does he have a rather normal bark. This guy has a big ole deep chested, I mean business, type of bark. He's standing his ground and has the invaders standin back not knowin what to do. Here's where this gets funny! Randy's wife comes over to him as he sits there in his camp chair and says "aren't you going to do something", and Randy remarks, quite simply and very matter of factly "nope, he's just protecting our privacy". Well, he eventually calls Rosco off, and we have a chat with the invaders, who are darned apologetic about being invaders. They seem like pretty decent fellers and I guess they figured we were as well. Anyway, we shared OUR meadow, and had to remind ole Rosco now and then that it was gonna be okay. They were only there for a couple of days and then the meadow was back to normal.
I'll share more about Rosco later, but I sure hope you get the idea about what kind of friend he was. We miss him dearly, and we'll share Rosco stories at every Elk camp from now until we can't get up on the hill anymore. Rest in Peace ole friend, you were like no other.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Wall Tent Experience Begins
Welcome Elk Hunters and those of you who do not hunt elk end even you folks out there that just wanna be elk hunters. You know, there are all types of elk camps. There are those that say they are camping, really believe they are camping, and yet, they come up into the woods with a bloomin' "hotel on wheels". I'm not kiddin' ya either. Here I am bumpin' along some mountain road in a 4x4 rig, and I'm way off the main track. I come up over this rise and right there in the middle of a meadow is a big ole bus. Now I'm not talking about some worn out old converted school bus here, I'm tellin ya this bus is 13' tall and 8' wide and it's got 4 tip outs and enough storage space under it to hold 4 or 5 elk camps. I've just been down this road you see, and after traveling this track, I can't figure how on earth these guys got this monstrosity in there. But none-the-less, there it is, and it just aint right. Elk camps are supposed to be, well, elk camps, not luxury apartments with 2 bedrooms and a 42" big screen. Heck, this thing probably has better accomodations than a 5-star resort. Oh yeah, speaking of 5-star resorts, a REAL elk camp is just that and more, but it doesn't start out that way. It takes years of collecting, planning, accumulating and dreaming to produce the ultimate 5-star elk camp.
You may remember the tale of our first wall tent experience. We refer to it as "Elk Camp Blown Away". Anyway, it does get better, not right away, but boy does it get better. See after the "Blown Away" experience we figured that maybe, just maybe, wall tents weren't the thing for us. So we opted for the travel trailer method of setting up elk camp. This isn't necessarily a bad camp, but it sure leaves a few things to be desired. We start headin to the woods with an old 13' pull camper that has just about enough room for two people, but there's like 3 or 4 folks tryin to use this thing. It isn't too bad when you are asleep, but that being awake part where you are tryin to keep hunting clothes and boots dry and find a place to sit and cook dinner and, well you get the picture. So we move on to bigger trailers, yes I said trailers. You might have thought that we'd just try using one bigger trailer, but no. I kid you not there was one year when we headed to the mountains, and there are four of us, pulling 3 travel trailers. That's right, no more sittin on top of each other and bumpin into skillets and guns and whatever else is in the way. We pull into our favorite meadow with a 21', a 19' and a 14' trailer. Here's what's real funny, the smallest of the three trailers is housing 2 guys. Problem with this setup is that no matter how hard you try, there just isn't a good place to really get wet clothes and gear dried out in a trailer. So..........next year we get this great idea. Remember the old green wall tent that was handed down from my dad? Well, we decide that we are gonna take this tent to the hills with us and use it as a dining hall/place to dry clothes.
Now we have a camp that looks like there must be 10 or 12 hunters hangin out there, but in reality we have now begun the quest to become the "More Crap Per Capita" elk camp than any other seen in these woods. Yup, it is the same four guys, only now we have 3 travel trailers and a wall tent. This is really gettin ridiculous, but we don't care, this is our home in the woods and we love it. And it isn't just trailers and a tent, we just have to add some other piece of gear or a couple or three pieces of gear every year. Now this is real fun! Ya just never know what your huntin buddies are gonna show up with. Heck, this crew starts thinkin about the next elk camp just about as soon as the one we just left get stowed away. Sometimes I figure I just survive from one elk camp to the next one. One of these days I'll tell you more about how our elk camp has evolved. Needless to say, it just keeps gettin better, and if you've ever had some good huntin buddies and a comfy camp, you know just what I mean, so until next time, get to planning for next season.
You may remember the tale of our first wall tent experience. We refer to it as "Elk Camp Blown Away". Anyway, it does get better, not right away, but boy does it get better. See after the "Blown Away" experience we figured that maybe, just maybe, wall tents weren't the thing for us. So we opted for the travel trailer method of setting up elk camp. This isn't necessarily a bad camp, but it sure leaves a few things to be desired. We start headin to the woods with an old 13' pull camper that has just about enough room for two people, but there's like 3 or 4 folks tryin to use this thing. It isn't too bad when you are asleep, but that being awake part where you are tryin to keep hunting clothes and boots dry and find a place to sit and cook dinner and, well you get the picture. So we move on to bigger trailers, yes I said trailers. You might have thought that we'd just try using one bigger trailer, but no. I kid you not there was one year when we headed to the mountains, and there are four of us, pulling 3 travel trailers. That's right, no more sittin on top of each other and bumpin into skillets and guns and whatever else is in the way. We pull into our favorite meadow with a 21', a 19' and a 14' trailer. Here's what's real funny, the smallest of the three trailers is housing 2 guys. Problem with this setup is that no matter how hard you try, there just isn't a good place to really get wet clothes and gear dried out in a trailer. So..........next year we get this great idea. Remember the old green wall tent that was handed down from my dad? Well, we decide that we are gonna take this tent to the hills with us and use it as a dining hall/place to dry clothes.
Now we have a camp that looks like there must be 10 or 12 hunters hangin out there, but in reality we have now begun the quest to become the "More Crap Per Capita" elk camp than any other seen in these woods. Yup, it is the same four guys, only now we have 3 travel trailers and a wall tent. This is really gettin ridiculous, but we don't care, this is our home in the woods and we love it. And it isn't just trailers and a tent, we just have to add some other piece of gear or a couple or three pieces of gear every year. Now this is real fun! Ya just never know what your huntin buddies are gonna show up with. Heck, this crew starts thinkin about the next elk camp just about as soon as the one we just left get stowed away. Sometimes I figure I just survive from one elk camp to the next one. One of these days I'll tell you more about how our elk camp has evolved. Needless to say, it just keeps gettin better, and if you've ever had some good huntin buddies and a comfy camp, you know just what I mean, so until next time, get to planning for next season.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Bung Fodder Blues
Have you ever had them, the Bung Fodder Blues? If you have, you know what I'm referring to and you'd just as soon never have the "Blues" again. Now this malady can only present itself to its fullest and most memorable extent when you find yourself in the great out of doors, in need of doing something that is usually done indoors, and, worst of all, you are completely bereft of the one thing you really, really, need. Yes, Bung Fodder.
Now Bung Fodder has been known by many names. There's toilet paper, TP, hunter's money, rolled relief, and the list goes on. But, no matter what the name, it is, although not found in the Boy Scout list of "10 essentials", definately an essential. Without this essential, one can only seek for a replacement Bung Fodder such as leaves, grass, sagebrush (I know this sounds a bit rough, but in much of eastern Oregon, it may be the only vegitation of choice.
Shoot, it only takes one of these memorable events, or at least that's all it should take, to make an outdoorsman(woman) keep Bung Fodder handy at all times. Whether you keep Bung Fodder in your pocket, in your pack, or under your hat, just make sure you have it. There are a few other helpful hints that you should take heed of.
First of all, don't just wad the stuff up and shove it in your fanny pack to rattle around half the day with your knife, matches, binos, compass, lunch, and whatever else you have in there. You've got to roll the Bung Fodder off the roll, or you just save up the last 10% - 20% of your household Bung Fodder, still on the roll and keep some spares for your next outing. Easy to handle, and easy to take care of. Second, and this is really, really important, put the Bung Fodder in a Zippy bag for crying out loud. Can't you almost feel the despair, after finding the perfect spot to make a deposit in the soil bank, as you reach for your cherished Bung Fodder only to find that it is in withered tatters due to being soaked from a leaky canteen, or from the storm earlier in the day that soaked your pack.
Now here is the third thing you must at least consider. Do take along roughly twice the amount of Bung Fodder as you think you'll need. See, here's the deal. We all know what hunting camp meals can contain. Not all of the meals, mind you, but lets be realistic, how many times do you make it through a week's worth of hunting camp without at least one meal consisting of, yes, I'll say it, BEANS. I don't know why, but this is some sort of food staple at camp, usually accompanied by spicy chips and salsa and washed down with a beer or two. So, without going into any more detail, you must understand why item #3 is an important one to remember. Without it, you will undoubtedly suffer, sooner or later, from the Bung Fodder Blues.
And #4. This I add because it is a pet peeve. I do love the great outdoors. Making the effort to log many thousands of steps each hunting season to do my best to avoid those who don't venture too far from the blacktop, it is a disappointment at best to find the litter that those less concerned leave behind. My hunting partners and myself often take the extra effort to haul off cans and candy wrappers and other garbage we find as we are out and about. The worst has to be finding someones "leavings" that include Bung Fodder. Kick a hole in the dirt and cover yer "leavings" with brush or pine needles or something for cryin out loud!
OK, off of my soapbox for a minute. Back to the "Bung Fodder Blues". Have you had them, these "blues". I think you have, yep, I believe I can hear you chuckling out there. Sure, it wasn't funny then, but, and be honest now, it is a bit humerous now, Huh?
Train up those young outdoors types right. Get em to understand that "I don't need to go" is not a good excuse to be without that most desired of essentials. It is "essentially" this, keep it handy, or you too will suffer from this horrible malady. THE BUNG FODDER BLUES.
Now Bung Fodder has been known by many names. There's toilet paper, TP, hunter's money, rolled relief, and the list goes on. But, no matter what the name, it is, although not found in the Boy Scout list of "10 essentials", definately an essential. Without this essential, one can only seek for a replacement Bung Fodder such as leaves, grass, sagebrush (I know this sounds a bit rough, but in much of eastern Oregon, it may be the only vegitation of choice.
Shoot, it only takes one of these memorable events, or at least that's all it should take, to make an outdoorsman(woman) keep Bung Fodder handy at all times. Whether you keep Bung Fodder in your pocket, in your pack, or under your hat, just make sure you have it. There are a few other helpful hints that you should take heed of.
First of all, don't just wad the stuff up and shove it in your fanny pack to rattle around half the day with your knife, matches, binos, compass, lunch, and whatever else you have in there. You've got to roll the Bung Fodder off the roll, or you just save up the last 10% - 20% of your household Bung Fodder, still on the roll and keep some spares for your next outing. Easy to handle, and easy to take care of. Second, and this is really, really important, put the Bung Fodder in a Zippy bag for crying out loud. Can't you almost feel the despair, after finding the perfect spot to make a deposit in the soil bank, as you reach for your cherished Bung Fodder only to find that it is in withered tatters due to being soaked from a leaky canteen, or from the storm earlier in the day that soaked your pack.
Now here is the third thing you must at least consider. Do take along roughly twice the amount of Bung Fodder as you think you'll need. See, here's the deal. We all know what hunting camp meals can contain. Not all of the meals, mind you, but lets be realistic, how many times do you make it through a week's worth of hunting camp without at least one meal consisting of, yes, I'll say it, BEANS. I don't know why, but this is some sort of food staple at camp, usually accompanied by spicy chips and salsa and washed down with a beer or two. So, without going into any more detail, you must understand why item #3 is an important one to remember. Without it, you will undoubtedly suffer, sooner or later, from the Bung Fodder Blues.
And #4. This I add because it is a pet peeve. I do love the great outdoors. Making the effort to log many thousands of steps each hunting season to do my best to avoid those who don't venture too far from the blacktop, it is a disappointment at best to find the litter that those less concerned leave behind. My hunting partners and myself often take the extra effort to haul off cans and candy wrappers and other garbage we find as we are out and about. The worst has to be finding someones "leavings" that include Bung Fodder. Kick a hole in the dirt and cover yer "leavings" with brush or pine needles or something for cryin out loud!
OK, off of my soapbox for a minute. Back to the "Bung Fodder Blues". Have you had them, these "blues". I think you have, yep, I believe I can hear you chuckling out there. Sure, it wasn't funny then, but, and be honest now, it is a bit humerous now, Huh?
Train up those young outdoors types right. Get em to understand that "I don't need to go" is not a good excuse to be without that most desired of essentials. It is "essentially" this, keep it handy, or you too will suffer from this horrible malady. THE BUNG FODDER BLUES.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
THE BOX IN THE TRAIL
Now this has just got to raise the interest level of the reader of this little tale. A box you say? In the trail? Must me something somebody dropped out of their pack when they were fishin' around in it trying find the bung fodder. I'll go into the necessity of ample bung fodder some other time, for now, lets get back to "the box in the trail". I'm pretty certain that this here box was not in this particular location by accident. In fact, I can't figure out, for the life of me, why on earth it was there, but there it was, big as life, surely planted where someone would find it. Thats where Randy and I come into the picture.
We had, or Randy had I should say, gotten a cow elk on opening morning. As a side note, this guy (I'm talkin bout Randy) seems to be in the right place on a pretty darn regular basis. Now I don't know if it is because he is such a masterful hunter or if he's just plain lucky either way, the elk seem to be drawn to him. What I'm finally beginning to figure out is that I should just stay close, maybe it'll rub off me someday, please someday soon.....
Well anyway, we get this cow back to camp on Randy's mechanical horse, some people know em as quads or 4-wheelers, and get her up on the meat pole. After this the elk seem to be pretty scarce. We've hiked and glassed and hiked and glassed and, well, you get the picture. We aren't seeing critters. So about the 5th day of the season we figure it's time to check out another place to hike and glass, yup, same thing different place. We drive down the road a piece and stop off at a locked gate, we do this a lot, and head off down an old loggin skiff. Now its a nice day, not too cold and the ground is quiet, but no snow. We walk for a while and then stop and glass the far wall of the canyon below, lookin' for any sign of life. There's ravens and squirrels and chipmunks, but no elk, looks like yet another day void of our quarry, so after checking this spot out for a half hour or so we move on. We've been following this loggin' skiff for the better part of an hour now when we come across this box. Not just any box, but a sealed beam box. I spose there are a lot of you out there that aren't familiar with the term 'sealed beam.' Well a sealed beam is a headlight for a car. Not really all that long ago, we didn't have just a bulb that you twist into the headlight assembly, NO we used to have to remove 3-4 screws and unplug this big lamp called a sealed beam. Then you put the new one in and put the screws back in and you have to adjust the beam so it isn't shining too high or too low or too right or, whatever.
Back to the box. This thing is setting there, right in the middle of the trail, like someone had carefully and meticulously placed it where someone would find it. We stop and start lookin at the thing, its all closed up nice and neat like and appears to be in pretty good shape. After a bit I say, "why don't you open it". "Naw" Randy replies, "not sure I want to know what's in there". "Aw c'mon" I add. "You open it" he says. To tell you the truth, I honestly don't remember who opened this thing, but I do remember the surprise we got.
Now picture this, we are about an hours walk from the truck, down this ole loggin' skiff which has pretty much turned into a trail. We come across this box, which, when it is opened reveals, now this is the honest truth, six sets of buck deer genitalia. Yup, deer balls, a sealed beam box clear full of papa deer's family jewels. Six of em! I know, this sounds like a tall tale, but who could possibly make this one up. Back in those days I didn't carry a camera with me, and I have wished ever since that I did. I still have a couple questions.
#1 Who on earth goes to the trouble of boxin' up 6 sets of deer jewels in a sealed beam box and hauls em out on a point and sets em in the middle of the trail for me and Randy to stumble upon?
#2 Where was this yahoo sittin' as he watched us argue over who was gonna open the confounded box and see our faces as we discovered the surprise contents?
I figure we were being watched, cause what fun would it be to plant this thing if you didn't get to watch the show. I'll probably never know the answer to either question, but if you do, let me know.
We had, or Randy had I should say, gotten a cow elk on opening morning. As a side note, this guy (I'm talkin bout Randy) seems to be in the right place on a pretty darn regular basis. Now I don't know if it is because he is such a masterful hunter or if he's just plain lucky either way, the elk seem to be drawn to him. What I'm finally beginning to figure out is that I should just stay close, maybe it'll rub off me someday, please someday soon.....
Well anyway, we get this cow back to camp on Randy's mechanical horse, some people know em as quads or 4-wheelers, and get her up on the meat pole. After this the elk seem to be pretty scarce. We've hiked and glassed and hiked and glassed and, well, you get the picture. We aren't seeing critters. So about the 5th day of the season we figure it's time to check out another place to hike and glass, yup, same thing different place. We drive down the road a piece and stop off at a locked gate, we do this a lot, and head off down an old loggin skiff. Now its a nice day, not too cold and the ground is quiet, but no snow. We walk for a while and then stop and glass the far wall of the canyon below, lookin' for any sign of life. There's ravens and squirrels and chipmunks, but no elk, looks like yet another day void of our quarry, so after checking this spot out for a half hour or so we move on. We've been following this loggin' skiff for the better part of an hour now when we come across this box. Not just any box, but a sealed beam box. I spose there are a lot of you out there that aren't familiar with the term 'sealed beam.' Well a sealed beam is a headlight for a car. Not really all that long ago, we didn't have just a bulb that you twist into the headlight assembly, NO we used to have to remove 3-4 screws and unplug this big lamp called a sealed beam. Then you put the new one in and put the screws back in and you have to adjust the beam so it isn't shining too high or too low or too right or, whatever.
Back to the box. This thing is setting there, right in the middle of the trail, like someone had carefully and meticulously placed it where someone would find it. We stop and start lookin at the thing, its all closed up nice and neat like and appears to be in pretty good shape. After a bit I say, "why don't you open it". "Naw" Randy replies, "not sure I want to know what's in there". "Aw c'mon" I add. "You open it" he says. To tell you the truth, I honestly don't remember who opened this thing, but I do remember the surprise we got.
Now picture this, we are about an hours walk from the truck, down this ole loggin' skiff which has pretty much turned into a trail. We come across this box, which, when it is opened reveals, now this is the honest truth, six sets of buck deer genitalia. Yup, deer balls, a sealed beam box clear full of papa deer's family jewels. Six of em! I know, this sounds like a tall tale, but who could possibly make this one up. Back in those days I didn't carry a camera with me, and I have wished ever since that I did. I still have a couple questions.
#1 Who on earth goes to the trouble of boxin' up 6 sets of deer jewels in a sealed beam box and hauls em out on a point and sets em in the middle of the trail for me and Randy to stumble upon?
#2 Where was this yahoo sittin' as he watched us argue over who was gonna open the confounded box and see our faces as we discovered the surprise contents?
I figure we were being watched, cause what fun would it be to plant this thing if you didn't get to watch the show. I'll probably never know the answer to either question, but if you do, let me know.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
What is that Aroma Anyway?
Have you ever caught a whiff of something that you just wish you had been upwind of rather than on the downwind side? Yeah, I can almost see you wrinkling up your nose as you remember how your nostril hairs were burning. Not an aroma you want to remember, is it?
I had one of those experiences out on the side of a big ole canyon one really chilly, no, downright cold morning while I was a watchin for wapiti. Now it was quite a hike down into this hole, so even though the mercury was hanging out well below the freezing level, just the moving about was enough to keep me warm. Thats all good and well as long as the moving about part is still happening, but I've reached my destination. I've been planning on heading down to this ole log on the side of the canyon to set my tail down and glass the openings on the far face. So, sit down I did. And I sat, and I glassed, and I waited............repeat.............repeat (getting chilly)..........repeat (cold now)...........repeat (okay, I'm freezin'). I gotta do somethin' different, but I know this is the spot to be (why I don't remember, but I just knew).
Well, I can't leave, I need to stick to my preminitions. So I get this idea, why not build a little warming fire. I know, fire tells the critters that man is around, but dog-gone-it, I'm COLD. So into my fanny pack I dig. Yep, right where I figured it was was my fire starter and some matches in a waterproof container. Let's see, I figure, what can I find here on this canyon wall to burn. I scrounged some grass and twigs and needles and a couple fair sized sticks, but not enough to make a fire warm enough to get me thawed out good.
Then it hit me, why not light this ole log on fire? I get my gathered kindling together inside this log and, daydreaming about someplace warm, I light it. Now this fire doesn't take off right away, it just smolders and spits and coughs up a little smoke, and yep, you guessed it, it smelled a little funny too. I'm not too worried about the smell though, cause remember, I'm COLD. I choked back the tears and blow on the fire to get it going and pretty soon I've got, not a fire, but a real stinkin, rotten, smellin, smoke emitting, thing to get away from. But, I don't, cause yup, I'm COLD.
Now, down the canyon a ways are my buddies. I know they're down there, but what I don't know is that this retched smoke is starting to affect them as well. They do figure out that something is burning, and they just hafta come see what is so bloomin' aromatic. Along they come, Brad and Randy, my hunting partners through thick and thin. Only the best of buddies will go toward this smell for you, or, they are a bit deranged. Or in this case, probably a little of both.
They've been moving, so they aren't COLD like me, and they can't for the life of em figure out why on earth I'm cuddled up so close to this smoldering log of reeking whatever it is. They back off and convince me that if I don't get out of there I'll smell just like that log for the duration of elk season.
So here's the thing, I truly believe that this ole log, all by itself on the side of the canyon wall, must be the only thing that the resident black bear can find to mark his territory on. I've never burned bear scat, and I don't think I'll ever try to, but if I do, I'm pretty certain it will smell like that ole log, and me too, for the duration of elk season.
I had one of those experiences out on the side of a big ole canyon one really chilly, no, downright cold morning while I was a watchin for wapiti. Now it was quite a hike down into this hole, so even though the mercury was hanging out well below the freezing level, just the moving about was enough to keep me warm. Thats all good and well as long as the moving about part is still happening, but I've reached my destination. I've been planning on heading down to this ole log on the side of the canyon to set my tail down and glass the openings on the far face. So, sit down I did. And I sat, and I glassed, and I waited............repeat.............repeat (getting chilly)..........repeat (cold now)...........repeat (okay, I'm freezin'). I gotta do somethin' different, but I know this is the spot to be (why I don't remember, but I just knew).
Well, I can't leave, I need to stick to my preminitions. So I get this idea, why not build a little warming fire. I know, fire tells the critters that man is around, but dog-gone-it, I'm COLD. So into my fanny pack I dig. Yep, right where I figured it was was my fire starter and some matches in a waterproof container. Let's see, I figure, what can I find here on this canyon wall to burn. I scrounged some grass and twigs and needles and a couple fair sized sticks, but not enough to make a fire warm enough to get me thawed out good.
Then it hit me, why not light this ole log on fire? I get my gathered kindling together inside this log and, daydreaming about someplace warm, I light it. Now this fire doesn't take off right away, it just smolders and spits and coughs up a little smoke, and yep, you guessed it, it smelled a little funny too. I'm not too worried about the smell though, cause remember, I'm COLD. I choked back the tears and blow on the fire to get it going and pretty soon I've got, not a fire, but a real stinkin, rotten, smellin, smoke emitting, thing to get away from. But, I don't, cause yup, I'm COLD.
Now, down the canyon a ways are my buddies. I know they're down there, but what I don't know is that this retched smoke is starting to affect them as well. They do figure out that something is burning, and they just hafta come see what is so bloomin' aromatic. Along they come, Brad and Randy, my hunting partners through thick and thin. Only the best of buddies will go toward this smell for you, or, they are a bit deranged. Or in this case, probably a little of both.
They've been moving, so they aren't COLD like me, and they can't for the life of em figure out why on earth I'm cuddled up so close to this smoldering log of reeking whatever it is. They back off and convince me that if I don't get out of there I'll smell just like that log for the duration of elk season.
So here's the thing, I truly believe that this ole log, all by itself on the side of the canyon wall, must be the only thing that the resident black bear can find to mark his territory on. I've never burned bear scat, and I don't think I'll ever try to, but if I do, I'm pretty certain it will smell like that ole log, and me too, for the duration of elk season.
Elk Camp Trickery
Several years back, back when it was always possible to hunt the second Oregon elk season if you didn't draw a first season tag, we were camped at our favorite meadow which we shared with a group from Ashland, Or. We set up camp on the North side of the meadow and for 3-4 years in a row the Ashland party set up on the South side.
Since it gets dark early, and we weren't exactly filling tags in a big hurry, we took to wandering back and forth across the meadow and sharing tales of the day's events. Of course, we were careful not to divulge too much information regarding the whats, wheres and hows of our day and I'm pretty certain that the tales we were hearing left out a tidbit or two as well.
It was an unseasonably warm second elk season, you see ussually the second week of November brings some snow and frost and a bit of the brisk breeze that lets you know that winter is not all that far off. Now the good thing about having some "weather" is that it tends to make the animals move around a bit and start looking for greener pastures at lower elevations. Well this particular season we spent most of our days wearing just our shirtsleeves or maybe a light jacket. The thermometer actually streched all the way up into the 60's, so when we made our trek accross the meadow to "share" with the Albany party, it was mostly to complain about the weather and not seeing anything remotely resembling an elk. The banter typically ended up with a "good luck tomorrow" or a "we'll find one first" or some such comment that by the third day, no-one was believing.
Well, along comes the fourth, or was it the fifth, day of way too warm weather. We tramped through the dry and crackling woods until we had just about had all we could stand of wishing there was a pool and a cool drink around. We had hiked out of camp that morning, so were on foot all day. As we entered the meadow about midway between the two camps we couldn't help but notice that something was different over on the Albany side of things. Could it be, yup it sure was, naw can't be, but yes it was, there was something hanging from their meat pole.
Now Randy and I had covered a whole lot of territory and we hadn't seen animals, we hadn't seen tracks, we hadn't even seen elk pellets that were remotely fresh. Just so you know, it is not customary to walk into someone else's camp if they aren't around. This is just an unwritten rule that gets followed pretty darn well by elk hunters everywhere, but we were pretty doggone curious.... We resisted temptation and headed to our camp to offload our gear and get a cool drink, still no pool to relax by. We're sittin there talkin about where on earth those fellas from Albany had come across an elk, and we just can't seem to figure it out. Now the more we talk, the more we get curious about what they've got hangin in the tree. You know, is it a 4-pt, a 5-pt, or a big bull, or ?? We can see that they musta left the head on the animal, cause we can make out some antler times hangin out the bottom of the game bag, but it's partially blocked and we just can't tell what it is. Dang it all anyway, those Albanians still aren't back to camp! Well the curiosity got the best of us and off we went to check out another elk camp..........
We get closer and we can tell that yep, fer sure, there is definately something hangin. When we get within about 20 yards we figure it out.......We'd Been Had!! Those Albanians had found a deer carcass and absconded with the antlers. Then they took an "Elk Sized" game bag and filled it full of sticks & twigs and pine needles and moss and whatever it took to "fill" it up. Finally, the tied the absconded antlers to the bottom of the bag. Crapola, they had gotten to know us too well, they knew we'd crumble and and come wandering across that meadow to see their "Elk".
Now we knew we would have to come clean on this, cause it was a pretty good prank, and they deserved their kudos. That evening when they made it back to camp we all shared a drink together and a whole lot of laughter. That was the last year the Albany party showed up in the meadow, we haven't heard from em since. They sure left us with a memory though. Dadgum Albanians anyway....................
Since it gets dark early, and we weren't exactly filling tags in a big hurry, we took to wandering back and forth across the meadow and sharing tales of the day's events. Of course, we were careful not to divulge too much information regarding the whats, wheres and hows of our day and I'm pretty certain that the tales we were hearing left out a tidbit or two as well.
It was an unseasonably warm second elk season, you see ussually the second week of November brings some snow and frost and a bit of the brisk breeze that lets you know that winter is not all that far off. Now the good thing about having some "weather" is that it tends to make the animals move around a bit and start looking for greener pastures at lower elevations. Well this particular season we spent most of our days wearing just our shirtsleeves or maybe a light jacket. The thermometer actually streched all the way up into the 60's, so when we made our trek accross the meadow to "share" with the Albany party, it was mostly to complain about the weather and not seeing anything remotely resembling an elk. The banter typically ended up with a "good luck tomorrow" or a "we'll find one first" or some such comment that by the third day, no-one was believing.
Well, along comes the fourth, or was it the fifth, day of way too warm weather. We tramped through the dry and crackling woods until we had just about had all we could stand of wishing there was a pool and a cool drink around. We had hiked out of camp that morning, so were on foot all day. As we entered the meadow about midway between the two camps we couldn't help but notice that something was different over on the Albany side of things. Could it be, yup it sure was, naw can't be, but yes it was, there was something hanging from their meat pole.
Now Randy and I had covered a whole lot of territory and we hadn't seen animals, we hadn't seen tracks, we hadn't even seen elk pellets that were remotely fresh. Just so you know, it is not customary to walk into someone else's camp if they aren't around. This is just an unwritten rule that gets followed pretty darn well by elk hunters everywhere, but we were pretty doggone curious.... We resisted temptation and headed to our camp to offload our gear and get a cool drink, still no pool to relax by. We're sittin there talkin about where on earth those fellas from Albany had come across an elk, and we just can't seem to figure it out. Now the more we talk, the more we get curious about what they've got hangin in the tree. You know, is it a 4-pt, a 5-pt, or a big bull, or ?? We can see that they musta left the head on the animal, cause we can make out some antler times hangin out the bottom of the game bag, but it's partially blocked and we just can't tell what it is. Dang it all anyway, those Albanians still aren't back to camp! Well the curiosity got the best of us and off we went to check out another elk camp..........
We get closer and we can tell that yep, fer sure, there is definately something hangin. When we get within about 20 yards we figure it out.......We'd Been Had!! Those Albanians had found a deer carcass and absconded with the antlers. Then they took an "Elk Sized" game bag and filled it full of sticks & twigs and pine needles and moss and whatever it took to "fill" it up. Finally, the tied the absconded antlers to the bottom of the bag. Crapola, they had gotten to know us too well, they knew we'd crumble and and come wandering across that meadow to see their "Elk".
Now we knew we would have to come clean on this, cause it was a pretty good prank, and they deserved their kudos. That evening when they made it back to camp we all shared a drink together and a whole lot of laughter. That was the last year the Albany party showed up in the meadow, we haven't heard from em since. They sure left us with a memory though. Dadgum Albanians anyway....................
Monday, January 5, 2009
Elk Camp Blown Away
Well, I'm pretty new at this, so check out the comment on the first post. Yeah, I'm too lazy to figure out how to paste it here
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