Bow Hunting Escapades in the Cascades

I started bow hunting when I was thirteen years old. I used a 45 pound bow and practiced in our yard. We put some targets up on some cedar bales and practiced all the time. I thought I was a pretty good shot… until it came to shooting at deer.


My brother (one of the five) had a membership to an archery range and we went and practiced there with him every now and then.


I really enjoyed shooting the hand-me-down bow and honing my archery skills.


The first year I bow hunted I actually got a doe on the first day! That is a story I will write about another time.


One day I was accompanying one of my brothers as he bow hunted for blacktail deer. I think it was the same year I harvested my doe, because I wasn’t hunting.


Anyways, we were walking down this road that winded left and right through some mature timbers and slightly down hill. All of the sudden my we saw a buck trotting through the trees just around a bend in the road. So my brother drew back, took care to lead the animal, and let the arrow fly. Of course in moments like these, time stands still and judging by the trajectory of the arrow it looked like it was going to hit the intended mark, but all of the sudden THWAK… the arrow pegged solidly into the middle of a tree that was about eight to ten inches in diameter about half way between us and the buck.


My brother was disgusted with his luck. But, the buck only trotted off a short distance and then turned back around and ran in the direction it had come from, only this time a little farther away.


My brother and I couldn’t believe that he was going to have another chance at the buck! So, my brother nocked another arrow and drew back, taking careful aim.


When my brother thought the time was right he released the arrow… and again judging by the trajectory of the arrow it seemed that this time he had delivered the fatal shot when… THWAK, his arrow hit the same tree, smack dab in the middle and only about five feet above where the first broadhead had anchored itself.


Now the buck had had enough and escaped unscathed. As you can imagine, my brother was not very happy with his luck.


After the frustration and disbelief wore off a little bit we walked the short distance down the hill and saw that the arrows were out of reach, so my brother gave me a boost and I was able to un-screw the lower arrow from it’s broadhead, which was permanently imbedded in the tree.


So, then I tried for the second arrow, but for some reason my tunnel of vision began closing in and all I could see was a little tunnel of light in each eyeball. I started feeling light-headed and a cold sweat formed on my forehead. My brother let me down and I sat on the ground until I recovered a little. I was now feeling really weak.


So, we called it a day. We never did recover that upper arrow. A couple of years later, they logged that whole area and I always wondered if some logger saw that arrow there in that tree and wondered about the story behind it. I bet he could have never guessed…


Happy Hunting! - nimrod243

Fishing at Foster

My son and I went fishing at Foster Reservoir today. We arrived and noticed that the water lever was back down at the same level it was at in May of this year, so I decided not to go to our secret location on the North side of the lake but to go to the South shore where we fished during May and had a lot of luck. I was kicking myself for not bringing my fly rod. This is the place I like to roll cast some Balls O' Fire Pautzke Salem Eggs and let it slowly sink down and then watch the line go shooting out when a fish takes it. Oh well...

Again, I don't usually fish Foster this time of year, so I was hoping for some fish but not fully expecting to catch any.

We got down to the lake and the water was perfectly calm and reflected the sky like a mirror. The sun came out for a while and we enjoyed the warmth.


About twenty minutes after casting out our lines, my son had a fish on. He reeled it in and it was a big rainbow trout (about 15 inches).

He was using green PowerBait and size 18 treble hooks like we usually do. I was using orange PowerBait. I got a bite right as I was trying to pull the hook out of the fish's mouth. I went over to my pole thinking that I would easily bring in the fish. I think I picked it up a pre-maturely, because after picking up my rod I felt nothing. Oh well, I was sure now that we would have more chances today. The weather was great and we had a couple ours left of daylight still.

And more chances we had, but for some reason we couldn't bring the fish in for one reason or another. My line broke once, my son wasn't paying attention most of the time and I had to tell him when his rod was about to take off into the lake. He would pick it up and there would be nothing there. So, as the sky darkened from an imminent storm, his rod fell over and I yelled at him to grab it, but he didn't grab it fast enough, so I grabbed it and reeled it in. And that was the only other fish we caught today (rainbow trout, about 13 inches long).

Note: At first we were casting out about as far as we could, but one time I was reeling in and I saw a fish chasing the bait less than ten feet from the bank. So, I decided to start casting out in that area and we started getting bites on a more regular basis. But, still, we couldn't bring them in for one reason or another. It was beginning to make me mad, because these fish usually hook themselves and you have to practically pull their guts out to get the hook out of them. It may have been because we were using some older bait that wasn't quite as soft as the fresh stuff.

All the sudden, the wind picked up and it started to rain on us sideways. The wind was blowing so hard that it kept blowing my fishing pole off of the rock it was propped up on. It was miserable and cold and although I would have kept fishing if I'd have been alone, I figured we probably should should go because my son was shaking like a willow in the wind. It was extra hard to leave because the fish started biting like crazy when the wind picked up.

So, hey, the fishing at Foster can be pretty good at Foster in November!

Tight Lines! -nimrod243

Willamette Steel At Last!

It was one of my best fishing days ever. I got up early, in order to make the 45 minute drive to Springfield by 5:30 AM. When I got to my older brother’s house, both he and my younger brother were waiting outside for me. They already had the boat hitched up. We were headed for the mighty Willamette River again. Two weeks prior I had hooked a steelhead and lost him and I had a good feeling about the prospects of hooking another steelhead or two today. Today was a special day because I was going to be fishing with both of my “Oregon” brothers, which unfortunately is somewhat of a rare event. I hope it becomes more frequent as time goes by. Since my older brother bought the drift boat, we have had the pleasure of fishing together a lot more often.

We were down at the boat ramp within minutes and launched the boat as the early morning darkness began to lift. My older brother jumped on the oars and we started across the river as I threaded a coon-stripe shrimp onto my hook. Then, in a somewhat uncharacteristic act of selflessness, I pilfered another from the small jar of brine and threaded it onto my younger brother’s hook, just below the black diver, menacing with it’s yellow eyes (I thought this was a nice touch). We let line out of our reels, closed the bail and then watched the tips of our rods to see if the action on the divers looked right. Not long after that we were on the other side if the river in some excellent looking water and… tap, tap, tap… I had a fish on. It wasn’t a steelhead, but it was a nice fish! I was not upset to reel in an 11 inch cutthroat trout. A great start to a great day. Things were definitely looking quite “fishy”, and what a beautiful morning it was. It was nice and cool at the moment, but promising to be another hot August day.

We drifted down a little farther, and at some point my older brother, between working the oars for us and offering up helpful tips to his amateur steelhead fishing companions, had tossed out his fly line and put his fly rod in a rod holder, letting an Irresistible Adams dry fly skid across the water’s surface about 6-8 feet past the end of the boat. As we approached the head of a big run, all of the sudden, SLAM… a fish nailed the Adams. A big fish was on momentarily, and oh what a strike! That really got me excited. This whole experience of drift fishing is new to me, I was amazed at how the fish had attacked the fly, just feet from the end of the boat. It made me feel delightfully optimistic of my future fishing success.

Not long after that, we continued fishing and SLAM… another massive strike on the fly nearly doubling the rod over to the water’s surface, peeling drag off the reel. This time the fish did not fail to impale the hook into it’s mouth and it was fish on! My brother removed the rod from the rod holder and began fighting the fish. He commented that it might be a small steelhead… it was that big, and heavy! He also commented that he was using a four pound leader and the fish was swimming in a substantial current, which amplifies the fighting power of the fish at the end of the line, so he had to be very careful not to break the line.

The fight continued on and I was determined to do all that I personally could to make sure we got that fish in the boat. I am a rookie at netting fish, but my brother told me to grab the giant salmon/steelhead net and prepare to net the monster. I pulled out the telescoping handle of the big net and followed my brother’s instructions, keeping the net back from the edge of the boat in order to avoid scaring the fish into another drag stripping run. He patiently and methodically worked the fish closer to the edge of the boat and when the fish was in range, I quickly scooped under and up with the net and swung it back into the boat. Success! It was a BIG, FAT rainbow trout, measuring 18 inches long. My brother commented that the fish was probably an old hatchery fish that was thriving in the big Willamette river, kind of surprising, but a pleasant surprise to be sure.

We continued fishing above the big run for a little while longer and then decided to go down to the next hole. So we raised the anchor and my older brother navigated us through the rapids.

Down below the rapids we continued down the middle of the hole. We saw two bank fishermen on the north bank of the river. When we got within earshot of the first he yelled out, “have you guys had any luck today?”, and all of the sudden, BAM, BAM, BAM… I had a fish on! I set the hook and tried to keep myself calm. I was determined to get this fish in the net. I immediately tried to loosen up my drag and let this fish do it’s thing. The problem was that the fish was apparently swimming towards me, so, I was trying to loosen the drag and reel at the same time. This is impossible to do unless you have a third hand. I thought I was doing ok, putting the right amount of pressure on the fish, but about six or seven feet from the boat the fish did some kind of underwater acrobatics and the line went slack. I was so mad! I was pretty sure that I would never, EVER catch another steelhead (my first and only steelhead was more than twelve years ago on the Siletz river). The opportunities to fight fish seemed to come so few and far between, and when I did manage to hook a fish, I couldn’t stay cool enough to make the appropriate maneuvers necessary to get them in the net!

I sat down in disgust (mainly with myself, partially with the rascally fish) and figured I had lost my only chance for the rest of the year catch a steelhead. But, I know you can’t catch them if you don’t have your hook in the water, so I checked my leader and made sure it wasn’t damaged, then I skewered another coon-stripe shrimp and tossed it into the current, letting the diver make it dance along the bottom of the mighty river.

It wasn’t but twenty minutes later on our next float down the big hole, when my younger brother set the hook and had a fish on! I was sure he was going to land this one, he seemed so much more calm and collected that I managed to be. He fought it for a few minutes and… all of the sudden the fish was off.

By this time my older brother was getting pretty perturbed by the number of fish that had been hooked and lost in his boat this year. I think by this time it had been six fish in a row.

Our hopes of catching a steelhead were diminishing, but we still had time, so there was nothing left to do, but keep fishing. We made a few more passes through the big hole and then my older brother asked us what we wanted to do. Did we want to make another run or two through the big hole and then go over to the far side of the river and fish a likely looking hole that none of us had ever fished, or should we go to the far side now?

I suggested we go to the far side of the river now. So, my older brother rowed the boat over to the shallow area in the middle of the river. It was so shallow, in fact, that the bottom of the boat scraped the rocks and we couldn’t continue on. So, my brother took off his shoes and jumped out of the boat. I’m sure the rocks felt real nice on the bottom of his feet as he dragged us across the rocks towards the South bank, where there was a very inviting, dark green run waiting for us. As we scraped along for a moment or two, we began to sense two pairs of eyes boring down on from the North bank. We figured those ol’ boys thought we were either crazy or were going to get really lucky fishing the other side of the river.

Once the scraping stopped, my older brother jumped back in the boat, put his shoes on and paddled us to the top of the hole. We began to drift down very slowly, allowing the divers and shrimp do their work. A little over half way down, when we got to the second or third bush that was sticking out over the water, all of the sudden, TAP, TAP, TAP… I set the hook and FISH ON! I wasn’t sure what I had at first. It wasn’t fighting as hard as the other steelhead had fought. I started to play the fish, with a good measure more of patience this time. At first my older brother didn’t believe I had a fish on. He thought this was just another of many snags that we had had during the day’s fishing. I assured him it was a fish, I just didn’t know exactly what kind of fish it was at the moment. I will be honest with you, for a moment I thought I might have had a large sucker on the line or a large cutthroat trout. But then I got a glimpse of the fish and I said, “It’s a steelhead!”

We weren’t messing around this time. I loosened the drag a little in case the fish decided to make a run, but when I saw the surprised look on the fish’s face, I knew that he didn’t know what was going on. So, I tightened up the drag a little more, still being cautious not to tighten it too much, and worked him gently, closer and closer to the boat. My older brother had the net in hand and, it seemed to all work out really well. The fish didn’t make any big runs, and like I said, I don’t think the fish even realized what had happened. My brother netted him and when he hit the bottom of the boat, that’s when he started “flipping out”. I, however, was the one that was doing the most “flipping out,” because I yelled out with glee and gave my older brother a hug a really made a fool of myself. I didn’t care because I knew my first steelhead in 12 years was now in the boat and wasn’t going anywhere. My brother asked me if I wanted a picture with the fish and did I want him to conk it on the head first, as it was still going crazy on the bottom of the boat. I said “you better conk him first, I am not going to take any chances with this fish.” So, when the conking was done I lifted him up with my hands through his gills and mouth and got several pictures with him on our cell phones. Unfortunately, my digital camera was about 3,000 miles away in Nicaragua with my wife and son. So, that’s the best we could do. Meanwhile, I noticed that the fish had some very sharp and large teeth that cut my hand pretty good, but I still didn’t care. I lifted him up for the ol’ boys across the river, who were watching from the North bank. I gave them a big thumb’s up and continued acting like a 9 year old for a minute or two. Until the excitement ebbed enough to sit down and go back to fishing.

We headed back to the top of the same run on the South side of the river and began to float it again, being sure that our chances for another fish were pretty good, seeing how none of us had ever seen a boat fishing this particular hole during the whole season. There had to be more than one in there, right? Well, we made it down the run a little farther, lining up with the next bush downriver from where I had hooked mine, and BAM, BAM, BAM, my younger brother had a fish on!

This fish was a little more crazy than mine and I would say my younger brother did an excellent job playing him. I got really concerned when the fish headed down river a bit and swam under one of the bushes that hung right over the water. We rowed downstream a little and got parallel to the fish. We could see him swimming in the water under one of the branches. Like I say, I got pretty worried by this and said, “Oh, crap!” But thankfully, my brothers stayed more calm. My younger brother began to patiently work him out from under the bush and I jumped on the oars to try to keep the her steady as my older brother netted her. And… she was in the boat!

A two steelhead day!
We also caught two or three other 10-11 inch cutthroat trout that day as well. I am really starting to like this drift fishing business.

My steelhead measured 27 ½ inches and if I remember correctly, my brother’s fish measured 26 ½ inches. What a great day!!!

Tight Lines! -nimrod243




-nimrod243

Diamond Lake Rainbows Survive Thrashing

Made the 175 mile trip to Diamond Lake on Thursday, July 2nd to camp for the night. Silly me, I didn't make reservations and I was lucky to get a camping spot. When I drove down to Diamond Lake Campground, the sign said, "Campground Full," so I headed over to the resort and asked them how I could find out if there were any campgrounds available. They said they were all full as of Wednesday, but one guy told me to just ask around because he saw some people leaving because of the mosquitoes. So, I headed back down to Diamond Lake Campground and asked the young lady in the Kiosk if there was a campground available for just one night. And indeed there were a few available, I just had to be out by 1:00 PM on July 3rd because the sites were reserved. She gave me a list and told me to go pick one out. I was pretty embarrassed by all this, but was pleasantly surprised when one of the available sites was right on the water! I quickly set up my tent and headed back up to the kiosk to pay the fee of $18 for the nights accommodations. First Class!















It was about 3:00 PM by the time I got back to camp and got everything set up. I was informed by a nice couple that if I didn't have any insect repellent, I would want to go purchase some. It was breezy at the moment, but I was assured that when the wind died down I would be glad to have some. So I headed back over to the store at the resort and after a few minutes of looking around, I found the insect repellent, which was for sale at its every-day low price of $9.25. That an a package of hot dogs and some ketchup ate up a twenty dollar bill. I can't say I was surprised at the prices, being 10,000 miles from nowhere and all (again my excellent planning was manifesting itself as usual).
Back at camp I started a little fire and cooked up a couple of hot dogs which I washed down with a couple of cans of Mountain Dew... Dinner of champions.
I was kind of killing time, waiting for the blazing sun to lower into the western sky and for the wind and the waves to calm enough to safely fish from my float tube into the evening. I have heard the fishing can be excellent at Diamond Lake, but, for some reason I don't have a lot of faith in my ability to locate and catch fish on the big central Oregon lakes after being skunked at Crane Prairie earlier in the season and skunked at Davis Lake several years prior. I kept telling myself I had to try in order to catch them. I guess, In a way I was just putting off the pain I was afraid I would face, when rejected again by the large rainbows of Central Oregon.
I drove to the Northwest side of the lake and launched my float tube. It took me several minutes longer than I would have liked however, because a nice camo-clad gentleman who had just sat down to fish for the evening was talking my ear off. I don't know why, but I have a hard time concentrating when someone is yacking away at me. But, I forced myself to just look away from the man and get my gear on and into the water. He continued to talk until I had kicked a good distance into the lake and I was quite relieved when another bank angler approached him and started fishing next to him, falling victim of his incessant chatter about 18-pounders from before they poisoned the lake.
I kicked around and around and around and was half tempted to kick out into the middle of the lake where several boats were congregating in the deepest water, most definitely catching more than their fair share of the fish. I'm pretty sure I had one strike on a bead headed woolly bugger, but of course I didn't hook the fish, even for a moment.
I changed flies several times and tried to stay just on the deeper side of the weeds as I was counseled to do by a couple of fellow fishermen. It was a beautiful evening and my hopes hadn't been completely dashed out because it is a big lake and I still had plenty of time to fish the next day. I took lots of pictures... probably more than I should have, and just kind of relaxed and enjoyed myself as much as possible without catching fish.















The next morning I rolled out of bet at 5:00 AM. I started a little fire to take the chill off and to help me wake up. Then I had a breakfast of champions, chocolate covered graham cracker cookies and a couple cans of Mountain Dew (is this turning into a confession session?).After inflating my float tube, I made sure the fire was out and jumped in the car and headed towards the shallower south shore of the lake where Silent Creek enters the lake. It wasn't until 7:00 AM that I was launching my float tube onto the sandy beach-like shore and kicking out into the water.
As the morning wore on without any action, I began to see more and more mayflies on top of the water. I have never seen so many bugs in my life. It was amazing. I figured there weren't that many trout around because I assumed the fish would be feasting on them... Water was probably too warm. I did see some fish rising, however. I am pretty sure there were a few fish that kept cruising around and sipping up a fly here and there. Because I would see one ring on the water's surface, then a few seconds later another ring about 10 feet away and so on. So I tried to target the cruising fish as they came within casting distance a few times. If I had been better prepared to capitalize on these opportunities, I just might have hooked one.
I did come close to hooking one around 11:00 AM when a fish submarined into casting distance and I flipped my olive Woolly Bugger right in his feeding lane. I could see the leader move ever so slightly as if the fish had it in it's mouth, so I tried to set the hook, and there was nothing there. I was excited to get a little nibble. I ended the trip with three small strikes, all on medium sized Woolly Buggers, both bead-headed and standard variations.
Overall it was a pleasant stay at Diamond Lake, the scenery is even better than Crane Prairie and the weather was awesome.
If you go to Diamond Lake, I would strongly recommend taking some insect repellent, make sure you make reservations at the campground ahead of time, and be patient with the fish. There are lots of large trout in the lake, but they don't come easy, they can survive a good water thrashing! But hey, you can't catch them if you don't try.





Tight Lines! - nimrod243

Fishy Daze!

Saturday, June 20th was a wonderful fish filled day! I got up at 6:15 and loaded up my gear in my Nissan Sentra and hit the road.
I headed up Oregon's Highway 20 through Lebanon and Sweet Home and over he Santiam Pass to the Highway 126 Junction. From there I headed southwest about 10 miles past Clear Lake and on to one of my favorite summer fishing spots, Trail Bridge Reservoir.
Trail Bridge is frequently stocked with rainbow trout during the summer and ODFW has restricted fishing to artificial flies and lures. I'm afraid many fishers are not aware of those restrictions however as I heard bank anglers speaking of bobbers and saw PowerBait floating in the water along the bank.
I arrived at the Reservoir at about 9:00 AM and hastily inflated my Caddis Float Tube (by dizzying lung power), then donned my new(ish) lightweight breathable waders and wading boots. I packed my float tube, flippers and fly rod down to the lake by the dam and was in the water in a few minutes!
I already had a size 10 bead head Carey Bugger in “brownish-red” tied on the end of my leader, so I cast it a couple of times as I kicked over my favorite weed beds, not expecting much action. After a few casts, I made the wise decision and snipped off the Carey Bugger and tied on the fly fish go crazy over at Trail Bridge, an Olive Woolly Bugger (a very entomologically correct fly - not!).

On the first cast, I shot out all the line and just let it sit there while I put my gear away in the float tube pockets and all the sudden... fish on! I didn’t even have to set the hook. It was a beautiful rainbow trout about 10 1/2 to 11 inches long. Some of the stocked fish take on a beautiful "purplish-blue" color that helps them blend into the color of the dark blue water.
I fished on, from 9:00 AM until about 1:15 PM when, after 27 hard fighting fish, my Woolly Bugger broke off in some poor fish's mouth. I think I got my money's worth out of that fly! So, I tied on another and continued fishing.
At this point I had convinced myself that I just had to catch 30 fish (releasing all but the largest fish unharmed, so as not to exceed my daily limit) before I left...
Well, a major psychological barrier set in or maybe it was the barometric pressure, or the fish were taking a siesta, or something and it took me another 45 minutes to round out my 30 fish day. In fact, I had all but given up and then caught the 30th fish as I kicked my way back to the bank!
So far, the day had been quite fishy, but I wasn't finished yet! I took off my boots and waders, deflated my tube and packed all my gear into the trunk of my car and was off down Highway 126 towards Springfield to my brother's house to help him move some stuff into storage and then hit the Willamette River in his drift boat for steelhead/salmon!
As soon as I saw the little bars on my cell phone, I called my brother, who probably was wondering why the heck I hadn't answered his phone call about an hour and a half earlier. I explained the predicament I had been in, and got a laugh out of the 30 fish statistic. We chatted until I hit the town of Leaburg, where I made a pit stop for some health food (2 chicken strips w/ Ranch, a jalapeño corndog and a 32 ounce of Mountain Dew) and some sand shrimp for “big fish” bait, provided to the store by Steelheaders West according the lady behind the counter.
Made it to Springfield, fulfilled moving duties, hooked up the boat, loaded our gear and headed of to a nearby boat ramp.
With the boat in the water, the excitement began! I desperately tied my one-and-only, purple Egg-Sucking-Leech onto the end of my Scientific Anglers 9ft, 6lb, tapered leader. Casting just slightly upstream, letting the fly “dead-drift” for a few seconds, I let it swing across the deeper runs. I fished this way for a couple of hours. My bro was using a red diver with sand shrimp...
Sure enough, all of the sudden, I was minding my own business, waiting for the tug at the end of my line when my brother called out my name excitedly, and I looked over to see the spinning rod that was sitting in the rod holder flapping like a willow in a stiff breeze!
FISH ON!
I took to the oars in short succession and, seeing how we haven't invested in a steelhead/salmon net, I had to maneuver the drift boat over to a shallow area to "beach" the beautiful bright hen steelhead.
The fish made a couple of runs and after one failed attempt on my part to grab the fish, my bro took over, and successfully scooped her up, with one hand under her belly and the other securing her powerful tail. She was up out of the water and into the boat!






















Now, that was exciting!

The only thing I caught a little later that evening was a nice cutthroat (about 15 inches) on the same diver and sand shrimp, which managed to release itself right next to the boat. I should have been really excited about it, and hey, I'm not complaining...
but I really wanted it to be a steelhead!


Tight Lines! - nimrod243

Fishing Rods and Fishless Days by nimrod243

Saturday, April 25, 2009 was the Oregon trout season opener and I had done a little research and found out that, according to the ODFW trout stocking schedule, they would be stocking 4,000 rainbows in Smith Reservoir, just off of highway 126. So, I called the number on the bottom of the Internet page to see if the stocking had been confirmed and it had not. However, in the process, I learned that the stocking for nearby Carmen Reservoir had been confirmed.I planned on getting up early Saturday morning so I could take advantage of as much fishing time as possible (I had to go to work at 4:00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon). I waited until Friday and went and purchased a cheap little spinning rod. I realized I would need to make the purchase of a new spinning rod when I was getting ready to go E.E. Wilson Pond at Camp Adair last Saturday with my son. I opened the trunk of my Nissan Sentra and looked at my Rapala spinning rod that had spent the winter in the trunk and saw that it was now a three piece rod instead of its original two piece configuration. That's two rods down in less than one year...
Last summer, when I did my annual birthday trip over to Trail Bridge Reservoir for some float tube fly fishing, I had caught more than my fair share of fish and decided to go try my luck on the upper McKenzie River with my 3/4 weight Redington fly rod. I was having a great time but wasn't catching any fish. Hmmm... it could have had something to do with all the rafts floating by... I don't know. As one particularly heavily loaded raft floated by, I was casting as I watched and my fly got stuck in one of the overhanging trees. I gave it a couple of good tugs and without any warning at all... SNAP... my little rod broke right in two! So, now you know how I lost two rods in less than a year. Sure, the Redington has a lifetime warranty if you are the original owner (which I am), but I’d have to fill out a form, package and ensure it and ship it with a check or money order for $30 to their warranty department in Bainbridge, Washington and then wait who knows how long to get it back. Sounds like a lot of work and expense for a $90 fly rod. I don't know, maybe it would be worth it. I have thought about just throwing it in the garbage and using it as an excuse for purchasing a new one, but I haven't been able to justify that in my mind as of yet. I don't know why I am so attached to it. I do have fond memories of a very successful trip I took one warm summer day up Highway 58 past Oakridge, Oregon. I fished Salt Creek, which runs along highway 58 for several miles. I caught and released double digit hatchery rainbows and a few nice smaller cutthroats. Other than that outing, I don't really remember having caught that many fish with it. I have taken it on several fishless days it seems. The more fish you catch with a rod the greater the sentimental value attached. If you want to talk about sentimental value, lets talk about my trusty old Scientific Anglers 8'6" 5/6 weight fly rod I have had for over a decade.

I obtained this rod through the most unorthodox and possibly unethical means one can imagine.One spring day I found myself sitting in my float tube, fly fishing on Lost Lake, which lies next to Highway 20, between Santiam Junction and Suttle Lake. I had somehow timed it just right. It was a nice warm day with some big puffy clouds and plenty of sunshine peeking through. There was little wind and all of the sudden I started seeing hundreds of grayish blue mayflies emerging from the water and my ears began to hear the delightful sound of trout coming to the surface and gobbling them up in a mad feeding frenzy. I was glad I had done some research on the subject and knew what I was looking at. I was also glad that I had read Lake Fly Fishing Guide - Oregon Cascade Area by Jim Bradbury and Beverly Miller and had tied a few of the Callibaetis Nymph patterns they describe therein. I quickly tied one on as I watched this phenomenon take place. I knew that it could disappear just as fast as it had come upon me. As I tied the fly onto my leader I glanced at the other nearby fishers. A man in a drift boat was rowing along as he watched his fly rod leaning out the stern of his boat. He was trolling his fly, minding his own business. The fish continued to surface and I began to cast my nymph. Shortly thereafter I hooked and netted a nice little rainbow! I cast again and caught another, this one a little bigger than the first. I quickly and ceremoniously released the little beggars, as the regulations prohibit killing any fish at Lost Lake. I was really excited because I had successfully "matched the hatch". I don't remember why, But I later changed my fly to a dry mayfly imitation. Not long after that, there was a loud slurping sound and a big ring began to form on the water, right where my fly had been sitting peacefully on top of the water just a nanosecond before! I set the hook and I was in for a ride that far surpasses any amusement park attraction. A minute or two later I landed a fat and beautiful 17-18 inch wild (I believe) trout (the years may have added an inch or two to the fish in my memory's eye). It looked like one of the redside rainbows that can be found in the McKenzie and Deschutes rivers. The image and the excitement of the moment will remain ingrained in my memory forever, I hope. I guess I can't guarantee these things...
Anyways, you're probably wondering what all this has to do with me obtaining my trusty old fly rod... Remember the guy that was trolling along in his drift boat with his rod hanging out off the stern? At about this time I looked over again and saw that the man had lunged forward and was grabbing for his rod, but I didn't see the rod in his hand or even in the boat. In fact he was now leaning over the edge of the boat with his mouth gaping open in disbelief, excitement and despair all wrapped up in one emotion (mainly despair). I couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. It looked like his fishing was probably done for the day. I can relate to how he must have felt. While fishing on Muddy Creek in Oregon’s Willamette Valley several years ago, I too watched as a fishing rod I had been put in charge of practically jumped right off of the forked stick it had been propped up on, and was pulled into the muddy water and out of sight, leaving a trail of bubbles coming out of the reel and leaving me with that same stupefied look on my face, stuttering like a fool, trying to explain the situation.Anyways, I didn't think too much about the guy and his loss there on Lost Lake (pretty fitting name for the lake I guess), the fishing was too good and I wanted to take advantage of it. So, I concentrated my efforts on catching another bruiser.
A few weeks later I decided to head back up to Lost Lake, memories of that mayfly hatch and that beautiful rainbow I had netted were fresh and inspiring in my mind. Unfortunately my timing wasn't quite as good. I don't remember catching any fish that day, but something quite amazing happened. I was kicking around the lake in my float tube trying to make my way through the weeds that were sticking out of the water, (the water level had dropped considerably). I don’t know what it was but for some reason one of the weeds sticking out of the water caught my eye. For some reason it just didn’t look quite right, so I kicked closer and closer until it began to take on a new form. Can you image my surprise when I kicked up next to it and realized it was the tip of a fly rod sticking out of the water?!! I pulled it up and sure enough, it was a whole fly rod, reel and line sitting vertically on the lake with about two and a half inches of the tip sticking out. Even at arms length it still looked kind of like a weed sticking out of the water. It must have been hidden amongst the weeds as hundreds of fly fishers had kicked or paddled by. An image immediately came to my mind of a man leaning over the stern of his boat peering into the water not more than a few weeks prior to this occasion and I couldn’t believe I had just found what I figured to be his lost rod. I got kind of excited when I realized I would have to reel in quite a bit of the fly line, and I more than half expected and hoped to reel in a very big and very dead fish (looking back, I can’t really explain why this excited me so much at the time).
I felt kind of guilty and looked around to see if anyone was watching, but nobody was. It’s not like I was stealing it, right? Could the owner of the rod be here today?
Well, long story short, I took the rod home and cleaned it all up and it seemed to be in fine condition so I planned to use it on my next fishing trip because it was nicer than the rod I had been using. I still felt guilty though, because I knew it really didn’t belong to me. I thought about placing an ad in the local newspaper to see if someone claimed to have lost it, but I never got around to doing that. However, I did keep my eyes open in the classified ads to see if someone had put in an ad describing their lost rod. Looking back on it, I really doubt someone would have gone through the trouble of doing that, but at least at the time it made me feel better. Not long after that, I began taking it fishing. Since then, I have caught hundreds of fish on that rod. It has stuck with me through thick and thin. One day I broke about nine or ten inches off the tip of the rod and it broke my heart. I don’t remember if it was the same day it broke or not, but I remember one day fishing on the McKenzie River with my brother, we decided to put a new tip on it that I had purchased. So we completed the project and the rod was shorter now, but about as good as ever if you asked me. I have probably caught over a hundred fish on it since the repair was made, which was quite surprising because “repairs” don’t tend to work out that well for me. I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that my brother was there to offer guidance.
Part of the reason I decided to write this story is that the poor rod seems to be coming apart on me. It twists about 180 degrees where the rod connects with the cork handle as I cast with it. This causes the eyes to be in misalignment with the reel which is annoying at worse, but is somewhat worrisome. I guess I should take it to the rod doctor and see what he has to say about the possibilities of fixing the problem. I was thinking it was about time to buy a new 9ft fly rod for trout and steelhead, but I don’t think that means it is time to retire my old rod yet. I think it may still have years of life left in it. I guess only time will tell.
The only thing I would like to add to this true story is that if by some additional twist of destiny the original owner happens to read this and would like to get his rod back or would otherwise like to contact me regarding the matter, I would be more than happy to do the honors. Please contact me at nimrod243@gmail.com.

I didn’t end up catching a single fish on the trout season opener, but it was a wonderful day nevertheless. I kicked around in my tube on Carmen Reservoir, trying several variations of the famous woolly bugger as well as other common Oregon Cascades flies. I marveled at the fact that I was able to spend the day alone up in the mountains on a beautiful lake (I call a reservoir a lake, sorry if that offends you in any way). On the way back home I stopped at Foster Lake and tried fishing with some Powerbait (please don‘t be quick to judge me if you are a fly fishing purist). I got three or four bites but couldn’t hook the denizens. I need to work on my fishing skills... apparently they are a little rusty. I plan on doing just that.

Tight Lines! - nimrod243

Good Times at Green Peter by nimrod243

It's strange how when you're out fishing or hunting, the funniest things can happen. At least in my experience it seems that those strange things happen more often while I'm out in the woods, or on the stream or lake. I'm sure that at times it has simply been pure bad luck, or more rarely, pure good luck.
One afternoon my brother and I drove up to Green Peter Reservoir, outside of Sweet Home, Oregon. It was getting late that warm afternoon as we pulled off the road. We got out of the car and stretched off the hour and a half long ride from Halsey, then anxiously got our rods and fishing gear ready and started making our way down to the water, sliding on our hind-ends down a steep slope of dry, clay-colored dirt.
We fished for a while and caught a few trout on bait, then I began working my way around the little cove, walking on the round gray stones of the small beach, casting a green Rooster Tail spinner. I began catching lots of fish. On almost every cast a fish would strike the lure and I was landing rainbow trout one after another. My brother continued having fair luck with bait on the other side of the cove. I was really enjoying myself. After catching about 10 fish, I was feeling like I was on top of the fisherman's world. The sun was setting now and the western sky was a warm orange and yellow glow, shining through the dark green firs. The evening seemed magical. It seemed as if all of the fish were destined to come to me. As I fished, I noticed a trout that kept rising and flipping around in circles on the surface, about twenty feet from the bank. I didn't pay much attention to the odd acrobatics of the seemingly possessed fish. I was plenty occupied hooking, landing and releasing fish and savoring the natural beauty in which I basked. As I landed and released the eleventh fish, I noticed that the circus-bound trout kept making its way closer and closer to me, flipping on its side across the water. At that moment, all of the mystery and splendor of the evening came to a climax, another fishing moment that will not soon be forgotten. I knelt down and reached into the water as that beautiful, ten inch, circus bound, acrobatic, lunatic, out of it's mind, seemingly possessed trout flipped itself right into my hand, no hook, no fishing line attached! I raised it up out of the water to show my brother who watched in unbelief from across the small cove. It was an unbelievable fishing trip, and though I have had many enjoyable days in the field, it was the type of pure good luck that I have never experienced the likes of since, well, if you’ve read some of my other stories you might not agree with that statement.
I've had other memorable experiences at Green Peter. I remember one cold morning when my brother and my friend and I fished that same cove and had a different kind of luck. It was one of those mornings that started out with high hopes, as we embarked on our voyage to Green Peter. We arrived at waters edge and zealously began to fish, but the cold, steady drizzle of the low lying clouds and the lack of fish soon dampened our spirits. Though I enjoyed being surrounded by the beauty of the mountains and the water, the only excitement to be had was the thought of getting out of those cold, wet clothes and get warmed up. My brother and my friend soon had enough as well, and we decided to reel in our lines and try another spot or two, then head home. As I was getting my things together, a cackling laughter echoed through the cove and the surrounding hills. I looked over in my friend’s direction to see what the matter was. He could barely hold up his rod as he reeled, being overcome by laughter at the sight of what he was reeling in. Do you know how a dead fish looks when it's been dead for a long time, frozen in a banana shape, and the sides have lost all of their rainbow colors and the eyes have that glazed -over look? Well, that’s a pretty good description of the fish my buddy was dragging in. Needless to say, that fish wasn't much of a fighter.
I've heard that laugh of my friend's on many outings, like when our youth leader took us on a camping and fishing trip up to Green Peter. On Friday night, we boated out to a secluded camping spot in one of the little coves on the northeast side of the reservoir and camped and enjoyed a beautiful warm night. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I have ever camped at. The ground didn't even seem hard there and there was no dew on my sleeping bag when I awoke. That morning we started early and trolled around the lake and caught quite a few kokanee. We decided to move to another part of the lake and were doing some pretty good speed when someone noticed the fish stringer and pointed at it as it slapped on the water alongside the boat with just a fish or two left attached. After returning to where we had put on full throttle, we were able to gather up most of the whip-lashed fish from the water, though they were a little hard to put back on the stringer hooks, considering their condition.
I believe it was on that same trip when my friend had a fish strike his lure as we trolled along. The fish doubled the rod over but was soon lost. My friend reeled in his line and let out that cackling laugh when he saw the fish's eyeball, neatly threaded on the hook!

--Tight Lines-- nimrod243

Steelhead! by JB

It was an early Saturday morning in July. My fishing buddy, Jamie, had recently purchased a used wooden drift boat and we were trying to learn how to maneuver and fish from the thing on the Willamette River in Springfield. The in town run of summer steelhead was in full swing and we had been on the water a few times that summer, only to watch people yard in steelhead all around us while we didn't even touch a fish. But this would be our first early morning trip and we were hoping to beat the other fishermen to the good holes. If I remember right, we were the first boat on the water that morning. We put in at about 4:30am at the Island Park boat ramp. It is a short float from there to the D street ramp but there are some great holes in that stretch. Jamie was on the oars so I had rod in hand as we started toward our intended fishing spot. We hit a few holes on the way there, but didn't spend much time on them, hoping to get to the real good water first. We rounded the bend that turns the river towards the D street ramp. At the top of this stretch is a great tailout that drops into a fast flowing chute on the south side of the river. We dropped anchor about 30 feet from the top of the tailout in perfect position to swing some flies across in front of the boulders that formed the tailout. I was fishing a #6 purple egg sucking leach on an 8.8 pound tapered leader. My rod is a 6/7 weight Eagleclaw. Jamie had just anchored the boat and was getting his rod ready by the time I had made my first cast. The fly started its swing and was headed towards the most prominent bolder in the tailout. I thought to my self, "If there is a steelhead in front of that boulder, my fly will be touching it's nose, write.........Now!" The instant I said now, BAM. Line peeled off of the reel for a short distance and I yelled fish on to Jamie. I think it took him a second to realize that I meant FISH ON. The fish quickly turned and swam straight towards the boat very fast. I reeled as fast as I could trying to take up the slack but it was coming too fast. I thought that I had lost him, but when the slack was gone he was still there. Then peeling straight away from me, the fish made 3 great head over tail leaps, making a huge splash each time. It ran down the main rapid and stopped behind a boulder just to the left of the chute. It jumped there at least 3 times. I really get excited when those big fish leave the water. Finally the fish took off down river again and we decided we had better follow in a hurry. We went through the chute and pulled into the eddy formed on the north of the run. The water here was about waist deep, maybe a little deeper. I played the fish to the boat after it had made a few good runs into my backing. Jamie (at the time) had a trout net with a long handle. The fish came side up next to the boat and Jamie reached over in front of me to net the fish. This entirely blocked my view of what was happening. I realized there was something wrong. The fish was not fitting in that net. I was keeping tension on the line up to this time to try to keep this fish up and on the hook, when I my rod whipped up in to the air and I realized the fish was off. "He's off, He's off." I yelled to Jamie. My hook had been caught up in the net and my line broke. Jamie leaned over in front of me even harder and I could tell he was still struggling to get this fish in the net. I was able to lean over him and see that he now had the fish pinned to the bottom of the river. The net was at the midsection of the fish and I could see it's head and dorsal fin lying against the bottom. "What do we do now" I thought. But before I could say anything, Jamie slipped over the edge of the boat head first and was under the water. So, it's about 5:30am and I'm on the Willamette River and Jamie is under water in the river. My first thought was that he must have slipped and fell in and I should save him. Then I realized that he hadn't fallen, but jumped in after this fish. I felt horrible that he had jumped in to get the fish because I knew that there was no way that he was coming up with that fish. Steelhead are know for their strength and tenacity. Well a few seconds went by and finally Jamie came out of the water about 10 feet from the boat. His back was towards me and he was all hunched over. He slowly turned around with this look on his face like he was in shock or had seen a ghost or something. He was hugging a steelhead with everything he had. He still had his net in one hand. I was yelling at him to get his fingers through the gills of the fish because I knew that if that fish were to make one last struggle he would probably be gone. Jamie looked as if he didn't even hear me yelling for the first 2 times I said it. Then the third time he seemed to snap out of it and grabbed the fish through the gills. He made a few slippery steps towards the boat and handed me the fish. It slipped from my hands and into the bottom of the boat. I helped Jamie into the boat and he just started coughing up water like crazy. I asked if he was alright and after a few seconds we were high-fiving and yelling loud enough to wake up the neighborhood that we were fishing in. Jamie wasn't sure exactly what had happened. He said that he didn't even know that he was under the water and he was trying to breath (thus the coughing). He had gone to the bottom of the river and pinned the fish to the bottom with his chest, then scooped his arms around it and came up. I don't think the fish made a single movement until it hit the bottom of the boat. Jamie had scrapes up and down his legs that were bleeding pretty good. This tops the chart as the craziest fishing story that I have been a part of.
--Tight Lines-- JB

2008 Buck, by nimrod243

After harvesting a nice three point buck in 2007 with my .243 caliber Ruger M77 Mk II, my hunting was over for the year. So, I filled my free time reading. I started going crazy, researching different rifles and calibers online. It wasn't that I didn't love my .243, but I had issues with my scope. I didn't want a new deer rifle. I wanted a bigger caliber for black bear and elk. I purchased a great book, "Deer Rifles and Cartridges" by Wayne Van Swoll PhD. I know what you're thinking. If he didn't want a new deer rifle, why was he reading a book about deer rifles. The truth is, the book has lots of information about rifles that work for deer, bear and elk. I love a versatile rifle. But I didn't stop my research there, I read review after review in the hunting and shooting magazines. I studied ballistics charts and recoil charts and stories of people hunting all kinds of animals with all kinds of calibers, bullets, rifles, etc. I read online forums about the use of different guns for hunting different game. I became obsessed with rifles and ballistics! Now I have to admit, I am a bit recoil sensitive. I flinch pretty badly when anticipating the recoil and the blast of a rifle. I'm a little embarrased to admit it, but at least I am realistic. I just can't shoot the big guns well. I learned this lesson back in 1998 at 18 years of age. After talking to some friends and probably doing very little research I purchased a Savage model 110 bolt bction in .300 Winchester Magnum. It was a scoped combo. I wanted a powerful rifle that would quickly take down any game I might hunt, even at long ranges. Well, I got it. The problem was that I couldn't hit a deer with it, even if my life depended on it. When attempting to sight it in on a trip we took to Colorado to hunt mule deer, I was grouping 8 inches from about 75 yards! And, after about a box of ammunition I was making up all kinds of excuses for not being able to shoot the Savage rifle worth a crap. Boy did my shoulder hurt, even with my old slip-on recoil pad installed on the buttstock. Well, I went ahead and hunted with it anyways of course. I didn't take a back-up gun with me to Colorado, which was stupid, because I did have my old 303 British Number 4 Mk 1, still sitting on the gun rack back at home. I am sure I would have done much better with the old "blunderbuss" (my first big game rifle). I'll tell you more about my unsuccessful but very enjoyable hunting trip to Colorado in another posting, but suffice it to say, I wanted to get a different rifle after that hunting season. And that's when I got my .243, which I love. So, although I was a little bit tempted, I didn't end up buying a .300 Winchester Magnum this year. After all my reasearch and meditation, I decided to do as Wayne Van Swoll said, and "pay homage," by owning a 30-06.There were many reasons for the purchase of my 30-06. As I said, I wanted a bigger caliber with more killing power. The 30-06 is very versatile. You can hand load for it, (I would love to start doing just as soon as I can afford to get the equipment) with a wide variety of bullets, weighing from 125 grains to 220 grains. But there is actually no need to re-load for the '06, with a plethora of factory "offerings" for the the trusty Springfields. My purchase was a brand new Remington Model 700 ADL 30-06, with a beautiful laminate stock.I wanted the ADL because it has iron sights. After my Tasco rifle scope had failed me in 2007, I wanted to make sure that if it happened again I could just take my scope off and hunt with iron sights. The rifle itself cost about $519. I took my beloved new Nikon Prostaff 3-9x40 rifle scope off of my .243 and put it on the new Remington. Soon I went and sighted it in. My buddy and I ended up going on only one short bear hunt in the spring of 2008 in the Alsea unit. We didn't see any bear, but we did shoot a few rounds.
So, I was itching to hunt with my new rifle and I had been drawn for muzzleloader elk with my brother, so I wasn't going to be able to hunt elk with it this year. And because my .243 was now scopeless, I decided I had to hunt blacktail deer with the 30-06. The general season blacktail deer hunt is my main hunt of the year. I downloaded the latest version of Google Earth to my computer and began looking for new places to hunt in the Upper Calapooia River drainage. Using this as my main method for pre-season scouting, I located some areas that looked promising and made a plan for opening morning. I also went to Sportsman's Warehouse in Salem, OR, and purchased a Petzl headlamp with four LEDs and a flip down red cover for a less visible light. I didn't have a good flashlight and the headlamp would come in handy for walking out of the woods in the dark, carrying my rifle and maybe even dragging a buck! I got this idea from reading Blacktail Trophy Tactics by Boyd Iverson, which is basically the Bible for blacktail hunting. I love that book! I was using 165 grain Remington "green box" ammo for the new '06. I headed out early and planned to drive up a certain logging road until I got within a half mile of a clear-cut that looked good on google earth. I tried to get there early. When I got to the road, to my dismay the gate was closed. But I knew from previous experiences, it isn't always a bad thing to hunt behind a closed gate. So I donned my new headlamp and my old backpack, loaded my gun and applied my Scent Killer spray.I had washed all my hunting clothes in Sport Wash, a scent eliminating laundry detergent as well. I started hiking up the gravel road in the dark, trying to remember each turn to get up to my clear-cut. It was raining and the wind was blowing hard. I knew I was going to be in for a pretty miserable day as far as the weather was concerned, but I knew that on days like this there was a good chance of seeing lots of deer. As I walked up the gravel road and slowly rounded the corners, it was barely light enough to see some indistinct shadows and shapes. All of the sudden I saw a shadow dart silently from the side of the road, around a tree and into a trail tunneling through the timbers. I thought for sure it was a deer. The "grey ghost"! I couldn't believe how silently it had sped away. I excitedly snuck up to see if it was still in view, but everything was as still and quiet as ever, as if my imagination had only been playing tricks on me. After hiking about two miles, I found my clear-cut. I started hiking up the old logging road that ran through the middle of it and saw that my clear-cut was almost completely choked out by dense scotch broom,an invasive plant that makes clear-cuts not so clear in a hurry. In this clear-cut the scotch broom had grown to over 6ft tall. It almost looked like a dense stand of trees. This phenomenon was something that I hadn't seen when doing my "pre-season scouting" on google earth, probably because the images were older than I had thought they were.
Even the old logging road had been overgrown with scotch broom and made for very difficult walking. But I was determined to follow through with my plan of exploring the area and hopefully find a big blacktail buck in his hideout. In this clear-cut the effect of the rain-blown wind was felt to the maximum and I was beginning to feel quite miserable; soaked to the bone. I trudged on towards the other side of the clear-cut. Occasionally I stepped down off the road to view the lower side of the hill and glass down below. The area below looked quite "deery". I thought I might see a deer at any moment. As I traveled along, without seeing any game, I became more and more suspicious about the whole situation. I began to think that with the rain and the wind gusting to about 35 miles per hour, the deer were probably in the timbers or on the other side of the hill. Still, I continued on, all the way to the other side of the clear-cut, leaving the road completely, fighting the thick brush, constantly fighting the rain and wind that was making it hard to see through my foggy glasses (both my eye glasses and my binoculars). At the farthest point, I was probably about two and a half miles from the pickup. When I reached the other side of the clear-cut I was somewhat disappointed that I hadn't seen any deer. So, I turned around and started making my way back through the clear-cut, found the brush choked logging road, somewhat miraculously, then following it back to the main gravel logging road. Before leaving the clear-cut I did note that a black bear had recently passed through the area, because there was a huge pile of bear scat right in the middle of the road. I was glad I was carrying my new 30-06, and a bear tag! When I had finally emerged from the clear-cut, I started walking down the nice gravel logging road, back towards the pickup. I knew I might still see deer at any time. According to Boyd Iverson deer are more wary of danger approaching from the downhill side than the uphill side, so I quietly and slowly walked down the road, paying special attention to what was up ahead when rounding the turns in the road. As soon as the thought occurred to me, that I might see a deer around the next bend, that was exactly what happened. The rain had lightened up considerably and I couldn't feel the wind any more. Up ahead in the grassy area near the road, was a deer! It didn't know I was there at first, even though I was standing right in the middle of the road. It was about 75 yards away! I was pretty sure it was a doe, but I immediately crouched down and looked through my rifle scope to see if I could see any horns. Nothing. I slowly stood up, and now she was looking me. I did my best to look as innocent and nonchalant as possible. I slowly walked to the edge of the road and planned to lay down and watch the doe for as long as she would hang around. Maybe a buck would come out behind her. But, as soon as I stepped off of the hard gravel onto the soft gravel on the side of the road, the soft gravel gave way under my foot and I fell right on my back. Now, if that deer wasn't spooked before, she was now. I watched as she stood at attention with her ears perked up, trying to figure out what the heck was going on. She didn't waste much time and quickly bounded into the timbers. No buck was going to come out after her now. So, I continued down the road, following the same plan. I was pleased when, not much farther down, I rounded another corner and another doe was standing on the side of the road, not 40 yards from me. I watched her, standing motionless as she stood staring at me. She stomped her hoof twice on the ground, warning her yearlings that danger may be present. After a minute or so, she and her two yearlings started walking very warily away from me, then bounded down the road and into the timbers. I was getting excited now, rarely do I get so close to a deer that isn't immediately spooked and running away from me. If I were bow hunting, I thought, I could have easily taken that doe. I attributed my getting so close to these deer partly to having washed my camouflage clothing in Sport Wash, the ultraviolet and scent eliminating laundry detergent and later spraying the Scent Killer spray to my clothing after exiting my pickup back at the gate. I fully expected to see deer after every other corner now! But, I didn't see any more, and finally made it back to the truck. I was soaking wet and as tired as heck. It was about 11:00 AM. My feet were killing me. I desperately need some new hunting boots, as every pair that I have worn for the last three years have caused me considerably dismal discomfort and unbearably bliss-less blistering! So, I wasn't sure if I was going to continue hunting. My original plan was to stay in the hills all day long and take full advantage of my trip, without unnecessarily wasting gas, seeing how at $4.25 a gallon it took $100 dollars to fill up both tanks of dad's old Ford Ranger. I expected it to last all hunting season. But, I was pretty tired. Maybe even too tired to continue hunting, as crazy as that may sound. Yeah, too tired to continue hunting, let alone drag a deer out... I got in the pickup and wished again that the old heater was working. It had stopped working some time ago, and this was my main complaint about using dad's old pickup for a hunting rig. Kind of tough to get warmed up without a heater. I guess I could get it fixed, but I haven't gotten around to it. After some debating, I figured I could at least drive around and try to find some new places to hunt, since my "pre-season scouting" hadn't exactly panned out. Our old stomping grounds further up the road were just about too overgrown to hunt them effectively anymore, which is saddening to my brother and I, as we have fond memories of hunting those high clear-cuts with dad and our other brothers. After driving around for a while not finding any open areas or clear-cuts to hunt, I was about to give up for the day. I had driven up some unknown roads and had hit a dead-end, or rather, had gone as far as I could go because there were two trucks parked right in the middle of the road. I figured the hunters had dropped down the side of the hill into some timbers. Since I couldn't go any further and really didn't have any desire to disturb the inconsiderate hunters, I negotiated a sixteen point turn-around on the narrow road, being very cautious not to go off the road, having learned from many unfortuitous experiences not to go off the road! After turning around, when I got back down to a familiar road I stopped the pickup. It was decision time. Should I go left of right. Left, away from home to continue "hunting" or right, back towards home to rest up for another outing on Monday. I hesitated for at least half a minute. What the heck, I'll at least drive up a little farther and look for a clear-cut next to the road where I can sit and glass. You're probably wondering why the obsession with clear-cuts. It's simple. I've never killed a deer in the forest. I have killed lots of deer in clear cuts. I do enjoy hunting through the timbers, but I usually like to stick to what has worked for me in the past. Not much further up the road, there was a big beautiful clear-cut. This looks like a pretty "deery" place, I thought. The clear-cut was just at the right age. It was pretty clear, but there was some tasty vegetation for the deer to eat and plenty of places to hide if they didn't feel safe. I pulled over to the side of the road and thought, "I'll just take my rifle and binoculars and find a place near the road to glass across to the other side. It was nice to walk without the backpack weighing me down. And even though I was still wet, I didn't fee cold at all. I like to find a stump to sit behind and rest my binoculars on top of the stump while glassing, reducing the movement of my shaky hands, and improving my vision through the cheap Tasco binoculars (yeah, some new binoculars are on my list too). I didn't find a place to set up right away. Not far into my walk, a pickup drove by my parked Ranger and along the top of the clear cut, without skipping a beat. Hmmm, I was surprised they didn't stop to glass down into the steep clear-cut for even a second. I guess they either didn't want to bother me, or they had other plans in mind. So, I continued walking down, down, down, farther into the bowl shaped clear-cut. Walking was pretty easy and I kept getting farther and farther from the pickup. I began to wish I had brought my backpack, which had my knife and other essentials I would need if I were to shoot a deer way down there. Oh well, I thought, it's pretty easy walking and I'm not really that far from the truck. I got to a place where there was a steep drop-off and a bench about 50 yards below. Immediately there was a deer in view, straight ahead about 60 yards away, down on the bench. I was pretty sure it was a little buck! Kneeling down, doing a terrible job maintaining my composure, my heart beating wildly, I flipped my safety over to the "not so safe" position and looked through my Nikon scope. It was a buck! A nice three point, I thought. I took a hurried shot. BOOM! I don't know why I was in such a hurry, the deer didn't even know I was there. He was just eating away in front of a little vine maple. I guess, in part, it was due to the fact that the last two deer I had shot had given me no more than two seconds before I would have missed the opportunity. After the shot I looked, fully expecting the deer to be laying on the ground. He was still just standing there! He was looking quite confused however! I couldn't believe I had missed and I couldn't believe he was still standing there! A little twig that I hadn't seen before was flailing wildly back and forth and immediately I felt better. Now I had an excuse for missing. My bullet must have hit that twig. I moved to the left a foot or so and cycled the bolt on the '06. "Hmmm, I don't even remember actually putting the crosshairs right on him for that last shot. Take your time, he is just standing there. Crosshairs on the vitals and pull the trigger. BOOM! I looked again, this time he was on the ground right where he had been standing. I was excited, disappointed, and bewildered all at one time. I was excited that I had filled my tag for the third year in a row. Not an easy feat when hunting blacktails on Oregon's west side. I was also excited that I would have some delicious venison in my freezer for the next several months, ready to pull out and fry up and eat any time I wanted. I was disappointed mainly that I had missed the first shot, but I was also disappointed that I hadn't taken my time and been more responsible in taking a better shot the first time. I should have gotten down in a prone position and really thought about what I was doing. Finally, I was a little disappointed that deer season was over for me now. Bewildered, you ask? Well, I was just bewildered because it never happens quite how I imagine it will, especially having missed such an easy shot. Now the work began. Like I said before, I was already really tired from the morning's hike. I started walking down to the deer and on the way I saw two other deer that I hadn't seen before. They were both does. They were looking at the deer that I had just shot wondering what the heck was going on. Suddenly, I hear a noise. An awful noise. My buck was making a anguish filled grunt with his head pointing to the sky like a howling coyote. What the hell? I thought he was dead. I flipped the safety over to the fire position and shot again. This time he was done fore sure. Amazingly, at the shot the other two deer didn't run away. They became more curious and started walking towards me! For a second I thought they might come and attack me because they didn't look happy! I waved my arms and yelled at them and they still didn't go away. Finally, when I got within about 20 yards of one of them, they got the idea. I went and looked at my buck. I realized he was a two point, not a three point and he was pretty small. That's ok, definitely better than nothing! I gave thanks to God, as I always do. Now I remembered that I didn't have my backpack with my knife in it. It was about 12:30 PM. Hmmm, I'll just pull it up a ways towards the truck and then go for my knife and gut him out later. Bad idea! After about 45 minutes of dragging I had made it only about 50 yards, up a steep, slippery and muddy incline of about 45 degrees. The deer seemed very heavy. I felt abnormally out of energy, dehydrated and weak. I had to stop to rest after every other pull. I decided at this point to go back to the truck, which was about 150 yards away. I'd drop off the rifle, get a drink of water and bring the backpack with the knife in it and some extra water. So I did. I got him gutted out and put the heart and liver in a plastic bag, then into the backpack. He was a little lighter now. I finally made it up the steepest, and most slippery part. I still had to rest between ever other pull. I continued in the same manner until I was about 100 yards from the truck. At that point I went back to the truck, dropped off the backpack and got another drink of water. I also shed a couple of layers. I was dehydrating because I was sweating like a mule, despite the rain and the cool temperatures. I headed back to my deer and continued the work, wondering how I had let myself get so weak. I used to be a pretty tough guy, I thought. When I was about 50 yards from the truck, I actually laid down and closed my eyes to rest for couple of minutes, still wondering how I had gotten so weak. After standing up, I felt a weird sensation on my neck. Then I realized that something was biting me. I quickly flicked at it with my hand and some kind of green beetle flew to the ground. It looked just like this one. It was pretty spooky. The bite didn't hurt too bad, but it was stinging a bit and I was a little freaked out. Well, I finally made it back to the truck for the third time, but this time I was able to load the deer up in the back.
Unfortunately, I was too tired to take a picture out in the field with my trophy. I was pretty happy to have made it back to the pickup and start my trip home. It took me all of three hours from the time I shot him to the time I got him up to the truck, only about 200 yards away. The afternoon turned out to be pretty nice. I took my buck home. My wife and son came home shortly after that. We took some pictures and hung him up un the garage and skinned him. I had Monday off work and butchered him up myself. As always it was very satisfying to load the meat up in the freezer for a rainy day.

--Happy Hunting!-- nimrod243

My First Deer, by SM2

We drew muzzleloader deer tags this year for the Metolius unit, doe or buck.
So here's the story.
Up at 5:30 for breakfast, headed out around 7:00 and my father-in-law and I were dropped off by his friend at about 7:15. We hiked for about 1/4 mile and see our first deer; a doe, and she looked like a blacktail to us and was small, so we passed her up.
Meanwhile our buddy took the truck to another trail and was to meet us where the trails merge.
We continued walking (very slow) another 1/2 mile or so. We see two more does. They were big enough but by the time we decided that, they were not in a good position to shoot at. We take about 5 more steps and see a nice sized doe at about 200 yards, she has no clue we are there, so we move real slow and get within about 70 yards, still no clue we are there. My father-in-law gets a good rest and gets ready to shoot, then the doe decides it's time for a nap and walks over under a tree and beds down. We were not going to take a shot at a bedded deer and try to figure out how to get her up without scaring her. All of a sudden my father-in-law freezes. There's a different doe 30 yards from him. He raises his gun and tells me to shoot the bedded doe when she jumps up. He shoots and my doe jumps up and runs 10 yards or so. I have a perfect broadside shot. I pull the action back again and set the sights right on her chest and pull the trigger....... pop. Only the cap goes. I re-cap it, but she is gone by then. So I figure at least we have one deer on the ground. We walk over to where the father-in-law shot at the deer and see no blood sign. We do circles to try and find blood, and find nothing. We looked for close to an hour and my father-in-law still says there's no way he missed.
We decide to continue down the trail and meet up with our buddy. We let him know we are on our way. A few minutes down the trail we hear a distant bang, and our buddy tells us they [the deer] are headed our way. We stop and watch, and a few minutes pass and we can see a couple deer out in the distance. Then they start running straight for us, closer and closer. They are small, so we just watch. They get about 7 feet away and see me, turn 90 degrees and take off. We start walking to where we saw them and arrive at the same time our buddy does. There's a nice sized doe on the ground, so we get to work cleaning her up and getting her back to camp.
12:00
We get back to camp and get her skinned and hung, eat some lunch, traded my gun for another we brought and get back out there.
1:45
We drive to an area, further into the woods, park the truck and start walking. We weren't out 5 minutes and my father-in-law sees a single doe, bang.... she goes 10 yards and she's down. We walk over to her and she's got blood five feet past where she went down, perfect heart shot. So, we get her cleaned up and back to the truck.
4:00
Back at camp, skinned her and hung her, snack and back out.
5:30
Decide to check out another area, park the truck and start walking. We are in deer right away. I pick one with a perfect broadside shot. I take the shot and she stands there. I think I had to have got her. We give her some time, and she wonders up the hill. We go to check for sign......nothing and she's out of sight. It's now getting too dark, so we head back to camp.
Sitting in camp, feeling kinda bummed, I only have Saturday and part of Sunday for this hunt, so we crash early.
5:30 comes way to early today. Eat some breakfast and get a game plan together.
7:00
It's much colder this morning. We start walking up the same trail as yesterday and see deer pretty quick, they are moving so we follow. We have a hard time getting a good stalk on them, there's always one looking in our direction. After a bit, they bust us and run way ahead, letting everything in the woods know we're there. We try for a bit longer, to get in close, but it just ain't happening. Instead of walking the rest of the trail we head back the same way we came.
10:15
We come to a little trail that we had not seen before, our buddy asks what we think. At this point I'm getting really bummed, but my father-in-law says there's only one way to find out, so I walk down the trail maybe 300 yards and it goes around a hill. I get around the hill and I see deer, there are four of them. I get a good rest and they come to within about 25 yards and..............I see horns! Now I'm stoked, I line up the shot and bang, the whole group bolts. I reload and start in the direction of where I shot. There's blood and plenty off it. I start tracking the deer. Ahead I keep seeing a sawed-off log that looks like a deer butt. I get closer and realize for once, that sawed off log is a deer butt! He's down for the count!
This is my second year hunting and my first year taking an animal, I'm on "cloud nine" still.
--Happy Hunting!-- SM2

2007 Trophy!

It was October 30, 2007. I walked very slowly and quietly through the woods . After about 20 minutes of sneaking around, and peering through the maple branches and blackberry vines, I found a place to sit down and rattle some horns. I occasionally used my "Deer Talk, The Deer Stopper" bleat call. This was the second time I had stopped to sit and rattle and call. To my dismay, I heard a very loud car slowly making its way up the muddy road that I was hiking towards, which was barely in view. It sounded like the car had no muffler at all! I thought my chances of seeing any deer that morning had gone down the drain. I was dressed in full camo except for the orange hat you see in the picture. I took off the hat and hid behind a tree, hoping the hunters in the car wouldn't see me. I watched the old station wagon slowly drive by and out of sight, wondering how they expected to see any deer from the road in such a loud car. After a few minutes, the car came back by and I hid again. I figured they were just road hunting and would leave the area. When I walked up to the road I almost decided to head down the road back to my car and go hunt another area. For some reason, and almost without even realizing it, I crossed the road and began hiking up into a really good looking clear-cut, with trees four to six feet tall, tall brown grass and some blackberry vines. It was very "deery" looking. Five or ten minutes later, I was crossing back and forth over the top of a little ridge to get a view from both sides as I went. Suddenly I saw movement up ahead to my left, between a couple of douglas firs. It was a buck crawling on its belly, trying to sneak away from me! I couldn't believe it! All I could really see was a nice set of horns rocking back and forth as he crawled, then I caught a glimpse of his ears and back and a leg. He was crawling like a dog crawls on its belly! I had read online that blacktail deer will sometimes do that. Blacktail deer are very smart. I quickly shouldered my .243 caliber Ruger M77 Mark II and tried to find him in my Tasco 3-9x40 rifle scope, but it was fogged up! This is almost inevitable when you hunt in the rain soaked cascades of western Oregon with a scope that is not fog proof. I could barely make out the outline of the deer crawling away from me, so I put the cross-hairs on what I thought would be his vitals and pulled the trigger. Now, before you go judging me for making a shot like this under these conditions, let me just explain that such is the nature of hunting blacktail deer in western Oregon. You get one split-second chance... if you're lucky! I wasn't about to lose my only chance- I saw that the deer was still moving away from me, though now with a little more purpose, so I quickly went to bolt another round into the chamber... but in my excitement I wasn't operating the bolt correctly and it hung up for half of a second or so. A blood red rush of frustration went right to my face and a choice word started traveling to the tip of my tongue as I sensed that I was losing my one-and-only opportunity to harvest a buck. Time stood still as it does only in these situations and finally I gathered my wits enough to operate the bolt and shoulder the rifle again (only a second or two had gone by). I peered through the fogged scope and put the reticle on the middle of the deers back and pulled the trigger again. After recovering from the recoil and blast of the shot I looked and couldn't see the deer, so I cycled another round, with a little more grace this time, put the safety on and started sprinting towards the place I last saw my quarry (about 75 yards away). I dodged the douglas firs and bounded over fallen trees and ducked under blackberry vines as I went, down into a gully and up the other side (holding the rifles three position safety in the "safe" position with my thumb). As I came to the top of the little gully I caught movement out of the corner of my right eye and there was my buck! I finished him off as quickly as I could and stood there in utter disbelief and barely controllable excitement, looking down at my beautiful trophy! If I hadn't been zigzagging back and forth across the top of that little ridge I would not have even seen the buck. Sometimes it helps when you don't have a set plan in mind. The opportunity can come at any time and it hardly ever happens just like I think it will. To top it all off I bagged my buck on the last day I planned to hunt (something about working and paying bills)! By the way, I have since upgraded my scope to a Nikon Prostaff 3-9X40, which is both fog proof and waterproof. After field dressing my deer and dragging it down near the road, I loaded it into my Nissan Sentra and drove past some folks that were target shooting. I found the scene comical and I chuckled in delight as I drove by, just imagining what they must have been thinking about some crazy road hunter, driving a Nissan Sentra on a muddy logging road. I'm sure they had no idea I had a nice three point blacktail in my trunk!

--Happy Hunting!-- nimrod243