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

My Biggest Buck Ever

It was Monday October 2, 2006. My wife and my son were in Nicaragua until October 20th, so I was free to hunt as much as I wanted this year. I was after the elusive blacktail buck that is intimately familiar with his home turf. I had hunted hard with my bother and some friends on opening morning. My purchase of some boots for $20 or so at the local Bi-mart proved to be a bad investment for hunting boots, and my feet were pretty sore and I was tired. I think the boots were made for the snow and not necessarily for hiking. I wasn't sure if I was going to go hunting that day, even though I had taken that Monday and Tuesday off work so that I could do just that. So, I slept in and when I got up I decided to play Halo 2 on Xbox live. I was playing snipers and just annihilating everyone in my sights. You might wonder why I am even writing about my Halo 2 sniping, but I will explain myself a little later on. For some reason, all of a sudden I said, “to heck with this, I’m going hunting.” It was about 2:30 in the afternoon. All of a sudden I realized that I was wasting precious hunting time. What had I been thinking? I guess I just needed some extra rest.
So, I excitedly packed up my gear and headed out the door. I believe I arrived at the locked gate over by Brownsville, Oregon at about 3:30pm. I used to hate it when the logging companies locked the gates to their property during hunting season, but I realize now that it is probably more of a help than a hindrance. It keeps the hunting pressure down.
Walking up the dry logging road behind the gate, taking my time and being as quiet as possible I took note that the weather was warm and dry but the evening was pleasant. Not exactly the most ideal deer hunting weather, but I was very hopeful of seeing some deer. I used my binoculars to look at every stump and through every bush thinking I might be looking at part of a deer; maybe an ear, or a tail. My heart started pumping harder every time I though I was looking at a deer. The area had been clear-cut about five or six years earlier. When I got to a place where the road made a big loop back across the side of a hill, I headed up off the road, along the edge of a more recent clear-cut and some douglas firs that bordered it. The firs were about 15-20 feet tall and almost impenatrable. I was walking on an overgrown skid road. After 100 yards or so I sat down with my back against a stump staying very still and quiet, almost convinced that I would spend the rest of the evening right where I was. After about half an hour I decided to get up and continue making my way up the hill. I did this several times, but invariably, I would decide that I should move further up the hill because I wasn’t seeing any deer.
Near the top of the round hill a stand of timber bordered the clear-cut; douglas firs and maples, I believe. I decided to still hunt through a sliver of that stand of trees that went up to the top of the hill and opened up into a series of small meadows and then into an old clear-cut that had never been fully re-planted. When I got to the meadows I headed toward the back side of the hill (the east side) and sat looking at a steep clear cut that looked pretty “deery.” I had the intention of staying there the rest of the evening, but again after about 20 minutes I grew restless and decided to make my way back over the top of the hill and glass down into the bottom of the clear-cut that I was more familiar with.
And, So I did. On the other side of the hill, I found a big, flat stump to sit on. The view was beautiful. It was about 5:00pm at this time and a beautiful sunset was beginning to paint the western sky. The crickets where performing their intermittent serenade for me as they will on those fall evenings. I was just enjoying being up on the top of the hill where I had a good view of the valley and the setting sun and a good view down into the bottom of the clear-cut, where it meets those 15-20 ft tall douglas firs. I was quite certain that a buck could walk out of those trees at any moment.
I stayed in my position for quite some time. I even took off my backpack and ate a snack that I had brought along. Even if I didn’t get a deer, I thought, this was one of the most enjoyable hunting experiences that I would remember forever. I don’t know why, but sometimes all my worries go away and I just feel happy and optimistic about life, and this was one of those times. I felt at peace with myself and with god and my family that was in Nicaragua. The family had been gone for a little less than two weeks and I had not begun to feel the serious longing for them that would come only a couple of days later.
After sitting on the stump for about 45 minutes, I stood up and stretched , then began to move across the side of the clear-cut hill, so that I could see over a little ridge that was blocking my view of the rest of the clear-cut. On the other side, there was a tree trunk that was bent over at a ninety degree angle. I stepped up onto it and stood there looking over the terrain. My attention was mostly down hill. After five or ten minutes I heard a branch break over to my right; a sound that I had heard many times before. I was sure it was a deer. I looked over and about 50 yards away I saw him bounding through the brush, quartering away from me! His horns looked massive! I couldn’t tell from that angle how many points he had, but it didn’t matter, he was one of the biggest bucks I had ever seen while hunting and definitely the biggest buck I have ever had a chance to shoot at. It is hard to describe the moment I saw him. Time seemed to stand still. The buck was almost iconic in his majesty. He was wise and wily, elusive and evasive, beautiful and breathtaking. I had lost faith that blacktail bucks grew that big anymore, but my faith was now as fervent as ever!
I can’t explain why, but I remained incredibly calm. My thoughts must have been racing a thousand miles per hour, even though it seemed like I had all the time in the world. In the moment, I completely forgot I was standing, or perched, rather, on top of the bent over stump. Miraculously, I didn't lose my balance. All these thoughts went through my mind, but they were in the background of my mind, the background to what I was seeing, and the background of the one clear though that probably meant the difference between success and failure, "You're only going to get one shot. You're going to have to flip your rifle's safety over to the fire position while keeping your eyes on the deer. Pull the rifle up and follow him and pull the trigger before he goes over the side of the ridge. Make it count!" And so I did! I followed him with the reticle of my old Tasco 3-9x40 rifle scope in the middle of his vitals. The .243 seemed to bark like a .22. I felt no recoil. As I took the shot I thought I saw him go down, as if he didn't even take another step. "I got him," I thought, but I couldn't be sure because he was right at the edge of the ridge when I last saw him. It was at that point that I remembered I was standing precariously on a stump that was not more than seven inches wide! I quickly put the rifle's safety back in the "safe" position, jumped down into the brush, making a mad dash, thrashing though the dry and choking vegetation towards my deer. I was determined that if that deer was still running down the other side of the ridge, I would get to him before he abandoned the clear-cut. "I think I got him but I'm not sure," I almost said out loud as I made my way across the side of the hill. I got to where I thought I had last seen him but there was no deer or blood anywhere. I started to panic a little and made the last 20 yards to the edge of the ridge an all-out sprint (the edge of the ridge was a little further than I had originally thought. Well, I got over there and didn't see anything. I stood and looked for several minutes, sure that if he was still there I would see him, but I didn't. So, I decided to go back to where I thought he ought to be, still a little unsure of what I should do. I looked around for what seemed like five or ten minutes. I was starting to get worried, but I was determined to keep looking until dark if I didn't find him. I made my way a little further down the side of the hill than I had searched previously and all of a sudden, there he was, laying just the way I imagined he would be, with one bullet hole right through the lungs, right where I had been aiming when I pulled the trigger. From this angle he looked smaller than he had the first time I saw him. I was looking at him from above this time and though he looked smaller, now he was without a doubt, the biggest buck I had ever harvested. I couldn't believe I had downed him with one shot and indeed it looked like he hadn't taken one more step after he hit the ground. The moment I saw him I did something I am a little ashamed to admit because I don't consider it to be too sportsmanlike, but I couldn't help myself. I let out a long, loud and jubilus yell like you might hear a football fan make when his team makes the winning touchdown of a bowl game. The sound of my yell echoed through the surrounding hills and lost itself in the distance and the setting sun. He was a heavy horned four point with eye guards! I called my brother right away to let him know (having reception on my cell phone). He was quick to share my excitement as he is an avid hunter as well and had harvested a buck that was a little bigger than mine a year or two before in the same area. We speculated that the two deer might be cousins as their horns are somewhat similar in formation.
I was surprised to hear my brother say he was going to drive all the way from Springfield to Brownsville to help me drag him out if I needed help, and that we could take the deer over to his father-in-law's house to hang him up and skin him. I excitedly agreed.
I hope you can imagine my joy and excitement as I knelt down and grabbed my trophy by the horns and turned his head from side to side, admiring him. If you have never hunted, I am not sure I could ever put this excitement into words. I had hunted over a fourteen year period and hadn't harvested a buck so big or beautiful. I had harvested others but none so majestic. I thanked God for such a great blessing. I still thank him today, because that moment renewed my passion for hunting. I had lost that passion over the last couple of years, a passion that burned bright in my teenage years. I think a lot of people find it easy to believe that the best hunting was in the past, but I learned that day that it's just not true, at least for me I know it's not. There are plenty of trophies out there for the taking. My subsequent internet surfing of blacktail buck pictures confirmed this fact even more. My buck, though unique, isn't singular. There are hundreds, if not thousands of big bucks like mine out there, but you are going to have to sharpen your hunting skills and techniques if you want to catch a glimpse of one during general rifle season. Not to say that I am an expert hunter by any means, and not to say that there wasn't a considerable amount of luck involved in my hunt, and undoubtedly there was some Divine intervention. I am sure that wise old buck would have snuck away from me if that one branch wouldn't have snapped under his hoof. Blacktail bucks are know to sneak off quietly without even an experienced hunter hearing or seeing them. Lastly, I promised I'd explain what playing Halo 2 has to do with shooting deer. I think spending a couple of hours playing Halo 2 on Xbox live earlier that day sharpened my instincts and shooting skills. That may seem like quite a stretch, but they do say that video games help sharpen the ol' hand-eye coordination. : ) To be honest it was quite a miraculous shot.
After field dressing my buck, "the real work began," as they say. I started pulling him down the hill and about halfway down I saw two hunters walking up towards me. I was a little worried at first, but I waved down at them as they were obviously wanting to meet up with me. When they saw me wave they started yelling questions about what exactly it was that I was dragging down the hill. I explained myself and they offered to help, and thank goodness they did! It was nearly a mile back to the pickup and it was getting dark quickly. As they helped me they commented several times that he was sure a big buck and that they didn't think they grew them like that anymore. I remember one of them had a pistol in a holster on his hip and I looked at it and worried now and then, afraid that they might be plotting to steal my deer, as I had never had someone so eager to help me drag a deer out of the woods before. It's kind of sad that we have to worry about such things these days. It's too bad that you can't just trust people like you used to. I'm only 28 years old but I can still remember times when I felt like you could trust your average Joe quite a bit more readily than you can today. You never know when you are going to run into a crazy.
My fears were unfounded and it soon became apparent that they (and I wish I could remember their names) were there to help me and share in the wonder and excitement of a fellow sportsman's success.
Us hunters truly do need to band together, especially in these times of radical political agendas, promoted by liberal minded, ignorant fools, that would like to take away every hunting, fishing and gun bearing right that we hold dear. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate anybody and I don't want to take anybody else's freedoms away either.
When we made it back to dad's old blue truck we loaded the deer in the back. Boy was I tired! It would have taken me all night to get that deer down to the truck without the help of these fellow hunters who were willing to forfeit their evening hunt to help me out. Of course they did mention that they thought I'd probably scared off every deer within a five mile radius when I let out my "bowl game winning touchdown holler."
I thanked them very much and they congratulated me. I offered to buy them something cold to drink as a gesture of my gratitude. I was delighted when they accepted and we headed to the local Dairy Mart. We met up with my brother there and enjoyed a cold softdrink and got a couple of comments about the buck from from the passersby. I said goodbye to my newly aquired friends and my brother and I headed over to his father-in-law's house and got him hung up. The neighbors came over to look at him and we all enjoyed the occasion. I wish I had my camera with me so that I could take some pictures of my trophy in the field. Thankfully, my brother lent me his camera and we took some photos in the garage as we skinned him out.
I have been fortunate and blessed enough to harvest three blacktail bucks in three consecutive years now. The only problem is that, my biggest buck ever was this one, harvested in 2006. Then in 2007 I harvested another nice buck; a three point. You can read about the story in this blog. Now you might not consider that a real problem, and I really don't either, but I find it interesting that the 2007 buck was a bit smaller than the 2006 buck and the 2008 buck was even smaller than the 2007 buck. I figure at this rate, if I'm lucky, I'll get drawn for an antlerless deer tag in 2009 and harvest a doe! Heck, that would be just fine with me!

--Happy Hunting!-- nimrod243