Just a story

The sound of the alarm is startling the first few days of the hunt. I don’t usually use one at home. The noise it makes reminds me of alarms at work so it’s a bit disorienting to hear in the pitch black tent. I rustle around and get my headlamp out of my boot. I lean over and open the wood stove and kick the fire to life. In minutes it’s warm enough to brave getting out of the warm sleeping bag and drag my woolies on over the silk long underwear.

I light the camp stove and put the coffee water on. Coat, hat, boots and out to put the muzzle bag full of pelleted feed on my patiently waiting horse. He stomps and blows when he hears the tent flap open. When I get to him I’m careful not to shine the light in his eyes as I fit the bag over his muzzle and snap the closure. I pat him and kiss him on the neck and head back to the tent. I stop to pee and look up at the stars wheeling in the clear black sky. It’s cold but not windy, and it doesn’t look like rain.

The coffee water comes to a boil, I pour some into a couple of packets of instant oatmeal, then add ground coffee to the pot. I eat my oatmeal while the coffee finishes. Once done I fill the thermos and the enameled metal coffee cup. I toss some lunch food, bagels, cream cheese, some sliced lunch meat and cheese into my saddle bag on one side and the thermos in the other. I drink the coffee as soon as it’s cool and then drag my gear outside.

Russia is done with breakfast so I pull his blanket off, run a quick brush over his back and belly. I pick up each hoof and clean his feet. Saddle first, breast collar, britchin’, saddle bags, gun scabbard all get put on and adjusted. Tighten the girth one last time (he hates that part), slip the hackamore over his head and slide the rifle in the scabbard. I mount up and put my headlamp in the horn bag and nudge him with my heels. We walk slowly in the dark through the small meadow, into the big timber where the trail is, and follow the trail to the creek. I let him take his time and drink the cool clear water. He stops to suck his teeth and let his mouth warm up again before finishing his drink. Horses get "ice cream" headaches too, I guess. We back out of the creek and start our climb. Some of the time I can see, in the timber I can’t see my hand even if it’s touching my nose. Russia can see the trail and I have to trust him. There are a couple turns in the timber that you wouldn’t want to miss; it’s a long ways down.

I can feel him twisting and turning on the little curves in the trail. One is a quick right-left-right that always gets people when they hunt with me. We break out of the timber above Bullion Basin and Mount Rainier is there glowing in the moonlight. I stop to let Russia get some air and sit there enjoying the view, the cold air, and the hot horse keeping my legs warm. His breathing slows and I nudge him with my heels again. We climb to the Pacific Crest Trail and turn south. The trail is mostly on a side hill, crosses above a couple of small cliffs and then makes a hairpin turn around a sharp outcropping. I dismount and lead him from here, I trust him but we make too big of a silhouette mounted. We sneak the best a guy in the dark leading a 1200-pound steel shod behemoth can. We get to the saddle in the ridgeline between two valleys, I tie him to the same tree I always use. I get my rifle, my thermos, my fanny pack, and binoculars off of him and pull the bright orange saddle cover over him so he won’t get shot at. I pat him on the neck and head up the hill in the dark.

There is an elk bed next to a low growing juniper on the ridge overlooking a steep grassy meadow. I park there. I check my scope to make sure it’s not fogged. I pour a cup of coffee and get as close to the ground as I can to stay warm. I’m behind my fanny pack and next to the juniper, nearly invisible if you’re a deer. Now I just wait.

It gets lighter, then the sky lights up orange. The birds wake up and start to flit and chatter in the branches. I can see other hunters in their orange vests and coats on the ridge we rode in on. I finish my second cup of coffee and then put the cup away, it’s almost time, the witching hour….first shooting light. I check my watch and see that it’s legal to shoot, now I just need to find a deer, not just any deer, but a buck with three antler points on at least one side. Most two and a half year olds will do but there aren’t a whole lot of them around here.

I hear rocks rolling above the meadow. Then I see them. Deer, at least 20 of them; moving down into the meadow. Something, or more likely somebody, had kicked them out of the brush. I see antlers on three as I move my cross hairs from animal to animal. Two of the bucks are obviously not legal here, a few yards west and they would be since I’m lying 30 yard from the hunting unit boundary. The third one gets my immediate attention. He’s tall and wide with deep forks, not a little basket rack like the others. He’s at 200 yards and I have a good sight picture. He’s walking and my crosshairs are tight behind his shoulder…tickling him with the cross hairs. I look and look and can’t put a third point on him. He’s a beautiful buck and next year he will be a fine four point. I put my safety back on and relax behind my rifle.

The big group of deer is splitting into two smaller bunches. One with the bucks in it is dropping below me and to my right; heading for the saddle where my horse is tied. The other group of just does is heading right at me. The wind is in my face and they can’t see me. They are worried about the danger that they already know about and deer can only focus on one threat at a time. They get closer, and closer, walking at a good clip. They’re here, six feet to my left walking past me. I can see individual hairs on their coat with my peripheral vision as they walk by. The third one spooks a bit and jumps sideways, the others look at her as if she’s crazy and walk on. Then I’m alone again in the elk bed. I have another cup of coffee and walk back down to eat a snack and talk to my horse about what happened. He understood, but then they walked right by him too.

The bigger buck got shot about an hour later. I watched the bullet hit him. So much for his chances of being that beautiful four point. He dropped like a stone. The other guy didn’t have as much restraint as I did I guess, because he still wasn’t legal.

The last afternoon of that part of the hunt I left Russia tied up in camp and hunted my way up the trail. On the way back I saw a guy and his kid and caught up to them where they were looking at a deer. They waved me over and asked if I had some decent optics to look for antlers with. I handed the kid my rifle and got out my Swarovski 10x40s. I laid down in the trail while he aimed his rifle. I waited and the nervous buck turned to leave and hesitated. I saw the third point and said so….nothing. "He’s broadside and turning, take him now or he’s gone", I said. BOOM! Right in my left ear. Where that bullet went I don’t know but the deer was unscathed. The shot was an easy one, if he had taken a rest. He had time…he was just a poor shot.

The two smaller forkhorn bucks I’d watched that first morning lived for two more days. They got shot just past where I tie up when they crossed the trail that is the boundary of the point restricted area.

I went home to get my wife and Levi, the mule she rode then. The next morning we hunted the area there weren’t many bucks to be seen. We ended up with a shot at a little spike buck just inside the legal any buck area. I shot him while kneeling in front of the horses. I’d shot my other guns around the ponies without any drama but this time was a different story. Russia must have thought the world was coming to an end and in his haste to leave he ran over my wife. I heard all hell break loose behind me and spun around to see her laying in the trail and the horse and mule disappearing around the corner. I checked her over and she wasn’t hurt…much. She went to get the animals and I went to follow up my shot. The ponies only went around the corner and stopped. The deer died close to the trail. It all worked out in the end. We dressed the little buck and loaded him on the mule and lead the boys back to pack up the camp.

Not much solitude, no huge bucks, but it wasn’t a terrible time. I don’t hunt there any more. I try to stay farther away from other people now. I guess I just don’t feel all that comfortable with so many people pressuring the deer. It’s nice to hunt undisturbed game in the company of only those you are hunting with. It’s rare but those are the things I’m looking for now. That and a big wall hanger mulie.