Buckskinner
Member
Just wanted to share a good story.
Dad and I went hunting after a 6 year hiatus. He'd been living in the Caribbean and Florida for that time, and like he'd say "Boy, there ain't no huntin' down here, and it shore is flat!". Well, he got pretty darned good at spearfishing, so it wasn't all bad...I like the fresh lobster...
Anyway, up we went to our old haunt above Downieville in the gold country of Northern CA, like the place that Hank Jr. sings about in "A Country Boy Can Survive"...Lo and behold, in our favorite little town there were now fern bars and coffee bistros instead of sporting goods stores holding contests for the biggest bucks. Mountain bikers in their Day-Glo whizzed by, and Lycra clad tourists were giving us camo clad woods walkers the ol' stink eye! Boy things change...and that's Nor Cal for you...some people shouldn't be allowed out of the city...ahhh, I don't really believe that...
So up to the high country we went after buying another stick of salami. Got out and scouted around. It was hot and dry and still. Some fresh deer and bear track, but more bicycle and motorcycle tracks. I tell ya, NOBODY came up here just 8 years ago...what happened?....
Opening morning, and after coffee we go check out all our favorite spots: Bear Rock, Two Buck Ridge, Dick's Last Chance, The Notch, Big Leap....Nothing, nothing, and nothing...We walk our flatlander buns off...we live off power bars and water....we crawl on our hands and knees under 10' tall stands of manzanita...still nothing....
Three days later and pretty darned tired, Dad said he was going back to where he'd passed up a shot at a big cinnamon colored black bear the night before...he said the ears looked tiny, so that was a good sign about the size of the bear. Having packed animals out of that canyon before, I'm glad he didn't shoot that ol' bear down there...I go out to Sunnyside Bowl...about two miles into my hike, and BOOOOM, I hear dad's .338 give a victory shout! I wait another minute, and no second shot, and that's a good sign. I pull out my Motorola Distance radio..."Dad, was that you?" "Yup!" "Bear or Buck?" "A big ol' muley! and he went down hard!" Hoo wee! Since I was pushing something ahead of me, and I couldn't quite catch up to it or see it through the very thick forest, I turned around for the 4 miles to his ridge. I stopped at the rig and got two more canteens and the frame pack, dropping my web gear. Charging to his position, he radios me "There's another big buck just going into the trees!" I got to him, very tired now, and he tried to dog for me. No buck this time, so he went to find his downed deer. And there he was...
This was about a 400 +/- yard shot with Dad's .338 Win Mag from his old Ruger M77. He knew it was pretty far when he dialed up his 1.5-7 power Leupold and it still looked tiny. He held about six inches high, and should have missed. Dad obviously said his prayers to Grandpa and Uncle John, who have gone before, and with one shot drilled that old buck clean in the neck, killing him instantly and flipping him over backwards down the steep granite and buck brush slope.
By the time I got there he had the guts out and the liver and heart separated. We had to take the hams off and put them in my pack, while we dragged that ol' boy out of his canyon. Once we got to the trail, and figuring out how in the heck we were gonna get this 190 lb'er back to camp since we were already wasted, and could hardly move we were so exhausted. Anyone who's ever carried any game out of hard country knows what I mean...'nuff said about that canyon crawl.
So we strapped the carcass to the pack frame and Dad slung the hams and rifles over his neck...Every step felt like it was taking a year off my life. That pack later turned out to weigh over 130 pounds...
These deer are California Black Tail/ Mule Deer hybrids. Evidently the muleys are dominant right now...The rack was 22 1/2" wide by 19" high..For us it was a very nice buck indeed.
And Dad and I haven't been this close in a long time. We sweated, bled, hunted hard, slept under the stars, told old hunting stories and had a great time. I hope my daughter, who will be born in a few months God willing, has the chance to walk in these same woods with her Grandpa, and when she kills her first buck, or quail, or squirrel up here, then Gramps can smear a little blood on her cheek, and teach her to say the words of thanks we offer reverently to the spirits of nourishing animals departed but never forgotten.
Thanks for listening, just wanted to immortalize an outstanding hunting weekend with my Dad.
Dad and I went hunting after a 6 year hiatus. He'd been living in the Caribbean and Florida for that time, and like he'd say "Boy, there ain't no huntin' down here, and it shore is flat!". Well, he got pretty darned good at spearfishing, so it wasn't all bad...I like the fresh lobster...
Anyway, up we went to our old haunt above Downieville in the gold country of Northern CA, like the place that Hank Jr. sings about in "A Country Boy Can Survive"...Lo and behold, in our favorite little town there were now fern bars and coffee bistros instead of sporting goods stores holding contests for the biggest bucks. Mountain bikers in their Day-Glo whizzed by, and Lycra clad tourists were giving us camo clad woods walkers the ol' stink eye! Boy things change...and that's Nor Cal for you...some people shouldn't be allowed out of the city...ahhh, I don't really believe that...
So up to the high country we went after buying another stick of salami. Got out and scouted around. It was hot and dry and still. Some fresh deer and bear track, but more bicycle and motorcycle tracks. I tell ya, NOBODY came up here just 8 years ago...what happened?....
Opening morning, and after coffee we go check out all our favorite spots: Bear Rock, Two Buck Ridge, Dick's Last Chance, The Notch, Big Leap....Nothing, nothing, and nothing...We walk our flatlander buns off...we live off power bars and water....we crawl on our hands and knees under 10' tall stands of manzanita...still nothing....
Three days later and pretty darned tired, Dad said he was going back to where he'd passed up a shot at a big cinnamon colored black bear the night before...he said the ears looked tiny, so that was a good sign about the size of the bear. Having packed animals out of that canyon before, I'm glad he didn't shoot that ol' bear down there...I go out to Sunnyside Bowl...about two miles into my hike, and BOOOOM, I hear dad's .338 give a victory shout! I wait another minute, and no second shot, and that's a good sign. I pull out my Motorola Distance radio..."Dad, was that you?" "Yup!" "Bear or Buck?" "A big ol' muley! and he went down hard!" Hoo wee! Since I was pushing something ahead of me, and I couldn't quite catch up to it or see it through the very thick forest, I turned around for the 4 miles to his ridge. I stopped at the rig and got two more canteens and the frame pack, dropping my web gear. Charging to his position, he radios me "There's another big buck just going into the trees!" I got to him, very tired now, and he tried to dog for me. No buck this time, so he went to find his downed deer. And there he was...
This was about a 400 +/- yard shot with Dad's .338 Win Mag from his old Ruger M77. He knew it was pretty far when he dialed up his 1.5-7 power Leupold and it still looked tiny. He held about six inches high, and should have missed. Dad obviously said his prayers to Grandpa and Uncle John, who have gone before, and with one shot drilled that old buck clean in the neck, killing him instantly and flipping him over backwards down the steep granite and buck brush slope.
By the time I got there he had the guts out and the liver and heart separated. We had to take the hams off and put them in my pack, while we dragged that ol' boy out of his canyon. Once we got to the trail, and figuring out how in the heck we were gonna get this 190 lb'er back to camp since we were already wasted, and could hardly move we were so exhausted. Anyone who's ever carried any game out of hard country knows what I mean...'nuff said about that canyon crawl.
So we strapped the carcass to the pack frame and Dad slung the hams and rifles over his neck...Every step felt like it was taking a year off my life. That pack later turned out to weigh over 130 pounds...
These deer are California Black Tail/ Mule Deer hybrids. Evidently the muleys are dominant right now...The rack was 22 1/2" wide by 19" high..For us it was a very nice buck indeed.
And Dad and I haven't been this close in a long time. We sweated, bled, hunted hard, slept under the stars, told old hunting stories and had a great time. I hope my daughter, who will be born in a few months God willing, has the chance to walk in these same woods with her Grandpa, and when she kills her first buck, or quail, or squirrel up here, then Gramps can smear a little blood on her cheek, and teach her to say the words of thanks we offer reverently to the spirits of nourishing animals departed but never forgotten.
Thanks for listening, just wanted to immortalize an outstanding hunting weekend with my Dad.
