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  • #16
    Originally posted by fitch270 View Post

    I think the saying goes “Discretion is the better part of valor”, but hey, we’re talking elk here. Discretion is subjective.
    Discretion is not even a known word in an elk camp ! Once elk hunting enters the bloodstream, brains no longer enter the equation.


    • #17
      Originally posted by Amflyer View Post
      It was a warm October day, and we headed to the hunting spot to “check stands.” As we pulled up to the bottom, far farther than we normally bring the vehicles, I tell my father, “hope i don’t see a big bruiser, to make me fret all night for the next month.”

      As I get out of the truck, I see tall times, bobbing through the trees. Very long tines. Very big deer.

      “Gotdammit, there he goes!”

      I had something to think about, for sure, on those dark nights for the next month. Yeah boy.

      I usually sit in a hochsitz in the morning on opening day. I usually see deer, but rarely shoot one. I think the big ones hang out across the creek, and need to be stalked. So i wait.

      That year, it was damn cold. Not just normal cold, as it is November, but DAMN cold. The bank at the last town I went through told the numbers, but not the wind chill. And the wind; she sings, that morning.

      My father stayed home, in the cold and wind, with a promise to meet me later in the day should it warm up.

      I made it on stand until 0830 or so. Then back to the truck to warm up. Nothing moving. No deer. Chattering teeth. Scary cold. West wind, making it too noisy for the deer to hear, to feel safe.

      After a bit of coffee, some running-truck heater action, I set out across the creek. I would walk through the snow, puffed up in my cold weather gear, pack, and rifle. I held to the cedars, good cover in the snow, with the wind in my face.

      Coming around a clump, I saw a butt. A deer butt. A BIG deer butt. I froze, and the rifle came off my shoulder, and the safety came off. I was 30 yards away, offhand

      When the buck cleared cover, he was nose down, tracking a doe, presumably. I saw tines, big tines, and the crosshairs centered seemingly of their own accord, and the big 30-06 spoke; challenging the rasping of the wind.

      Down he went, and I could tell for good. Sometimes you just know. I put a hand on his flank, kneeling beside, looked into his eyes and told him I was sorry.

      He gave one involuntary flex, and my deer season was over.

      It was then I recognized this buck as the one I saw back in the warmth of October. He had impossibly tall brow tines, and it gave him a look, something you remember from a fall day.

      “I’ll be damned," I whispered to myself. He had stuck around.

      Coming down the hill to the creek, with the cape and head on my shoulders, I found my father waiting on the other side.

      “Just like a blister,” I called out as a greeting. “You only show up when the work is done.”

      He looked at the antlers on either side of my orange hunting hat, and ignoring the jibe, he smiled.

      “You found him!"

      IMG_1641.jpg IMG_1663.jpg IMG_0005.jpg
      Nice story, nice deer Amflyer ! I enjoyed your writing, your words went together very nicely. Being a retired taxidermist, I particularly liked the mount job as someone certainly knew how to perform the work that such a fine creature deserved in its preservation ! It is always a joy for me to see quality work, thanks for posting the photo and also for such a fine job of relating the hunt itself !




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