Home Forums Hunting & Shooting General Big Game Our 2023 hunting season in Idaho...

Well, the big game season in Idaho has come and gone. I'm left feeling equal parts melancholy and blessed. It simply wasn't a great year in terms of my individual success and I'm quite bummed redemption lies at least 10 months away. The upside is that for my small hunting group it was pretty spectacular on a couple of fronts. More on that in a minute though.

I guess it makes as much sense as anything to take these events chronologically. I should be happy I was able to hunt at all. In July of this year I suffered through my second knee replacement in the last three years. It wasn't awesome. It started out...okay. Lots of time in front of the TV with ice, discomfort, and boredom as my constant companions. A couple of weeks of mostly laying around followed by lots of days of working on range of motion. The bandages came off and what lay under them wasn't pretty....



The days craaaawled by. My goal was to simply take more steps each day than the one that proceeded it. I bought a fancy new watch to monitor my steps and hold me accountable. Progress was slow but steady. Range of motion is usually the biggest concern after these surgeries, and my beloved wife tortured me each day to ensure I got all of mine back. The range was there, but my usually stout quad was appallingly withered in short order.

Six weeks post-surgery and my PA said I could do "whatever I could tolerate"....meaning I was structurally healed as far as they were concerned. After being cooped up for weeks on end, I was excited to get out and do some scouting. A friend and I loaded up the bikes and hit the high country for some "easy" riding. It was a fantastic day in some beautiful country...right up until I crashed a mile from the truck. The pain was excruciating frankly. It was far worse than anything post-operative and the swelling was immediate.



I scheduled a follow up with the surgeon as soon as he could get me in to assess the damage. There wasn't anything OBVIOUSLY wrong, but the pain was awful in the weeks that followed. As a wise man once said, if you're gonna be stupid you better be tough.

October arrived and I headed up to the high country with great trepidation. I knew I was far from my best, and we hunt country that's simply unforgiving. The year prior I had killed a bull with 5,000' and 6 miles of packing per quarter...mostly without the aid of a trail. I didn't know what this season would hold, but I knew I didn't have that sort of range in me this year. Opening morning found me on one of my favorite perches glassing distant basins. Sure enough, I spotted several good bulls in the same vicinity as the year prior. I'd barely hunted a mile in that morning, and my knee was already throbbing so I watched the bulls with a heavy heart knowing I simply didn't have it in me to chase them. As the sun rose and shadows formed, I shouldered my pack and started back to camp with an idea forming that maybe I should just head back home. I was physically hurting and feeling as about as down as I get. My heart simply wasn't in it.

I returned to camp in a full-on funk. Father time is undefeated but this would mark the first time in 35 years of chasing elk that my body simply wasn't up to the task. It was humbling...and depressing quite frankly. I've long believed I was tough enough to endure anything to kill an elk. It was my calling card in fact. Other guys could shoot better, call better, glass better, etc....but no one was as willing to suffer as much as I was. I've killed a lot of bulls by simply wanting it more than the next guy. I kept telling myself it was temporary and that I could bounce back, but the pain was grounding me in a new truth.

My main hunting partner (Matt) has a lot of faults. He dresses like a color-blind pimp. He likes Star Wars and makes a LOT of stupid references to it. He INSISTS on talking about gross medical stuff as it's his profession. There are many days I question the choice(s) that led to him becoming my primary hunting partner. That day though, he was exactly what I needed when I returned to camp. He hadn't seen anything that morning, but returned to the wall-tent in a great mood simply happy to be in the mountains. No matter how hard I tried to wallow in self-pity, he wasn't having it. His optimism and genuine joy to be chasing bulls finally wore me down and I was forced to concluded my pity-party a bit early.

to be continued....

Good Luck with the recovery

All I can say is that after my heart and stroke
issues that they said I wouldn't make it through,
( 8 years ago 2024 ) and caring for my mother
until her death, and other crap, I look at every
day that I can get out of bed and go to the toilet
without fouling myself without assistance, and
am able to cook and eat and walk, well I figure
every day is a gift

Years ago I started treating every hunting and
fishing and camping trip as if it might be the
last one.

Every day we're not laying in the ICU or
the funeral home, we've won
The rest is gravy.
There's always somebody somewhere
that's twice as bad off as we are

Yes! one thread I look forward to every year.
Glad you were able to overcome your knees and get out there.

Good stuff Dave, looking forward to more installments, as always !

Great attitude, Tracy !!

Had a knee replaced 6 or 7 yrs ago and never got back to 100%. These days a long walk ruins me for a couple days. No more chukar hills and afraid to kill even a deer for fear of not being able to get it out. On top of that the right knee is going out too! Hunted deer last year just a bit and paid for each day. then last fall an idea hit me. I can't walk well anymore but I can ride a four wheeler so bought a four wheeler and gonna give it a go again this year. have used it several times and have got way back in with it in reasonable country so giving it a go. Just got done with a steak off last years deer. Damn I wish my dentures worked without hurting my mouth but the deer was good anyway. Think my dogs got most of it though!

Winter used to be my favorite time of year but turn 78 in March and below zero and the freezing rain and snow has me turned off. Gonna be needing some really cold weather clothes in the future! -6* below zero day before yesterday! Freezing rain this morning and snowing like hell now!

...continued

We enjoyed a leisurely afternoon before heading out to our usual, evening glassing spot.

I threw the binos on the tripod and started doing grid work after settling in. Most of what we look at is too distant to do much about with an evening hunt, but if we find a good bull in a remote spot that seems "settled" in the evening, our usual course of action is to make a long run the following day. I knew my knee was going to limit me from making those runs this season but Matt had no such limitations this year. He'd dropped over 20 pounds in preparation for elk camp and was the strongest I'd seen him in a decade of hunting together. I figured that even if I couldn't hunt, I could certainly do the work on the glass for Matt.

I'd only been glassing for a few minutes when I spotted a decent bull in a small opening. He was at the very bottom of the drainage we were glassing over...which was exciting as he was actually in a spot I felt I could hobble my fat azz to. He was a long way away, but low enough that we could likely get a shot across the drainage on him at under 600 yards. The opening was small and the odds were slim he'd still be there, but it was better than no odds at all. Matt paused for a minute and said, "Go ahead bud. My guess is he's going to be long gone by the time you get there. I think I'll just enjoy the show from here".

I knew my knee was going to severely limit my chances this season and decided to at least give a go. I gathered up my gear and started down the hill as fast as I could scramble. I didn't make it a third of the way before he had worked his way across the opening and into a thick stand of timber. I stood there for a few minutes with sweat pouring in my eyes, frustrated at how quickly my "opportunity" had faded. Oh well, nothing worth having ever comes easy. There was barely an hour of daylight left at this point. It didn't make sense to be hiking during that last hour of light, so I slipped down the hill just a bit further to a little flat rock with a good view and settled in for the last hour of the day. I picked apart the distant hillside the next 30 minutes or so, trying not to think about the climb out that awaited me. I was just getting ready to pack all my gear back up when I thought I heard something immediately below me. I peered over the edge of the rock and didn't see a thing. Just as I turned my back to start packing up, I heard it again. This time it was loud enough I KNEW something was relatively close on the hillside below me.

I peeked back over the edge and began picking apart the thick brush immediately below me. It took a good 5 minutes before I realized I could see a bush shaking with the unmistakable pattern of a large ungulate rubbing his antlers. Pretty soon I was able to make out the last 10-12" of a back set of forks. It was a small bull! I grabbed up the little 6 Creed and got proned out in anticipation. The thermals were starting to drop, but the elk was a good 100 yards south of my scent line. He was only about 180 yards away, but damned if I could make out a shoulder through the thick brush. Soon a cow materialized just 10 yards or so away from him in a very small opening. Just as quickly, she had walked through it. No matter though, as I knew he'd likely follow in short order. It took a couple of minutes as I figured out they were slowly feeding across the hill underneath of me. The brush was SO thick though, that I figured it was only 50/50 I'd get a shot off.

A minute or two later his head and neck emerged into the same "opening" the cow had just passed through. It was immediately apparent that (a) he wasn't very big, and (b) I wasn't going to have a clear shot at his vitals. He was almost across the small opening when he craned his neck out and began stripped leaves off a bush to eat. I had a choice. I could try a head/neck shot or let him walk. I should state here I HATE both of those shots personally. There is simply too much "non lethal" area to hit and cause a rodeo. That said, my rifle is an absolute laser. Since I couldn't hike in preparation for the upcoming season the way I normally do, I'd instead shot....a lot. I could punch a 1moa, 10-shot group at 100 yards as fast as I could load and work the bolt. I could do it day after day, with boring regularity. While I didn't love the shot opportunity I had in front of me, I've also never been better prepared.


Three times I began squeezing the trigger, and three times I stopped myself. I closed my eyes and took two deep breaths and settled the crosshairs just in front of his ear. The crosshairs were steady when the trigger broke, and he never twitched as he collapsed in a heap.

Five hours prior I had been ready to go home, and against all likelihood I'd just punched my tag on opening day. Talk about a roller-coaster of emotions. I snapped this picture before I scrambled down the hill to find him. Here is what I was looking at just after the shot. The bull is piled up just under the Tamarac in the bottom of the draw to the left...



A few minutes later I walked up to a piled heap of raghorn bull...




To be continued....

As always, great tale of the year’s adventures Dave! Good on you for giving it hell even with the bum leg. Keep it coming, I’m working the night shift and need the entertainment.

Yep, tuned in....

Way to stay on task Dave....

Sorry to hear about your situation and wake up call, but this is the attitude I LOVE to hear about.

My most proud kills involve situations I honestly was a bit apprehensive about at first, but I nutted up and just did it. 8 plus day pack outs in griz country with downpours, clouds of bugs, or whatever the challenge is. It sucks at the time, but is OH SO awesome when it is done.

This attitude is one of the very few things I truly admire about people, in whatever their passion is.

...continued.

It's tough to tell from the terrible photo, but the bull was hung up in a really precarious position. With fading light and an aching knee, I decided I'd rather wait to get Matt's help the following morning and just gutted him for the time being. The hike out was surprisingly painless, even if I did take my sweet time.

After a good night of sleep, we made our way back to the bull and broke him down the following morning in no time. It was only about 800 feet of vertical to get him up to a spot I could ride the bike to. Normally we'd be overjoyed with a pack out that easy (relatively). Matt definitely was, but I knew it wasn't going to be awesome. I'll spare you the additional whining, but man did it suck. I'm not sure it would have been possible without trekking poles honestly. Matt offered to do all of the packing, but I'd rather give up hunting entirely than not be able to do my own packing. As such I told him I appreciated the gesture but he could kindly go [bleep] himself.

It took us the better part of the day to get him packed out, but it was largely drama free. Matt enjoying a well-deserved break...



Me at the halfway point of a trip. Each year I like to take a photo of what I think is the "worst" moment to keep myself grounded in the reality of elk-hunting. This is that moment for the season...




Matt beat me back to camp with the final trip and had a fire going and a whiskey poured when I arrived a little while later. Maaaybe he was worth putting up with a little Star Wars nonsense every now and then.




To be continued....

Folks - Dave is a phuggin' animal (as several others here can attest having also hunted with him).

If it sucks for him, it's literal hell for us mortals - especially those of us from flatter lands.

Hahaha...that's kind of you to say, but complete nonsense Scott.

You and your father managed to kill a bull up here on opening day. Your (awesome) pops is about a hundred and I never heard him complain even once. I complain ALL the time. This entire posting is mostly me whining for chit's sake. I'll try to dial that back a bit btw. More to come I swear.

Dave

continued....

Our primary hunting camp at this point has evolved into Matt, myself, my son Rowdy, and his best friend Cadon. We have a few friends (like Skane and TDN) that join us on occasion, but the four of us are essentially a given each year at this point. Rowdy had drawn a late-season elk tag in SE Idaho and is still in school at UI, so he would only be joining us on the weekends to serve as pack-mule and camp clown. Cadon hadn't made it to camp yet, as he was chasing mule-deer a couple of hours south of us.

It was really kind a disjointed year across the board. The four of us were only in camp at the same time for a total of about 3 days out of a three-week season. I hated that honestly, as the shared laughs and experiences with those three dummies are my favorite parts of the hunt. I was part of the problem as my time in camp was going to be limited this year as well. I would be leaving early to guide another Campfire buddy (AH64guy) on a moose tag he'd drawn later in the season.

I don't have the details of the hunt as Cadon was solo, but I'm happy to report he managed to punch his tag on a nice buck just a few days before joining us. I can't tell you how proud of him we all were. He was hunting a heavily pressured unit and to take any buck out of there is an achievement. Here is Cadon with his buck from earlier in the season.



A week into the season and Matt and I hadn't been able to turn up another bull in shooting range. Matt's brother would be joining us this season for a few days, so he departed camp to re-supply and pick up his brother. That left me solo for two days, with only two left to follow before I'd have to depart. I had managed to secure an extra, non-resident deer tag this season so I was looking for something tasty and easy to retrieve with the first tag knowing I'd be chasing white-tails with Rowdy later in the year with the other.

I'd passed up a few smedium bucks in the days following the elk, but nothing that tipped the scales in favor of the suffering of packing one out. On the last day I had to hunt alone, a VERY small buck made the mistake of loitering for too long in an area that would make him a relatively easy solo pack down the mountain. I also had a new 6 Creedmoor that I wanted to gather more data on, as the head-shot bull didn't really tell me much. It wasn't a tough shot as the little buck was only about 85 yards away, but it was a good test of the bullet as the impact velocity was still pretty high on the 105 VLD when it hit him. He only managed to stumble about 30 yards before he was went down for good. The entrance and exit respectively. A little more damage than I prefer, but not unexepected at that range and velocity. It looks worse than what it was, and I didn't lose a lot of meat honestly...



and





To be continued...

Continued...

It was a relatively easy pack down the hill, right up until my trekking pole broke...again. I love the guys at S&S archery here in Boise and they've been great about replacing broken parts, but this marks the third year in a row one of their lightweight trekkers has failed me. I'm officially DONE with them. I managed to get the entire deer on a single run but it wasn't fun doing so with a single trekking pole and my bum knee. FWIW I used Sissy Stix poles the rest of the season and they worked great.

The next couple of days weren't terribly productive in terms of killing game, but they sure were fun as Cadon and Rowdy rolled into camp and the hard-assing began. Here is a morning glassing session with Rowdy (left) and Cadon that wasn't terribly productive given the weather. Oh to be 22 again and full of pizz and vinegar. They are both idiots, but man do they make me laugh. They also give me hope that all is not lost with the next generation. Cadon just started working as a deputy in a rural Idaho county, and Rowdy is currently 4 months from graduating with honors with a degree in Rangeland Management. Both great young men and proud to have played a small role in helping raise both of them. Not surprisingly Cadon's mom and dad are great people too.



These two go waaay back and I've been dragging them with me on outdoor adventures for many, many years now. That's Cadon and Rowdy on the left in this photo when they were still in grade-school. I believe this was spring break in the 6th grade if my memory serves me correctly. I digress though, and forgive me for the detour down memory lane.





Poor visibility and wet weather somehow go hand in hand with bad food I've found. This year was no exception...



Matt and his brother rolled back into camp just before I was to depart to the help Greg on his moose hunt. The only thing worse than one Matt talking about Star Wars is two of them. Well, a Matt and a Jake...but damn little difference as you can tell. Not only do they look alike, but they like to injure themselves the same way. Note the footpeg scars on their shins. Motorcycles can be unforgiving mistresses in the snow in particular....




To be continued...

Dave,
Great job and even better story telling!

Very good Dave

Dave-

Tell us about your 6 Creed if you haven't already. Great write up friend! Thanks