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

This is the thread I look forward to reading every year and they keep getting better. Thanks again Dave for the adventure - great stuff!!

Great story IDDave! I had both my knees replaced in 2017. Best medical decision I ever made. I can go up and down hills easily now with a little help from all the cardio I do. The elliptical machine has been a Godsend for me. Keep at it buddy!

Ron

Thanks for all the kind words gentlemen. Stop or I’ll get a fat head.

Since you asked….Rifle is simply fantastic. It’s my first custom and likely my last as it’s everything a guy could hope for. Anti action with a 21” barrel chambered by LRI. TT trigger. Christensen Arms FFT stock. Chambered in 6 Creed of course, with a 1:7.5 twist. Hawkins Hybrid rings. Nightforce 2.5-10x32 NXS scope. Rifle weighs 5.25 sans optics, and a touch under 7 lbs all up.

I’ve since mounted a gunsmith adapter for the Spartan bipod and a mini Arca rail for shooting off my tripod. Pure function with just enough form to make it interesting. My beloved and well used .280ai is going to get real dusty sitting in the safe.




Most importantly, it’s a shooter. Factory ammo…handloads…it doesn’t matter. I landed in 105 VLDs as my final load, but I could have shot about anything I wanted. This is the last 8 rounds I had of various “prospector” loads I’d thrown together, shot as fast as I could load and work the bolt.

Continued….


Long before I was ready, I had to pack my things and head out to pick up Greg at the airport. The weather was about to turn cold and I had a hunch the boys were going to have some luck in my absence. Turns out that hunch was correct.

I picked up Greg and after a night at my humble abode, we headed east to get moose camp set. We were two days into that hunt when my InReach pinged. I had a message from Matt….good buck down! In a fitting turn of events, it was actually Cadon that found the buck.

Cadon had filled his tag in a different unit prior to arriving at elk camp, so there wasn’t anything he could do about the large, bedded buck he found himself staring at. He and Matt had been hunting together barely 15 minutes prior though, and Cadon hustled down the mountain as fast as he could. He caught Matt (and Jake) in short order, and convinced Matt to follow him back up the hill.

Matt slid over the crest of the hill to find the buck still bedded slightly below him at just under 100 yards. The buck knew something was up but figured it out just a little too late. Matt hit him with three rounds of 150 BTs from his 7-08, even if the first one was probably sufficient.

The irony of how this hunt played out was thick, and goes back more than a decade. Many years ago Matt was hunting with another good friend of mine in a different part of the state. Matt had killed his first bull the day prior with the assistance of my other buddy (Troy) and he had decided to stay up and help Troy. They ended up a drainage apart when Matt spotted a good buck. Even though Matt had a deer tag in his pocket, it never occurred to him to shoot the deer himself. Instead, he ran Troy down and they doubled back to try and give Troy a chance to kill it. Sure enough they relocated it, only to have the buck get blown out by a herd of elk JUST as Troy was about to kill it.

The thing is, Troy said it was the biggest deer he’s ever layed eyes on, and he’s seen (and killed) a loooot of big deer. To this day, Troy swears he’d break 200”. The only thing more amazing than the deer itself, was that Matt had passed on it to try and give a Troy a chance at it.

That’s Matt though…generous to a fault. Thusly, it was only fitting these many years later Matt’s best deer would come by way of Cadon locating it on his behalf. I think the take home lesson here is to surround yourself with good people and good things tend to happen.

Here is Matt with his buck. A tip of the cap to Cadon for setting the stage for his success…



To be continued…

Once again, Thank you for taking the time to write up your trials and tribulations from this past hunting season. Always enjoy your write ups.

I have zero doubt that you will be at 110% for next season, here's hoping 2024 will be EPIC.

Continued….

On the other end of the state, our moose hunt had gone as well as I could have hoped. We saw north of 30 bulls in four days, but ended up filling the tag in the first hour with the best bull we saw.

I’ve already shared that story here on the Campfire, but if you missed it and would like the details, here is a link to that post…

CLICK HERE FOR MOOSE HUNT STORY

Some photos of that hunt for those of you who’d rather skip the read…











To be continued….

As always, great writing my friend!!
Way to go ID boys!!

Your stories are great Dave!

Thanks for posting it.

Continued...

Sorry for the delay. Got busy chasing ducks this weekend.

Much to my dismay, the best part of the season for our little group happened in my absence. Cadon has been chasing elk with us for the last 4 years to no avail, while Matt, Rowdy, and myself have been tagging bulls with varying success. It seemed like each year Cadon would show up and immediately get roped into packing the quarters of someone else's bull out. He'd had a couple of close calls but it just never quite came together.

Even this year had been marked with near-misses and misfortune. One morning he'd made a run on group of elk with a couple of bulls in it, only to have a couple of unseen hunters above him get a shot off seconds before he topped out over the ridge he was going to be shooting from. Another time he was laying prone waiting for a bull to take a couple of steps forward to get clear of a pine tree, only to have a freaking bobcat show up and blow out the bull.

Here is a picture of that bull seconds before the calamity ensued....



The consensus for our camp this season was for Cadon to get the first shot at any bull we spotted. I'd screwed that up by shooting a raghorn on the opener before Cadon arrived, and almost two weeks later nobody had managed to get a shot on another one.

The last night of our moose camp I received an InReach message that I'd waiting for years to hear...Cadon had killed his first bull. The details were sketchy, but I managed to gather that he'd killed the bull in the LAST hour of the season! Matt had stayed back to break camp while Jake and Cadon made one last run to an area they'd been seeing some recent sign in. Sure enough, in the waning minutes of the last evening a small band of elk had fed out of a timber-patch and crossed a ridge in front of them at no more than 80 yards. Cadon had somehow managed to let the first two spikes and a couple of cows pass as he'd previously caught sight of a broken-racked raghorn near the back of the group. A single, well-placed shot had finally put him in the ranks of successful elk hunters.

Here is Cadon's bull. He's not a world-record, but for our little group at least, it was the best animal of the year by a wide margin....



Matt finished breaking down camp and made a run back to their location via InReach. Those devices have been a Godsend in our group fwtw. Cadon, Jake, and Matt managed to get the entire bull out in one run. It made for a looong night as they had no choice but to hit the road at midnight with camp already down. They'd end up back in the closest town around 3 in the morning, at which point they decided to just sleep in the cab of their trucks for a couple of hours before pushing for home. It was a brutal 24 hours, but an adventure he will cherish for all his years.

To be continued....

Congrats to every one in your group.

Outstanding post, congratulations on a great hunt and I hope you recover fully.

Continued...

The entire time that most of our group had been chasing elk/deer/moose across the central and southern part of the state, Rowdy had been dutifully putting in time pursuing whitetails in between classes at U of Idaho and his part-time job.

He's managed to find a few great locations to chase deer since arriving in Moscow 3 1/2 years ago. In a CRAZY twist of fate, one of those spots was piece of private ground owned by an aunt of Greg (AH64fguy) from here on the Campfire and he of the moose hunt. Rowdy had simply knocked on the right door with the right attitude and been granted permission to hunt a fantastic piece of ground. The fact that Greg had a tie to that particular piece of land was completely unknown to him. Small world.

Rowdy had put several trail cameras out and had two pretty solid bucks that he'd been seeing on camera, if not in person. About 12 days prior to Thanksgiving activity really started picking up and on the morning of the 14th I got a text that simply read, "Good buck down!". It felt like forever, but it was probably only 30 minutes or so until I received a picture. He had indeed killed a very nice buck.




He had practiced shooting longer ranges all summer with his Seekins 7mag as he banged steel out to 700 yards at least once a week after work. It paid off for this hunt as he'd killed the buck with a single, well-placed shot at 490ish yards. The buck hadn't taken a step after getting hit with the 180 VLD. He'd put a lot of hours in that blind and passed on a lot of smaller bucks to put his tag on that particular deer, and I'm extremely proud of his evolution as a hunter the last few years.

I was just as excited to join him a week later. I'd managed to talk my lovely bride into letting me purchase an extra, NR deer tag and I'd be joining him the following week. The days passed excruciatingly slowly, but soon enough I was headed north to join him for a few days of chasing deer. It was Thanksgiving break and his roommates had left for the holidays, so I was able to stay at his apartment for the duration of the long weekend. A special thanks to his roommate Brad for letting me take over his room for the hunt!

The morning after I arrived, Rowdy and I loaded into our pickups and headed out of town for the short drive to his spot. We drove separately as I intended to stay at the blind all day with the rut in full swing, but he had to return to his job mid-morning for a shift. The first couple of hours were simply the best part of my entire hunting season. He's a great kid and we laughed and talked as quietly as we could as the sun rose and the day greeted us. I'd happily relive those two hours every day of my life if I could. A couple of small bucks had come out early, but nothing I wanted to put a tag on and end that great morning spent solving the world's problems.

About 10ish or so he gathered up his pack and headed down the hill to get to work. It wasn't 15 minutes later that I looked across the field and saw two does appear from the pines and begin feeding along the edge of the open field. They kept looking back and I had a hunch a buck was about to follow. It wasn't but a minute later that I caught a flash of brown as a good buck emerged just 40 yards away from them. I knew he wasn't the biggest buck I'd ever put the crosshairs on, but he was a solid deer and I knew we'd be able to watch the Vandal football game together the following day if I punched my tag that morning.

The decision was easy as I flipped off the safety and settled in for the shot. At the report the buck spun a 360 circle and staggered about 5 yards before going down. As it happened he was standing about 25 yards from where Rowdy had killed his buck just a week prior. He was a solid buck for that area, and he was certainly rutted up...




The 105 VLD performed fantastically at 465ish yards and I was happy with the shot location as well...





For the first time in about 30 years someone else had been the guide...and it was my own son. All I had done was show up and squeeze the trigger. He secured the location, he put up the blind, he did all the scouting, and he placed the cameras. It felt like a passing of the torch moment, and one that I couldn't be more happy with. I'm also happy to report we managed to see my beloved Vandals kick the chit out of the ISU Bengals the following day before I headed back home to his mama. Go Vandals..




To be continued with one last hunt...

Great write up. Thanks for sharing your adventures.

Now I'm depressed.....

Awesome...
God I miss Moscow. Shot my whitetails normally in the Middle Fork of Potlatch Creek Canyon, but got one up by Deary.

Good on you all. Awesome bucks!

Posts like these are my favorite kinds to read on the 'Fire. I do a lot of my hunting in the woods of AR & MS and I'm really blessed that a couple of friends give me free access to their land. But it's always nice to live vicariously through someone else's adventures in a totally different area of the country. Thanks for sharing!

PS - I like Cadon & Rowdy's taste in Kuiu jackets:

Continued...

Our last hunt of the year would be for a late-season bull tag Rowdy had drawn. It was exciting to be headed to an area that none of us had previously hunted. We'd scouted it in September a couple of times, to include the trip I wrecked the bike on and aggravated my knee after surgery. The season had already been open for a week before we were finally able to head down, but we figured some of the riff-raff might be gone by then.

The plan was for Rowdy and I to set camp first. I'd then bum around for the weekend with the boys before heading back to work while Rowdy, Cadon, and another friend looked for elk. Rowdy and I loaded up the pickups on Friday morning and left town around 7 that same morning. We had camp set by around 3 that afternoon. We had just enough time for a quick evening hunt. We rode the ATVs a couple of miles north to get a good vantage overlooking some country we'd previously identified as likely to hold elk. The country was VASTLY different than the steep mountains of central Idaho that we're used to hunting. It was primarily high-elevation sage with occasional buttes and deep ravines.

We certainly weren't in Kansas anymore...



It was considerably more difficult to glass than the area we traditionally hunt, but we broke out the optics and went to work. It wasn't long before we located a group of animals we THOUGHT were elk. They were many, many miles away and across a ravine we had no opportunity to bridge that evening. The area is littered with cattle and between the distance and the angle of the sun we just couldn't be totally sure. Here is Rowdy trying to get a closer look...



As the sun began getting lower in the sky, we loaded up and headed back to camp for some grub and a good night's sleep. Cadon joined us in camp that evening as we formulated a plan for the following morning. It had been a long day and we were all ready for some shuteye. We'd looked at the critters long enough to convince ourselves they were elk in the fading light, and we hit the sack with visions of what the morning might bring.

We rolled out of camp in the chilly, predawn hours the following morning as bundled up as we could manage. It was about 15 miles by way of a very bumpy route to where we thought the elk might be. We only made it about two miles before we had an ATV break down. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't a show-stopper either. I had Rowdy jump on the back of my ATV, and we were soon on our way.

An hour later and we spotted a small band of cows and raghorns. It was great to see some bulls, but they weren't quite the caliber any of us had been envisioning leading up to the hunt. As we watched them for a bit, I happened to notice a bull crest the skyline a couple of miles distant beyond the herd. We didn't get a great look at him before he dropped down into a draw and out of our sight, but enough to convince ourselves to try and close the distance. We'd only made it about halfway to where we'd last seen him when things started happening quickly. We'd just dropped into a small ravine when I noticed a group of mature bulls starting at us from around 600 yards. They didn't stampede away, but they weren't thrilled to see us either. They slowly began quartering away from us as Rowdy frantically unazzed his rifle and tried to get set up for a shot. By the time he was in a comfortable shooting position, the largest bull of the group had managed to clear himself from the others. Rowdy asked me for the range and I said "680" as I heard him dialing the corresponding distance. It was a long way over to them, and I heard him slowly exhale as he flipped off the safety. The first shot was met with an audible "thwack" as the group suddenly took off in earnest. As Rowdy worked the bolt I watched the bull fade to the back of the pack from the impacts of the 180 VLD. Rowdy's next shot was a complete miss as he rushed the shot.

"Relax bud, he's hit hard and won't go far" I said. Rowdy worked the bolt again and dialed up a couple more clicks to make up for the increased distance. His next shot found it's mark and I could see the bull beginning to falter as we went out of sight. It was a long walk over to where he'd been, and Rowdy was understandably nervous. He needn't have been though, as I soon saw a tine sticking up from the sagebrush.

Rowdy has been extremely fortunate to kill a couple of fantastic bulls in previous years. As such, I could tell he was a little disappointed when we first approached the bull. There was no denying it was a bit smaller than either of us had initially thought, but things happened so fast that neither of us took the time to really look him over as well as we'd have liked. Still though, it was a pretty good bull and he'd made a great shot at a distance that neither of us had previously attempted. After a few moments of hemming and hawwing, we all began smiling and laughing at what had just transpired. Soon, the joy and comradery of the moment overtook any lingering reservations as we told and re-told the story from our different perspectives.

Not his best, but not a bad bull all things considered...



It was getting dark by the time we were done taking photos, and we soon figured out we'd left the game bags behind in Rowdy's pack when we doubled up on my ATV earlier in the day. We elected to just gut him that evening and pray the coyotes didn't find him before we could get back to him the following morning. We had a great evening back at the wall-tent as we enjoyed some drinks and more laughs. I felt bad that Rowdy's roommate (Brad) was forced to turn around and head home as we'd filled Rowdys tag before he could make it to camp.

The following morning dawned cold and clear again, but we waited for daylight before heading to the previously broken down ATV. I quickly diagnosed a bad battery, and went to work swapping it out. Soon enough I had it going again, as the boys got ready to head back and break down the bull while I broke down camp. I snapped a quick picture of the three of us that brings a bit of joy every time I look at it.



I took one more of just the boys before they headed out to retrive the elk. Damn I wish I was 21 again...



I was feeling nostalgic and maybe even a little misty-eyed about the whole thing as I watched them ride away. I returned to my ATV to head back and was quickly grounded in the truth of what it means to be 21. Little azzholes...



It's well after the New Year as I write this and already the details of the hunts are beginning to fade from my grasp. Still though, I'm left feeling fulfilled as I give the good Lord thanks for my many blessings with family and friends this past season. I hope all of you reading this enjoyed some of your own. If so, please do us all a favor and share them at your convenience.

Dave

Excellent story Dave.

Just remember, although this wasn’t your best season on the books, it’s probably several bucket lists rolled into one for many guys. You really are living the dream.

Brother Dave, excellent write up as usual, always enjoy your writings, though I do get a little impatient 😂

Grats to you and the crew!👊🏻

Thank you Dave. What an awesome story. Thanks for sharing this!

A good story as all ways, I thank you for this post every year . hunting trips are much better than gun info stuff

Excellent stories and memories made! I had one question, what contour is your rifle barrel? I’m in the process of gathering parts for a 6 creedmoor build and like your setup.

It’s a K&P barrel. #2 light sporter short shanked. It’s the barrels LRI prefers to work with, which is who I had chamber/thread it.

Wouldn’t do a thing different. Rifle weighs right at 5 1/4 pounds sans optics. Simply awesome imho.

Great season and per always, great storytelling – that's a lot of work but it's now preserved for others to enjoy for a long time.

Thanks Dave, enjoyed your "retelling", as always !!

&

You're 1 tough mofo, for a gay guy !

Awesome!!

I'm just glad that boy is finally starting to smile!!

Of course Dave is happy! Dave had the best hunting season on the Campfire! 😉

Thanks for taking the time to write this up.
#F*ckingawesome