DrMike
Ballistician
- Nov 8, 2006
- 36,924
- 5,115
Well, I made it to the field Sunday after church. It was a full moon this weekend, and the wind was blowing so hard that my pickup was pushed all over the road. Hunting was sure to be a bit tough. However, hunting takes place when you are able to hunt. I met Gil, his wife Susan and his 17-year-old daughter, Lauren late Sunday afternoon. We agreed that the wind was blowing so hard that hunting would be futile. Moreover, Gil had been into the area we wanted to hunt earlier that morning, and the wind was moving so much dust that at times it was hard to see more than a few yards. He had seen four bears (one quite respectable, but at well over 400 yards and moving into the bush), four moose, two elk and some whitetails. They had taken a couple of ruffed grouse with bow and arrow.
We turned in and got up at four thirty this morning. I had a rather difficult night. At some point in the night, Gil yelled "Here comes a buffalo." Hurrying to remove myself from danger, I had slid out of bed, fallen onto the floor of the trapper's cabin I had chosen to sleep in. In falling, I had knocked my light somewhere onto the floor. Moreover, I couldn't find my rifle and ammunition was going to be a real loss. I could easily have been run over in the stampede, but the fall wakened me. Eventually, gaining my wits again, I managed to grope around on the floor until I found a light. I decided it might be a good thing, since I was already awake, to saunter outside to see the northern lights. I must say that they were stunning at 1:30 in the morning. (Note to self, make a note to avoid eating the fried antelope at 9 in the evening just before going to bed.) The rest of the evening passed almost uneventfully.
We did manage to get moving shortly after four. Gil and I were taking Lauren into an area that we had hunted in the past. Susan chose to stay home, sleeping in and reading some good literature (what good sense she shows). Lauren had never shot a big game animal, and so we agreed that we would see if we could find her an elk. Gil is native, and Lauren also got her red card, so game that may be closed to me is open to her. Consequently, she could, if she chose, shoot a cow elk (which won't open for me for another two weeks), a cow moose (or a bull), or a deer. If I wanted a deer at this time, I would have had to bring my crossbow, which I somehow neglected to do.
We made out way to a spot near the confluence of the Moberly and Peace Rivers. Here is some of the landfall in the breaks above the Peace.
This gives some idea of the area we were hunting. The terrain can be grassland alternating with large muskegs, finally dropping away steeply to the river below. We saw several cow moose, all of which were at least two hundred yards away in marshy areas. We had to practically restrain Lauren at one point. I had ranged a cow at 356 yards, standing in a marsh. Moreover, at least three hundred of the yards between us was marsh. I explained as sweetly as I could to a seventeen year old girl eager for her first kill, that someone would be compelled to wade through the marsh, cut up the moose, and tote it out while sinking into mud and standing in water that would come up to the chest. I assured her that her dad would be less than enthusiastic about such an effort. (Hey! I'm an old man. There are some benefits to being sixty-five!)
We had a cow elk come out on the road at about four hundred yards. We tried to cut the distance so Lauren could take her, but the elk was having none of that. A second elk stuck its nose out of the bush, but noted the eager individual barely restrained by two large males humans, and that elk decided it was the wiser move to withdraw her head and swap ends. These would be the only elk we would see today.
We saw multiple deer, both whitetail and mule deer. One was a very nice buck, which Gil opined that he might be willing to take with a sharp stick. Lauren said, "I'd like to shoot a deer." We men were dumbstruck! Almost simultaneously we said, "But, you said you wanted an elk or a moose."
"I do," she replied coyly, "but you didn't ask me if I wanted a deer!"
Well, that put a different spin on things. I had lent Lauren my Browning T-bolt for ruffed grouse. We found a couple. She was too slow getting on one and missed repeatedly on another. I think the bird was deaf. Each time she pulled the trigger, he ambled about as though his only worry in life was finding more food, until he finally dropped over the bank and headed for the river far below. Lauren thought sure she had shot him this time. Gil looked down from atop the precipice, gulped and asked where the bird had gone. He really shouldn't have scrambled down as he did (the rock was rotten and there weren't all that many large trees to halt his descent should it become uncontrolled). "Did you leave the keys in the truck," I shouted. "Yes," he replied. "Why are you asking?" "So Lauren and I can make it back to camp to find sustenance before we find our way back into Chetwynd to contact Search and Rescue to haul your carcase back up this cliff." Gil managed to find the grouse, very much alive and calmly ambling through the underbrush. The bird was safe, which was far better than Gil's predicament. I won't bore you with the details of his climb back up the escarpment. Suffice it to say that I didn't get to drive his truck back to camp.
The adventure did point out to us the futility of continuing our hunt--the wind was beginning to blow rather vigorously and the temperature was rising rapidly. It had been three degrees when we first got up, and it was now fourteen. Time to head back for breakfast and a reassessment. Lauren offered that she would really enjoy exploring one other area for game, however. We had worked out way through the Monias area and she wanted us to go over to the Wilder to take a look-see. As we we maneuvering out of the one area and into the other, we saw a fine little mule deer buck browsing on some forbs. We offered that deer to Lauren, who readily accepted the offer.
She was carrying a Browning BLR chambered in .358 Winchester. Her load was one Gil had built with 220 grain Speer FN. Gil explained to her that his father wanted a deer hide to make a drum. Therefore, it would be necessary that she avoid shooting the aforementioned creature in the chest. Moreover, as the Cree don't want to disrespect any animal, she could not shoot it in the head, as that would addle the poor beast and its spirit would become a ghost haunting the forest. He explained that she would have one shot, and that would be to hit it in the neck. In fact, Gil spent so much time explaining how to shoot that the deer drifted away out of sight. Such a smooth talker, that Gil.
Lauren, however, carried her rifle and a Bog-Pod until she located the deer contently munching on some forbs about forty yards deeper in the trees. Taking a steady stand, she aligned the sights, squeezed the trigger and immediately yelled, "Score." It was a perfect shot, the critter dropping where it stood. It would have been impossible to remove her smile. In fact, she fell asleep in the back seat on the way back to the camp with the smile permanently plastered on her face. Oh, here is her buck, still in velvet and just losing his summer coat.
I had to throw in this photo after we had her deer loaded and ready to find a cool spot to dress it. She was cold, and so she had five layers on this morning, including this urban camo (pink fuzzies). Note the smear of blood on her left cheek. She was now truly initiated as a hunter.
We found a place to clean her deer, carefully preserving the hide so she could present it to her grandpa to make a drum. It ended my hunting for the day, but I can't think of a finer end than to introduce a young woman to her first big game. May it be the first of many others.
We turned in and got up at four thirty this morning. I had a rather difficult night. At some point in the night, Gil yelled "Here comes a buffalo." Hurrying to remove myself from danger, I had slid out of bed, fallen onto the floor of the trapper's cabin I had chosen to sleep in. In falling, I had knocked my light somewhere onto the floor. Moreover, I couldn't find my rifle and ammunition was going to be a real loss. I could easily have been run over in the stampede, but the fall wakened me. Eventually, gaining my wits again, I managed to grope around on the floor until I found a light. I decided it might be a good thing, since I was already awake, to saunter outside to see the northern lights. I must say that they were stunning at 1:30 in the morning. (Note to self, make a note to avoid eating the fried antelope at 9 in the evening just before going to bed.) The rest of the evening passed almost uneventfully.
We did manage to get moving shortly after four. Gil and I were taking Lauren into an area that we had hunted in the past. Susan chose to stay home, sleeping in and reading some good literature (what good sense she shows). Lauren had never shot a big game animal, and so we agreed that we would see if we could find her an elk. Gil is native, and Lauren also got her red card, so game that may be closed to me is open to her. Consequently, she could, if she chose, shoot a cow elk (which won't open for me for another two weeks), a cow moose (or a bull), or a deer. If I wanted a deer at this time, I would have had to bring my crossbow, which I somehow neglected to do.
We made out way to a spot near the confluence of the Moberly and Peace Rivers. Here is some of the landfall in the breaks above the Peace.
This gives some idea of the area we were hunting. The terrain can be grassland alternating with large muskegs, finally dropping away steeply to the river below. We saw several cow moose, all of which were at least two hundred yards away in marshy areas. We had to practically restrain Lauren at one point. I had ranged a cow at 356 yards, standing in a marsh. Moreover, at least three hundred of the yards between us was marsh. I explained as sweetly as I could to a seventeen year old girl eager for her first kill, that someone would be compelled to wade through the marsh, cut up the moose, and tote it out while sinking into mud and standing in water that would come up to the chest. I assured her that her dad would be less than enthusiastic about such an effort. (Hey! I'm an old man. There are some benefits to being sixty-five!)
We had a cow elk come out on the road at about four hundred yards. We tried to cut the distance so Lauren could take her, but the elk was having none of that. A second elk stuck its nose out of the bush, but noted the eager individual barely restrained by two large males humans, and that elk decided it was the wiser move to withdraw her head and swap ends. These would be the only elk we would see today.
We saw multiple deer, both whitetail and mule deer. One was a very nice buck, which Gil opined that he might be willing to take with a sharp stick. Lauren said, "I'd like to shoot a deer." We men were dumbstruck! Almost simultaneously we said, "But, you said you wanted an elk or a moose."
"I do," she replied coyly, "but you didn't ask me if I wanted a deer!"
Well, that put a different spin on things. I had lent Lauren my Browning T-bolt for ruffed grouse. We found a couple. She was too slow getting on one and missed repeatedly on another. I think the bird was deaf. Each time she pulled the trigger, he ambled about as though his only worry in life was finding more food, until he finally dropped over the bank and headed for the river far below. Lauren thought sure she had shot him this time. Gil looked down from atop the precipice, gulped and asked where the bird had gone. He really shouldn't have scrambled down as he did (the rock was rotten and there weren't all that many large trees to halt his descent should it become uncontrolled). "Did you leave the keys in the truck," I shouted. "Yes," he replied. "Why are you asking?" "So Lauren and I can make it back to camp to find sustenance before we find our way back into Chetwynd to contact Search and Rescue to haul your carcase back up this cliff." Gil managed to find the grouse, very much alive and calmly ambling through the underbrush. The bird was safe, which was far better than Gil's predicament. I won't bore you with the details of his climb back up the escarpment. Suffice it to say that I didn't get to drive his truck back to camp.
The adventure did point out to us the futility of continuing our hunt--the wind was beginning to blow rather vigorously and the temperature was rising rapidly. It had been three degrees when we first got up, and it was now fourteen. Time to head back for breakfast and a reassessment. Lauren offered that she would really enjoy exploring one other area for game, however. We had worked out way through the Monias area and she wanted us to go over to the Wilder to take a look-see. As we we maneuvering out of the one area and into the other, we saw a fine little mule deer buck browsing on some forbs. We offered that deer to Lauren, who readily accepted the offer.
She was carrying a Browning BLR chambered in .358 Winchester. Her load was one Gil had built with 220 grain Speer FN. Gil explained to her that his father wanted a deer hide to make a drum. Therefore, it would be necessary that she avoid shooting the aforementioned creature in the chest. Moreover, as the Cree don't want to disrespect any animal, she could not shoot it in the head, as that would addle the poor beast and its spirit would become a ghost haunting the forest. He explained that she would have one shot, and that would be to hit it in the neck. In fact, Gil spent so much time explaining how to shoot that the deer drifted away out of sight. Such a smooth talker, that Gil.
Lauren, however, carried her rifle and a Bog-Pod until she located the deer contently munching on some forbs about forty yards deeper in the trees. Taking a steady stand, she aligned the sights, squeezed the trigger and immediately yelled, "Score." It was a perfect shot, the critter dropping where it stood. It would have been impossible to remove her smile. In fact, she fell asleep in the back seat on the way back to the camp with the smile permanently plastered on her face. Oh, here is her buck, still in velvet and just losing his summer coat.
I had to throw in this photo after we had her deer loaded and ready to find a cool spot to dress it. She was cold, and so she had five layers on this morning, including this urban camo (pink fuzzies). Note the smear of blood on her left cheek. She was now truly initiated as a hunter.
We found a place to clean her deer, carefully preserving the hide so she could present it to her grandpa to make a drum. It ended my hunting for the day, but I can't think of a finer end than to introduce a young woman to her first big game. May it be the first of many others.
