Those Mountains Belong to Ol' Men

***I wrote this story some years ago, so in an effort to preserve it, I have added it to this blog. It's a story about the first bear I killed. I apologize for the over abundance of ellipses, it's sort of an addiction or perhaps an obsession of mine that I am working on.

I’ve been hunting big game for 6 years now… the first 5 years of those I primarily archery hunted with trips to Oregon/Idaho for Elk and the typical D5 California deer hunts. Throughout the course of those years, I learned a great deal about: myself, the land I was hunting on, the animals I was pursuing and the ones I was trying to avoid.

Some words, noises and phrases most commonly associated with our hunting trips included: “Man, that was close,” “If we’d only been over there,” or “If we’d only done this…” or “At least we saw something,” or “Can we wish a fork on that spike?”… “grrrr,” ahhhh,” “ohhhhh…” and “dang,” “shoot,” “crap,” or “Come on…”

We weren’t able to find success in putting meat in the freezer, so we made small goals in order to get closer to our main goal (successfully killing the animal we were hunting.) Small goals allowed us to be successful and kept us going regardless of the time, money, and pain that was spent. We’ve seen and experienced wildlife in some unimaginable and extraordinary ways and ultimately I owe it to those frustrating years for shaping me into the outdoorsman I am today.

Flash forward to this year and our general deer season…

I’m always hopeful, and every year brings the same excitement and dreams as those passed. However, this year was much different as we set out in a new climate/area and we joined up with some good friends of mine to take part… and start a new era of deer camp.

Learning a new area can be both frustrating and fun. More than not, frustrating, but I do enjoy the challenge. This particular land that we were hunting on is about as historical and old as they come… Around every corner, dirt road, or deer trail is a collaboration of stories written long ago from many of various men… depending on who you talk to some are legends, some larger than life and some are just average. Generations upon generations have hunted there, something that is very apparent from all the ol’ treestands and ground blinds you’ll see up that mountain… some have been left to the weather, some restored, and some are even new… but more times than not, the majority did not merely just find themselves up that mountain, that land was passed down…

We’d done our scouting prior and knew about where wanted to set up, but a late tip from a local put us on a different mountain the night before opening morning. The area he sent us to looked good, but I should have known better than to try and switch things up last minute. We weren’t convinced, so we decided to stick with the original plan. Bright lights and already parked vehicles told us that we weren’t going to be where we thought we’d be for first light… made the adjustment, and started our hike. Right about when it started to get light an ol’ beat up pick up made its way down the road we’d come in on and parked just down from of our vehicle. Knowing the similar drill from hunting ducks on public land, I quickly pulled out my flashlight and lit that ol’ beater up.

Surely my battery was dying on my light or there was some strange phenomena occurring, because try as I might, there was no stopping that rather plump ol’ man from walking straight up that mountain right between my father and I. Standing up, waving like a mad man wasn’t going to stop him either, so I headed his way. ****ed off and considering the thought of having to break an old man’s hip, I met him half way up and in a not so nice manner, I asked him just what he was doing, to which he replied, “I’m going to my stand.” Stand? What stand? I hadn’t seen any stand, though it just got light… he pointed right above where my father was sitting… sure enough, about 20 yards up from him, nestled between to trees there it was… Ol’ Doug’s stand… he explained how long he’s been hunting up there, then named off four other ol’ men he knew that were in stands not more than 200-300 yards away… I still wasn’t able to hit much common ground at that moment, but all in all we agreed that I’d go back to my spot and he’d go up there and talk to my dad… then he’d be gone till the following morning. He got to my Dad, similar conversation… My dad was a lot nicer to him, said he felt bad and had no idea that stand was so close to him let alone even there… said it felt like he was kicking his father off the mountain. Ol’ Doug wasn’t too worried about sitting his stand right at that moment anyway, but he sure did make it clear that he’d be up there the next morning… Fair enough… things work like that up there… I didn’t like it, but I was beginning to understand it… and possibly even accept it.

We saw ten does and some spikes that morning, then packed it in. Back at our truck, Ol’ Doug came driving by… him and I reconciled a bit, and then we carried on some conversation about how long he’s been up there, all the other ol’ men he knew both passed/present and the deer they’ve killed… In a lot of ways I wished I could have been a part of those stories… and after we parted, I developed a newfound respect for that mountain and the ol’ men on it. That mountain, those deer, the way they hunt up there is what they know best… It’s just as much a part of them as their left hand. I didn’t feel like I had the right to take or steal that away from them… We were much careful about where we went from then on out.

Hunting was tough… Temperatures were abnormally high for this time of year and there weren’t any new deer moving into the area. Though, we did see lots of deer each day, we didn’t see one legal buck. That was until Thursday morning… right about 7:30, I heard some shots… it went like this- BANG… (thinking to myself, dead deer) BANG… (finishing shot) BANG! BANG! BANG! (that deer aint dead, he’s running) … I slowly moved that way from up on the ridge I was sitting on… not more than 10-15 minutes after those shots I see two big does running through a draw with their ears back. I know what that means, so I put my scope up right to where they came from… Right about that time, the does must have either picked up my scent as the wind was strong in their favor or seen something they didn’t like because they stopped trotting and started running… and the nice 3 x 3 buck that was about 15 yards behind them did the same… clicked my safety off, broadside at 250 yards he ran out into a clearing… miss, missed again, again, and again… and then he dropped off the other side of the mountain. Not the first time I ran down a mountain after a deer, it always surprises me as to how I’ve never just ate mountain but I got on his trail quick and was getting close when I heard four shots just down the way from where I stood… heart broken… Don’t get many second chances, especially up there… I knew that buck was dead… so I continued down to congratulate whoever killed it. Sure enough, that buck stopped 40 yards from these two ol’ guys who were road hunting… the passenger put a few holes through him and that was enough to put him down for good. My dad and I ended up dragging him out… Otherwise we would have had two dead ol’ guys and a dead deer.
Back at camp, we got some good news from Ol’ Bill (who actually knew Ol’ Doug)… Anyway, Ol’ Bill killed himself a nice forky that morning, killed it with a CVA muzzleloader about 75 yards from his stand. Said there was another forky about the same size that was running with his deer, which he then mentioned that we might have a good chance at him tomorrow... then gave us an offer I could not refuse… He said if we wanted to… we could “see how ol’ people hunt” and sit in his stand the following morning before he takes it down in the afternoon. Done deal. He was up there for a reason… a really good reason, not more than 25 yards from where he was sitting was a trail that was about as wide as I-5. I could not believe it… Here’s Ol’ Bill’s stand.

Ol’ Bill done fell out of his tree stand some years back so his wife Sandy dropped the hammer on that. She also doesn’t let him hunt alone anymore… they now hunt as a team… a very effective team and they’ve killed quite a few deer this way.

Friday morning… I get to Ol’ Bill’s stand. My Dad opted out of sitting with me to maximize the area we could cover; he found himself a spot in a draw over from where I was. Sitting in Bill’s stand I felt a sort of anxiety that I’d never felt before… I knew something big was going to happen that morning and I knew that I was going to be a part of it. About 8:00 am, I saw something move up the hillside across from me. Two deer! Heart was pounding; I put my scope on em… does… Man, was this what I was waiting for?

It had to of been about 45 minutes after them does come running through when I got some movement coming up from the bottom side of the draw. I knew right away what it was… Truth be told, I’d never seen a bear this big and in this manner… she had no idea I was there… felt a bit surreal. She was methodically moving up that mountain about 175 yards from where I sat... I steadied my rifle, put my cross hairs just behind her shoulder, and gently squeezed the trigger. The bullet spun her around and she ended up hitting that log she's on in the picture. I knew that my first shot was enough, but it wasn't enough for me... the second shot put her down for good... and I had just killed my first bear.

Can't put in words what this meant to my father and I. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't anyway... I will tell you this though, I immediately thanked the Lord for the opportunity and gave my father a great big hug. We both shared the joy of this one...

Met Ol' Bill and Sandy as we were packing the bear out. Thanked them and then helped em pull down the blind. Have to say, hunting like ol' people aint bad at all. There's a lot of learning to be had by them ol' men... that's sacred ground up there, I know that now... Those mountains belong to them ol' men.