Deer Disappointment on Mt. Emily

With the dust kicking up behind the truck and our campsite in my rearview mirror I began my descent down Mt. Emily. The hour drive home ahead of me, all I could do now was turn on the radio and reflect on the weight and disappointment of not bringing back my first deer. I had pushed up the mountain with hopes beyond words and dreamed of my encounter in the early morning mist. I had thought many nights about how the weekend would unfold but, as it goes and as the name implies, hunting is never easy and alas, I left with nothing and everything.

For me, what I’ve wanted really above all else, beyond taking the shot, is to have the opportunity to put an animal on the ground and clean that animal with Mike or James. I’ve wanted to experience that, learn from it, and commit those images to memory. I’ve wanted it so that I can take those mental pictures with me down the road that is my hunting life, building a foundation for years to come. I can still remember our trip to Montana when Mike first showed me how to field dress an upland bird. It was spell-binding watching his knife move with ease and efficiency and since that time I have cleaned every bird in the exact same way; all the while having others telling tell me that it’s easier to do it like this or maneuver it like that. But I’ll take the words and movements of a wily, weathered bird hunter over theirs any day.

Speaking with James in my driveway this past weekend I realized that what I wanted was not so far from what he himself had wanted many years ago, traveling with Mike into deep drainages and over high mountains to get the very same experience. To learn from a man who had done it his entire life and to pick up on the minute details that can only be taught out in the woods. And as the world turns James would eventually experience this for himself but he also, as mentioned in the past, took the initiative and found a way to do it without Mike’s help. He found a will to push himself and a way to put together the collective knowledge he had to get the job done. It seems for me that this was not my season, not quite my time, but with a little luck I will live many years into the future. I will walk this earth and walk out into the mist of many more cold, early mornings and with those years will come many other chances to shoot a deer, more chances to learn the process first hand.

I should note that despite warm weather and some long days with deer seemingly taking the form of ghosts, I was privy to one of the wonders of our eastern Oregon forests and that was to see bull elk in all their magnificence, bugling across the mountain, with antlers growing to incredible lengths. It was something I had never heard or seen before outside of an elk farm or feed site, and they were simply put, spectacular.

On the second day of hunting I had seen my first big bull smash out from a thicket deep in the canyon below me and as he rose onto the adjacent hillside I could see his massive weight carry over the hill. In seconds, with an amount of ease and power we as humans will never know, he was gone. But it was during my fourth day on the mountain that I got my first real up close encounter with a bull and I can tell you as I sit here today, I was not disappointed:

With a momentary pause above the vast drainage I could hear an elk bugling far below. His call was deep yet crisp and I could tell from the volume he was some distance off. Standing there, the canyon seemed to act almost like a channel to funnel the sound, playing like a melody to my awaiting ears. I listened for several minutes and the call continued, uninhibited and unrivaled. Unable to force myself to move on I stood still, gazing out over the trees but then, like written in a novel, I heard a loud bugle ring out and this time, it was much closer. As my head snapped to attention I could just see a shape through the trees. I squinted to adjust my eyes and then, across the drainage, with the morning light exposing his silhouette, I found myself closer to a bull elk than I had ever been before.

The shades of brown across his body were deeply defined by his muscles and pure size, forming the image of a forest giant. His antlers were long and traveled the length of his back, sporting many tines, branching out above his body. They were also shades of brown, painted together with auburn, chestnut, chocolate and tan. As he reared his head back  and let out another loud bugle I could see what it was he had his eye on. A group of cows were making their way down a trail in front of him and I could begin to see the scene unfold. Following in their tracks, like any bull would, he was not long to follow and as he bugled again I watched the dance play out with great joy. I could hear the thunderous stomp of his hooves on the ground and while I could not feel the actual vibration below me, the sounds were enough to make me feel as if I was standing right next to him. He pushed down the game trail in quick pursuit and it was then that all my other cares were lifted and I remembered distinctly why I had travelled to this place.

Hunting and being successful brings one great joy. It is the culmination of practice and hard work but success, as many before me have clearly said, it not the only reason we hunt. I saw a scene unfurl before my eyes that I would never had witnessed had I been home on my couch. I saw a monster buck disappear into the woods on our first day out that I would have never known was there and would go on to put in hiking days from sunrise to sunset, pushing myself to the extremes of fatigue. I may not have had the opportunity to sit next to a deer with James and field dress the animal but I enjoyed myself. I walked the woods in search of deer and for the many out there who droves their vehicles up and down the roads hoping to shoot something from the hood of their truck, my experience meant that much more. And in the end they may have brought home a deer and a story but I was able to bring home a memory. Hopefully someday, with more seasons underneath my belt, I’ll bring home both.