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Nostalgia on the Mountains

by 333_OKH

It was a day of nostalgia especially considering today's sportsman preference for stainless steel, Teflon coatings, and synthetic stocks. I however was armed with a factory stock 1903 Mannlicher Schoenauer carbine that defined the term patina. This rifle was made and scoped in the Steyr factory of Austria before WW1 with bright and clear Kahles optics in a petite little mount typical of many pre-war European guns. My quarry was the Columbian blacktail deer, specifically, a buck from a sparse migratory heard. These deer are special, being migratory and much larger than the typical Columbian blacktail deer. I would be hunting in one of our Nations primitive areas, the Yolla Bolly-Middle Eel Wilderness Area [Yolla Bollys] of northern California. This area of California is noted for producing larger than life trophy bucks, however, they do not come easy, nor are they particularly plentiful.

Just 10 days before the end of the California B zone deer season I left my northern California home to travel to a remote trailhead on the southeast side of the Yolla Bollys. This trip would take me to Covelo California and through the Round Valley Indian Reservation, along the Middle Fork of the Eel River, and upwards to the Wilderness mountains. This Wilderness was first protected in 1931 when it was classified as a primitive area. The Yolla Bolly-Middle Eel Wilderness holds a total of about 150,000 acres of remote and rugged terrain that leaves no question in ones mind why roads were not built into this country.

Every year I try and plan this trip to coincide with the weather, time of year, and life. It really is a hunter’s crapshoot. If all went well I would arrive on the heals of the first severe winter storm that would start the migration of the deer herd from the Wilderness down mountain ridgelines to the valley. It is best to catch them as they leave the mountains when they are still more condensed along traditional trails, and before they scatter throughout the valley in every cardinal direction. However, it appeared this year I was too early and I would have to go deeper into the Wilderness to try and find my trophy.

When I arrived at the nearby campground I checked in with two fixtures of the mountain this time of the year. They were two retired gentlemen that spend every year in these mountains searching out more brotherhood than deer. They spoke with their heavy Portuguese accents about the lack of deer sign and a late fall season. As we spoke of seasons gone by I told them of my plans for this year. They were intrigued, but pessimistic about my ability to find the deer due to the still warm weather that was plaguing the hunting.

When I arrived at my lost and forgotten trailhead I noted that there were still no human tracks or signs of vehicles for yet another year. It has been this way every year I have checked this trail. Although the old Forest Service maps reflect that there is a trailhead there, it has no signs, no maintenance, and is very difficult to find.

I got to my destination a little early and I still had half of the day’s daylight to make my way into the Wilderness, so I began to unpack my equipment. I was still a little worried about my overall lack of belongings I had chosen to take on my trip. In the spirit of nostalgia, I would be wearing a surplus Swiss Army canvas and leather pack with enough dried food for four days. I took very little water knowing that it would be plentiful on the way. I did include a small shelter, but I planned on sleeping under the stars unless the weather forbade me.

As I started up the trail I remembered what my two Portuguese friends had told me about the lack of sign from these deer and noted that not a single fresh deer track existed on the trail. Now a light rain had fallen three days before my arrival, but no tracks had been made on the trail since the rains; certainly some deer had to be in this region? As I made the two-mile trek up the trail to the ridge that would take me to the middle of the Wilderness, I continued to note the lack of sign and it actually began to worry me that my efforts would be in vain for another year.
As I reached the ridge my spirits lifted as a large doe and her yearling sprang from the trail and bolted down the steep hillside. I had not been paying much attention since leaving the trailhead due to the lack of sign, but now vowed to be vigilant as I pressed into the Wilderness.

I did not see another deer during the next mile and a half to the forks of the trail. I was now at a crossroads of sense, because I needed to now decide which plan I was going to take. If I went to he west I would be working my way back towards another trailhead and through familiar country, but the east took me further and further into the Wilderness and farther away from my comfort zone. Begrudgingly I choose to go east to optimize my chances of a trophy.

As I pressed further into unfamiliar territory I realized I had forgotten to give my wife a map and description of where I was going, and where I might be found if I did not show up at home on time. This was my customary fashion, and although I knew she would not be worried, it always gave me a bit of comfort knowing that someone knew where I might be found. She has always had the faith in me that I sometimes wish I could muster myself.

About an hour and a half before sunset I decided to make camp and let myself adjust to the rise in elevation from my home at 160 feet to my current location at nearly 6000 feet. I found it comforting that I picked a location to camp where under the duff of the forest I found an old rock campfire ring. What made this camp very special was the square hammered nails that were found in the ring and imbedded in the fir and juniper around the camp. It made me wonder when the last time this camp was used and how long ago these fires had been light. It was perfect for the night and I even decided to make it my base camp and to leave everything I could except for the needed belongings for an overnight stay.

When I awoke the next day I traveled further out the northeastern ridge until I saw what I had been looking for: open, sparse pines and juniper with no visible ground cover, but when I closely observed the ground I noticed numerous forbs that the deer favored in this area as forage.
I took the day to just walk around and scout for deer sign and make a plan for the following days hunts. This area actually had numerous tracks of large blacktails in the lower portions of the mountain below the winds and weather of the ridges. This would be the area I focused on in the morning, so I took the evening off to make the necessary preparations. I had plenty of time to hunt, so I ate an ample meal of dried salami and black beans and took a hit from my flask of bourbon before hitting the sack for a listless night of sleep before the big hunt.

At 2 am I awoke to the sounds of distant thunder. I was surprised since there had been no mention of this possibility when leaving for my hunt. By 3 am the storm was right over me and my thin shelter was of little comfort as the lightning slammed down from the heavens all around my mountain abode. By the time morning came, I was ready for bed, but instead I pushed myself to gather my daypack and get ready for the morning hunt. After a quick snack, I was on the trail by 6 am, leaving most of my belongings at my makeshift base camp.

As I traveled along the trail further into the Wilderness, I soon found myself above an area sparse in timber, and thick in waist deep manzanita brush. I stopped for the morning and set myself up in a location to scan the dense manzanita entanglement hoping to see a nice bucks rack above the brush. After 45 minutes I could hear rustling in the brush about 200 yards down the hill and to my right. This just happened to be the thickest and tallest portion of the manzanita patch and could easily cover a wary buck. The edge of the brush was only 125 yards away and an easy shot from where I was hiding. As I waited in anticipation the noise got closer and closer until the edge of the manzanita started to move. As I settled my old Kahles scope onto the location of the movement, I witnessed a large boar black bear aggressively push his way clear of the manzanita brush and into the open. Although I had a bear tag, I opted not to take this large bruin. It was a very large load for one guy to handle, and I was desperately intent on getting a blacktail buck from the Yolla Bollys. That being said, this was a magnificent bear.

I continued to scope the brushy hillside as the bear lumbered on his way, never knowing he came so close to being my alternate trophy for the trip, and never knowing he was being watched.
The sun began to poke through the clouds by 9 am and I was back at camp by 1030. By 3 pm that afternoon I was in 40 mile per hour winds with nearly no visibility due to the drizzle and foggy conditions. I choose to reinforce my shelter with cedar brows and branches to help keep the wind out and keep the wind from ripping my shelter apart. I took the evening off again and waited to hunt in the morning, or when the storm broke enough to make a go of it.

When I awoke at 3 am the next morning to use God’s facilities, I was relieved to see stars and only and occasional gust of wind. The temperature had dropped considerably since I had gone to bed, and I was encouraged about the upcoming morning hunt and the possibility that this brief weather had stirred the wildlife into moving from the high country.

When I left camp I was worried that I was late. I had planned to go further out the northern ridge to an area that I had spied from my hunt the previous morning. This area looked as if a small fire had burned there earlier that summer removing most of the manzanita, but in its place was young shoots and grasses.

When I arrived at this location I made a small hide behind a rocky outcropping that I could peer through and scope the burn and surrounding open rocky areas. I was very pleased to see a large game trail cutting right through the middle of the burn and running under my hide only 30 yards away. The trail was about a foot and a half wide and looked like a compacted garden trail from the years of hooves that made their way across it annually. I assumed this was one of the migration paths used by the deer when leaving the high country for the valley.

I have always had difficulty sitting for long periods of time while hunting. The anticipation and the fact that I am looking over the same ground for hours has always pressed me to move on and scope new country, but I managed to sit relatively still and scope out my new found hunting grounds. However, by 0930 I was ready to go, but I had set a 1030 goal to sit and observe this burn. At 1030 I was going to walk along the game trail and follow it further out the ridge and down into the canyon it was leading from.

A thin fog had once again moved into the area making clear viewing more difficult, but as my mind wandered, I started to pick up a faint clicking sound in the distance across the burn. In my head I imagined it would be one of the local hunters that had ridden into the Wilderness on horseback, a common theme in this area, but still no horse appeared. Finally, in the distance I picked up the movement of a gray object. As my excitement rose and time went on I was able to identify that it was a blacktail, but it was still too far off to tell much more due to the range and the fog. At some point I found myself looking at a gray rock and I had lost focus on the deer altogether. That wasn’t the only problem; I couldn’t find the deer for the life of me. There was no movement where there had just been a deer. I worried that somehow the deer had my scent, and with the wind gusting and ripping over the high ridge, it was quit possible. It felt like an hour had gone by when one of the rocks behind my focal point began to move, it was actually the deer, but the mountain mist was so dense I couldn’t make out much more than movement.

As the deer approached, my heart began to beat wildly as my dream was walking slowly towards me out of the mist of the high mountains. In actuality what was walking towards me was a lone black-tail buck with a magnificent rack of antlers. They looked wider than any I had ever shot and taller too, but I scarcely saw a point on either side. I soon realized this buck obviously meet the legal requirement of at least a fork on one side, but beyond that it was a mystery. All I knew for sure was the rack was tall, wide and appeared thick in the mist.

I slowly lowered the crosshairs of the century old Kahles scope onto chest of the approaching buck. Due to the angle of the buck I choose to place the shot between his front left shoulder and his brisket. As I squeezed the trigger, the old Mannlicher cracked softly, breaking the silence of the mountain air. The buck froze in his tracks and softly rolled to the uphill side: dead.
As I approached the buck I could not believe my eyes. The rack was just as I had dreamed, and just as how I imagined looking through the old scope. It was thick, wide and very tall. Much to my surprise it was only a 2X2 with no eye-guards, locally called a “Pacific Fork” and by far my favorite type of antlers on a black-tail. The bullet from my vintage Hirtenberger ammunition had completely penetrated through the buck after hitting exactly where I had aimed and exiting right behind the right shoulder.

The hunt was far from complete, but my dream had been realized. The mist on the mountains had revealed the dream and the nostalgic old Mannlicher had captured it. It was as if I was a passive observer witnessing an epic drama that was scheduled to play out over a century ago.

From this discussion thread.

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John aka NitroX

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Govt get out of our lives NOW!
"I love the smell of cordite in the morning."
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