Deer Hunt - Sheep Style

Prince of Whales Island. Home of our good friends, the Bethune's, and a healthy population of Sitka Blacktail Deer. Our hunt was going to be early enough in the season that the bucks would still be up high, but late enough that they would be hard horned and no longer in velvet. Labor Day Weekend was going to be a good time to be up in the alpine. Steve mentioned to me before I arrived that it’s just as hard as any sheep hunt we’ve been on. I was going to find out just how true he was.

 

A locked gate on a forest service road provided the perfect place to start hiking. The weather was going to be sketchy on this trip, but the forecast called for better weather the next couple days and we planned to be up high with the bucks when it did clear off. But starting out - it was raining. Again, I hate hiking in the rain, and in rain gear and there’s been so much of it this year. Arrgh.

Muskeg

The hike up the old growth timber was fun. Fatty blueberries were a reward for every time we had to stop and climb our way over some giant deadfalls. The clouds and fog were set in thick when we made it into the alpine and continued our climb up to the first peak. Steve knew of a campsite for the night that would provide some protection from the wind that started slamming us as we descended the backside of the mountain. All night long we could hear the wind roaring just over the top of the tent - the little bank of ridge we had for protection was huge in keeping us on that mountain that night...otherwise it would have been no bueno!

Deadfalls

10am had the clouds rolling out and unveiling a gorgeous green horseshoe shaped ridgeline that was loaded with deer. We didn't try to count, but we could easily see a hundred (and that's not an exaggeration) of orange coated deer scattered all around, most of them bucks. We set in behind the spotting scope and spent most of the day sorting out who was who on the mountain and finally had it narrowed to a couple good bucks we wanted to go after.

Alpine Goodness

Drying Out

More fog prohibited any success when we attempted a stalk and pinned us down for an early evening. Another tent location was found, deer poop moved out of the way, and supper was made. Oh, yeah, I should mention the deer poop - it was everywhere and slicker than snot! I've never seen anything like it. Normally don't like to discuss those things but Holy Smokes it was everywhere!

Orange Deer Everywhere...

My buck

5am the next morning Steve wakes me with a "It's big buck time." We double checked the deer that were out feeding and I spotted a really big buck on the far ridge where we planned to hike out. While he was bigger, I planned to take this closer 4 point that we'd seen the day before. We put a stalk on and found ourselves 240yrds on a ridge above them. It was long wait for him to stop and stand at a good angle to shoot, but the time passed quickly with him sparring with other bucks on the lush slope.

Waiting for the shot...buck in the middle.

Finally I had him clear and sent the bullet to its mark. The buck tumbled and rolled finally coming to rest in a tight creek bed.



We got a couple pictures here but the slope demanded him from my grasp and I wasn't about to hold on and go with him - this was some steep country.

Steep Country

Regarding the steep slopes; let's just say that to walk on these slopes without danger required special boots (that Steve has) or crampons which I’d brought along for this purpose. The crampons got used religiously after one slip (either on deer poop or wet deer’s heart; which is directly related to all the poop) had me hanging on the slop by a little willow type branch. It's not too much fun maneuvering yourself over to a place to get a foothold by swinging from these twigs like a monkey.

Deer's Heart

Steve's Boots

After we had my deer in the pack, we headed over to the end of the ridge to try and find that last good buck for Steve. The big buck I'd spotted earlier had disappeared and while there were several decent bucks around, nothing else looked like we'd be doubling up on big bucks together on this hunt.

Where's that big buck?

Lil' Forkie

It was late afternoon when we slipped over the ridge and found ourselves in close proximity to multiple does and a little forkie. Another long wait and the other bucks, previously unseen, began to get up and feed. While waiting for the biggest of these to feed into range, the big 4 point came out of the woods at the end of the ridge. We tried to stalk him several times be each route we chose was cut off by does that we didn't want to disturb. Finally with only 20min of shooting light left, the buck bedded down broadside at 260yrds. Steve had a great rest on the pack and took the shot. The buck jumped and ran so we moved in looking for a blood trail - and found a great one. Close by was the buck and we took pictures as the light faded and the night engulfed us. Rain started falling and ended the day and half of nice weather we'd had.

Giving thanks over this buck was special. Steve had thought he was going to have to shoot a smaller buck just to bring home some meat on this trip but he thought he’d heard God tell him, “just wait, I’ve got one for you yet.” We were smiles when we went to bed that night.

Luckily we had the tent set up, so by the time we finished carving up the buck and we had a dry place to crawl into and out of the rain. Sheesh, it was going to be a miserable hike out the next day.

It was the night we should have worried about. We had minimal blockage of the wind where our camp site was chosen, and it was the best around. When the wind picked up it would simply roar above our tent like a we’d camped behind the blast fence at the airport with a 747 taking off. But every 10 minutes or so an impressive gust would flatten the tent right on top of us. It was a long night’s routine of sleep for couple minutes, push the tent off your face, pray that we wouldn’t have to tackle the slopes and old growth timber in the dark, hope for daylight, and fall back asleep only to repeat again and again. It was incredible and scary.

The winds died down as the day approached and then it was psych ourselves up to leave the tent and start hiking in the pouring rain. It had rained so much that night that while there were established creeks, the whole mountain side seemed to be flowing water as we descended to old logging roads. It was wet and slippery all the way down and we each discovered a couple good ways to plant our rear ends down in the squishy, boggy, muskeg.

We made it home in time for supper that night and the living room at the Bethune House looked like a bomb had gone off in our packs. We had gear drying out everywhere near their wood stove – we were getting ready for the next trip. You’d think we’d appreciate the comforts of home a little more wouldn’t you.