A Season In Review

As I drove past the small reservoir and saw the ice, I knew hunting season was over.  Sure, some upland birds, rabbits, bobcats and lions are still open for a while, but my favorite seasons have come to an end.  Waterfowl season in Idaho is actually open until next Friday, but I won't be sneaking out from work this week.  My big game season slipped away in December.  Yesterday, when I returned from my duck scouting mission, I was feeling pretty antsy, and maybe even a little grumpy.  I had taken the Mini-HHMM and the dog, Jocko, with me.  Our goal was to scout a duck hunting spot, then find a place for a hike and upland bird hunt.  We needed fresh air and exercise.  The area I had chosen to scout seemed an arctic wasteland, I knew there would be snow, but living at less than 800 feet in a banana belt makes one naive of what  winter is like in the highlands.  Roads to potential hiking and hunting spots were drifted in or icy, and the break lands are steep, and since they were covered in snow and ice, they didn't seem like the place to be carrying a shotgun with a 14 month-old kid on your back.  No hike, no ducks, no hunt, and I knew my season was over.  We didn't get fresh air, we didn't get exercise.  Mission failure.

Good thing I had given my bride a glorious kid-free morning.  The kid was quite pleased with his road trip, but I came back a ball of tension, and the dog kept putting his head in Emily's lap and moaning.  It was an easy decision for Emily to grant my second leave request of the day.  I'd like to think I was doing her a favor when I moved the shotgun from the family wagon to my pickup, loaded the dog back up and headed out to one of my favorite local hunting areas.

Despite having no good reason to continue to be in a crabby mood, I couldn't help myself as I started along the snow encrusted rim of a small canyon.  I was busy wondering why I was such a crappy upland bird hunter.  I didn't seem to choose productive spots, and when I did find birds I couldn't hit them to save my live.  I am really worthless with a shotgun.  Then something mood-changing caught my eye across the canyon.  Three branch-antlered bull elk stood up from their beds and gave me their best hairy eyeball.  Cool.  I don't care how many elk you have seen, watching a bachelor group of mature bulls slowly melt into the safety of heavy brush at 150 yards never loses its magnificence.

That is when I started to reflect, to be more thankful of what I had experienced and accomplished this hunting season.  My last full season in Montana, before moving back to Idaho, was a banner year.  I started the year with an epic two-hour stalk for a fat pronghorn doe.  On one week-long trip, I harvested a fine pronghorn buck, a turkey, a mule deer doe, and a smattering of upland game birds.  Later that season, I took a small muley buck on the most satisfying deer hunt of my life.  No trophies, but I filled every tag I seriously tried to fill.  This year, my first full season in Idaho, was not quite so successful, but we won't be starving.  I really wanted to harvest an elk with a muzzleloader; I went down with the flu during our trip.  I really wanted to harvest a deer with my bow; I have a lot to learn.  I really wanted to harvest a fine whitetail buck with my rifle; I couldn't seal the deal.

But those bulls got me to thinking about what a wonderful season I had.  I harvested my first mule deer in Idaho - a fine doe on an antlerless hunt - after an exciting stalk.  I harvested a whitetail doe on a spectacular November morning and spent half a day packing her out of a steep and stunning canyon.  Few things in hunting are better than a back soaked with sweat and a pack heavy with meat.  That is the bottom line, right?  Horns are cool and satisfying, but not so satisfying as braised venison shanks with a wine reduction sauce.  Emily and I had a wonderful experience with some trophy mule deer on a snowy morning during her elk hunt.  I discovered a new hobby in traditional muzzleloader hunting with Dad and Uncle Don.  Of course, Dad and I had one really great duck hunt (see "Mud Hens and Buffleheads" post).  We have good stuff in the freezer for gourmet cooking... and for a quick weeknight pasta sauce.

As I completed my bird hunting loop at dusk, I crossed above the section of canyon where I had seen the elk earlier.  They filtered out of the canyon onto the farm field above, clearly agitated by my return. They drifted through the previously trackless snow.  Two hundred yards to the north of the elk, a group of whitetail deer bolted from the canyon and over the ridge, leaving four loosely braided dark strands in the white.  The elk reached the tilled ridge above the canyon.  There was too much color in the winter sunset behind them to leave them with anything more than a silhouette of hair and bone as they slid out of sight.  It sure didn't bother me that I should have had two gray partridges in my game bag.  Still can't hit the broad-side, as they say.  Something for me to work on in the off-season.