Blood Instinct: Cleansing

"Some people focus like a magnifying glass - focus all the light in one spot.  Others diffuse that energy in different directions.  That's just a matter of individual choice.  It's been my observation that people who focus all or most of their energy in one spot, like a magnifying glass, burn up the spot." - Chuck Adams

"Yep, I am completely crazy.", I thought to myself...or muttered quietly.  I was so exhausted as I picked my way through the shin daggers and hillside scree in the predawn darkness, I couldn't tell.  This was my fifth morning in the Chiricahua Mountains.

My father and I were able to pick up a couple coues deer tags leftover from the big game draw after we were unsuccessful on the first draw pass.  We drew unit 29 which is located in South Eastern Arizona and encompasses the Chiricahua Mountain range.  I had seen pictures and read stories of hunting in the Chiricahuas and was excited to hunt the area myself.  Now that I had a rifle tag, I decided to spend a few days during the early bow season in the unit to bow hunt and scout the area for our rifle hunt ( refer to "2011 Early Bow Season:Part 1" ).  I spent a few warm days chasing a few deer, exploring, and getting to know the trails a little better.  I saw a couple of bucks, but their shy nature kept them far from the business end of my arrow.  I also saw three bears during this trip, which instigated a return trip to bear hunt and scout for a few more days( refer to "2011 Fall Bear Hunt: Back to the Chiricahuas" ).  I spent five days hunting hard for a bear to no avail.  In the Sky Islands of Arizona, animals can change habitat by moving up or down in elevation, which makes it very difficult to pattern animal movements.  The unforgiving terrain and unpredictable weather also compounds the level of difficulty when hunting in the Chiricahuas. But after these two trips, I felt I had a good idea of where to concentrate our efforts when our rifle hunt came.

Opening day of our hunt was November 25th, the day after Thanksgiving.  The hunting grounds are a six hour drive from home, so I had my truck loaded and ready to roll right after a wonderful Thanksgiving meal provided by my lovely mother.  Dad warned me of a storm front that would be rolling through the Chrircahuas that night and said he would meet me down there the next day.  He's a smart man.  I drove six hours and set up camp in a down pour at 8:PM in order to be at a prime glassing spot at the break of dawn opening morning.

Opening day finally arrived after a fairly sleepless night listening to the rain beat down on the tent.  I followed a ridge line out to a steep hill in an early morning drizzle.  As I crept along the ridge a deer jumped a barbed wire fence line to my right.  The deer was there and gone in the blink of an eye.  I followed for a short distance and gained elevation, hoping to spot the deer as it came out of the oak-choked ravine.  The deer vanished as they often do. I spent the rest of the day hunting the steep ravines and the high saddles, hoping to catch a buck switching bedding sights.  Dad arrived and radioed around noon and said he would post up and glass an open area I had spotted a couple of bucks feeding in during my bear hunt.  After scouring the hillsides and hiking into some rough and steep draws, no other deer exposed themselves.  This was discouraging.  I had consistently spotted deer in this area during both of my previous trips.  Still, I wasn't too concerned as it was only opening day.

The next day we returned to the same general area.  Dad and I each found high points to survey the terrain below for likely coues deer hideouts.  I would hike up to a tall ridge or saddle and sit and pick the hillsides apart with my binoculars.  After glassing for 30-45 mins, I would climb to the next ridge and repeat the process.  It takes a lot of patience and eye strain to spot these little deer.  I spotted two does that morning.  One doe I spotted as she hopped a fence line.  I would have never have seen her if she had not moved.  After catching my eye as she jumped the fence, I raised my binoculars to get a better look.  I knew the general spot where she was, but could not find the deer in my binos.  As I lowered my binoculars, I saw the tiny deer jump back over the fence and tried to acquire it again.  Once again, the ability of this deer to disappear  right in front of your eyes was demonstrated to me.  After only seeing the two does, Dad and I agreed to move to another area I had seen some deer in.  We enjoyed a quick lunch at camp and made the short drive to the new spot.  We started hiking up and in to the hills.  The hills screamed of coues deer habitat with Oak and Juniper trees spaced evenly on the hilltops and becoming increasingly close together as they descend into the draws and ravines.  In between the trees, plains grass, ranging from knee to chest height, would easily conceal the dog-sized deer.  I climbed into a high saddle and glassed for the rest of the evening hours.  I didn't spot any deer moving.  Dad had spotted one doe as she crept out of her bedding area.  Dad watched the deer walk within 50 yds of my position.  I never knew the deer was even there.  Another example of the coues deers' wraith like nature. 

The following day we decided to check out a particular canyon that was rumored to receive less hunting pressure and held good numbers of deer.  As we drove into the canyon, we discovered that we were all alone in there.  There are two thought lines when a hunter encounters this; 1.) "We're all alone in here.  The deer probably haven't been pressured....I bet we see a fair amount of game."  2.) "We're all alone in here.  Do all the other hunters know something I don't?...I bet the deer moved out of the area."  I try to remain optimistic in these circumstances.  If you think too hard on an area, you'll never hike in with confidence.  You need that confidence to be ready if an animal presents itself to make a snappy shot if required.  If you do not believe in the area you're hunting, you'll find yourself walking along noisily and your weapon anything but ready.  I always try to convince myself that my shot may be right around this next bend in the trail or just over this next ridge.  Dad and I hiked into two promising looking side canyons.  The views inside these canyons were spectacular!  Large monoliths hung precariously from the steep hillsides above us.  Game trails criss-crossed the hills.  The wash and creek beds were filled with thick stands of oak trees and scrub brush.  Bear sign was quite prolific in the creek beds.  We spent the rest of the day far back in a canyon we had followed a creek bed into.  We watched the hills around us as the shadows grew longer and longer while the sun made it's daily trek across the sky.  The deer eluded us again.

At this point frustration was taking a firm hold of me.  After spending another fruitless and exhausting day ( most of it hiking ) deep in the back country, I was down right baffled and a little angry when we got back to the truck.  How could I put so much time, so much effort into this hunt and not see deer?  All of these spots I had been seeing deer in just a few weeks earlier.  I have pushed myself up and over hill after craggly hill, glassed until my head aches, and risen everyday before dawn.  I have scoured the maps, double checked my gear, and put the boots to dirt.  What more could I possibly do?

We returned to camp wore out. We were drained physically and mentally. Dad was feeling a little under the weather and had business to attend and opted to head back home that night.  I was saddened to watch my dad drive into the darkness.  I was really hoping that this would be OUR year...  Our year to put a couple of nice bucks on the ground as a father and son hunting duo.  I thought with the scouting and time I spent in the field, we had a good chance of getting it done.  I sat by the fire alone, trying to read a book about Chuck Adams but mostly just staring in the twisting flames.  I have been here before.  I think every true hunter has been here many times.  I examine every angle of my hunting strategy in my mind.  Then my thoughts slowly drift to past hunting and fishing trips. I remember killing my first coues buck.  I remember backpacking into Slough Creek in Yellowstone and hearing a wolf howl late at night.  I remember watching a massive bull elk punish a small tree with his huge antlers just before I killed my first cow elk.  I remember walking behind my dad with a pop-gun in my small hands next to some citrus orchards on my first dove hunt.  These memories seem lubricated by the wilderness, as they easily glide back into my minds eye in detail.

I slept deep that night.  I woke with traces of some dream hunting adventure still smoldering.  During the night, in my hunting dreams, I must have been chasing coues deer because my sleeping bag was tied in a firm knot all around me!  After freeing myself from my sleeping bag and hiking a good mile and a half before the sun rise,  I found myself atop another great vantage point.  I watched the sun crest the mountains in front of me.  As the sun rose so did my spirits.  I can't fully explain this attitude change.  Perhaps I just needed to get  a better grasp on why exactly I do this (hike for miles, camp for days, sleep very little, etc.).  Maybe staring into the camp fire light the night before kept me warm with the embrace of the memories of  past hunting adventures.  I can't say for sure, but it happens to me most times when I find myself alone in the quiet woods.

Over the next two days I hunted hard.  I decided I would check out a few more unexplored areas and different elevations.  I packed up camp and moved to the North side of the Chiricahua range.  I followed several very scenic trails that took me high up into the snowy peaks.  Some canyons I weaseled my way into were so green and foliage strangled, you would think you were in an old growth forest in the Pacific Northwest.  The deer remained concealed.

My last afternoon, as I hiked back out towards my truck to start the long drive home, I spotted a few coues deer does feeding on a hillside.  They knew I was there but continued to feed unabashedly.

  I watched the tiny deer graze until the orange orb in the sky was subdued by the weight of the stars.  I've been told by friends that I'm an intense person.  I agree with this.  I am an intense person.  I try to focus my passion into what makes me happy.  The outdoors have always been a subject of intense focus for me. I enjoy the reminder that I am but a very, very small part of this world.  This fact was lost on me at the beginning of the hunt I suppose.  We try to personify Mother Nature, but in truth, the wilderness is wild.  That fact is why I love it so much.  We become so comfortable in our lives we lose touch with our instinct and adaptive nature. I enjoy comfort as much as anyone, but I never want to lose a more primitive connection with the outdoors.  It's like having my soul cleansed, removing the dirt and grime of our hectic lifestyles.  As I sat and watched the coues deer graze, I started to realize that maybe a big buck was not what I was hunting for.  I feel clean.

Authors Note:  It's funny how a Dad knows how to say the right thing at the right moment usually.  Before my dad began the drive back to Phoenix, he left me with a few words of encouragement along the lines of: "Son, you have the determination to keep at it.  You keep goin' and sooner or later the 'big one' is gonna make a mistake.  Besides, it isn't about killing."  I think most hunters are familiar with the ol' "It ain't about the kill" phrase, but there is no simple statement more true.  Thank you Dad for reminding me.  I would not be so close to the outdoors without my father and, in turn, the outdoors bring me closer to him. 

All worth it

I'm goin in...

Glassed for hours...

....And hours

Rough Country

Hunt Video Journal

2011 Fall Bear Hunt: Back to the Chiricahuas

I don't believe a day goes by that my thoughts do not inevitably drift towards the outdoors.  My boss knows when hunting season nears by the glazed look on my face and hands behind my head as I day dream of slowly making a stalk on a buck I had missed on a previous hunt.  In my day dreams, I make a fantastic shot and anchor that beast of a buck.  Well, after returning from a great archery deer hunt in the Chiricahuas ( with tag still in pocket ), I was finding it hard to shake the desire to get back out there.  During my bow hunt I saw three black bears!  Of course, bear season would not open for another month.  So, after actually seeing bears and lots of bear sign, I decided to dedicate a week to trying to hunt down a bear in the Chiricahuas.  Also, this providing me with another opportunity to scout the unit a little more for my up coming rifle coues deer hunt.  I was glad that my dad had decided to join me for the first weekend.  I do believe he was fired up and anxious to check out the Chiricahuas after I returned with some awesome pictures and video from my archery hunt.

Dad and I left the afternoon before opening day and arrived at Herb Martyr campsite, where we set up camp in the growing darkness.  I found it hard to nod off for the night.  I was awake, anticipating the breaking of dawn on opening day.  I had seen only a hand full of bears in the wild and I actually felt like I had a chance to take an Arizona bruin from this area.
We woke opening morning to the chill of the crisp, fall mountain air.  We decided that we would hike to the base of the peaks to the NW of us, where I had seen a bear a month earlier.  As is typical in coues country, the going became very strenuous, very fast.  We trudged about half way up a mountain and split up to glass from different vantage points.  We saw several coues deer and heard a hound on the trail of a bear or lion, but no bears revealed themselves.  We returned to camp for lunch and spent the afternoon exploring a couple more areas that I had not been able to access due to road closures during the bow season.  We returned to camp exhausted, as expected when hunting Southern Arizona, that evening and had no trouble falling asleep.

A big Coues buck I'd like to find during rifle season

Bear fur on a popular scratching post

 We rose early again the next morning set out on a trail to the west of our camp.  We hiked for about 5 miles and came to a beautiful draw with an open hillside that would be ideal for glassing.  Dad and I separated to glass both up and down the draw.  As I began to glass, I focused my Vortex binos on a big black spot I noticed with my naked eye.  It looked like a big black stump, which were prevalent after the Horseshoe II fire had burned most of the Coronado National Forest.  But, then I saw the stump move forward.  I immediately came to the conclusion that it was a bear...and a big one at that!  I raced to grab my dads attention.  We returned to the spot I had glassed the bear up from and tried to spot him again. In the excitement of spotting what looked like a big bear, I failed to take note of landmarks around it to make relocation easier.  I briefly glassed the area and determined that he had gone over the ridge or was behind some foliage.  We decided that Dad would stay and glass the hillside while I dropped down and up the other side to hopefully find the bear again and put him to the dirt.  As I crested the ridge, out of breath and legs burning with lactic acid. I saw three coues deer bolt down the draw.  I was discouraged knowing that if the deer were alerted to my presence, the bear was too.  I stalked through the oaks and junipers for a little longer wondering if it had in fact even been a bear I had seen.  After lunch at camp, we returned to the draw in hopes of spotting a bear on the hill side again.  A short sit later, the skies turned threatening and the crack of thunder encouraged us to retire back to camp for the evening.
The next morning, Dad was only able to hunt til about noon before he would have to hit the road and head back home.  We decided to check out a canyon I had heard good things about through some of my online hunting buddies.  We walked into the canyon system and began scanning the canyon sides with our binos for anything that resembled a bear.  This proved to be quite frustrating as just about every stump, rock in the shade, or pile of rubble began to look like bears!  At one point I was absolutely certain I had spotted a bear about 1/4 mile straight up a mountain.  Fortunately my dad, ever so patient, continued to glass the spot, as I bounded towards the base of the mountain.  After more review, the bear I just about climbed a wickedly steep mountain side after, turned out to be a burned up Yucca plant.  Thank heavens for my dad's patience...and Swarovski binoculars.  The canyon revealed nothing but a few deer tracks and some border patrol agents.  At camp, we said our goodbyes and I promised to check in as often as I could while I stayed and hunted the next three days alone.  A quiet evening on a distant hill provided a beautiful sunset and a few coues deer does, but no black bears.  The next day I hunted a saddle I had spotted a couple coues deer bucks feeding near on a previous evening in hopes of, not only seeing a bear, but to see if the bucks were using the area regularly.  I saw a few more deer but couldn't determine if they were bucks or not.  That afternoon I drove to a cemetery a few miles to east of the saddle to hike in from a different direction, for a different view.  As I made ready my gear, I heard foot steps coming my direction.  Being the savvy Southern Arizona hunter I am (...try to be), I immediately dropped my right hand to the grip of my .357 mag "Big Medicine".  From past experiences, I was not surprised when a line of illegal aliens walked out from the tree line 25 yards from me. The lead smuggler spotted me has he turned to the man behind him.  The group of illegal border jumpers froze as we cautiously stared at each other.  With my brows heavy and my hand never leaving my unbuttoned holster, I hollered a single order "Vamanos!".  The group took off and I quickly put my gear back in the truck and drove to another spot, grinding my teeth with frustration and anger after once again having one of my hunting spots spoiled by the threat of the illegal desert walkers.  I returned to the side of the saddle I had hunted that morning and glassed the valley below until dark.  As I hiked out I spotted two great looking bucks feeding about a 150 yds away. I was able to snap a couple of  pictures which made the evening a success in my book.
As I was sitting by the fire at camp, dozing a little as I looked up at the clear night sky, a truck rolled up to the trail head above my camp.  The doors closed and I heard no voices which made me a little nervous after the days events.  I saw two headlamps moving in the dark woods, making their way towards my camp.  I stood and walked outside the fire light and waited.  As I saw 2 men slowly creep out from the trees I said "Speak English!".  The 2 men turned out to be border patrol agents checking campsites.  We all had a little chuckle. After I informed them of my run in with the illegals that morning, they understood why I was so nervy as they approached my camp.  They took GPS coordinates that I had saved after the encounter and even looked at the soles of my boots so they could follow where I had been.  They thanked me for the information, wished me luck hunting and headed out.  After several years hunting down south, I've gained new respect for our border patrol agents.  Those men and women are constantly in the some of the toughest and most rugged terrain our state has to offer.  My hat's off to them.

The next day I hunted through rain and howling wind which kept most of the wildlife hunkered down (I'm not that smart).  After a cold discouraging day, I moved camp over the mountain pass so I could spend my last day hunting and scouting the other side of the Chiricahuas.  As the sun rose the next morning I was already on my way up the mountain...and up and up and up.  After a ferocious up hill trek, I came to a gorgeous green mountain side with a great view to glass from.  This would be my last day to hunt.  I glassed hard for hours until my eyes felt like they would pop out of my head and, once again, the afternoon monsoons  returned and chased me off the mountain.  I ended the 2011 fall bear season with my tag left useless and unfilled.  As hunters we say "we filled our tag" if we were able to harvest our pursued animal.  After hunting in Arizona for years I feel as though whether I return with a cooler full of meat or not, my tag is always "filled" with the memories of the hunt and the special people I spend time in the outdoors with.



A Desert Tortoise



Break time



Coues deer fawn

Hunt Video Journal

Sending lead down range with Dad:)

2011 Early Bow Season: Part 2

After returning to work for another week, I planned another quick trip to get a couple more days of bow hunting in before the season ended.  I planned to hunt near one of my favorite fly fishing spots, Canyon Creek.  If the deer were not cooperating, maybe I could entice a trout up to a dry fly.  I left early Monday morning and had to return to work Wednesday, so it would be a quick overnight trip.  As I was driving the last 1/2 mile stretch into the canyon, a velvet fork-horn Mulie buck jumped the road right in front of my truck.  The canyon road is steep with few pull outs, so I hastily continued the last 1/2 mile and set up camp.  After quickly throwing up my tent and chucking my bags into it, I climbed a ridge near the ravine the fork-horn had bounded in to.  I found a high vantage point and picked apart the small canyon below with my binoculars, looking for any sign of the little buck.  I glassed for a couple of hours without spotting the buck or any more deer. I climbed down from my vantage point and drove towards Canyon Creek to look around.  I parked near a familiar spot at the creek and started hiking up the west side of the canyon.  The Rodeo-Chediski fire had burned much of the area a few years before and now clearings with new growth are interlaced within strips of old growth.  I hugged the edges of the clearings, remaining in the shadows as much as possible.  At each little saddle I stopped and glassed hoping to spot a buck bedded down, escaping the warm mid day sun.  After hiking for a couple of hours I reached the top of the mountain and found a nice point to view the surroundings from.  I sat and started checking the hills and clearings below me with my binoculars.  It wasn't long before I spotted a small herd of about a dozen elk grazing just below me.  I followed their lead and ate my unrecognizably smashed sandwich. I glassed for a while longer then decided to move to the other side of the mountain. From the top of the mountain I could see a water hole just at the edge of a clearing below.  As I checked out the meadow with my binos, a loud, throaty bugle echoed through the valley.  I looked across to the next ridge and saw a huge bull elk.  The bull bugled once again as I admired his massive set of antlers though my binoculars.  Another distant bull responded half heartily to the big boys bugle.  I watched and listened to the bull for about an hour and decided to stick around and see if any deer would come towards the waterhole.  As I was working my way closer to the waterhole, I heard a cow elk call.  I stopped and heard the elk calling and moving closer.  I knew the elk were probably heading towards the water, so I got down wind of where I thought they might come through.  As I ducked behind some brush, a cow elk cautiously walked out to the waterhole.  Two feisty fawns came trotting into the waterhole after an undetectable "all-clear" sign from Momma elk.  I watched the elk graze and play until it was time to meander back to camp.   My father and brother-in-law, Tony, met me at camp.  They planned on fishing Canyon Creek while I hunted and I would join them on the water if time permitted.  I love sitting fireside with my family, my dad in particular.  It brings back memories of camping trips long since past.  My dad and I would inevitably talk about fantasy hunting and fly fishing trips or about how the new gear is awesome but with an un-awesome price tag.  As is usually the case, I was beat down from hiking uphill all day and it didn't take me long to drift off to sleep that night. I rose just before the sun the next morning and went back to the canyon side I hunted the evening before.  As I crept through the tall ponderosas I scanned the dark forest around me.  I heard small twigs break ahead of me and a quiet foot fall.  I raised my binoculars and caught sight of a line of elk walking down the mountain side with a nice 5x5 bull bringing up the tail end.  I quietly enjoyed watching the elk make their way to the bedding grounds.  I crested the top of the mountain about an hour and half later and spent the morning watching elk move through the hills and glassing the surrounding gullies.  No deer decided to show themselves, though I'm sure there were a few in the area.  I climbed out and met Dad and Tony for lunch.  Dad and Tony were heading back home after lunch and a little more fly fishing.  I would hunt the rest of the day and head home that evening.  I decided to hike a trail to the Southwest of where we had camped.  I packed up camp so I wouldn't have to mess with it after hiking out.  As I started  hiking in I immediately spotted a doe mule deer.  The doe was alone, so I slowly moved on. I didn't see anymore deer but thoroughly enjoyed my hike through the quiet, cool forest. During the drive home, I wished I didn't have to return to the bonds of the cities daily grind.  The beautiful thing about the outdoors is that I always return home with great memories, usually a cool story or two, and always a longing to return as soon as possible.  Now I long for November, when I can once again scrub the stress of the city off  my sleeves as I squeeze between the trees and shrubs of our wild Arizona.

Hunt Video Journal

2011 Early Bow Season: Part 1

The first real chance to chase big game arrives in August, just after summer reaches its apex and about the same time I start longing to get away from the Sonoran heat.  Arizona is great for the archer.  With 2 fairly long bow seasons and deer tags available over-the-counter,  It's the perfect opportunity to climb to cooler elevations and chase some bucks.  My dad and I drew tags for unit 29 (SE corner of AZ on the NM border), which contains the infamous Chiricahua Mountains.  Known for its abundance of unique wildlife and some of the most rugged terrain in Arizona, the Chiricahuas have been on my destination list for some time.  I planned a three day trip to scout the area for our rifle hunt later in the season and to try and take a coues buck with stick & string. I left early in the morning and arrived near Portal, AZ mid morning.  Portal, AZ is an appropriate name for this tiny dot on the map, as it is like a portal into the Chiricahua wilderness.  I drove a forest road until it was no more and set up camp.  Eager to get my bow out and start looking around,  I set off to a trail head I had seen on the map.  I started in on the trail which disappeared in the undergrowth rapidly. I eventually ended up bushwhacking my way to a massive limestone spire near one of the mountain peaks.  At the base of the huge spire I took a break.  The early bow season is still in the heat of summer, so hydration is crucial.  As I was sitting soaking up the scene around me, I heard large rocks being rolled down the mountainside behind me.  I had suspicions of what might be dislodging the rocks and I turned to glass with my binoculars.  I saw a quick flash of black fur as a black bear made his way far up the ravine.  Black bears pick through old rock slides looking for bugs and ground squirrels and in some areas you can hear big rocks being rolled over by bears while laying in your tent at night.  The first evening was great and produced a bear sighting and one coues deer doe.  Once I returned to camp, I was so exhausted from traversing the tough mountainous terrain, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.  I rose very early the next morning to creep into an oak thicket I had spotted the previous day. As the sky changed from gray to amber, I moved quietly and deliberately from tree to tree.  As I crested a small rolling hill, I watched a small coues buck quickly make his way out of the area.  Coues deer have an amazing sense of smell and the August heat of the early bow season makes it very difficult to creep close undetected. I knew that the little buck was gone, but I decided to climb a ridge and glass for the rest of the morning to see if I could catch some more deer sneaking through the hills.  About an hour later I spotted another small buck making his way around the base of the hill ahead of me.  I quickly came up with a plan to follow the ridge top and then down the far side which should give me a decent downhill shot.  I executed the plan perfectly but the young buck had vanished as they often do.  I suppose that is why they are called  "The Gray Ghost". Around mid day I hiked out (with a little extra bounce in my step now that I've seen some bucks) to replenish my water supply and make a quick run to Portal to pick up more ice.  As I was driving the forest road towards Portal, I spotted yet another black bear about a 1/4 mile from camp! I watched the bear forage for about 10 mins before I continued on to Portal.  That afternoon I planned to check out an area a little further  NE of where I was camped.  I made the short 35 min drive and parked the truck behind an old rancher cemetery around 1:30.  I started hiking to the base of the mountains and cut a set of lion tracks.  I followed the lion tracks up and into the rocks where they disappeared with no lion at the end of them. However, the tracks did lead me to a great vantage point to glass the hillsides from for deer.  I spent the rest of the afternoon glassing from several different ridges, but didn't spot any deer.  As the sunlight wained, I began still hunting my way back to the truck.  At last light I arrived back at the old cemetery, and started my way down the last hill.  I was watching the grass field around the cemetery when I slipped on loose rocks and just about slid down the rest of the hill.  As I slowed myself down, I glanced towards the truck just in time to see a  coues buck run out from the cemetery!  I pursued the buck but ran out of daylight too fast.  Back at camp, after a camp stove dinner, I settled down for bed and was chasing giant bucks in dreamland in no time.  The next morning I returned to the oak grove from the previous morning.  As I came around the side of a hill just above the oak thicket, I spotted another big black bruin!  The bear was unaware of me at first and continued rolling logs over looking for grubs.  I moved a little closer.  The bear, still unaware of my presence, turned and started meandering right towards me.  The bear smelled me at about 20 yards and stopped.  The bear raised its muzzle to the sky to get a better sniff.  I crept forward just a little for a better view.  The bear locked eyes with me and I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up.  I unbuttoned the holster to my .357 just in case.  After staring me down for a minute or so, the big bear starting jaw popping.  Jaw popping is a scary sound made by the bear quickly clacking their molars together as a warning.  After an exciting couple of minutes the bear did a snappy mock charge and then turned and bolted up the canyon.  I hollered "Go away bear!" just to keep him moving, so I wouldn't accidentally bump into him on my hike out.  I hunted the rest of the morning, but was unable to locate anymore deer.  I had to cut my last day of hunting short to help some elderly and unprepared birdwatchers out of the area.  The Chiricahua Mountains are surely one of Arizonas' hidden gems.  I can't wait to return and chase some more deer with my dad later this fall.....maybe head back down earlier for the fall bear opener. (wink) Stay Tuned!



Lion Tracks





Arizona Black Bear

Hunt Video Journal

The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

I was fortunate enough to take a break from work and hike the Grand Canyon with my Dad this May.   My dad has become quite the "canyoneer" over the past couple of years.  He has hiked the Canyon rim to rim twice before this trip.  I was finally able to join him for a rim to rim trip.  We would be starting out at the North Kiabab Trail.  We would descend into the canyon to Cottonwood campsite, continue to Phantom Ranch, then Indian Gardens, and ascend via Bright Angel Trail.  The trip would be about 24 miles with a lot of the trip being comprised of steep switchbacks.  We planned to do the trip in under 12 hours.  My sister, Erin, and my nephew, Liam, would drop us off early in the morning at the North Kiabab trail head and pick us up that evening at the Bright Angel trail head.  We stayed the night at Jacob Lake Lodge and woke and geared up at 4:30am to start our adventure. When we walked out of the room, we were surprised to see an inch of snow on the ground!  I was concerned about the heat in the bottom of the canyon, so I had only packed light clothing for the hike.  This made for a chilly morning.  Dad had explained that I would be surprised how quickly it would warm up once we were hiking and started dropping in elevation to the floor of the canyon.  We started down the North Kiabab trail at a brisk pace.  I was immediately struck by the early morning beauty of the canyon.  All the shadows were shifting and changing with the rising sun which seemed to change the landscape by the minute.  We were making good time and enjoying the crisp dawn air.  I was surprised as my dad started  to jog!  We continued on past Cottonwood campground and on to Phantom Ranch.  We reached Phantom Ranch at about 11:30 and stopped to take a break.  We recharged our batteries with Powerbars and some electrolytes and enjoyed the scenery by Bright Angel Creek for a while.  It is overwhelming to senses when you're in the canyon.  Around every bend the canyon seems to beg to have its picture taken.  This can become frustrating as it would take about a week to get out if I stopped to take pictures of everything I wanted to.  You hear the wind race through the canyons, the creeks and waterfalls encouraging you, and the chatter of song birds.  After a short rest, we continued on the second half of our hike.  We crossed the Colorado River and headed up "The Devil's Corkscrew". "The Devil's Corkscrew" is a fitting name for this stretch, as it's all severely angled switchbacks going up for a few miles.  We hiked for a time next to the river, then climbed up the Corkscrew.  As we crest the Corkscrew we were rewarded with a great view back down into the canyon where we came from.  We reached Indian Gardens and were very ready for another break.  While taking our break a bold ground squirrel tried to commandeer Dad's sandwich.  Fortunately I was able to chase him down and retrieve the stolen goods.  The squirrel was undeterred, and returned to swipe one of my Powerbars.  Once again a chase ensued.  After resting for a bit, it was time to tackle Bright Angel Trail for our final ascent.  We started up the switchbacks, ignoring blisters and ready to finish the day.  The miles had started to take their toll on me at this point.  It was a struggle, but the scene around me kept me distracted from the exhaustion.  As we neared the top, I looked up and saw Erin and Liam.  Erin said Liam, who is 2 yrs old, would shout from each lookout "Poppa!!!!!" into the canyon as he waited for us to climb out.  He loves his "Poppa" for sure:)  We felt victorious ( and half dead ) as we reached Erin and Liam at Bright Angel trail head.  It was a great and memorable experience hiking with my dad. I hope that I will still be hunting and hiking like him when I'm his age.  This was a truly impressive hike and I'm grateful to have spent a day in the Grand Canyon with my dad.  Next time we're packing fly rods!



"Caught Red Handed"



 Authors Note: Special thanks to my sister Erin for dropping and picking us up.  I knew she would drop me off at the trail head, but I was concerned about whether or not she'd be there to pick me up ( older brothers can be a pain to grow up with! ).  I'm glad she found it in her heart to bring me back home:)

Spring Turkey 2011: Last Morning Magic

It seems like everything looks forward to the arrival of spring time.  The flowers and trees anxiously wait for the last of the snow patches to melt, relieving them of their winter bonds.  The elk and deer enjoy the new grass and forage that helps grow new antlers, currently wrapped in a sweater of velvet.  For the wild turkey, the coming of spring means love.  March and April are the breeding season for the turkeys.  The older Tom turkeys display their fan, drum, and gobble in hopes of attracting a mate.  Small skirmishes breakout between the Jakes as a "pecking order"is established.  The more aggressive and healthy males win the rights to breed with the hens.  Other Toms and Jakes stick around hoping to steal a few moments with a hen when the dominant Tom is attending other business, usually another hen.  This year I was drawn again for one of my favorite areas, Unit 27.  Dad and I have both had good luck hunting turkeys in 27.  We've both taken turkeys in the fall, but had yet to take a big Gobbler in the spring.  I was hunting alone this year and had taken 4 days off work to commit to taking a big Thunder Chicken.  I saw one turkey as I was driving in to my secret camp site, which immediately put me in the "blood instinct" state of mind.  I quickly set up camp in a beautiful grove of Oak and Ponderosa pines.  I have 3 or 4 spots that usually hold turkeys or at least turkey sign, but I decided I would concentrate my efforts to one area that Dad and I usually see turkeys in.  I also enjoy this particular spot because it seems everything in the woods love this area too.  I always see deer, elk, and all kinds of colorful little birds. My first evening turned up a single hen and a few deer.  After a great nights rest, I  rose well before dawn to sneak into my spot again.  The sun had just started considering rising when I creeped into my little valley.  As I worked my way to my set up, I saw movement in the distance.  A flock of turkeys was already in the clearing and had spotted me.  Two hills, and two hours later the flock of turkeys had won the morning.  Once you've been spotted by a turkey, the odds are stacked against you.  I spent the rest of the day checking out my other spots.  This resulted in a couple of quick uphill stalks, only to find the turkey I was chasing was a hen, therefore, off the menu.  Over the next two days I hunted my little valley in the mornings and evenings and spent the afternoons exploring.  I chased several birds, but no big Tom turkeys.  As long as I'm seeing turkeys and getting chances to chasem', I'm content.  My last morning had arrived too soon as always.  My alarm jolted me awake at 3:45am and I hastily geared up, determined to be in place at the little valley before the turkeys arrived.  As I parked my truck and loaded my pack with powerbars and fruit I heard a turkey gobble!  There is something special about a turkey gobble in the spring.  It is truly a wild sound.  The hairs on the nape of my neck stood as I listened for another gobble to pin point the Tom's location.  I slowly moved in the direction of the call.  As I crested a hill with a clearing on top, I saw a flock of turkeys with three big gobblers displaying.  I was so enthralled watching the Toms drum and display fiercely for the hens, I almost forgot what I was there to do. Almost.  I put my camo mask and gloves on and shed my pack to make the stalk a little more quiet.  I made a series of "yelps" with my box call to see if the Tom's might come to check out a lonely hen.  Apparently I did not sound like a very attractive hen.  The turkeys would respond to the call, but were hesitant to leave the flock.  After watching for about 20 minutes, the turkeys started moving out of the clearing.  This was my chance to figure out where they might head to and set up an ambush.  I quickly came up with a plan.  The idea is to back track and loop around out of sight of the birds.  This would require me to climb yet another set of hills to get to a clearing I hoped the birds would move to.  I eagerly climbed to the clearing. Crawling to the edge of the meadow, I scanned and saw no birds. I remained still and quiet, hoping the turkeys would show.  After ten minutes, I made a series of calls.  The series of calls were interrupted by a loud gobble, and close!  I worked my way to the edge of the forest and started really hugging the cover.  The Tom's had split from the flock and were coming up the hill towards me.  With my heart pounding, and veins burning with adrenaline I moved further into the pine trees.  I saw movement just below me and quickly set up for the shot.  I tried to make a couple more yelps with my box call to keep the birds interested.  I was so jacked with excitement the yelps came out sounding like nails on a chalk board.  The spirits of the forest showed mercy as the turkeys disregarded that awful call and kept on coming.  I waited for the lead Tom to show himself just beyond a fallen log.  Finally after what seemed like an eternity, a big gobbler appeared right where I thought he would.  I already had my shotgun leveled and ready.  I was still out of breathe from climbing the hills, and crawling through the trees.  I grabbed one deep breath and squeezed the shot off.  Time seemed to slow way down and feathers lazily drifted in the morning sun's rays that cut through the tree limbs.  I got up and ran to inspect my first Tom turkey!  He was a stunning specimen with beautiful fan feathers and a long beard. I enjoyed every day I spent in the aspens, oaks, and pines of unit 27.  Harvesting an animal is always fantastic, but to work hard for days and harvest an animal on the last morning is nothing less than magic.

Hunter Vocabulary:

Jake: An adolescent male turkey, 1 to 11/2 years old, short beard

Tom: A mature adult male turkey, sporting a longer black beard

Gobbler: Another name for an adult male turkey

Thunder Chicken:  Hunter slang for big ol' Gobbler!

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