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.
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