diamond hitch
Well-known member
This might be a little long so please forgive me. My hunting partner's father was my 7th grade teacher. At one point he told me - Everything in life is indexed by the toughest thing you ever did. In a society where the toughest thing many have done was take a dump and survive their mother-in- law, the index is a little light.
I started hunting elk in the early 60s with my father just like everyone else in my school. My reality was his reality from the 30s. A stark reality check from today. We had a 1948 dodge half ton 2 wheel drive. Other than war surplus jeeps I don't remember anyone having a 4 wheel drive. You just made do. Snow boots were made of rubber. The heater in the truck defrosted a 6x6 hole on each window while you froze. You started every morning after you left the pavement (and sometimes before) by chaining up. The roads weren't great they were memorable.
On this morning we started up to our hunting spot (the same every weekend) with putting on chains on the last flats. To get up the steep pitch, I stood on the bumper and hung onto the tailgate while we fishtailed up the road with that pathetic little 6 banger wound up and humming. When we hit the forks Dad chose the left one to take us to the top of the clearcut. As we approached the turn on the ridge it was a little washboardy and we spun out. Dad backed up and hit it with a little more viger. The second time with more speed we made the corner but spun out on the first steep pitch. Well that set the tone. We backed down to the forks and approached the road with gusto. We must have been doing 30 when we hit the corner. We slide sideways and started fishtailing. Dad eased off slightly, got it under control and lined out for the hill. we went up that steadily increasing in speed and went across the flat and started up the last hill. As went around a patch of trees the lights illuminated to incredible six point bulls standing in the road watching us at about 70 yds. Daylight was breaking. The sight shocked my father so much he let up on the gas and killed the engine. I jumped out and using the door for a rest started blazing away only there was so little compression that it was backing down the hill ker-chunck then a whine followed by it turning over again. Meanwhile I was shooting and backing up between each shot like the French army to keep up with the truck. Dad was yelling in the chaos - get a rest on a stump - while trying to keep the truck from going over the bank. As we retreated down the hill the bulls disappeared from site - never moving just standing there in awe of something they had never seen before and I am sure they never would again.
The truck backed into a stump and stopped and Dad got out to assist me. At 13 or 14 I assure you any and all help was appreciated. We walked out on a spur road following the tracks and upon walking around a corner we saw a bull on the hill above us. We took aim and missed him twice - each. We followed him to the top of the hill to the next road and decided to go get the truck out of the road. When we got back to the truck we found where the bigger of the two bulls had bedded down in front of the truck while we were chasing the other one.
We never scrtached a hair. I hunted out a traverse and returned to the truck about 11. I just couldn't get the picture of those bulls out of my mind. I decided to hunt the ridge to the bottom where Dad said he would pick me up. Halfway to the bottom I found a big pine with a section marker on it a decided to check my sights. We had been hunting in a lot of rain and the gun was way off. I adjusted my scope and worked my way to the bottom. I got into the truck and we rehashed our disasterous morning over and over.
The next morning we repeated yesterday. We parked at the forks this time sneaking up to where the bulls were the day before. As you could guess, there was nothing there - first lesson on the odds of lightning striking twice in the same place. We walked a ways on a skid road and spotted a whitetail buck and a doe on a lower road. As they worked up a hill, the doe led and Dad set up for the shot. He pulled the trigger and missed. The buck bounded up the hill and I killed him at about 250 yds running. A nice 5x 9 whitetail with a 26 inch spread. We went back to the house and while prepping the meat I explained that I had sighted my gun in the day before.
He decided to make a side run to the rifle range and sure enough his rifle was also way off. On the way home we decided to go for an evening hunt among the mines out of town for another deer. Since I had one, it was my turn to play dog in the jungle. I made a sweep through the northside jungle and heard a shot. When I got to the top, Dad was dressing out a cow elk on an old mine waste rock dump. She had broken out out the jungle and ran straight at him and he had to kill her in self defense.
All in all probably one of the better weekends I ever had.
I started hunting elk in the early 60s with my father just like everyone else in my school. My reality was his reality from the 30s. A stark reality check from today. We had a 1948 dodge half ton 2 wheel drive. Other than war surplus jeeps I don't remember anyone having a 4 wheel drive. You just made do. Snow boots were made of rubber. The heater in the truck defrosted a 6x6 hole on each window while you froze. You started every morning after you left the pavement (and sometimes before) by chaining up. The roads weren't great they were memorable.
On this morning we started up to our hunting spot (the same every weekend) with putting on chains on the last flats. To get up the steep pitch, I stood on the bumper and hung onto the tailgate while we fishtailed up the road with that pathetic little 6 banger wound up and humming. When we hit the forks Dad chose the left one to take us to the top of the clearcut. As we approached the turn on the ridge it was a little washboardy and we spun out. Dad backed up and hit it with a little more viger. The second time with more speed we made the corner but spun out on the first steep pitch. Well that set the tone. We backed down to the forks and approached the road with gusto. We must have been doing 30 when we hit the corner. We slide sideways and started fishtailing. Dad eased off slightly, got it under control and lined out for the hill. we went up that steadily increasing in speed and went across the flat and started up the last hill. As went around a patch of trees the lights illuminated to incredible six point bulls standing in the road watching us at about 70 yds. Daylight was breaking. The sight shocked my father so much he let up on the gas and killed the engine. I jumped out and using the door for a rest started blazing away only there was so little compression that it was backing down the hill ker-chunck then a whine followed by it turning over again. Meanwhile I was shooting and backing up between each shot like the French army to keep up with the truck. Dad was yelling in the chaos - get a rest on a stump - while trying to keep the truck from going over the bank. As we retreated down the hill the bulls disappeared from site - never moving just standing there in awe of something they had never seen before and I am sure they never would again.
The truck backed into a stump and stopped and Dad got out to assist me. At 13 or 14 I assure you any and all help was appreciated. We walked out on a spur road following the tracks and upon walking around a corner we saw a bull on the hill above us. We took aim and missed him twice - each. We followed him to the top of the hill to the next road and decided to go get the truck out of the road. When we got back to the truck we found where the bigger of the two bulls had bedded down in front of the truck while we were chasing the other one.
We never scrtached a hair. I hunted out a traverse and returned to the truck about 11. I just couldn't get the picture of those bulls out of my mind. I decided to hunt the ridge to the bottom where Dad said he would pick me up. Halfway to the bottom I found a big pine with a section marker on it a decided to check my sights. We had been hunting in a lot of rain and the gun was way off. I adjusted my scope and worked my way to the bottom. I got into the truck and we rehashed our disasterous morning over and over.
The next morning we repeated yesterday. We parked at the forks this time sneaking up to where the bulls were the day before. As you could guess, there was nothing there - first lesson on the odds of lightning striking twice in the same place. We walked a ways on a skid road and spotted a whitetail buck and a doe on a lower road. As they worked up a hill, the doe led and Dad set up for the shot. He pulled the trigger and missed. The buck bounded up the hill and I killed him at about 250 yds running. A nice 5x 9 whitetail with a 26 inch spread. We went back to the house and while prepping the meat I explained that I had sighted my gun in the day before.
He decided to make a side run to the rifle range and sure enough his rifle was also way off. On the way home we decided to go for an evening hunt among the mines out of town for another deer. Since I had one, it was my turn to play dog in the jungle. I made a sweep through the northside jungle and heard a shot. When I got to the top, Dad was dressing out a cow elk on an old mine waste rock dump. She had broken out out the jungle and ran straight at him and he had to kill her in self defense.
All in all probably one of the better weekends I ever had.
