Sitka Gear Turkey Tool Belt

Hunting and Bipolar

Some days I regret opening up about my mental health struggles, and I wonder what life would be like if I had just continued to suffer silently.
Bringing others into your challenge was the right thing to do. I have seen the outcomes of others who could not and it is not a happy ending.

Thank you for your courage. By facing this head-on and in an open manner you are helping yourself, your family and undoubtedly have set a great example for others who may now seek help in light of your example.

My wife and I wish others would have helped open our eyes to teen depression earlier as we almost lost our baby girl. (not their fault or responsibility at all, but it may have caused us to read some tea leaves differently). Now that we are in the mix and open about it, it is amazing (and scary) how many families have come to us for help or with their own past stories. Mental health is a hidden epidemic and folks like you are dragging it out into the daylight and give us all hope.

As for fair-weather friends/employer - that is truly heartbreaking, but at least now you know and you can shape your future around others who are compassionate and will stand with you.

Keep up the good work - you are doing the right thing the right way.
 
Day 5

Each new day is a decision whether to stay in the field or head home. I figure I can sit at home and feel sorry for myself, or else grind it out. The latter I have to believe is better for my health, so I stay. The night before I had a long night hike back to the tent so I slept in, having no game plan for an AM hunt.

My knowledge of mule deer behavior is quite limited, and I am trying to decide on where to look for older bucks. Before the hunt I mapped out main areas 1-3 within the unit. Area 1 was quickly eliminated as it was difficult to access, but easy to glass from the road, and other hunters would likely have noticed a buck in that small spot before now.

I had hunted the first finger ridge of area 2 the day before, and I now guessed older bucks would be staging a little higher in elevation, which was inaccessible private ground. There was some slightly higher elevation terrain in another direction, but I was hesitant to check it out. While it was hard to abandon area 2 knowing there was much more to explore, I took a gamble and left for the last and largest spot I had pre-scouted.

Area 3 is a pack-in hunt, 4 miles down a ridge, then drop 2 miles down a steep face into a huge valley miles long and miles across. I had sub-spots A-E to hunt in the valley. I reorganized my gear for a 4-day pack-in including all the water I'd need, as there is none to be found in the valley on account of the highly-porous sediment. My daypack was comically-overloaded with all my gear and provisions, but I managed to strap everything on it somehow.

I set off hiking at 12:30 PM. I know pine squirrel middens are common, but I am always impressed by them. This one was 5 ft tall at the base of the tree, and tapered another 20 ft down a cut.
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Near the bottom of the steep face it dawned on me that I forgot my cell phone battery pack. This ended up dramatically altering my hunt for the next several days as I would be without OnX, and I brought no back-up map. Also unfortunately, no camera. I figured I could at least get a couple days by conserving my current charge on the phone. Checking the level I was down to 8% Oh no! I must have let the device get too cold and/or left the screen on in my pocket for a couple hours. I quickly texted my wife letting her know I would give updates via InReach, and also assured her I could navigate my way out again.

Battery was now at 5% and failing fast. I made a very quick study of all my waypoints, private property boundaries, and made note of major landmarks. It was severely imperfect - I figured it would be better than hiking another 10 miles that day just to retrieve the battery pack. In retrospect, I should have just bit the bullet and made the hike.

I set up camp halfway down a canyon and out of the wind, then spent the evening glassing from sub-spot E. Fog and low clouds rolled in, reducing visibility to about 300 yards, and I saw nothing.
 
Day 6
No AM alarm, but I naturally woke up in the dark and got ready for a repeat of last night's glassing, hopefully with some better visibility. Forecast was 4" of snow starting around 9 AM.

As it got lighter, visibility was even worse, vacillating between 100 and 300 yards due to the fog and low clouds. I did see a group of five does and fawn across the nearest canyon which was an encouraging start.

As the snow picked up, further cutting visibility, I decided to explore a bit by foot within a short distance of camp from what I could remember of the map and the brief view of the valley I got the night before. My primary objective was locating the first canyon crossing, which I had marked, but now had to relocate. This task took several hours and lots of scaling up and down the canyon sides, but eventually I made it across to sub-spot D.

I glassed for an hour in limited visibility and mentally marked some additional landmarks. At 3:30 PM the clouds rolled out, and like a light switch all the deer in the valley starting moving at once. I located 25 does/fawns in many small groups, plus a forkie at the bottom of the valley, and another across the second canyon. I gave him the pass at 200 yards.

As shooting hours drew to a close all the deer from near and far except 1 doe/fawn pair congregated on a grassy ridge 3 canyons over. The two young bucks harassed the does, who were interested only in feeding.

At nightfall I started heading back to camp. The lack of OnX here was crippling, as the inability to mark and relocate canyon crossings made for a very long hike back. I scaled canyon walls up and down repeatedly, getting misdirected (I am never "lost"), and at one point making a 4-mile circle back to my glassing point amid the labyrinth of canyons and ridges. Nearing camp I crossed a new trail in the snow that was made sometime after nightfall. Too tired to check it carefully, I decided to give it a closer look in the morning. Discouraged and exhausted, I finally returned to camp again at 10:45 PM, ate a very late supper, and was asleep by midnight. I let myself sleep in the next day.
 
Day 7
I was ahead of my water ration schedule from all the additional hiking the night before. I knew I could boil snow, which is tedious and time-consuming, but still effective.

By 9 AM I was up and ready. A major break from previous weather, I had a beautiful bluebird day with nearly-full sun. I returned to the tracks from the night before and found they were from a bull elk bedded just a couple hundred yards under my camp in the bottom of the canyon. He was headed up the steep face.

I ruled out my best sub-spots A-C due to all the missing pre-marked canyon crossings on OnX. Not wanting an even worse repeat of the previous night's stumbling around, I conceded to abandoning these premium high-elevation food sources and hopeful haunts of bigger bucks staging for the upcoming rut.

I made a gamble on staking out on the ridge where all the deer congregated the night before, knowing the prospect of older bucks appearing here was pretty slim.

With no plans other than making my way over to that ridge for an evening stakeout, I followed the bull tracks up the face. It was really fun trying to imagine his thoughts as he paused, contemplated going left or right, stopping to browse, backing out of an undesirable path, and turning to look over his shoulder in the dark. There was a wealth of knowledge to be gleaned from just his footprints. Most significantly, he showed me a far easier path up the face than the one I took to get down into the valley. I guessed that he was relocating to a different post-rut sanctuary due to putting up with my close presence for longer than he liked.

From a precipice near the top of the ridge I glassed the whole valley, and made several mental notes of my path to cross the many canyons to my evening ambush. This was my first clear view, and I could clearly see sub-spot A, which looked very appealing and tempting.

Next was back down the face and make my way over to the ambush point. The temp was low 20's but the bright intense sun at high elevation, and some terrain at 90 degree angles to the sun's rays made for lots of slush. I did not bring my usual small container of Crispi Cream, and my boots gradually became drenched through.

3 PM I was in place. I put on all my warm clothes and went barefoot, tucking my feet into my pack and sandwiching a super warmer between them to keep from getting frostbite. A quick glass found two separate doe/fawn groups on the move. At 3:30 PM weather rolled in again - low clouds, wind, and spitting snow. Deer activity locked down immediately.

No deer came to the ridge that night. Ten minutes before shooting light ended the young buck at the bottom of the valley did get on his feet. At this point in the hunt I was beginning to approach a willingness to take a yearling buck to fix my empty freezer conundrum. The buck jogged around a bit and closest distance was 540 yards, way out of my range anyways.

As I sat on the now-dark ridge I began to feel an acute stab of depression, seemingly out of nowhere. I thought about what to do next and I resolved I would end the hunt. I had some great solitude - I had yet to run into another hunter in the field, fantastic scenery, tons of exercise, wildlife viewing, and a much needed break from work. Although heading back with two unpunched tags was not ideal, I came to terms with it.

Picking up my boots they were two solid blocks of ice. I put dry socks on, and bent, beat, and squished the frozen leather to produce just enough give to slip my toes in, then jump up and down until my feet popped into the boots. I figured once I got moving my body heat would thaw out the boots some and keep my feet from getting damaged.

The thick clouds blocked out the moon and only a few landmarks were barely visible. One saving grace to get out of there was my boot prints in about 50% of the places where the snow had not melted away. The other piece to that puzzle was a commercial flight path directly overhead. About every 2 hours between 6 AM and 10 PM daily a plane would fly the same route, the sound of which could orient me to what direction I was facing. I managed to hike an efficient route back to camp with just one "shortcut" that ended up adding maybe 5-10 minutes to the trip.

On the hike back I started to feel a little better and I talked myself into hunting out the rest of the week. I had new plans mapped out that involved places other than the ones I had pre-scouted, but would put me into position to find some older bucks. I also crossed a fresh lion path that wasn't there when I hiked in that afternoon, and near camp I found the same bull had headed back into his canyon after dark. Apparently he had enough in the dark timber on the face for a day and was willing to move back close to the human scent.
 
Day 8
I woke up at 1:30 AM to stabbing pain in my big toes. I had already expended my small supply of painkillers from my long antelope hike, and I knew there was no getting back to sleep. What happened was when my boots thawed out on the hike back they were not laced tightly after getting frozen, and my toes banged on the toe box edging down the canyon sides, causing severe bruising. I laid there under my tarp for the next hour, trying to find a way to keep the hunt alive, but I could not make it work in my head. I dropped a super warmer into the toe box of each frozen boot, packed up camp, and got ready to hike out in the dark (the super warmers were worthless).

4:20 AM I was ready to go. I got "misdirected" on the face several times due to low clouds, fog, falling snow, false peaks, and the bull's trail had mostly melted away or filled in with new snow, so I lost it about 1/3 of the way up. For whatever reason I started thinking about my oldest boy belting out his favorite songs, and the intensity of missing him and the rest of my family tugged at me. There was a huge benefit in leaving a couple days early to be able to see them all again soon.

Worst case scenario, I knew the sun would eventually come up and give me the direction needed to finally get up this face and out of the valley. At 6 AM though, the first plane flew over again and I had my path marked to get up to the ridge.

Originally I had anticipated getting back to my car just before sunrise, but with all the bumping around on the face I ate up a lot of time, and I realized I would have maybe 1 1/2 hours of hunting light before my hike was done. As I hiked up the ridge - now considerably easier not having four days worth of water on my back - the sun slowly illuminated the woods through the fog. I saw buck prints in the snow up there - lots of them! Maybe this would work out after all...
 
The snow was crunchy and I knew deer would hear me quite a ways off, but I know mulies are a bit less spooky than whitetails, and sometimes hang around long enough for a shot. Visibility was poor enough to render binoculars useless, but I picked apart timber openings and rocky patches as I trudged up the ridge.

After an hour of hiking I was running out of real estate and time. The morning golden hour passed, and while there were lots of day or two old buck tracks, I saw no new ones in the fresh snow. I knew I was under two miles from the trailhead and the reality of an empty cooler and unpunched tags was beginning to settle in again.

Just before the trail led back into the timber from an opening, I took once last look along the edge and there through the fog and snowflakes was a hazy deer silhouette! Binos up, I see antler bases!!
 
I am saying this respectfully. I'm saying this because I can, because been there, done that, have the trophies and scars. And because I think perhaps no one else will.

You took a ton of unnecessary risk as you let your mental state rule over you and cloud you up.

Glad, seemingly, it went well, but in an already fragile state, forgetting the host of items and the over/under shooting of objectives and supplies, solo, could've really hammered your psyche worse.

You don't have to be cognizant that you know you forget the charger, or pain meds etc, but to be cognizant enough you're aware of the elevated risks because you aren't cognizant enough to know you forgot the charger etc...

Stemming from just dumping everything in the car, dealing with it later.

Get a good rest, good breakfast and a good shower. Get to your wife and kids and give em a good hug. Step back for a while and let your body and brain synchronize. Do simple tasks, get simple wins.
 
I am saying this respectfully. I'm saying this because I can, because been there, done that, have the trophies and scars. And because I think perhaps no one else will.

You took a ton of unnecessary risk as you let your mental state rule over you and cloud you up.

Glad, seemingly, it went well, but in an already fragile state, forgetting the host of items and the over/under shooting of objectives and supplies, solo, could've really hammered your psyche worse.

You don't have to be cognizant that you know you forget the charger, or pain meds etc, but to be cognizant enough you're aware of the elevated risks because you aren't cognizant enough to know you forgot the charger etc...

Stemming from just dumping everything in the car, dealing with it later.

Get a good rest, good breakfast and a good shower. Get to your wife and kids and give em a good hug. Step back for a while and let your body and brain synchronize. Do simple tasks, get simple wins.
I appreciate the perspective. I have these conversations in my head a thousand times, and try to figure out what the “right” or “best” course of action is.

Something that really helped was being under no pressure to make the trip or hunt the tags. The main deciding factor is could I drive safely - I could, and everything else was at least manageable.

I probably should have prefaced this earlier in the tale, but I have a wealth of experience and practice in wilderness survival skills from my years in BSA and self-study. I have run drills building emergency sleeping dens, starting fires under a stopwatch, emergency navigation, etc, all with no materials or even clothing/footwear. I’m in my element out on the mountain/woods/cold, and all my gear is really just a set of conveniences and comforts. Over my lifetime I’ve also spent over a year worth of nights in the backcountry.

I appraised the biggest risk of all as not getting out ahead of a depressed state. That doesn’t mean I appraised that correctly - there’s no way to determine that, and like you mentioned I do have awareness of being in a state of compromised judgment to a degree.

Again, really appreciate your thoughtful advice.
 
OK, back to the story!

I could not make out antler size/length, but I was 100% sure it was a buck, and based on body shape 98% sure it was a yearling.

I dropped to a knee to get a more stable platform, took a few deep breaths, settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. At the report the buck jumped awkwardly and I saw a splash of red just behind the shoulder.

With the falling snow and good evidence of a solid hit, I dropped my pack and approached the kill. He had run 60 yards and collapsed.
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I was close enough to the trailhead to unload my gear, charge my phone, and then return for a photo and quarter up the deer.

Drove until I got tired, splurged on a motel and a decent meal, then back home to IA the next day to see my kids before their bedtime and catch up with my wife. I’m feeling much better, and hopefully have turned the corner on this latest bout of a mood episode.

Next up, archery deer in the rut, turkeys, ducks, and ditch chickens!
 
fantastic write-up! I know that for myself voluntarily putting myself through the wringer occasionally on hunts or climbing trips is exactly what keeps my mental health in the green, glad this one managed to hit that spot for you, hopefully the peace of just going really hard stays with you for a while...
 
Monday afternoon got out for a couple hours of creek-busting. Saw 12 ducks, 10 quail, 2 woodcock, a rooster, and a dove. Shooting steel, plugged shotgun, wearing blaze orange, and hunting afternoon hours I’m legal for anything that flies. My shooting was atrocious, 1/9 😂😂. Fried up a yearling female northern shoveler for supper.

I cleared a couple evenings this week for stand archery hunts but never got out. I had several major setbacks at work to an already deteriorated and precarious employment situation, which has been extremely stressful. My wife worries about it a lot, whereas I more or less feel hopeless about an eventual positive outcome. Nevertheless, I continue to plug away simultaneously through multiple avenues doing everything I can to keep my career afloat. I’m also working out a contingency plan for a complete career change if needed. I did utilize a couple hours each evening to work on processing my deer meat, which is now nearly done.

I felt energized for 3 days following my mule deer success, but since then have plunged back into depressed/irritable mood, excessive sleep, poor energy and motivation, and loss of interest in activities I normally enjoy. I also developed an infection under one of my toenails, which hampers walking and wearing close-toed footwear as I treat and recover the tissue.

This Saturday AM my wife and I have a babysitter lined up, and I was completely free to ambush bucks during freezing temps and the prime rut window. I could not get up and out there if my life depended on it though. I slept in instead.

The evening sit is less productive but I’m making myself get out there today.
 
Saturday evening the only deer I saw was bounding away as I climbed up my stand.

This AM up at 3:30, and still a little late getting in the stand. This basket rack buck came through.
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About a half hour later I had a pack of EIGHT coyotes come in. I’ve never seen a group that big. I’ve called coyotes in plenty of times but have never tried shooting one. I proceeded to rush two layup shots from overexcitement - one coyote got a haircut.
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Not too much later I saw a bobcat! Only second time in my life I’ve seen one afield, and this is my first ever time buying a furharvester license.

I tried my best to stay collected and squeezed the release on my bow. The arrow skewered the cat, pinning it to the ground. It let out a loud snarl, bit the arrow off and took off like a rocket into a thicket. I hunted for another hour, heard something coming in, but couldn’t locate it. A doe saw me moving my head and took off. Next up, retrieve the cat.
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Tracking was slow going. Snakes were out to enjoy the warm day.
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This is the best blood I found. Not encouraging…
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175 yards and the blood trail dried up. I looked in holes, up trees, down every critter trail, nothing. Over 8 hours later I gave up. I don’t know where I went wrong. The arrow hit right around the front shoulder, broadside. Maybe too high? Blood seemed like muscle blood.

I might get out early tomorrow AM and jump a few ducks to get the monkey off my back.
 
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