rtraverdavis
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2016
- Messages
- 4,078
This is not a success story. At least, not in the way of big dead mule deer.
This year, I wanted to do a big, out-of-state adventure hunt with my dad. I don’t know how many more of these we have left, so time with him was a priority. Not that I expect he’ll drop dead any minute, but he has some extreme physical limitations that are the cumulative effect from his time in Vietnam, and many, many major surgeries in the last 20 years. So time in the field for him is rapidly closing.
Leaving Oregon in the pre-dawn light:
Between the time we drew the tags and the hunt itself, the excitement of planning began to build. Calls to the biologist, hours on OnX and GE, and all the other stuff consumed me. My dad, once as enthusiastic about hunting as I am, now seemed content to take a backseat approach to the whole deal. When I introduced him to Google Docs, where I created our master list for the trip, he rolled his eyes at me and told me to get out the damn paper and pencil, he didn’t have time to figure out this “computer shit.”
Dialing in final loads for the old .257 Bob:
Our tags were for a general unit, easily drawn as a second-choice, and not known for big deer. Even still, I had my sights set on a mature buck, and made a deal with myself that I would come home with a good deer, or with an unpunched tag in my pocket. We opted to hunt the last week of the season, thinking there would be less hunter pressure and hopefully some good weather. Weather came, and our first night in camp got down to -15*, a salient experience for a Western Oregon boy.
Preparing to build camp:
This year, I wanted to do a big, out-of-state adventure hunt with my dad. I don’t know how many more of these we have left, so time with him was a priority. Not that I expect he’ll drop dead any minute, but he has some extreme physical limitations that are the cumulative effect from his time in Vietnam, and many, many major surgeries in the last 20 years. So time in the field for him is rapidly closing.
Leaving Oregon in the pre-dawn light:
Between the time we drew the tags and the hunt itself, the excitement of planning began to build. Calls to the biologist, hours on OnX and GE, and all the other stuff consumed me. My dad, once as enthusiastic about hunting as I am, now seemed content to take a backseat approach to the whole deal. When I introduced him to Google Docs, where I created our master list for the trip, he rolled his eyes at me and told me to get out the damn paper and pencil, he didn’t have time to figure out this “computer shit.”
Dialing in final loads for the old .257 Bob:
Our tags were for a general unit, easily drawn as a second-choice, and not known for big deer. Even still, I had my sights set on a mature buck, and made a deal with myself that I would come home with a good deer, or with an unpunched tag in my pocket. We opted to hunt the last week of the season, thinking there would be less hunter pressure and hopefully some good weather. Weather came, and our first night in camp got down to -15*, a salient experience for a Western Oregon boy.
Preparing to build camp: