I jumped on a plane
out of Sitka headed for Idaho, to take in the annual whitetail deer hunt with my
lower 48 friends and family.
There were a few loose ends to tie down, then I picked up my Dad, and headed for the mountains.
Dad is 94 years "young" so getting a deer at that age has got to be some kind of record for the state. I cannot imagine too many guys hunting the hills at 94.
We arrived in camp to bright skies and sunshine. Not the weather we were hoping for. To get the whitetail deer moving out of their normal patterns, we always hope for snow. Lots of snow. The ground was bare and the temperature very warm, not at all what the hunters were looking for.
My brother, Gary, and his two sons, and his wife, convoyed up the mountains with us. At the top we decided Dad would ride with Gary and I would take Gary’s son, Nick, on a long hike.
Nick and I took one of my favorite old abandoned logging roads, and hiked to an area where I have found many bucks make scrapes and rubs during the bucks rutting season. Not much to be found except piles and piles of wolf droppings. In each pile of wolf dropping was deer hair. Idaho is now plagued with wolves that are destroying their deer and elk herds.
Nick and I came up empty that evening as did Gary and his family. We did not expect to get many deer on the first evening of a 7 day hunt, but no one even observed a single deer, not even in the headlights coming off the mountain in the dark. Not looking very promising at all.
Gary’s eldest son, Nate was the first to score. He was able to get a nice doe. Nate was now done hunting for himself so he elected to take Dad (his grandpa) back to the area of his doe and see if there could be more deer there.
Nate and Dad arrived at the hunting area and in no time spotted a deer.
Nate hustled behind Dad with his shooting sticks as the elusive whitetail deer wound through the thick forest.
“Deer right here!” Nate whispered to Dad. Nate looked around and Dad was
aiming his gun, but Nate knew he was not seeing the deer as there was a big
pine tree in the way.There were a few loose ends to tie down, then I picked up my Dad, and headed for the mountains.
Dad is 94 years "young" so getting a deer at that age has got to be some kind of record for the state. I cannot imagine too many guys hunting the hills at 94.
We arrived in camp to bright skies and sunshine. Not the weather we were hoping for. To get the whitetail deer moving out of their normal patterns, we always hope for snow. Lots of snow. The ground was bare and the temperature very warm, not at all what the hunters were looking for.
My brother, Gary, and his two sons, and his wife, convoyed up the mountains with us. At the top we decided Dad would ride with Gary and I would take Gary’s son, Nick, on a long hike.
Nick and I took one of my favorite old abandoned logging roads, and hiked to an area where I have found many bucks make scrapes and rubs during the bucks rutting season. Not much to be found except piles and piles of wolf droppings. In each pile of wolf dropping was deer hair. Idaho is now plagued with wolves that are destroying their deer and elk herds.
Nick and I came up empty that evening as did Gary and his family. We did not expect to get many deer on the first evening of a 7 day hunt, but no one even observed a single deer, not even in the headlights coming off the mountain in the dark. Not looking very promising at all.
Gary’s eldest son, Nate was the first to score. He was able to get a nice doe. Nate was now done hunting for himself so he elected to take Dad (his grandpa) back to the area of his doe and see if there could be more deer there.
Nate and Dad arrived at the hunting area and in no time spotted a deer.
Nate hustled behind Dad with his shooting sticks as the elusive whitetail deer wound through the thick forest.
“Over here,” Nate whispered and tried to tug on dad’s coat sleeve to get him into the view of the standing deer.
“No, I’ve got one right here in my sights!” Dad whispered back to Nate.
Nate looked around the tree on Dad’s side and sure enough there stood another deer. Nate whipped the shooting sticks under Dad’s gun and stood back watching.
Blam!
“You got it, you got it!” Nate shouted. Dad made a great shot and a buck was Dad’s
It was a time of celebration back at camp. Ninety-four years old and harvesting a deer. What a great accomplishment.
While many people that age are on walkers or in homes, Dad is able to be out roaming the forest with his grand children.
We celebrated around the camp fire the only way to do it in a hunting camp... eating fire roasted hot dogs!
Way to go Dad.
Dad (light blue coat), Nate, and the group
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