Chasing Snow Geese

  It is that time of the spring again. Spring snow goose season in Idaho.
  Hundreds upon hundreds of decoys have been piled in my truck and transported to my secret corn field. Vortex machines, batteries, flyers, speakers, mp3 players, the list just goes on and on... all to chase the little white geese.
  I have really wanted to get my Dad in on a good hunt but the weather and the geese just haven't cooperated. We finally had to settle on a day and just see what happened.
  I informed Dad that it would be an all day hunt. "You just never know when a flock of birds might decide to drop in," I told him over the phone.
  We settled into the blind with a full thermos of coffee, relaxing in the camp chairs and waited. There were plenty of snow geese flying over the field, but none seemed remotely interested in dropping thousands of feet to investigate my little spread of decoys. Just a tad bit frustrating, to say the least.
  Dad and I finally had a flock close into marginal shooting range and it was now or never.
  "Let's take them on this pass," I whispered to dad. He was ready, and my dog, Jaz, was quivering with excitement as well.
  "Ok now. Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em!" I urged as I came up shooting at my side of the flock.
  Bang. Bang. Bang. I could hear Dad's gun going off beside me, and I was doing my best to stay on my side of the flock.
  One snow goose dropped to the ground near the blind.
  "All right, we got one!" I shouted, as Jaz proudly carried the bird to the blind.
  I did my best to blame the bird on Dad's shooting but he insisted the bird fell out of my side of the flock.
  "I'm sure it was one stray pellet from your gun that came to my side of the flock and got the bird," I tried to reason. Hmmm...
  That was it for the day. Not much in the way of harvest, but a good day in the blind none the less.
  Fast forward a couple of days.
  "Rain is in the forecast, but let's give it a go in the morning," I said to Ivak.
  My truck rumbled into his driveway much too early in the morning, but Ivak and his son Colton were standing ready.
  Once again all the decoys were out, the vortex's spinning, the sounds system blaring snow goose sounds, and we were waiting.
  The morning broke with geese in the air. Speckle bellys and Canadians flew over the blind so low it seemed we could reach up and catch them. It is amazing how they know when the season is closed for them. It is like they taunt you each day.
  We huddled in the blind as the heavy rain clouds approached. Would the geese get to us before the rain?
  "Low flock coming from behind," I hissed, "Let's get them the first opportunity we have. They won't circle the decoys very many times."
 It was a fairly large flock of snow geese and they were coming right on the deck low. As they cleared the blind we fired into them.
  Two geese sailed out of the flock and into the ponds near us.
  I volunteered to go after them. I found one very easily, but searched and searched for the other one.
  "I sure wish I had my little yellow dog, Jaz for this," I mumbled to myself. I had to leave Jaz at home as she is getting way up in dog years and was very stiff and sore from a hunt the day before. I just won't let her suffer even though she was begging to come.
  I climbed up on a ridge above the pond system and spotted the white goose. Dead on an island in the middle of the largest pond.
  Rain greeted me as I got back to the blind. It was looking like it set in for the day.
  "Ok, let's pick everything up. I don't need all my things getting soaked," I told Ivak and Colton.
  We loaded the truck and then rummaged up a little paddle boat from the ponds edge.
  "Ok Colton, you are the retriever. I'll give you hand signals and guide you to the bird," I told him.
  Man I should have brought the shock collar for his training....
  Colton paddled out and brought the goose back to the boat.  I was shouting, "Bring it here boy! Here, boy! Good boy, I'll give you a doggie treat when you get back!"
  We had a good laugh as he paddled his way back.
  The results of the hunt were not counted in numbers of birds, but rather, the quality of sharing some mornings with great friends and family.
  You can not put a price tag on watching the day break as thousands of birds roar into flight around you. Roosting turkeys gobbling the darkness into daylight.
  I value each day I am lucky enough to spend in this manner. Were it not for hunting I would never experience these special occasions.
  I feel very blessed to be living now. To have the freedom to do these incredible excursions with my family and good friends.
                                 Dad and Jaz

                            Colton the retreiver

                       Ivak and Colton

Specklebelly Maddness

  The great outdoors is a real test of character. Fishing and hunting, although very rewarding, can drive a person to complete madness.
  The Idaho Department of Fish and Game invented one more way to drive the hunters in their state crazy.... they opened a new specklebelly goose season.
  Of course, the guys I hunt with became very excited over the year anticipating the extension of the goose season by nearly a month. Also, being the cheapskates we are, we broke out paint brushes and began transforming Canadian decoys into the colorful specklebellys.
  "I don't think we'll need all that many of them," Wayne commented, "They don't seem to land in big flocks in the fields. They just scatter all over the place."
  His comment went flying over our heads just like the geese were to do during the season. We were warned, but none paid attention.
  Canada goose season dragged to a close with biting cold temperatures and snow blanketing the fields. The geese were frozen off their normal resting area lakes and ponds, and hunting was just not worth the effort.
  If only the warmer "speck" season could get here to bail us out!
  In fact, the final two days of Canada goose season found us shooting a couple of Specks adding fuel to our fires.
  I searched the internet for calling tips. "Specks are so easy to call," raved the call salesmen, "Just say he-he haw-haw into the call". He even proved it by showing video of him calling specks and shooting them.   I "He-he haw-hawed" around the house until I drove my wife's dog crazy. A few scratches and bite marks later, I felt ready to give the Specks a try.
  The weather warmed up and some good flocks of Specks showed up around Wayne's farm. Opening day was upon us.
  Snow! I woke up to fresh snow on the ground. I could not believe my eyes.
  "Man, I'd sure like to get my hands on the weather man," I said to Wayne as we set out our freshly painted decoys. "I don't think this snow will help us at all."
  I "He-hawed at passing geese all day. They thumbed their beaks at us, and our hard work on decoy painting, all day.
  Not a Specklebelly one.
  "I'll let you know when I see them feeding in my fields," Wayne said as I drove out of his farm yard. "We'll get them then."
  One week later I got the call. "The fields are covered in Specks, Wayne said over the phone, "let's get them tomorrow."
  We set out our decoys with the help of a couple more fiends, who were also drooling over the thought of getting specks. One of the guys is a taxidermists and was wanting to get his first one to mount.
  Just after daylight the specks came pouring off the frozen ponds and headed towards our field. We "He-he, haw-hawed" again and again, only to see the little geese side slip around us and our decoy spread and head to other fields around the area.
  We moved decoys around, re-brushed the blind, put on face covers, and even thought about doing goose dances in the blind, but resigned ourselves to slumping in our chairs, eating doughnuts and drinking the last of our coffee.
  "I can't believe theses birds are so hard to hunt," someone commented. "They just don't want to come into the decoys."
  I told the guys about watching specks while scouting for snow geese in the past years. "They would not even land with other flocks in the same field," I told the guys.
  We did managed to get a couple of the geese that day, but it was sure not the hunt we had anticipated.
  Another week passed and the speck number seemed to double as the weather warmed and poured rain. The ponds thawed out and we were ready.
  Slogging in nearly knee deep mud we set out some snow goose decoys and several flying motion decoys. The specks still did their best to ignore us but we did much better this time. We are learning.
  Yesterday I called Wayne and asked him if he wanted to go try for the geese again. "I've got to put a machine back together, but you're welcome to come if you want."
  With the speck into its final week, I decided to give it a go. Warm wind and a bored old hunting dog convinced me.
  We had talked it over and I decided to give a try at moving our decoys to the far edge of the field, way away from the blind. "The geese just don't even land with themselves," Wayne had been telling me. He was observing them as they fed in his fields on a daily basis.
  I actually had quite a good goose shoot by myself. I managed a six bird limit, and felt like I was calling them to me much better... until the reed in my goose call split.
   The speck season ends this weekend and I must admit I'm not too sad to see it go. Hunting these colorful little geese can drive a sane man crazy.
  At least it gives us another thing to do in the unstable spring weather, and I'd rather be listening to the distant He-haw of geese than watching ice dancing in the Olympics!

Fogged Out

My truck was jammed full of goose decoys. I could hardly get the tall truck shell door shut on the bulging load.
  Fog greeted me early in the morning as I turned down the highway towards Wayne's house. Fog! Certainly not our friend in goose fields.
  I met up with the small army of guys sharing this days goose hunt in Wayne's snow covered driveway.
  Matt had flown in from Alaska late last night, Mick, a local teacher and long time hunting friend, Larell, who had camped overnight on the farm with his 9 year old nephew, also a long time hunting friend.
  "The fog is only down here on the farm," I informed the boys as we gathered around a horse trailer filled with the other half of our goose spread, "once you get across the railroad tracks it is non-existent."
  "That figures, welcome to Wayne's fog bank farm," Wayne quipped, "It is always foggy down here when you don't want it to be."
  We rumbled the big trucks and the UTV along the river into the corn field near the blind.
  "Let's set two bunches of decoys," Wayne said with a puff of breath steam hanging in the light of his head lamp. "Just unload your truck in one bunch and the horse trailer will make the other bunch."
  I could feel the excitement in the guys, for most of them this was their first goose hunt of the year.
  Decoys vanished out of the trailer and truck and into the field transforming a corn field into a goose sanctuary.
  "Wow, that looks great," I commented to one of the headlamps passing by in a cloud of fog and breath steam. It was so cold and foggy you could hardly tell who was around you in the dark.
  We pulled the rigs out of the field and hid them under trees at the river, then met back at the blind in eager anticipation of a great goose shoot.
  Chairs were deployed in the blind and thermoses of hot coffee could be heard opening as a quick warm up before the action started.
  Then the wait began.
  We waited, and waited, and waited...
  "This fog is supposed to clear around eleven o'clock today," I told the guys, "That is according to the national weather station report."
  What the National Weather station does not take into account is the fog making machine of Wayne's farm. 
  Eleven rolled around, still pea soup fog. Noon crept onto our watches, and into our growling bellies.
  "Ok boys," Wayne said, "Let's head to the house for lunch and see if this fog will clear in the afternoon."
  Mick said he had to run home to feed horses and took off for his truck.
  We chowed down on some great hot pizza Wayne's wife and daughter cooked up for us, staring out the windows at FOG.
  We watched a little bit of the Rose Bowl game on TV as we ate. With the last bite we piled our heavy coveralls back on and headed back out into the cold fog.
  Mick met us back at the blind.
  "There is no fog past the train tracks," he informed us. "the only fog around the valley is sitting here on Wayne's farm."
  As the afternoon wore on, we could hear other groups of hunters calling and shooting at birds just outside of the heavy fog of the "farm".
  Boom, boom, boom! the shooting continued most of the afternoon and into the evening.
  "One hour of shooting time left," I informed the guys. Still no geese flying over the farm.
  With only a few minutes of shooting time left a big roar of geese came up the river and landed on the ice around the edge of the farm, but giving us no time to go after them.
  We picked up decoys in the darkness of the evening, still in thick fog.
  "I guess you just can't beat the fog of Wayne's farm!" someone commented, stuffing armloads of decoys into the truck.
  We met in the farm yard for our goodby's.
  We all agreed that we had been blessed with a great day of hunting. Not a shot was fired at a goose, but the thrill of hunting stories from the days past was more than enough to make the hunt of today a grand success.
  We laughed, we solved national political problems, we talked of some of our group who have gone on to God's best hunting grounds above.
  We may have been fogged out on our hunt, but with this group of wonderful men, a hunt is never a lost day.
  "We'll get 'em next time," was the parting words shouted out windows as the trucks left for home.

page 4 of the hunt from hell

  Early the next morning we said good by to Jimmy. He has the blown up clutch and is heading for McCall for repairs.
  The rest of the group loads into my truck and head up the mountain to our snowmobile launch area.
  It is once again bitter cold. Everything is frozen and requires twice the work for simple tasks like letting down the unloading doors on the sled trailer. We pound ice with bars and pins, making do with what we have.
  CD unloads a sled and just off the trailer shuts it down. Unknown to the rest of us, the machine has just died. We unload the other two planning on running double all the way with all the machines.
  We dress with all the clothes, hats, gloves, and coveralls we have to ward off the cold.  We jump on the warming machines and wait for CD to get his fired up. It will not start. We pull and pull till all of us are wore out and sweating in the bitter cold. We trace wires and find that we have no spark to either plug.
  Now we are down two sleds with six guys. Not going to work. We decided to push the dead sled onto the trailer, load the other two and get back to camp. At camp we unload the two running sleds and then head to Riggins with the two broken down sleds.
  At Riggins we have cell phone service and I get ahold of Jimmy who is standing in the repair shop in McCall. We talk over our options and decide Gary and Nick will work on replacing broken water lines in Gary's trailer, The rest of us will make the drive to McCall to see about getting both broken sleds repaired.
  The hunt from hell is now rearing its ugly head in mores ways than we had expected.
  At McCall we have the mechanic install a rebuilt clutch on the one sled and look at the other sled. They are behind in their daily work and cannot spend much time with ours. After a hasty look they determine that the wiring issue is more than a quick fix and cannot work on it.
  We head for the wonderful Pancake House with our tails between our legs. At least a great breakfast picks our spirits up a bit.
  After eating it is  back to our camp and hours drive away. At Camp Jimmy, Mike, and Myself tear into the broken wiring sled. Between all of us, we figure there is not much we cannot figure out, with all of our working on boats, and houses. We short kill switch wires, we trace spark plug wires, we do everything we can think of but that machine will just not give us spark to the plugs. It is truly dead.
  Gary has found plumbing supplies in Riggins and has replaced some of the burst water lines, but everything is so frozen that no water will move anywhere in the trailer.
  At town Gary had a mechanic look at his ailing truck to be informed that it was not fixable in that little town. Gary later learns that he has a cylinder down and it will mean replacing the engine.
  With a broken truck motor, and a frozen trailer Gary is throwing in the towel.  He and Nick will hunt one more day and then head home with CD and TJ, who need to get back to their jobs.
  Our group hits the mountain early the next morning. Jimmy is driving his truck to our top gate... if he can in all the snow. We have packed the road with the snowmobiles so we are hoping he can get his truck there. That will be the only way to get all our hunter in on only three sleds. 
  Jimmy makes it to the gate and we do our first round of shuttling. One group waits at Jimmy's truck while the rest of us drive the four miles in. We drop off guys and head right back to the truck for round number two.
  Mike and I decide to drop way down the mountains to where the elk are staying. We have several more days left on the hunt and figure we will be able to pack an elk out from that far in our time frame. It will not be easy, but it seems our only option.
  Sure enough, our plan works and Mike is able to get his first elk of his life. It is a big cow and he is shocked at the size of the animal when he walks up to it.
  We start working on getting the animal boned out and up the mountain in our packs. We are able to make two trips before our legs give out and it is hovering around darkness. Our second trip out has us racing darkness, as neither of us want to try that hike with headlamps in total darkness.
  There are a lot of high-fives when we meet at the snowmobiles. We once again shuttle the guys back to Jimmy's truck.
  We opt to leave the snow machines parked on the hill and just bring Jimmy's truck up the following morning. That saves the ten mile ride in the sub-zero temperatures.
  We relax around the fire with nothing to fix tonight. Very nice for a change.
  However.... the next morning on our ride in on of our three remaining sleds overheats. We are forced to park it and ride double into the hunting grounds.
  We manage to shoot one more elk to make it two elk for seven guys. With all our problems and the hostile weather, we feel we did the best we could.
  Each person on the hunt had their chances to bag an elk. With the cold and wet most of us tried to fire the guns but the caps were too wet to fire the powder, and we watched the elk run away. That is the challenge of hunting with primitive weapons, and why the ones in charge keep Idaho's laws of guns with open caps the only legal ones you can use on these hunts.
  We all agreed that we had a great time. The fire was the highlight of most days. Drying out, listening or telling stories, while eating some great meals.
  Each time you go on a hunt you learn. This hunt was no exception. Talking about it in the days past, we know how to hunt the elk the next time the temperature plummets below zero. Of course, the older we get, the less willing we are to trudge all that way down the mountain, and then fearing that once down there, we will actually get an animal.
  We keep discussing that one day we may have to surrender this brutal hunt to the younger guys and find a place less rugged for the old guys to hunt.
  Until that day, us old guys will look forward to our yearly Hunt From Hell!
  I told the guys that we need to have some shirts printed up that says; I survived the Hunt From Hell. Nobody will mess with a guy wearing that shirt!
  Mike is back in Alaska eating some wonderful elk meat. I am staying in Idaho for a while to chase some waterfowl.

Mike and I with his elk.

Mike working hard with a heavy pack.

Hunt from hell page 3

Day four of the hunt from hell has begun. Over night we picked up two more hunters. Jimmy's son, TJ and his nephew, CD. They must have run out of names in Idaho as everyone is named initials...
  Two very nice young men. CD is also the owner of a couple of the snowmobiles we have along on this trip.
  We wake to the temperatures hovering around the zero mark at the river. Almost unheard of in this area. We hear crazy sounds in the night, to find it has been ice grinding its way down the Salmon River. In places the river has frozen completely over.
  Once again the long snowmobile ride to our hunting area. This time it is with most of us riding double. We only have one machine set up for double riding the rest are the big hill climbers with the tiny seats. Makes for two grown men riding miles with your knees jammed under your chin. If you are prone to Charlie horses, the ride out at the end of a day of hard hunting can be pure pain filled misery. Our family  being one of those who do suffer Charlie horses. I've witnessed many times machines parked in the middle of the trail with one of us doing a strange crouched over, screaming voodoo dance. It can be freezing cold but when our friend Charlie the horse visits, you are streaming sweat down your face while doing the dance.
  At the snow machine parking place we split into groups of two and scatter to cover the mountains. We hunt hard all day in ankle deep snow and freezing ground. The breaks of the Salmon river are extremely steep, making very difficult walking in good conditions, add snow and frozen ground and it becomes almost impossible to traverse side hill, let alone straight down or back up.
  We meet back at the sleds at three, wore out and a little discouraged. Mike and I have spotted some elk clear at the bottom of the breaks, but way out of our range for shooting and much too far for packing back up on your backs.
  Riding the machines out that evening, we pull start one of the sleds to have the pull rope snap, but luckily the machine has started so we just keep it running till it is loaded on the trailer late that night.
  Back at camp the temperatures have plunged to zero and everything is frozen. All our bottled water is rock hard, pop left in the back of the truck is frozen and burst, lunch meat is in solid bricks, all our canned goods are frozen into the cans. It is nothing short of miserable. Ah... the hunt from hell.
  In the dark we set out to repair the pull rope on the snow machine. The exhaust has to come off and then the pull starter dis-assembled. We find that the rope has gone through the engaging teeth of the starter and it lies in the bottom of the sled in tiny plastic pieces! We will need a new starter assembly.
  The only snowmobile shop is about 60 miles away in McCall.
  Jimmy agrees to give up the next day's hunt to make the run for parts.
  It is late night when we tarp the broken sled and eat a quick supper around the fire that just can't quite keep up with the bitter cold.
  The weather forecast is calling for a week of the same. Cold, cold, and bitter cold!
  We have the snow we were needing, but the cold is something we have never dealt with on this hunt.
  I talk to Mike that evening telling him our only chance to bag an elk is to have someone hike miles down near the river and try to spook the elk into higher country. Looking at our party of hunters, we quickly realize that lovely task will fall upon our shoulders... or should I say legs.
  We make our plans to make the brutal hike, in dangerous conditions, and see what comes of it.
  The next morning we once again make the long snow machine ride to the hunting area. Some of the guys are nearing frost bite on faces and hands from the ride in sub-zero temperatures. It is almost crazy cold on that mountain face.
  Mike and I make the insane hike to just above the ice choked river and sure enough, get into herds of elk. We take pictures of the vast herds but know we cannot shoot one this far down the mountain.
  At least our presence has the desired  effect and a huge herd moves up the mountain towards some of our other hunters. (we find out later that the frozen ground has made it impossible for our other guys to hike down their ridges to where the elk moved to).
  Mike and I make it back to the sleds just before dark. Cold, wet, and dreading the ten mile ride to the truck.
  Half way down the mountain to the truck, CD's sled begins to act up. It is not running well at all and making all kinds of bad sounds. He knows he cannot stop to warm up or let the others catch up. He keeps it running until the rest of us get to the trailer and get the ramp down for him to load the machine.
  When he shuts it down, it will not restart.
  Back at camp Jimmy has the starter installed on the other broken machine, and once again we tear into the newly broken machine. It is so cold that we have to work with heavy gloved on making the work drag on into the night.
  We find that the clutch on CD's machine is gone! Another run to McCall in the morning is needed.
  Jimmy once again says he will make the run.
  At the trailers we find that Gary's trailer has run out of propane heat and all the water lines are frozen and broken. He opens all the drawers, cabinets, and bed areas after running to Riggins to get more propane in the bottles.
  The hunt from hell is living up to its code!
to be continued...

one of the herds of elk we spotted near the river

late night finish working on the snowmobiles

Hunt from Hell page 2

  Day two of our elk hunt found the two Alaskans waking up to a tiny skiff of snow.
  "If there is a skiff down here at the river, there will probably be feet of snow on top of the mountain," I told mike while making sandwiches for our packs. "Looks like a snowmobile day!"
  Everyone is excited about riding the machines in, as our muscles from yesterday's hike are so sore we can hardly walk on them. Mikes knee seems to be much better but without going down hill he is not sure how it is going to handle the day.
 Our two diesel trucks grind their way up the steep mountain road to a gate allowing snowmobile only traffic on an old logging road system. While turning around with the sled trailer I find myself very stuck in the fresh snow.
  We unload all the snowmobiles but I am still very much stuck. With daylight quickly approaching and our hunting time slipping away, we are forced to winch my truck out of the snow and complete the turn around.
  It is a four mile ride into our hunting area with the sleds, but we run out of snow at about mile three. The hike once again begins.
  We split up and hunt hard all day with only one herd of elk spotted by Gary and Nick. No elk on the ground. Trailering my snowmobile for the ride back to camp, the pull rope unties and sucks back into the machine! "You've got to be kidding!" I whine.
  Back to camp at zero-dark-thirty! We are tired and still sore from our hikes. The first order of business is to get my pull rope on the sled fixed. We have to remove the exhaust system and then gently pull the rope out of the starter, then feed it up a long spring to the outside of the machine. Everything back in place we make a couple pulls on the rope just to make sure.
  Supper is late and we crash into bed after eating around the roaring fire.  We try our best to dry out clothing, boots, and socks by the fire each night. There is heat in the trailers but with four guys per unit, there is not much room to hang drippy clothing.
  Day three wakes us with a surprise. Snow! Heavy snow on the ground in camp and snow falling like crazy.
  "At least we know we will be able to get the machines as low on the mountains as we need with this new snow," Gary comments.
  We are excited. This is the snow our hunt is needing.
  We get to the bottom of the mountain and decide to launch the snowmobiles right there. It is snowing hard and the steep mountain road can be very treacherous with the heavy snowmobile trailer pushing a truck on the way back down.
  Our four mile ride just became about ten miles.
  Snow plasters us as we ride to the hunting area.
  We split up and hunt hard, but the driving snow does not allow for spotting elk at any distance at all and no one observes anything.
  Wet and cold we meet at the snow machines and get a good fire going. We warm up and dry out a bit before making the long ride back to the trucks. The hunt from hell is living up to its reputation.
 No elk, every day struggles with machines, nasty weather... just what the doctor ordered... for crazy guys!
  to be continued...

Nick, Mike, Gary, and Jimmy thawing out at the snowmobiles before the ride out.

Hunt from Hell part 1

  Some time during our diving I talked to Mike about an upcoming annual event, a thing called The Hunt from Hell.
  This is a muzzle loader elk hunt in the wilds of Idaho.
  Mike was really excited as harvesting an elk was one of his bucket list items.
  "This hunt will test just about every area you can think of," I told him, speaking around a doughnut,  and sipping hot coffee while adding to my growing layer of winter belly fat. I glanced at the doughnut and commented, " Why, I shouldn't even be eating this, but should be feeding on carrots and apples before the hunt. One extra pound really feels heavy hiking the extremely steep mountains on this hunt." Mike nodded like he knew what I was talking about, but I knew he didn't have a clue.
 Fast forward a couple months. My phone chirps in a new text message. It reads: "hey buddy, I've decided to go on the elk hunt. Am booking tickets now."
  Mike was now committed. "Just make sure you get a non-refundable ticket," I commented back, making sure he couldn't back out at last minute.
   Mike arrived in Idaho after digging his way out of a couple feet of fresh snow in Alaska. It was warm and raining in Idaho.
  "Wow, this is great weather down here," he commented.
  I read the mountain weather report to him, "rain tomorrow, rain the next day, then three days of snow and dropping temperatures... as low as zero degrees."
  That didn't sound too bad to us sitting in that coffee shop sipping steaming lattes.
   Mike and I met up with my brother, Gary, his son, Nick, and Jimmy. I was dragging a snowmobile trailer filled with machines, Gary and Jimmy both had camp trailers clamped to their truck bumpers. The hunt was on.
  Mid way to our hunting area in the mountains Gary radioed that he was having truck engine problems. We pulled off the road to have a look. His truck had been in the shop just the week before, with the same problem. The engine sputtered, wheezed and missed like something that has had a few miles placed on it.
  "Don't know why it is acting up, it only has 325,000 miles on it," Gary commented while slamming the hood to dampen the not so good sounds.
  "It will make it. Let's get back on the road."
  "Just do like my wife does when she hears strange sounds coming from the car... turn up the radio so you can't hear them," I commented to Gary, "That fixes everything!"
  Yup, the hunt from hell sure had started.
  The three hour drive flew by as Mike and I excitedly planned our hunting strategies. We pulled into the campground and quickly helped get the trailers set up. The rain was hardly noticed.
  "Looks like we won't need snow machines for the first couple of days," I told Mike as we cranked the trailer up off my truck. "I guess we will just have them here on standby until the snow hits."
  Jimmy took Nick and Mike up the mountain that evening while Gary and I drove a lower road, to get a feel for where the elk might be.
  Listening to the rain hiss it the fire late that evening we decide to make a long hike the next day. It will require dropping off one truck, taking everyone up the mountain in the other truck. We will hike the entire mountain to the lower truck, and then make a late night drive back to the top to retrieve the top truck.
  It sounds easy.
  I keep telling Mike that morning to make sure you pace yourself. It does not look that far, but it is quite a hike.
  Rain drizzles on us the entire day. We are soaked and most of us are sure our powder or caps on the muzzle loaders are probably too wet to fire if we did see an elk.
  Just over half way down Mike tweaks his knee. He keeps going but we can see he is in pain and working hard to manage the super steep decent on a bum leg. The hunt from hell is under way for sure.
  At dark we make it to the dropped off truck. We are all tired, wet, and beat.
  "Wow, that's some steep country," Mike commented as we rumbled towards camp. "I was not expecting it to be quite that steep."
  At the fire that evening we rubbed our tired legs while cooking our tube steaks (hotdogs).
  "This looks like it might be a tough hunting year," someone commented and we all agreed
to be continued...

Jimmy, Myself, Gary, Nick, and Mike first days hike