Mike’s Outdoors
Mike's Outdoors
mikesout
The '09-10 Hunting Season
Note: You can enlarge many of these photos by clicking in the bottom right hand corner of the photo.
This was base camp for two hunts this year at the bottom of a piece of the Sawtooth Range. I took in a group of guys who just wanted to get away from all the other hunters and still have a chance at something (their photos are below). The other group was me and two other guys on my personal bow hunting trip. 
We eat good on these trips. Here I'm caught flipp'n some steaks to go with the country fried potatoes and broccoli.
Mmmmm good. I'm being a good boy; even in the woods. See honey, I even ate my broccoli. 
This hunt was scheduled to be for a little less than a week, but Ken's hunt was just a little less than 3 hours. He went out to the middle of a nearby meadow caught the main trail heading for the trees and walked straight into the beds just as I had suggested that somebody in the group should do. When he got to the beds this nice young buck stood up and Ken knocked him back down with a great lung shot. 
Just a couple hours later Blackjack was loaded and ready to carry the deer back to camp. Blackjack is getting to be an old hand at this and he just takes it all in stride. Back at camp we found a cool place to hang the deer and cleaned him up to keep for the duration of the hunt.
Doug bagged this fine three point several days later. He was watching over a bunch of does from way up on a cliff overlooking the valley that Doug and his friends were hunting. This was a nice mature buck, but still among the smaller ones we had seen in the area in my earlier bow hunting trip.
Well, this was Rio Lito's first blood pack. Doug was a little apprehensive about using a horse that had never packed a downed animal, but Rio stood completely still on command and let us work all around and over him for the next 20 minutes or so as we secured the buck for transport back to camp. Rio seemed rather pleased with himself and I noticed he had a little extra sping in his step all the way back to camp. Later Blackjack and Rio Lito would pack the deer all the way back to the truck; sure a lot easier than boning them out and putting them (and your gear) on your back. 
"Hi, I'm Doug, and this is my friend Ken and this is my other friend Ken." ;-) Ken (center) had his opportunity too, but after pulling up his rifle three times he finally said, "I'm just not that hungry". He had a fine young buck just standing there for the taking on the last day of the hunt, but let him go on feeding as the guys just walked on by. You see he had already taken a very fine and unusual buck on the coast weighing in around 135 pounds (big for the coast), having 5 points on one side and 11 points on the other. The buck actually had 2 antlers coming out on one side of his head; three antlers total. 
Now that's a buck you call home about!!! And from the coast no less!! These guys were up in the high country for the experience; and what a wonderful and rich experience it was. Thanks fellas, for the opportunity to be your outfitter. It was a pleasure to be a part of your fun. It's hunts like this and people like you that keep me doing this year after year.
There were 12 to 15 different bucks spotted by three hunters during this trip. This was the only buck I saw and the only one that went home. It was taken only 2 hours before the last day of the hunt was scheduled to end.
The following story is a bit long for a website, but I thought it was worth telling. I hope you enjoy. And by-the-way please, hit the “contact us” tab and tell me what you think. I'd really like to know.
No names will be mentioned in the short story to follow; in the interest of sparing the guilty unbearable embarrassment.
;-)
A Short Story: “To See Me is to Die!”
It was a new area which I had discovered quite by accident. I had relied on my memory of the map rather than actually consulting the map immediately prior to departure. The trail as it turned out was going the right direction, but as I was soon to discover wouldn’t get me to where I wanted to go. As we traveled through the lush new area I was intrigued by all the game trails crossing the small valley. There was forage everywhere with creeks and springs all over the base of the sharp mountains encompassing the tiny valley. At long last the trail took a telltale turn in the wrong direction and I suddenly knew that my long trip had just gotten longer. I was delivering a drop camp to an area I had never been before. So I couldn’t stop to explore the area, but I made a promise to myself to return during the bow season and that promise I kept.
The day before the opening morning of bow season, found my companions and I riding our horses with packhorses in tow. I didn't figure on an extra horse for packing out our harvest. The plan was to use our riding horses to pack out our game and simply walk out. This particular trip wasn't too difficult a trail and besides I thought it would be a nice stretch of the ol' legs.
On the ride in I was still impressed. There were game trails everywhere and vast amounts of forage scattered in all directions. The trail climbed slowly up the draw which had sharp sparsly treed mountains on three sides forming a kind of boxed canyon.
I had brought a couple of guys with me; one young friend with whom I have hunted for years and whom I taught to bow hunt and another new friend whom I had just met months earlier; much older than my other companion, but still younger than myself.
The first late morning around the campfire was a flurry of stories about all these bucks they had seen. I hadn’t actually gone out to hunt that morning so this was all good news to me. I had chosen to stick around camp and get things set up for the longer stay.
A few days later after many stories of monster bucks and small herds of bucks being chased over the mountain tops; I posed an innocent question while gazing into the low boughs of the trees. “I don’t mean to cast doubt on your stories but, how come I don’t see any evidence of all these bucks hanging in the trees around camp?”
“Well, how many bucks have YOU seen?” they countered. “Well, I haven’t seen a buck yet. As a matter of fact I haven’t seen a solitary deer,” I responded. “Well, there you have it,” and they considered that a satisfactory end to the subject.
A couple days later after having to endure many more stories I told them that I had figured out why they were seeing bucks and I wasn’t; as yet I still hadn’t seen a deer. To tell the truth I was as much into exploring the area as I was into the hunt. “How’s that?” they asked. “Well you see when the deer see you they know they're safe, but they sense for me to see them --- is to die! With that they laughed at me and scoffed and proceeded to step up the banter another notch or two.
The next day my new friend came into camp telling how he had just missed this deer, how the forked horned buck had just stood there broadside in the trail, how his horse had stood so still, and how the arrow skidded on the ground between the buck's front and hind feet. I listened in amazement as he went on. I responded with, “Well there you go, proof that they are safe --- and they know it.” I’ll leave it to your imagination as to how that was received, especially since I still had not seen a deer.
Some time afterwards my young friend came and told another similar story of how he had seen this massive recordbook buck (by his description one could only assume) at only 20 yards off, standing there broadside in the open, even still he didn’t get a shot. You see, he was taking a nap. he was laid out under this fine tree at 8:00 AM and was stretching when he saw this beautiful majestic animal staring at him, turn “slowly” and “walk” away. “There you have it again,” I said. “They’re not afraid of you guys because they know you’re not a real threat to them.” Then I goaded them with this little phrase: “To see me, is to die!” Of course that set them off again, because I still hadn’t spotted a deer far or near.
On the morning of the last day I told them that the hunt was over at 10:00 AM. If they hadn’t shot something by then, it was time to head back to camp and pack for the trip home. We all agreed and off we went in separate directions.
As I crossed the creek behind our camp, I got a sudden urge to head in a different direction than I had originally planned. I decided to play my hunch and started seriously and methodically stalking through the brush and trees along the creek. At long last I heard a rock roll into the creek and knew my moment of truth had arrived.
I watched the forked buck cross the creek and move into a good position for a shot. He started nibbling on the upper boughs of a young cedar tree. I touched the button on my range finding binoculars and it responded with 27 yards. The buck was oblivious to my presence. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out as I settled in to full draw. I set the 30 yard pin just a little high and let the shaft fly. I heard a solid WHACK; as it imbedded deep into the small log at the deer’s feet. What?! I stood there with gaping jaw, “I can hit a three inch circle every time at that distance!” I thought.
Judging the distance now with my eyes wide open; I guessed the distance at more like 50 yards. The little guy was disquieted and unnerved by the noise, but still unaware of my presence. He decided to make a catious retreat. As he slowly crossed back over the creek I clicked the far bank in front of the buck for distance and came up with 37 yards and then mentally added another 10 yards anticipating the place where I figured the deer would cross; giving me a second shot opportunity. I silently knocked another arrow and drew back my bow. I don't normally get nervious before a shot, but my heart was pounding this time! Everything was on the line and a miss here and now would mean a very sad story (too much like my friend's stories) to tell back at camp. As I settled for the second time into full draw my quarry caught a glimpse of my final movement and he halted to study the situation. That was all I needed and I released the carbon arrow to its deadly task.
There was that familiar and satisfying thud; kind of like thumping a water melon. The buck jumped high in the air and gave a swift mule kick while suspended there; my prey hit the ground on a bound and was almost instantly gone from view. After just a few seconds I thought I heard him pile in.
I gave him some time and then went over to the spot where the deer had been standing. To my utter puzzlement I could find no blood. I searched past the area and couldn’t find my arrow. I knew I had hit the deer well and that the way he reacted was typical of a heart/lung shot deer and I was pretty sure I had heard him pile up. I looked at my watch and it was just a bit before 8:00 AM so I decided to return to camp and get a horse to pack him out. I felt confident that he was down and that I would find him in short order. The lack of evidence of a good hit had made me a bit uneasy and I thought it a good idea to give him a little more time, just to be on the safe side. The last thing I wanted to do right before time to head home was spook an injured and dying buck.
I arrived back at camp to find both of my companions warming their hands by the fire. I asked what they were doing there. They answered that they hadn’t seen anything so they decided to throw in the towel early and call it a day. “So, what are you doing here?” my young friend asked. “I just came back to get a horse,” I responded. He thought about it for a moment and asked if I had gotten a shot. I said matter of fact like, “Yes, I shot once and missed.” Now, this youthful hunter has been hunting with me for years and knows me fairly well. He put a moment’s thought into it and asked again. “How many shots did you take?” I said with a wry smile, “Two.” He looked into the fire for a moment as I continued past to get my horse and then he said, “You’ve got one down, don’t you.” All I said was, “To see me, is to die!” Then I added, “But I haven’t found him yet. So, if you boys have nothing better to do than warm your hands around the campfire, I’ll let you help me find him --- if you would like…?” So with that they both got up and kicked the ground in mock disgust and said some things under their breath that I couldn’t quite make out. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little as I continued on toward my horse.
We gathered the appropriate gear and headed back to the spot where he was standing when I took the shot. None of us could find any blood anywhere! A closer inspection of the area turned up the arrow about 4 feet “behind” where the deer had been standing on impact. Now, the deer was standing 90 degrees broadside to me when I made the shot. So to find the arrow behind the deer was very peculiar.
The arrow was covered with gut matter and a closer look revealed what looked like tiny bits of lung tissue clinging to the base of the fletching. I knew what I had seen and I was reasonably certain of what I had heard. So, I concluded that the arrow was lying to me. It had passed through gut alright, but the deer was not “gut shot”.
There was hardly a breeze so I figured that strong scents might hang in the air for a while. I smelled the arrow like a bloodhound preparing for a trail and positioned myself downwind from where I thought the deer might be. A few moments later I caught what I thought was the faint smell of gut. I quickly licked my finger and stuck it high in the air to get a direction on the breeze. I pointed in that direction and we all slowly moved on; watching closely for a deer lying in cover. A few minutes later I spun my head as I picked up a strong whiff of gut and announced to the others, “He’s down and he’s close by.” About 10 more steps and I spotted him piled in, obviously dead; his head being pinned under his body at the base of some trees.
My new friend said gruffly, “O.K. that’s it! I’m going hunting.” It was only 8:45 and he still had a little time left to try and make things right.
There had been no blood discovered anywhere! There wasn’t even blood on the deer. The smell I was able to follow, was escaping from the entrance wound as the gases from the bacteria backed up and ever so slowly bubbled out of the small hole in the young buck’s rib cage. On close inspection it was discovered that the arrow had passed through a rib and that while passing through that rib the arrow was redirected as the rib folded over itself. It then turned nearly 90 degrees left and passed through the liver and gut and came out through the front edge of the left hind leg. Gut matter had been deposited in the leg wound by the fletching and effectively plugged the wound like a tire patch.
It was a fun trip with lots of good stories around the campfire and fun bantering taking place most every time we got together around a meal or the fire.
So, what do you say my good fellows? Do you want to try and redeem yourselves and do it again this coming season? I’m game if you are. ;-)
As the old saying goes, he who laughs last, laughs loudest.
I rather enjoyed the walk back to camp especially so, because I was the only one walking.
Hee Haw
Michael Schmaljohann
All copyrights reserved.
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David's Trophy Bear
Down below it was foggy, dank, and miserable, but up in the high country where the bear are, it was an absolutely beautiful day for a bear hunt. 
The wind was calm. The air was crisp and clean and the bear scent just hung in the air giving the dogs something to howl about.
We were to discover a short while later that he lit up on the bear’s trail just on the other side of the ridge where nobody could hear him sound off. By the time we figured out what had happened he had treed the 300 pound bear all by himself. What a dog! David was happy for sure.
We sent in the other dogs for support and for insurance that the bear wouldn’t try to make an exit while we made our approach.
After a short but strenuous hike up a long steep mountainside, we were preparing for the shot. The terrain and thick brush made the shot a difficult one for David, but he took his time; catching his breath and calming his nerves. He got off a fine shot and the bear was terminated instantly. 
This was David’s first bear and a good bear too. The bear was young and in good shape. He plans on having it made into a fine bear rug trophy. I know he'll enjoy the meat too. Thanks David, it was a lot of fun. Let's do it again soon. (But next time don't hog all the fun, have your friend bring a tag too.)
Last Season's Rifle Hunt
After putting a client on the buck of a life time in X-1 it was now my turn to hunt a long anticipated x-zone for myself. There were a lot of fine deer taken out of this zone the year before and I was looking forward to putting a fine trophy up on my wall. I wasn’t too familiar with the area though; not having been able to do much scouting for myself prior to my hunt. I started looking where I had seen a book-sized 4 point a couple months earlier. It didn’t take long to realized, they weren’t in that area anymore. Now the search was on to discover where they had gone. After three days of no tracks, not a solitary track and bad reports from virtually every hunter I encountered I was beginning to get concerned. It quickly became apparent that a deer with a legal set of antlers was going to be a trophy on this hunt. 
On the forth morning I set out for lower elevations, zigzagging down the logging roads looking for any sign of recent deer presence. At long last I found a migration trail that had been cut probably the night before. Not very many deer traveling together, but there were a couple of tracks that gave me hope. Shortly thereafter I ran into two separate hunting parties. Both groups were coming out from the area I was heading into. The first group reported that they hadn’t seen anything since they started hunting days ago; not even a doe or a track. The second group came in from behind me and I allowed them to pass. We talked for a moment and they indicated that they hadn’t seen anything either. This group of three guys had to turn around and as they passed by me again they reported having just spotted some does just below, but that there was nothing else in the area. This gave me hope, because I have grown very accustomed to seeing deer that other hunters seem to miss. The sign I had seen just a little while earlier told me that the chances of a buck being with that group of does was pretty good. As they left my rearview mirror I continued down what could barely pass as a Jeep trail. 
A couple hundred yards down the trail I spotted a doe off in the distance and stopped to study the area. Off to my right and a hundred and fifty yards down the hill several does crept off into the brush. I came down another fifty yards and studied the sage brush off to my left; where I figured the girls had come from. There he was, all majestic and bedded down with a clear view of the trail and draw before him. From his position it was evident to me that he had watched all the hunters pass by before him without being spotted nor spooked. He was looking straight at me without a care or concern in the world. I couldn’t count the points on his rack, but it was clear he wasn’t a spike and he was a large and healthy deer. He was quartered toward me laying on his right side this hundred and twenty yard shot. Using the Truck as a rest I set my crosshairs low on the chest area and as far forward as possible without risking a hit anywhere on the front leg. I couldn’t get far enough forward to achieve a heart shot, so I visualized a path for my bullet passing through the forward portion of the left lung and the aft section of the right lung, perhaps clipping the liver before exiting out the diaphragm behind the last rib. A gentle squeeze and I let the rifle surprise me as it jumped in my hands and delivered a solid kick to my shoulder. The buck instantly sprang to his feet, only to tumble over and instant later. I couldn't help but wondering as I walked to my trophy, if the hunters whom I had just talked to heard my shot. The only shots I heard the whole time I was out on this hunt were my own; two shots to be sure my rifle was still on and one while harvesting a nice young buck. When I had my tag countersigned there at a local fire station, he told me that it was the first deer from that area he had seen or even heard of being taken out of that zone. I was feeling mighty fortunate to have such a fine specimen of a mule deer in the back of my 3500 Dodge as I made it down the road for home. 
Well it may not have been the year for another trophy on the wall, but it was another year of fine meat in the freezer! I can honestly tell you that this buck has been one of the best eating game animals I’ve ever had. 
Thanks JJ for the help. It makes the task so much more enjoyable Above and below are photos of my youngest son Jayman helping prepare the deer meat for the freezer. 
Mike's Outdoors
Butte Valley, CA 95965
United States
ph: 2097010215
mikesout