The Bears are Back in Town

Momma bear and her cub visited the firehouse the other day.

I know that I recently posted about how people never cease to amaze me by trying to get too close to wildlife for a photo op. And what does my husband go do? Pose with the bears! Just because they come visit the firehouse backyard where the response time is much quicker if an accident should happen, doesn't mean you should be attempting a stunt like this. Okay, let him have it! I already have. ;)

She's Still Naked

Here she is... my new bow:

She is still waiting to get dressed up.

I'm almost ready to graduate to this beauty, but am not quite there on the poundage. Slowly but surely, I will be cranking up the draw weight on my current bow. I only have about 5 more pounds to go. So, I'm still hopeful that I'll be able to transfer my sights, rest, etc in time for my first hunt. Time is ticking!

She still needs a name. I can't decide. Eleanor? Dawn Treader? Or.....

Help!

Bears, Raisins and Cinnamon Roll Poop

Yes, somehow all these things go together: Bear, raisins and cinnamon roll poop.

When hunting in the woods, there are many opportunities to analyze animal droppings, excrement, poop, scat, shit, whatever you would like to call it. It was one of those mornings. We found ourselves on a game trial discussing which animal had left behind the remains of the day and how you can tell the difference between their presents on the trail. Apparently, someone was hungry because there was a lovely perfectly round swirly turd which was described by Hunter 1 as the "cinnamon roll poop." What? This is where the stories began about how surely it was left behind by a bear. You see, this morning the girls had decided to hunt by themselves on the top of the mountain while the guys would work there way up from the bottom trying to push the elk to us. (At least that was the plan.) All morning long, Big Al had been encouraging his wife that we've never seen bears on this side of the mountain and there is nothing to worry about. So off we went.

Upon hiking to the top of the beaver ponds, the girls found themselves a cozy little spot just below a game trail. I was the one with the bow today and Big Al's wife was armed with calls and snacks. She was satisfied to sit and help call in any elk in the vicinity, since her pockets were filled with goodies: Raisins, fruit chews, and beef jerky.

After a short spell of sitting in silence and calling sweetly to entice any nearby elk, I turned around to check on my friend. There she was. All I saw was what looked like I'm sure to the beautiful cinnamon colored bear only 10 yards away, a crazy person flailing her arms, glasses flying to the ground, raisins scattered, running straight toward me. The bear cocked his head. Looked at her. Looked at me. Looked at her. All I remember was trying to think quickly of what the correct thing to do was. I think I pulled my bow back and yelled something smart like.. "Hey." Our cinnamon bear decided that two crazy girls wasn't worth his time. He simply turned around and sauntered away in the opposite direction.

The whole way down the mountain, all my friend could say was, "Yeah, right! There's no Fn' bears on this mountain. I'm going to kill him." Him = Big Al, her husband.

When the guys finally showed up back at the truck after dark had settled in, the story was quickly told. Big Al's response.... Let's go get a bear tag. I think Big Al is lucky to be alive after that comment.

Of course, once we were safely back at camp it made for a great campfire story... after all, a bear truly does shit in the woods, and sometimes it looks like cinnamon rolls.

Antelope on the Prairie

Tonight we scouted the area where we will be hunting antelope. Upon spotting this herd, we pulled the truck over and I quickly snapped a picture from the truck window. The bachelor herd all stood up and proceeded to race us down the road. They were kicking up some dust. Those goats can run!

It got the blood pumping, and now I am officially on count down mode. 25 more days until opening day. How many days until your next hunt? Are you ready?

Prized Possessions - Use or Display?

Here's a question... Do you have fishing / hunting gear that has special meaning to you? Prized treasures that was used often by previous generations and now has found it's way to your household. Equipment that has been handed down with the expectation that it will be cherished for years to come. A fishing pole once handled frequently with love that now sits on a shelf on display, taken out and looked upon from time to time wishing that it could speak of the memories it holds. I will confess. I find myself wondering what it would be like to catch a trout lured by the fly dancing on the end of that line.

Yesterday we went for a bike ride along the Arkansas river, and I believe I eyed the perfect spot down by the shore that is calling my name. (I've also recently discovered that since fly rods fold up nicely and can fit in a saddle bag, there is no problem taking the Harley fishing after all!)

So, what cherished treasures do you possess? And do those treasures sit on shelves displayed in honor OR do you still use them for everyday fishing / hunting trips? I am torn on this one. I would love to try out the fishing pole that once was carried on horseback to a mountain stream to catch the fish of the day. Or to use the rifle so many members in the family have used to shoot their elk / deer. However, I also want to have the opportunity to pass these treasures on to the next generation yet to come. I want them to remain unharmed. You see, there is a little fear in me that being new to fishing, I may cast a certain pole right out of my hands and watch with horror as the rod is engulfed by the river waters. So, the question remains and I am not yet satisfied with what the correct answer is. Maybe, it is enough to encourage my husband to use the rod that was once held in his grandfather's hands. I would be okay with just documenting the event in photos... safely from the shore just taking it all in.

P.s. In case you were wondering... Yes, the Copenhagen can in the above photo is a prized possession in my house. This specific long cut will remain safely on display, as it contains the half can of chew from when my husband quit 7 years ago. Don't worry, I'm not torn about whether or not this should be used or remain on display. It stays on the shelf.

Bucky has Bugs

Poor Bucky.

Memories from a Past Hunt

I can still remember the day, like most previous hunts... The smell of mountain air welcomes the day and the morning beckons me to come wander the mountain side in search of elk. Usually we decide which side of "our" mountain to hunt the night before, but some mornings the weather or other random factors determine where we begin. Due to the lack of road signs in the mountains, the conversation usually goes something like, "Where should we hunt tomorrow? Big Tree? Green Gate? Beaver Ponds?" This morning, we were headed to the "Big Tree" because it had rained the night before and the road to "Big Bull Meadow" would be rained out. There is a very steep drop off to the valley below along that road and when it is muddy it is not an enjoyable trip... At least in my opinion. For the guys, it never seems to be a big deal.. more of a challenge I think and an excuse to use the tire chains and "stay in the ruts". However, no one usually speaks while the driver has a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel all the way up the mountain. So, for this particular morning we opted for the Big Tree where there are no steep inclines along the road - just a muddy, bumpy path to where we unload and wander off.

My husband had just arrowed his elk over by "Big Bull Meadow" (another reason to let that side of the mountain rest), so he was automatically assigned to being our caller for the day. And call he did! We had a bull answer back to one of the first morning calls; however, he was across the canyon, so we just played with him for a bit - calling back and forth. It is one thing to enjoy watching and listening to a bull "talking" on a filmed hunt; however, I have to admit that actually being there in the moment is something that video footage never seems to do justice to. Until you actually experience it with all your senses, you have no idea what it is really like. The mist creeping up from a canyon separating you from a bull on the other side that is calling back to you in an echoing, haunting sort of fashion is.. is... I can't describe it. It is burned in my memory though.

This particular bull was hotter than we thought. After several moments of stillness, we quickly learned that he had actually crossed the canyon, gathered his cows and came back to show us how tough he was. We were all impressed! These animals definitely deserve respect for performing feats like this. He put on quite the show and came close enough in the open meadow for one of the guys to get an arrow in him.

And this is where the story gets interesting. After sweet success of getting your bull, the hard part begins. Gutting. Carefully skinning for a potential mount. Packing it out.

Alan decided that this time, it would be a good idea to take his camo off so as not to get it all bloody. So, there he was on the side of the hill dressing out the elk in his bright white long johns. Where is my camera when I need it?? However, they were not white for long. And unfortunately, it wasn't just the elk's blood changing the color of the long johns. Alan was trying to skin that elk a little too fast. I had noticed him shaking a bit b/c he was tired and didn't think too much of it.. I thought to myself that he has gutted so many elk, he knows what he is doing. Accidents happen to everyone though. He quietly said to me as I turned around, "tell the guys to come down here." From the tone and message I had no idea that he was hurt. I thought he just needed help. Until I actually looked at his leg. There it was. A HUGE gash that sliced his

leg clean open. CRAP! We quickly wrapped his leg in torn game bags to stop the stream of blood. He managed to walk up the canyon back to the truck, but there were a couple of times I thought he was going to pass out. I was trying not to think about what we would happen if he actually did pass out. There were a few jokes about loading him up on one of the pack frames. Although funny now, I'm glad we didn't have to figure out how to carry him out.

I was designated to be the chauffeur to the hospital. After all, there was still an elk to get off the mountain. So, Alan and I headed down the mountain in search of someone to stitch the gash in his leg back together. I believe I made it in record time because he was looking pretty white about now - almost matching the white long underwear apparel he was sporting.

Here is the best part - once we reached the hospital, I ran inside ahead of our leg gashed hunter to let them know we needed help. Upon reaching the nurses station, I simply said that I had a guy who needed some stitches. She nonchalantly said okay and then looked down the long hallway. There he was. It was quite the site really. Imagine a man limping along wearing only muddy hunting boots and white long johns soaked in blood. One side of the long johns was ripped off and his leg wrapped with elk game bags to stop the bleeding. The nurses eyes were immediately wide open as she ran to prepare a room. I really think she thought all the blood on Alan was his - I forgot to tell her he was gutting an elk. Oopsy.

I guess the moral of the story is - remember your first aid kit in your pack and SLOW DOWN when gutting your animal. There is probably something much wiser that could be said here, but I'm tired and just wishing I was hunting right now.

Stink of the Bull

Have you ever shot a bull that stunk so bad, that you ended up looking like this?

It reminds me of a halloween costume gone wrong.

(notice the kleenix in the nose!)

My husband shot the source of the stench (aka - bull elk) opening day late in the afternoon. Since we were unsure of where exactly the arrow penetrated the bull, we gave him some time to expire just in case. So by the time we started to follow the blood trail, the hours of daylight were drawing to a close and the tracking party was quickly overtaken by the darkness of night. Searching for drops of blood on the forest floor via flashlight is quite the experience. We ended up marking the last blood marked leaf late that evening with an arrow in the ground and the determination to return in the morning to continue the search. This is where a GPS comes in handy, the arrow location was programmed into the GPS with the label of "last blood drop". It was a sleepless night for my husband knowing that his bull was still out there somewhere.

The next morning we returned to crawl around on hands and knees in a sleuth like fashion. A few prayers were sent heavenward. A thunder storm was brewing above us threatening to unleash raindrops and wash away any traces of blood. So we searched on with new found determination. And a few moments later we realized what was thought to be a threat turned into a blessing. The clouds loosened their load just a little and with a few light sprinkles of rain, the dried blood once again became a vibrant red. Soon there were shouts of... "found one on a twig" or "here's red on this stump". And once we got close enough, all that was needed was to follow our noses. Stinky bull!

It ended up being a deadly shot, but I think the gut was nicked just a little which is all that it takes to put a bad stench in the air. So, I promptly found a spot up wind during this gutting process. After all, it wasn't my elk so I wasn't obligated to join in the quartering. I simply sat back, let the guys do the stinky job, and watched the thunder storm roll across the mountain. I was more than willing to do my share by just packing it out - far away from the gut pile. Load up my pack and I'll just haul the meat, thank you very much.

So, here is to being persistent in following the blood trail!

False Security

While in Wyoming last week, I took the following picture:

It was taken safely from the window of my truck as this fence line was pretty close to the road. However, there were other photo opportunists that thought it would be a good idea to get out of their vehicle with their kids and get right up to the fence to get their snapshot - and I mean right up to the fence line. I have a healthy respect for animals this size and understand that even though they look cute in a bullwinkle sort of way that they are indeed wild, very strong, and WILD. What is wrong with these people?? Every year you hear about wildlife that has hurt someone, but I have to wonder after seeing this stunt if it isn't due partly to their own stupidity. People never cease to amaze me. I guess some think a little fence will prevent a bull moose from causing harm. I would rather be safe than sorry, thank you very much.

Fish On!

We just returned from an amazing vacation in Wyoming. The fishing was better than I ever imagined it would be.

The first day of fishing was on Monday. We loaded up the boat and headed to the mountains. There was a quick stop at the Cowboy Cafe to fill our bellies with chicken fried steak, eggs and pancakes, and then we were off to our picturesque mountain lake to see if the rainbows and browns would bite. And bite they did! I quickly learned the proper fishing term to say when you have a fish on the end of your line - "fish on!" I think I had beginners luck because I had my limit within the first couple of hours.

It was truly a vacation to remember. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...

The second day of fishing we headed to a small lake at lower elevation for some bass fishing. I've never caught a bass and when the first one took the bait, I quickly discovered that I had a fight on my hands. Once bass realize they are hooked, they nose dive for the weeds to bury their heads. When you are using 4 lb test line, it is a challenge to real them in, but man it is fun!!

Again, the pictures tell the story much better...

Dad was nice and let us catch most of the big ones - I think he is a fish whisperer!

It helps to have someone along who really knows what they are doing when it comes to fishing. Troy's dad is a wonderful fisherman and proved it to us during this trip. I remember growing up in MN and we would always attempt to fish, but when I asked my dad why we would never catch any fish he would respond with, "Well, we are probably fishing at the wrong time of day, with the wrong lures, at the wrong depth and the wrong part of the lake. Other than that, I don't know why we aren't catching anything." That was okay with me though. We would have a good laugh and then jump in the lake and go swimming or spend the afternoon water skiing. So, I really didn't realize how much fun fishing could be until this last week. (I will admit that I was wanting to jump in the water in the middle of the afternoon - It was a little hot and I do miss the feeling of gliding across the water on those skis!)

We've planned our next trip and will be back to Wyoming in September. I've been told there is a mountain stream filled with brookies that bite on the first cast of your fly rod. I'll be counting the days to try this out. Oh, and bow fishing. We will be bow fishing next time too!

Can't wait to say it again... Fish on!

My oh My - Fishing in WY

I mentioned in a previous post that I've caught the fishing bug. It must be true. My sweet husband and myself are off to Wyoming to go fishing - for our 10 year wedding anniversary. Crazy! (We will also be visiting family which is an added bonus.)

So, we've loaded up the Harley and are Wyoming bound. I hope to return full of fishing tales from the mountain lakes. (Don't worry, we are using Dad's fishing pole once we arrive in Wyoming - I'm not sure how you would even pack a fishing pole on a bike. Although come to think of it I did carry my husband's wild boar euro mount back from the taxidermist - on the back of the harley. Believe me - we got some strange looks that day!)

See you in a week!