Wilderness Death Climb

While planning a fall backpacking elk hunt and panning around a wilderness area on Google Earth I located the cliff up a big creek drainage I’d hunted a few times.  Made my stomach roll 20 years later as it nearly claimed me and still ranks in the top 5 near death experiences.  4 of my top 20 close calls were in this wilderness area on this very trip.  

I'd seen a nice bull elk guarding a cow from another bull from on top of the largest cliff in the area, rising 1400' vertical in only 875'.  It took me 2 hours to scale down the cliff in stalking mode, then approach across a rockslide where a mountain lion growled at me from her den at only 15 yards. The 45° slope would allow her to step out from under a huge rock and reach me in one jump.  Knocking an arrow provided little protection, as the cat was on my offside, meaning I would have to turn completely around to make a shot, too late.  I flipped off the trigger of a bear spray and slowly proceeded across the unstable rocks, preparing myself to grab the arrow as the lion leapt, dropping the bow as I spun to skewer it as her momentum knocked my down the rocky mountainside.  I told myself to stab her deep and hold onto the pepper spray as it would hurt rolling down the jagged rockslide.  Foot by foot I made my way towards a small tree growing in the middle of the slide, seeking it's shelter.  Realistically the 6" tree would offer little protection but would require the cat to land on the ground to circle the tree, giving me one chance to draw the bow and shoot point blank.  Passing the tree and realizing if she wanted to kill me I'd have never heard her growl and turned on my gps to mark the location so I wouldn't pass nearby in the dark.  Surprised to see a path I'd marked just 50 yards away I remembered while packing an elk out the year prior the mule stopped and refused to continue, causing me to search for and make another path past the area.  Question answered. Proceeding past the slide to a game trail I stopped for a desperately needed rest in a spot I could watch the den 60 yards away through a gap in the trees.  Still exhausted 20 minutes after a snack laid down while holding with the bear spray on my chest I slept for 20 minutes.  Getting up to pursue the elk I looked back to see I'd been watching the wrong crevis in the rockslide while the cat was only 40 yards away!  

Finding where the elk bedded 100y away, their nervous tracks fleeing the area and taking me along the base of cliff.  Knowing I couldn't catch them with dusk closing in I scaled up the cliff to cut them off from the upper meadows above treeline where they would feed during the night.  Old school paper maps and tiny gps screens didn't show the detail and ruggedness above so I began climbing, which quickly turned in to scratching and clawing my way up.  Stopped by a 12' vertical wall I climbed up a leaning log which had slid down the mountain but was blocked by another log crossing my assent.  Climbing off one log as I slid under the next I was able to slip over the top of the wall.  My canteen caught on the log as I squeezed through the narrow gap, knowing I'd crossed a point of no return.  Looking up the only path was a rock chute with 8' sides and crumbled rock and debris in the bottom, essentially a natural slipper slide.  One step on the loose debris meant I was on the way down the slide and expelled off the mountain to the rock rubble 500' below.  I pressed my back against one side while pushing the end of my longbow against the other to pin myself against the wall.  The rock formation was made of thin layers rarely more than half an inch thick, which weather had loosened.  I tapped on the hand sized slabs and if the rock didn't sound solid I would peel it off with my fingers and test the next layer.  Fingertips pulled me forward six inches, taking a step with the uphill foot, moving the tip of the bow six inches, then the lower leg, and repeat for 400 vertical feet as dusk settled in. Rounding a slight curve I came to the end of the chute with a loose dirt wall on my side blocking the summit.  The only object along the steep 20' wall was an exposed root halfway up.  Knowing the dry climate had likely killed the root I cautioned myself not to grab it as I passed, churning and clawing up the wall, stepping on the root as I passed and feeling it crumble.  Topping out on a 2' x 4' landing and seeing it was a false summit, my head hanging off the other side starring down a 300' drop shook me to my core.  My only choices were to remove the string from my bow and tie myself to the lone snag juniper and ride out the night without shelter in the freezing temperatures at 10,000' elevation, or reach the summit.  Exhausted from hours on the cliff my chances of surviving the night and facing the same dilemma in the morning seemed near zero, so pressing on was the only option.  Dark was falling and light fading fast but I allowed myself to rest for ten seconds, collapsing on the ledge, completely relaxing for ten seconds.  While mentally counted off the seconds I told myself there was not another place to rest, not another chance to consider, but it was make summit or die.  Without hesitation I picked myself up and began scrambling up the dirt embankment.  As my boots began slipping in the soft earth and momentum was fading I saw clumps of grass ahead, eagerly grabbing handfuls to propel me forward as the cliff mellowed towards the peak and the ground began levelling out.  Finally standing for the first time in well over an hour, I stepped over a fallen log and spooked the two elk, but even with only one day left in the season I cared little.  I was alive... 

Not Today Tom

I ran into 4 gobblers in a waterway which separates a wheat field from a corn field about to be planted, & they ran back down the waterway towards the river, then cut through the nearly waste high wheat below a terrace. I slipped in the waterway, bending over to keep out of sight as I ran to the terrace, then turned into the wheat field above the same terrace ridge. Staying bent over so my torso was horizontal with the top of the wheat as I ran to catch up with them. Peaking over the ridge I saw I was gaining on them, so after a few more yards I draw my longbow while horizontal as I raised, locking onto the closest one at 32 yards, only his head and upper neck visible in the wheat. The arrow smacked him at the base of his head, cutting off part of his top vertebrae, but amazingly he flew a few yards before going down. He rose again when I ran at him, able to keep a few feet off the ground as he crossed the field, landing along the far side of the field. I gave him a few minutes, then slipped quietly along the woodland edge, hoping to find him. No sign of him for a block on either side, so I slipped into the center of the wooded strip & worked it back, finding blood to trail him several yards, indicating he'd turned in the direction I was heading. Seeing nothing as I neared the end, I swung to the far side to circle back, finding him hiding under a cedar, his head barely off the ground. Not taking a chance I shot him in the head, but he'd nearly bled out. Lucky day...

The Buck Stops Here

I slipped the canoe into the river Monday evening, paddled 3/4 mile against a strong current, and beached it under a big sycamore where a bald eagle had been perched near her spring nest. There were already six does & fawns along with 16 turkeys in the wheat field, so I had to slip through the crunchy leaves to get within 30 yards of the field, then crawl close to the edge as more deer poured into the field. I couldn't move enough to put  on the extra clothes I'd packed, so slowly hung them on branches for a make shift blind, removing dry leaves slowly to sound like the fox squirrel which seemed to tolerate me just a few away. The turkeys filed past me on the way to the roost, and I  was tempted to try for the head of the closest tom, but didn't want to jeopardize the setup. Darkness was threatening as four more deer came off the ridge to the field when I heard deer approaching over my left shoulder, working the wind better than the others, but unable to catch me as my scent drifted across the river.

It was late enough I slipped the binoculars up to identify the buck following her, and could see the defined full neck of the old buck. The doe fed past my shooting lane at 20 yards as he eased onto the field edge. Broadside at 25 yards, I couldn't tell if there was any light brush or weeds which might deflect my arrow in the low light, so pivoted to prepare for a shot through the clearing as the doe worked deeper into the field. After five minutes he still hadn't approached, but I could see movement the size of his head just off the shooting lane, like he was grazing on the wheat. Darkness was enveloping us as another five minutes passed, while the calm night air carrying his heavy rutting scent to me, giving me the confidence to hold tight as he finally entered the clearing. However, it was a foraging raccoon I'd been watching, followed by another! Knowing I needed to force the issue I leaned back to find him in the same position. Taking the shot, which appeared clear, I wasn't completely surprised to hear my arrow tick a branch, causing him to jump and swing around into the clearing, looking back in the direction of the noise. My longbow was quiet enough the doe had remained feeding, which kept him somewhat calm. He alternated his intense gaze from where the arrow had passed him and the branch as I nocked another arrow, slowly drew my bow as he locked onto me, and held for a few seconds for arrow I thought I'd missed when a solid, steady thump of a deep hit came back. He whirled and ran across the neck of the field, snorting hard twice after reaching the brush, then continued up the ridge where he blew three more times, unlike any mortally wounded deer I'd heard before, but likely trying to alarm the doe so she'd follow him. I waited a few minutes for things to calm, knowing the entire field had heard the ruckus, then sent another arrow where he had been standing to mark the spot, causing deer near me to trot away and allowing me to slip back to the canoe. I had a 7pm meeting to make, and it was after 6pm, but allowed myself a peaceful trip down the river. by starlight, the current doing half the work.

I returned with my father at 9:30 and followed the trail as it turned along the ridge, dropping down into the bottom where he'd came from, as I heard a pack of coyotes howl in the direction we were heading, even though they should have been able to smell us. The trail was diminishing as we entered a grassy flat, further challenging us, so I swung around in the direction of the coyotes to find two pair of eyes, a little too yellow and narrow for deer, glaring back from two directions about 75 yards away. Continuing between the two I found him at midnight, already molested, already molested by the devils.

He appears to be 6-7 years old, an old fellow by deer standards. He'd taken an antler tine to his abdomen during an earlier fight, puncturing an intestine, and another underneath his chest, so I'm not sure he'd have made it through the winder. One side of his rack noticeably smaller, whether from an old injury side or genetics remained to be determined, but either way it as time for him to go...