July 11, 2010

Did you go fishing, hunting, or trapping in your youth?

Hunting and Fishing but neither one was I very good at. Fishing was really bad for me and I stopped early in my youth in pursuit of that hobby. Hunting took a little longer but I eventually quit that as well.

However I did go Deer Hunting from about the time I was 8 years old. I went with my father, brothers, cousins, Uncles and their friends. One year, the first one that I was able to carry a rifle and have a tag, I went on the second weekend of the hunt with my cousin.

Here is how I have related it in my history.

Deer Hunting, the Road with Harold, plus the big one with Steve

I had several years of deer hunting after my first one with dad but that was the only one when we actually went and stayed at the ranch the night before. From that hunt until I was 18 I never missed another deer hunt. We pretty much would get up early on the morning of the hunt and go before it got daylight over into the orchard which was about a quarter of a mile from the house and there get at least one deer before even starting to hunt with my cousins and uncles. After we would get that one hung up in the barn we would go to Nana’s place in Duchesne and meet up with everyone else. It would still be quite early and they would all be ready so we would load into the trucks and head for Indian canyon. There would be 5 or so of us in the back of each truck, usually there were 3 or 4 trucks. We would go up Indian canyon about a mile and then head east on a dirt road for another mile or so and then turn south again and drive along the ridge of the hills that would drop down into Indian Canyon. I could never figure out quite how everyone else knew but at some point the trucks would start dropping one or two people out at the head of each draw. If we were the first ones off we would wait for several minutes I suppose to let the others get dropped off further up the canyon and then we would start down the ridges watching and listening for the deer that would be moving back into the hills from the fields in Indian Canyon, the fields that were owned by dad and his brothers. I didn’t carry a rifle since you had to be 16 to do so at that time. I would usually go with Clair or Stan and walk with them helping them to watch both side of the ridge. I can remember some years seeing a lot of deer filing up the draw into the hills and then when the big one would come along going to try and bag it. The worst part of the day always started tough when and if one was bagged. We would have to clean it and then start dragging it down the canyon to where we could drive to it and put it in the trucks. One year I remember hearing the smashing of horns below us, I believe I was with Clair that year. We hurried down to where the sound was only to hear it stop and then found where two bucks had apparently been fighting because the ground was all messed up and some dust was still lingering in the air. We didn’t see either of them but we were sure excited and tried to find them. I don’t think that we were successful. I still can see the year when 5 big bucks were all loaded into the trucks after that morning push. Usually after we had gone there above the ranch we would then load up again and go to right hand fork of Indian canyon and go to five mile canyon where we would then park all the trucks in the same area and then walk up the canyon and filly span out and walk up to the top of the hill where we would then be far enough apart to see each other and anything that might try to go between us and then walk back around the hill to where dad or someone else would be waiting. Every now and then we would drive a deer into the area where he could get it. When dad had a chance to shoot at a deer he didn’t miss. I was never that good.

Later when I was able to carry a rifle the older brothers had all pretty much left home and so the deer hunt changed. I would go with my neighbor Harold Spencer and in the case of my last hunt with Steve Aycock my cousin.

The years that I went with Harold were particularly interesting years. One year he drove up Grass hollow and up a road that I wasn’t even sure a horse would be safe on let alone a truck. I was on the passenger side looking down off the hillside being quite sure that we would soon be rolling down it in the truck. Harold made it all the way to the top though and was even able to turn around. We got out and hunted from there. I think I even went around and down the side of the mountain until I was back into the bottom of the valley just so I wouldn’t have to ride back down that road. It was pretty scary and I don’t even remember seeing a deer for all that trouble.

One year we went to 5 mile canyon and the two of us were alone. We walked up the valley to get to the area where we could go up the hill and were being followed by a coyote. Harold was the one who first spotted it and we watched it stalk us for almost a half mile before he finally turned and shot at it. It decided I guess at that point we were not the best of meals to try to obtain. We never saw it again the entire time we were in the canyon.

The last year that I went hunting was with my cousin Steve who was several years older than I and who was teaching a Duchesne High School. It was my senior year and the last time I would most likely hunt deer in Duchesne. It was the last Saturday of the hunt and dad and mom had gone to Provo for some reason so Steve and I went by ourselves. Harold had lost two steers that year just before deer season and thus was without meat for his family. I told him that if I was lucky enough to get one that I would give it to him since our family didn’t need it that year. Steve and I went way up Strawberry ridge east of Indian canyon. We finally stopped and got out at the top of a large canyon. Steve said to me I will go to the bottom and you stay about half way up on the hill. If I see anything I will whistle and I f you see anything whistle to me. Well as I started down the hill I came on a set of very large tracks and was pretty intent on following the tracks when I came around the front of the ridge and could see Steve down below me. The next thing I knew he whistled and pointed across a small ravine ahead of me. I looked and there was a huge buck walking up the ridge. I aimed my rifle then whistled. It stopped and looked over at me and I placed the bead on the animal just behind the shoulder. I could see his entire body in my open sights so I was sure that I would miss. I squeezed the trigger and he dropped right there. Later as we were cleaning him we found that the bullet had hit him in the neck and bounced off the bone and gone through his heart. I to this day will not claim that it was my skill that shot that deer rather the bullet was guided by someone else who knew that Harold needed to meat for his family. Since it had not been spooked and was killed instantly the meat was sweet and had no wild taste to it. It was also very large and had plenty for Harold family. It took Steve and I 5 hours to get him back up to the truck. It was nearly dark and we started for home. Just a few yards down the hill a little two point buck jumped across the road. Steve said this one is mine as he stopped, pulled his rifle from behind the seat and aimed between the trees where the buck would soon be. He shot it and a few minutes later one handed picked it up and put it in the back of the truck with the one that he and I struggled to get in just a few minutes before. We were both successful but I know why and will never be convinced otherwise.