it was tough.
the good news first. i stopped early on thursday morning to fish the deschutes. two fish, including one bruiser for a few dinners this month. my biggest steelhead so far. true to form this hatchery pig went straight down for about five minutes, flopped a couple times, and was to hand. the second fish, a much smaller native, put on a show with backflips, cartwheels, and a couple long runs. it was quite a morning. not to mention i didn't hike as far, and i didn't go for a swim this time.
on to the paulina unit to set up camp and do a little more scouting. the bucks were few and small, in fact, i only saw spikes. so, i waited...
opening morning i was up at 4:30, mostly because i drank too much beer and had to pee. it was cold. it rained all morning. i found my spot by hiking up a closed road about a mile in the dark. as the sun peeked through the trees, a single shot rang out. five seconds later, all hell broke loose. in the next two minutes probably 30 more shots echoed all around me. i was next to a large stump so i could have a 360 view. within minutes it was chaos. between 7 and 7:30 probably 30 does sprinted past. when they would slow down, i could see none of them were bucks.
i stayed put for a few hours then hiked around a few more miles back to camp. i busted a few more does, the sun came out, and i saw very few hunters off the main roads. i lost my patience and drove into town to watch the ducks play like a bunch of girls and the huskers play like a bunch of pregnant women.
the next couple days proved even more difficult. by sunday morning the many, many road hunters had all the deer (does) herded up. as i sat on the edges of some timber, they would trot past me in groups of 15-20 back and forth across the main roads. i didn't notice it so much on saturday, but by sunday the huge number of roadies was evident. i would see rifles sticking out of rolled down windows. and six to eight dudes sitting in the beds of pick-ups.
i quickly figured out i'd be better off fishing the rest of this trip. so i busted camp.
i've pretty much wet a line in every inch of the deschutes. except this one spot. so, against better judgement, i went for it. it was steep. it was treacherous. it was unproductive. but i lived.
like the cubs...there's always next year.
1 comment:
Bonafide hustla making his name!
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