The Dawn’s Early Light

Early Spring Camping in the Cascades

The 2012 Oregon Deer & Elk Season

People are questioning why I returned empty handed this year.  To be honest I’m asking myself the same thing.  With the amount of harvestable animals seen, I could have easily filled not only my Oregon General Cascade Buck tag, but also a Black Bear and even my Elk Tag.  All said and done that’s a lot of meat in the freezer and three more “man badges”.  Not taking those shots may haunt me till opening day of 2013; however, I’m confident in with my decisions to not pull the trigger and here is why.

The Ghost Part I

Around Mid-January 2012 I first spotted a buck that would become known as “The Ghost”.  A mature buck whom I would like to think of as the main breeder on my side of the mountain.  Thick neck, wide rack and a whiting face, this bucks seen more than most and for certain knew who and what I was.  I did my best to follow and track the Ghost throughout the year and decided he’d be my Buck come October.  Well… It didn’t happen that way.  He went unseen the first two weeks and the distant sounds of rifles left me full of emotions, questioning his whereabouts and general wellbeing.  Although I wasn’t seeing The Ghost, I did see smaller Bucks, and nearly ended my season early on more than one occasion.  Yet each time I resisted temptation, holding out for The Ghost.  I wanted to harvest a Buck that told a story, a Buck that showed how much work and effort I put into the 2012 season.  I wanted the Ghost.

Elk

Splitting the Oregon Western Cascade General Deer Season is the Western Cascade Bull Elk Rifle Season.  One week where the Deer get to rest and the Elk have to hide.  Making the hunt tricky this year was logging.  Being from a timber family I have nothing against logging, in fact I thought it would work to my advantage (which it kind of did).  Opening morning I moved out hoping to fill my Elk tag and my freezer.  My goal was simple for elk.  Take a legal bull and do it quick.  A busy workweek left me with limited time in the woods, and lack of necessary preparation made it worse.  I started the morning near a popular watering hole full of Elk tracks and marks, but two prior days of heavy rains kept them away from the pond.  Moving out I focused my attention on a deep thick draw where the Elk tend to hide, bed down and travel during the day.  With road builders on the top and bottom of the unit putting in fresh landings I was pretty positive I could “pinch” a Bull in the middle.  

Moving down into the steep draw I was confronted by tall old growth, and a tangle of thick underbrush, primarily Vine Maples and other nasty broad leafed plants.  Prime Elk habitat.  Pressing my way down, moving from tree to tree I could hear and sometime smell but never saw one.  As the day went on the distance closed in.  Finally, dialing in where the Elk were moving the logging stopped, as did their path.  All signs began to point up, and of course they were moving in the next draw over.  While cursing my way back towards the top heard him.  My bull.  

What began as the “clunky” walk of an Elk metastasized into a Bull.  Dropping to my stomach I inched my way to the edge of a draw only to find him partially concealed by a patch of vine maples.  I steadied my rifle and waited.  He wasn’t huge, but he was legal and would keep myself, and my family happily fed.  

Now here is where it gets tricky, I was faced with an ethical dilemma.  Although I could make out my Bull, see his antlers, his rump and the outline of his body; he was still “concealed” by the thick underbrush.  My first instinct was to aim in the direction that I assumed lead to his lungs and heart, and pull the trigger.  I had to refrain.  A leaf could change the trajectory of a bullet by just enough that it may not deliver the final blow and only wound the Bull.  Soon my mind was racing with every scenario possible, what if I wounded him, what if I missed him, what if what if what if.  We all know that to assume only makes an “ass” out of “you” and “me” so I did what was right.  I waited in hope of the perfect shot.  It didn’t come.  Distracted by something he moved down, deeper into the maples only to somehow sneak past my hunting partner and I.  The rest of the day/season was spent wondering where he went and what if.

The Ghost Part II

With Elk Season still in full force I was lucky enough to get one more evening in the woods. Knowing that my hide looked over a well used game trail I was hoping a Bull would pass through.  Moving out in the pouring Oregon rain I made myself comfortable in my hide nestled under a few small Oak Trees.  With no sign of an Elk and boredom kicking in I finally saw The Ghost.  There he was in all his glory, wide in the open as if he knew he was safe, taking an Oregon shower.  Of course I thought about taking the shot (who wouldn’t) but my conscience took over and I happily watched him.

Knowing that The Ghost was still alive I kicked off the second part of the Deer Season with much fervor and excitement.  As a few days passed I anxiously awaited in my hide till one evening when he appeared.  Like the clever bastard he is, The Ghost decided to appear at my hard left just before dark.  Only problem was that I’m left handed and had to somehow raise my rifle, turn a full 90 degrees and shoot without spooking a wise Buck whom needless to say was staring directly at me.

My heart pounded and I began to sweat as I waited for him to look away or move into a better position.  He didn’t budge.   After what felt like an eternity I finally had my moment, he looked away, I moved, he spooked and began to take off.  Jumping up in hopes to take a shot I had to hold back once more.  Although he was in the open, the angle wasn’t right, and I couldn’t justify a half-assed shot on such a majestic animal.  Needless to say I spent the rest of the season frustrated, waiting, searching and questioning my own ethics as a hunter.  

Early to Bed, Early to Rise, Fish Like Hell and Make Up Lies

Fish… God bless them.  No… God bless us.  They say “Give a man a fish and feed him for a day.  Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime”.  As good and promising as that quotes sounds, it’s very misleading.  It should say, “Teach a man to fish, frustrate him, anger him, confuse him, break him, and keep him happy forever.”

People often ask me why I fish.  I often give them the same answer of “I just love it”.   Then I ask my self, why?  I mean lets be honest, they’re a real piece if you ask me (the fish that is), and every fisherman can agree.  They [the fish] plague our thoughts and dreams; they frustrate us, stress us out, bring out the worst in us and test us to the very core.  Yet at the same time they bring us an unmatched joy.

They also say “A bad day of fishing is better than any day at the office” and isn’t that the truth?  When I was about six my old man gave me my first fishing pole, and needless to say I was hooked.  Fast forward 20 years later and there isn’t a single day of fishing that I would give up.  There are many great things in life, but few bring me as much joy (or stress) as fishing, and I believe that will stand true for as long as I live.

You can take two people from different walks of life, give them a fishing pole and well after the suns gone down and last calls past they’ll be best friends talking about the one they caught and the one that got away.  Fishing forms camaraderie amongst strangers that dates back to the earliest days and will continue to the end of time.  The classic tale of “it was THIS BIG” will never get old for we all know a fish grows an inch every time his story goes around the campfire.

When explaining why I love fishing it’s easy to get existential and longwinded, but I’ll save those troubles for another post.  In short act of fishing can be a metaphor for my zeal of the sport.  It has its challenges, its highs and lows, trails and tribulations; but in the end there is nothing better than reeling in feeling holding up a 40lb salmon or a eight inch trout.

 

Searching For West – A Film to be Remembered

I recently traveled to Bozeman Montana for the premiere of “Searching For West“.  A “Divergent Hunting Film” like no other on the market; Mark Seacat was able to tell the real story behind hunting.  The personal challenges between life in the wild vs life in the real world.  Although I’m not a father, I could relate with Seacat’s film and found myself sharing the same emotions felt by all those who filled the old Emerson Theater.

I don’t want to go to deep but I’ll share a few thoughts on the film.  To start I feel the most important part of Seacat’s film was his ability to tell a story that is shared by all hunters throughout all generations.  The story of the hunt.  Every hunt is different, yet at the same time they’re all the same.  Outcomes vary, but the struggles both internal and external are shared with all.  I think of my first Elk season.  A complete newb to the Elk world I spent nearly every minute of that week in the woods playing a game of cat and mouse.  Towards the middle of the week I found staying focused on the mission nearly impossible.  Thoughts of friends, family and free time plagued my head.  Was the hunt worth it?  What was more important?  As the week played out I spent my last hours of the season watching the sunset with an unfilled tag.  Slightly discouraged I went back home wondering what I did wrong, and why I wasted my time.  

Looking back today I laugh and wish I had the time to do it again.  Although I came up empty handed, I learned more in those seven days chasing the ghosts of the forest than I had all year.  Not just about Elk and hunting, but about myself.  I’m proud that I was not overcome by distractions and continued forward.  “Searching For West” demonstrates that obligations and responsibilities change, and in the end it is all in how you weigh them.

In conclusion I found “Searching For West” to be a story of balance.  You’ll win some and loose others; but in the end everything must line up to make the perfect shot.  You just have to decide what you’re shooting for.

Nikos – 0 Wild – 1

There comes a time when Mother Nature says “No More”

Lazy Saturday on the Eagle Creek Trail, Columbia Gorge

“Hike Hard, Hike Fast”.  My motto.  I like to hike with a mission.  I go from point A to point B and I don’t look back.  I take pain brought on by fatigue and turn it into fuel for the fire.  Often it is the mental battle that yields the highest reward.  Once you get past that point your possibilities are endless, and a cold pint from a local watering hole will taste better than ever.

Last weekend I had to change my motto.  “Hike Hard, Hike Fast” became “Smile For a Picture”.  With the thermostat approaching 80 and all clouds in retreat, I had to get outside.  With leg surgery looming in the future, I had to hike.  With my girlfriend, I had to compromise.

The compromise was simple.  A training hike up Dog Mountain became a stroll along Oregon’s Eagle Creek Trail.  I couldn’t resist.  After sleeping in, enjoying a casual lunch from Whole Foods and lacing up my light hikers (Camp Four by Five Ten) I was relaxed and ready to dawdle.

Although hiking on the Eagle Creek Trail is somewhat out of the norm for a guy like me due to it’s popularity, it is a great trail and I highly recommend it.  The trail follows Eagle Creek deep into old growth forests with breathtaking views.  Although it is a rather smooth trail, I wouldn’t recommend it to those who are scared of heights.  It’s not uncommon to find yourself clinging to the wall with a 200′ plunge to your side.  The trail is also perfect for those practicing distance thru hiking, or those who want to get out for a night or two and participate in some casual backpacking.

Our trip up Eagle Creek was nothing more than fun and relaxing.  We were the “retired” couple walking through the park.  I had distant hopes that we’d pick up the pace and log some miles.  Deciding to test our the Axios 35 by Arc’Teryx (way too big for the hike) I loaded it with a water filter, first aid, two shells, socks and a handfull of Clif Shots and Bars from my stash.  All went unused.  We spent the first part of the trail marveling at the creek, hoping to see a spawning salmon, and debating if the cold would outweigh the idea of dropping a tube inside for a rush of adrenaline.

By the time we actually started walking most hikers were returning to their cars.  We blocked the first bottle neck to take a picture.  As soon as we continued we stopped again, took a picture, and proceeded to walk.  We were becoming the type of people who annoy me, and enjoyed it!

Overdosing on sun-fed vitamin D and wearing our trendy sunglasses (Smith’s Chemist & Gibson) we were anything but serious.  We joked, gossiped and “wow’ed” our way down the trail.  Although we logged a only a few miles and barely scratched the surface of what Eagle Creek has to offer, our day was perfect.  More importantly, it reminded me that it’s okay to go slow, sit back and smell the roses.  Mother nature offers us endless physical challenges, but she also offers us unfathomable beauty.  By slowing my pace, a stream crossing became a photo opportunity and old man’s beard became a conversation starter.  As I write today, I pause and think… Was slowing down worth it?  Yes.  A perfect Oregon spring day with your sweetie is hard to come by, and a training hike up Dog Mountain would have filled my hard-drive with photos of glares, not smiles.

Back from the Wild

Wow… Long time no see huh?  You’ll have to forgive our hiatus, we’re not the most keen to technology.  I mean, we are… We simply would rather be outside than take the time to blog.  Oh well, time to start back up and bring everyone up to speed about what Against The Wild has done so far in 2012.  Wish we could say Against The Wild has been chasing sunsets in the Sahara, shredding the gnar at Blackcomb and scaling the Last Steppe of Everest; however, we haven’t.  Lets be honest the world of today isn’t keen to adventure.  There are jobs, internships, facebook and episodes of Jersey Shore to follow.  The simple life we strive for, the one where stress comes from forgetting your headlamp or loosing a lure isn’t as obtainable as we wish… or is it?

Against the Wild has had a pretty solid 2012.   Aside from the responsibilities of real life, we’ve still made an effort to get outside and practice the art of manliness.  Snowfox left Norway for a stint in London.  Living out of a Soho Flat no larger than a bivy, he successfully rocked the PR world.  Hitman on the other hand continued to balance a life of work and wilderness.  Battling the disgusting Oregon winter, he was able to once again get himself into dicey situations only to question the outcome.  Sarge the dog on the other hand spent the majority of his winter by the wood stove and packing on the pounds.  Between sleeping and eating he was still able to join hitman on evening walks, chase elk and even tree a cougar.  He also took a couple hooves to the head forcing Hitman to carry him home.

We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.  Gear reviews, trip reviews and straight up Against the Wild Rants.  Thank you for reading, spread our name to your friends and stay tuned!