Climb Hunting

This story starts on December 8, 1970, when the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish released 15 Persian (Bezoar) Ibex (introduced from Iran) in the Florida Mountains near Deming, NM.  A short while later, 27 more ibex were released. Three years later, the first public ibex hunt in New Mexico was held.  Today, over 700 Persian Ibex populate the Floridas, with hunting seasons for rifle, muzzle loader, archery, and a special nanny season to help control the population.

Fun Fact: Persian Ibex (wild goats) are the primary or perhaps only progenitor of present-day domestic goats.  Evidence of goat domestication extends back about 10,000 years (Wikipedia "Bezoar Ibex" 10/21/14).

The Florida Mountains lie about 20 miles north of the US-Mexico border.  This isolated range is about 12 miles long, consists of very rugged terrain, and has peaks up to about 7,000 ft in elevation.  The surrounding terrain is depressingly flat and sits at about 4,500 ft in elevation.

After applying for six years for the hard-to-draw New Mexico archery ibex tag, my good friend Jake got lucky.  He had visited the area previously on two occasions: one to assist a friend on his archery ibex hunt, and another to take part in the nanny (population control) hunt.  Based on these two trips, Jake began to understand the challenges associated with hunting ibex with a bow.  The average annual success rate on this hunt ranges from 3 to 8 percent.  Considering that the tag allows the hunter to shoot "any ibex", and the 3 to 8 percent includes nannies and immature billies, the odds of shooting a mature billy are even lower.  Taking a mature billy with a bow is considered by many seasoned hunters as the most difficult hunting feat in North America.

As I would soon see for myself, there are many reasons for this difficulty.  First, the terrain they live in is insane.  They seem completely comfortable travelling, feeding, and napping in terrain that I would never consider going without a rope and climbing gear.  Sure, there are areas in the range without near-vertical cliffs, but the ibex seldom, if ever, go there.  They stick to the cliffs and make sheep and mountain goats seem like flat-land creatures.  In addition to the terrain, their eyesight and general wariness is unmatched by any other animal I have encountered.  Exposing the bill of one's hat is enough to spook a group of ibex at 250 yards.  Walking in plain sight will spook a herd 3/4 of a mile away or further.  Stalking within bow range would be a true challenge.

Knowing what it would take to be successful, Jake built a team to give him the best chance for arrowing a mature billy.  That team consisted of a rock climber (me), and a spotter (Dan).  Dan is a friend of Jake's from Baker City who coincidentally drew an archery ibex tag for January, so he was excited to both help out and learn a bit about the terrain and ibex that he would be hunting in a few months time.  An experienced sheep hunter in Oregon and armed with great optics, Dan has an amazing ability to spot well-camouflaged animals at great distances.  We dubbed our trio "Team Ibex", and enjoyed making fun of ourselves for doing so.

Jake as we worked our way toward camp

Jake decided his strategy would be to backpack up into the mountains where most of the ibex lived and stay up there for the entirety of his hunt, which included the final five days of the archery season.  He would then be free to poke around the cliffs and crags using Dan and me as needed.

On the first day, Jake and I backpacked up to a saddle separating the east and west sides of the range, dropped our packs, and went out in search of the amazing ibex.  As it turns out, they're generally not hard to find with such a dense population in a relatively small area with little vegetation.  Jake spotted a group of about 30 across a canyon from us relatively quickly.  We watched from about 700 yards as the group wandered over the ridge crest and out of sight.  There were about three nice billies in the group, so Jake decided to pursue them.

We quickly relocated to a spot close to where we thought the ibex had gone.  Soon enough, Jake spotted a nanny at about 200 yards as he peeked over a rocky crag.  I stayed put as Jake attempted to work the terrain and get closer.  I could see a nanny from where I was, and I watched her for over an hour while Jake stalked, out of sight.  When she finally spooked, I assumed she had detected Jake's presence.  I later found out that Jake had stalked in to the edge of the herd, with ibex as close as 60 yards.  This is well within bow range for Jake but he decided to pass as none of the ibex within range were mature billies.

The young billy that lived due to Jake's patience (60 yards and completely unaware of his presence)

Our spirits were elevated that night as Jake was now fully convinced that he could stalk these ibex that everyone was trying to tell him were unstalkable.  The local guides often use a team of "pushers" to push ibex herds past hunters in hopes that they might get a long-distance running shot, which they encourage the hunters to take.  They generally consider this type of low-percentage shot to have much higher odds than stalking.

Crest of the Florida Mountains, with our tent in the saddle near the bottom

The next day, I stuck with Jake until about noon while we spotted several groups of ibex, but struggled to find any mature billies.  Shortly before I needed to head into town to pick up Dan, I spotted two billies that were on the small end of mature.  They seemed to appear out of nowhere as we were glassing the adjacent canyon wall.  I watched them for only a few seconds as they appeared over one rise, moved toward us, and disappeared behind another rise at about 175 yards.  I got Jake's attention and told him that if they continued on their current trajectory, they would be in view and just barely out of range as they appeared over the next ridge.  After waiting for about 30 minutes, we surmised that they bedded down on the cliff face that was just out of view rather than continuing up and over it.  Jake quietly stalked in to investigate while I stayed behind to watch their escape.

Jake scrambling in typical ibex terrain

Thirty minutes after that we determined the ibex vanished.  I could see every possible escape route except for one, which would have required the ibex to climb about 200 ft of near vertical chimney.  They did this, and they did it silently.  I spent the rest of the day making a trip to town, picking up Dan, resupplying, and hiking back up to camp with 12 liters of water.

When I got to camp, Jake told me stories of spotting big billies, chasing them around, and trying to get close.  Without fail, they were located in and surrounded by such steep terrain that he couldn't get closer than about 200 yards.  The plan for the next day would be to find these billies again, but have a harness and minimal amount of rope with us in attempt to level the playing field.

The next morning, Jake and I contacted Dan on the radio.  Dan was down below glassing the cliffs from where we parked the truck.  Jake and I would continue hunting up high as we had before, and Dan would let us know if he spotted anything of interest on his side of the mountains.  Less than an hour went by and Dan was on the radio, "I've got a couple of big billies spotted."  He proceeded to attempt to give Jake the location of the ibex in the tangled mess of crags, cliffs, spires, and canyons.  Jake eventually figured out where Dan was referring to, and we spent about an hour trying to approach the area.  Once again, we were completely cliffed out and unable to even get a view of the ibex.

Before we'd completely given up, Dan was back on the radio, "I see more big billies.  There're big billies everywhere!"  He then gave us the approximate location and we were able to see them with our binoculars, about a mile away.  They were in a location similar to the others that we couldn't access, but they were near the top of the cliff.  If we could get in position before the ibex moved too far, Jake might be able to get above the billy and shoot straight down at it.  So, off we went.

The billies we were now after were located high on the prominent cliff on the left

We made good time over to the new location and positioned ourselves at the top of the cliff.  We knew several ibex were within bow range, but just out of sight over the cliff edge.  Jake sneakily peeked over the edge in a few places, but couldn't see very far as the cliff face went from steep to steeper.  He then stepped back from the edge and came up with a plan.  Jake put on a climbing harness while I set up an anchor on a nearby juniper tree.  I then put Jake on a hip belay and lowered him as far as I could as he leaned out over the edge.  He soon ran out of rope, as we only had about 40 feet with us.  He directed me to take him off belay and move to a different location, further to the left and closer to the cliff edge.  A few seconds later I had him back on belay.  When Jake was about 30 feet from me, I saw him step back.  He told me he saw the horns and head of a nice billy.  He nocked an arrow and told me to give him 2 more feet of rope and hold tight.  When he leaned back out over the edge, he said the billy looked straight at him.  Jake drew, the billy took a couple of steps, and Jake released!  The shot was about 50 yards and nearly straight down.  From where I was, I heard an arrow shatter as it struck rock.  I then watched Jake calmly nock another arrow, draw, aim much further to the right, and gradually raise his sight until he released again.  This time I did not hear the arrow strike anything.  I watched for Jake's reaction, which was delayed . . . then, a silent fist pump!

Hearing Jake tell the story afterward, I learned that his first shot was high and missed.  After the missed shot, the billy ran behind an overhang and out of view.  When he came back into view, Jake ranged him at about 48 yards (horizontal distance), drew, and mentally adjusted for the increased distance as the billy walked away.  Then, just before the billy went over a rise and out of sight, he stopped to look back.  As soon as he stopped, Jake released with lethal effect.  The fist pump I observed happened when he noticed copious amounts of blood on the rock as the billy went out of sight.

The belay and shot location are pretty accurate.  The ibex location is the location at the time of the first shot.  The second shot was much further to the left in this photo.  After the second shot, the billy went further left, around the corner, and out of view.

Since Jake thought his shot might have been too far back, we decided to give the billy about 2 hours before searching and potentially further spooking him.  When we eventually started looking, we found the billy right where Jake thought he would be.  After going out of sight, he ran down an impossibly steep gully for 150 yards and piled up dead.

Billy's final resting place

Once we located the ibex, we scouted around for a way to access its location.  Coming at it from the top was impossible without ropes.  It looked like there might have been a super sketchy way to hike way down and around to come at it from the bottom, but even that looked like it had one or two places where it would cliff out.  So, we decided the only reasonable way to recover the billy was to get a bunch of climbing gear from the truck and rappel down to it.  It looked to be between one and two rope lengths from the top (about 100 meters), so we planned for a double rappel and an intermediate anchor.  Jake's job was effectively done, and mine had just begun.

I got on the radio with Dan at the truck who had watched the entire thing through a spotting scope.  We told him we would need several ropes and a bunch of gear from the truck, which he quickly gathered.  He also got a hold of Mike and Ryker, two guys who work for a local outfitter (Graham's Guide Service), who were helping us out.  Dan, Mike, and Ryker proceeded to carry all the requested gear to our camp, and we worked our way back to camp to meet up with them.  After we met up, Mike and Ryker went back down and carried some non-essential items with them.  Dan, Jake, and I went back to the location of the ibex and brought our camp with us.  I was pretty sure we could not retrieve the ibex before dark.

Anchor building at the edge of the cliff

Once we got back to the top of the cliff above the ibex, I built an anchor and set up a rappel.  The wind was a steady 35 to 40 mph at this point, which made me a bit nervous on such a long rappel.  Thankfully, the spot we found to rappel from was tucked into a little 'V' in the otherwise shear face.  We set up the first rappel, and with a few directional anchors we were able to reach the floor of the slot canyon after descending about 55 meters.

Starting the first rappel

From the bottom of the first rappel, the ibex lay about 40 meters down the slot, which descended at about a 45 degree angle with a couple of vertical sections.  I set up a second anchor at the base of the first rappel and we descended safely the rest of the way to the billy, leaving all lines in place so we could eventually climb back up them.

Jake with the billy, deep in the slot canyon

After taking lots of pictures, Jake gutted the billy.  In addition to being good for the meat, we figured this would make hauling him back up the cliff easier.  I ascended the lower rappel line back to the intermediate anchor, put the ibex on belay, and had Jake wrestle the ibex up the lower section while I prevented it from sliding back down.  Once we hit the vertical upper section, new antics would be required.  The plan was for me to ascend to the top, set up a 3:1 haul system, and Dan and I would haul the billy while Jake ascended the other line and kept the billy from getting caught on things.

Me, beginning the ascent of the upper rappel section

By the time I reached the top and it was time for Jake to begin, it was getting dark.  When the billy was about 20 feet off the ground, it was dark and Jake decided we should resume the rescue in the morning.  He climbed out of the hole and we left the billy hanging until daylight.

We spent the night about 40 feet from the anchor with three dudes, a two person tent, two sleeping bags, and two sleeping pads.  The next morning, I set Jake and Dan up with the haul system before descending to retrieve the ibex.  Retrieval was fairly straight forward in the daylight and I got a system going where I would ascend my line to about 10 feet above the ibex, use a radio to instruct Jake and Dan to haul on the ibex line, which was separate, and hold the ibex off the rocks while it was raised.  Once it got up to me, I would again ascend above it and repeat.

Climb-Hunting!

Once we got the ibex to the top, it was time for more pictures followed by butchering, packing up camp, and hiking/scrambling about 3-1/2 miles back to the truck.

Back at the top of the cliff

I won't lie, I was pretty stoked to combine two of my favorite activities

Packing out

Congratulations to Jake for making success happen on such a challenging hunt!  It was truly an honor to be part of it and watch him plan an execute the hunt with such precision and confidence.  Also my utmost respect goes out to Billy and his fellow ibex.  They are amazing animals and it's inspiring and humbling to be in their presence.

Team Ibex

Persistence and Luck: A Lethal Combination

Two weeks before elk season, and for the third time in four years, my Bowtech bow suffered another failure (broken cable).  I remember thinking at the time, "At least it didn't happen the day before the season", thinking there was plenty of time to get it fixed before opening day (September 2).  I took it to the place that put the new string and cables on less than a year earlier, and they told me it should be fixed under warranty early the following week.  Great, still a week to get the restrung bow sighted in before the season.

Several phone calls and days later, they informed me that the bow would be repaired by September 4th, at the earliest.  I will spare further details on this matter as it exasperates me just to relive it.  At the time of this blog post writing, the bow is still not fixed.

So, the day before hunting season I find out that I don't have a weapon (critical, as trying to kill an elk with your bare hands is not only very difficult but potentially quite hazardous as well).  I had plans to head out with Kris the following day to spend five days in the backcountry, so I needed a remedy to my untimely dilemma.  I immediately began researching bows and places to buy them, ultimately settling on Broken Arrow Archery in Milwaukie, OR.  I spent the first day of the season driving to Oregon, buying a new bow, and traveling back to a predefined meeting point near the trailhead where I met up with Kris.

By the time we met up, it was too late to get an evening hunt in, but I had just enough time to quickly sight my new bow in to 50 yards.  We then hiked the short distance to our base camp and set up for the next few days.

In the morning we opted to hunt up the drainage above our camp: Kris down low near the creek and me up a little higher.  We both saw several elk that morning.  I had one very close encounter while still hunting a few hours into the day.  As I slowly and nearly silently crept through the forest, I heard a branch break.  Sometimes the forest just makes noise, sometimes I fabricate noises in my head and think I actually heard them, and sometimes such branch breaking noises are generated by elk.  This had the potential to be the real thing, so I knocked an arrow.  About 2 seconds later a cow walks out from behind an upturned tree stump about 20 yards from me, clueless to my presence.  I'm standing in the open and caught off-guard, so even though the elk is well within range, there is nothing I can do because any motion on my part will spook the elk.  I decide to hold perfectly still in hopes that the elk will continue on it's path and eventually not be looking right at me so I can draw my bow.  The cow continues to walk more or less toward me, ultimately getting within about 8 yards.  At eight yards, the cow stares me down and proceeds to bolt up the hill.  I make a quick cow call in hopes that it will stop within range and I can get a shot in, but to no avail.

At this point, I notice that there are three more elk, a cow and two calves, about 40 yards away, through thick trees.  They're not moving and don't seem spooked by the other cow's sudden uphill sprint fest.  I decide to wait the elk out, figuring if they head uphill I'll have a shot.  The cow in this group doesn't take a single step for the next 20 minutes, staring intently downhill while listening to a distant bull's bugle.  After about 20 minutes, the wind swirls and carries my scent to the elk, ending my little game of wait-em-out.

That evening we sat at the meadow where I shot my elk last year and hoped that elk would continue to show up predictably as they did last year.  A year ago, we observed this meadow for a total of six nights.  At least one elk entered the meadow during 5 of those 6 nights, each time about 45 minutes before it got too dark to shoot.  This night, we saw one doe and no sign of elk.

The next morning we decide to head further up the main drainage and ultimately scope out a meadow that looked promising on our topo map.  Just as it's getting light and we're ready to leave the main tail to head up toward the meadow, we hear a nearby bugle.  I decide to head toward the bugle while Kris heads up the hill about 100 yards away.  After about 45 minutes, I find myself 40 yards from the bull that was bugling.  He's raking a pine tree with his antlers, which allowed me to quickly get close.  There are no cows around, and both of our tags are for a cow or spike bull.  So the fact that this magnificent, mature bull was 40 yards away, while amazing to watch, was not going to end in meat in the freezer.  When the bull moved on, I headed in the opposite direction toward the meadow we had planned to scope out.  Shortly after arriving at the meadow, I see a spike bull about 150 yards away on the opposite side of the meadow.  He was trotting away at a pretty good clip when I saw him, so he must have seen me first.  Bummer, but at least this new meadow showed the promise we thought it might.  I sat at the meadow for the next few hours hoping another elk would pass through.

After the morning activity, instead of heading back to camp on the trial, I opt to stay about a 1/4 to 1/2 mile above the trail and parallel it back to camp.  At about 10:45 I came over a small rise and saw a patch of brown about 60 yards away.  Soon enough, the patch moved and I watched an undisturbed cow feed up the bottom of a drainage.  I quickly decided to back over the rise and head up the other side in order to get above the cow and let her feed right up to me.  The terrain and wind are perfect for this and I'm reasonably confident I can close the deal.

As I slowly head back over the rise after gaining what I think is the proper amount of elevation, I hear a bark before I ever see the cow.  It turns out there were two cows, and the one that was higher up that I didn't know about foiled my plan.  Ti's the nature of elk hunting.

Bummed that I had such a good setup and couldn't make it culminate in freezer meat, I continue back toward camp on my previous trajectory.  At about 11:30, I jump a bedded cow at about 40 yards.  This is a normal occurrence while still hunting in the middle of the day, so I don't feel too bad about blowing this opportunity.  I decided this is a good time to check my GPS as I don't want to go too far and disturb the meadow we planned to hunt again in the evening.  While reaching down to grab the GPS out of my pocket, I notice a cow head looking at me, about 30 yards further downhill than the cow that spooked a moment earlier.  I figure I'm moving my arms and the cow is watching me, so I might as well grab my range finder and range the cow as it watches me.  I do this and range her head at 37 yards.  The rest of her body is concealed by trees and brush as she remains bedded.  After ranging the cow, and having no shot at her vitals, I decided to hold perfectly still and hope that she remains calm and eventually stands up.

Fifteen minutes later, her gaze has not left my location, and neither of us has so much as twitched.  Then, she cracks.  Her ear twitches, presumably to bat at a fly.  I won the stand off!  Five minutes after that, she stands, still never taking her gaze off my location.  I still don't have a shot due to the thick trees, and the only way I'll have a shot is if she moves to my left about 10 feet, into the only reasonable shooting alley through the trees.  Shortly after standing, she occasionally diverts her gaze, but never for longer than a second before snapping her head back in my direction.  I still have not even twitched for more than 25 minutes.  Then she takes a couple of steps, placing her head behind a 10-inch diameter pine tree.  I use this opportunity to adjust my feet and get ready to shoot, on the off chance that she passes through my shooting alley.  When her head emerges from the other side of the tree, she's looking right at me but seems no more alarmed than before.  A few minutes later she continues walking - directly toward my shooting alley.  As her head passes behind the last tree before she enters the foot-and-a-half wide opening, I draw my bow.  She continues walking slowly, and as her vitals pass through the opening I release.

I immediately see red where my arrow hit, which is a little high and a little far back.  As the cow runs off, I give a couple of cow calls in hopes that she perceives the recent commotion as less of a threat.  For about the next thirty minutes I hear branches breaking; out of sight, but not far away.  The sound comes from the same place, and never seems to move in any direction.  After thirty minutes, the sounds stop.  I take my boots off and put on my stalking socks in order to more silently track the elk in case I find it still alive.  I immediately notice a tree splattered with blood directly behind where the elk was standing when I shot.  I follow a blood trail four about 15 yards, then it becomes difficult to follow.  A quick glance around at this point reveals a dead cow elk, only 40 yards from where I shot her!

I need a minute to calm down, then I come up with a plan.  I'm about a mile from camp, and I know the butchering process will go much faster with Kris's help, plus I can't wait to tell him we've got meat on the ground!  I take a quick selfie with the elk (selkie?) to take evidence back with me when I retrieve Kris.

Selkie

I want to hide my excitement when I get back and calmly show Kris the picture, but this is far from possible.  I find him sleeping in his hammock and announce that I'm going to need his help with something.  I'm out of breath from running a mile back to camp and have a huge shit-eating grin on my face, so he quickly figures out what happened.  We proceed to embrace in a series of jubilant man hugs before packing a few things up and heading back to the elk.

After taking a few photos, the two of us quickly butchered the cow and began packing meat back to camp.  By about 5:00 we had all the meat cooling in the stream by our camp, and by 7:30, we had all the meat back at the truck in a cooler full of ice.

My new bow - only 2 days old and already with it's first kill (notice the red arrow on the far left)

Kris posing with our prize while it cools in the creek

Yes, those are camo Crocs, and yes, we packed meat while wearing them due to multiple river crossings

We spent the next couple of days trying to get Kris an opportunity, but found the elk much harder to locate.    We eventually caught up with one small herd, but spooked them prior to making visual contact.  We spent three nights in the meadow that was so productive the previous year and saw a total of zero elk.  This is me relearning that elk are not predictable.

I'd like to thank Kris for helping with the butchering and packing operation, Ava for her understanding and support in me purchasing a second bow, Broken Arrow Archery for setting me up at the last minute, and Hoyt for making what seems to be a super solid bow at a reasonable price.  Special un-thanks to the Outdoor Emporium and Bowtech for joining forces and putting me in my initial predicament.  Then again, perhaps the elk were behind it all along.

Eight Dudes on a Golden Horn

Last weekend I accompanied seven good friends of the male persuasion on a backpacking trip.  One of these individuals was Jim, and this event was set up as a bachelor party in his honor.

The trip involved backpacking about 12 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail, north of Rainy Pass, to Upper Snowy Lake.  Once we set up camp at Upper Snowy Lake and started dough for the evening's dinner (more on that later), we proceeded to scramble to the top of Golden Horn, about a mile away.

Jim on the summit of Golden Horn with Craig (Jesus) in the background

The final 20 feet or so to the summit required a fun bit of scrambling and also made for a picturesque and somewhat small summit block.

Just enough room for eight people on the summit

Golden Horn's summit block

Jesus on the summit - maybe the first person to drink a beer in a lounge chair at this particular location

We celebrated that evening at camp with great friends, ample beer, and beautiful scenery.  Jim organized a backcountry pizza feed; complete with homemade yeast dough, pizza sauce, mozzarella cheese, and an assortment of other toppings.  While this would be considered a bit non-traditional in most circles as far as bachelor parties go, it seems to be the norm with this group.  I think I speak for all of us when I say how happy I am to have found such a great group of like-minded folks.

Back to Peter Pan-ing

After about a 3-year hiatus from exercising my Peter Pan Syndrome, I'm back at it.  After respectfully resigning from my engineering job in Tacoma, I spent the month of July teaching a backcountry rock climbing course for NOLS in Wyoming's Wind River Range.  I had excellent students and co-instructors, and the scenery was just as grand as I remembered.

I'm currently spending August funemployed while prepping for September's archery elk hunting season in Washington.  After elk season (mid September), Ava and I will embark on what should prove to be an epic road trip; likely spending time in Montana, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico, California, and Oregon.  The road trip will likely culminate on New Year's in Washington, at which point we plan to settle back down in Missoula, Montana.

What does all this mean to my readers who are now nonexistent due to my lack of recent posting?  Expect regular posts (monthly-ish) through the end of the year, and hopefully beyond.

G.N.A.R-ly Jim Hill

Last weekend, the weather forecast in the Pacific Northwest didn't suck for the first weekend in a very long time.  Ava and I decided to ski Jim Hill, a peak off of Steven's Pass, which we had previously skied in the winter time.  We knew it would be a little different later in the year, but we underestimated the challenges we were about to face.

The route as typically done in winter involves skiing up the Lanham Creek drainage, gaining and ascending a ridge to climbers left, and ultimately descending the valley on the other side of the ridge (Henry Creek drainage).  Doing this leaves about a 1.5 to 2 mile trek back up Highway 2 to the parking area at the Steven's Pass Nordic Center.  We ended up applying this same strategy to a spring ski of Jim Hill.

We made the entire ascent in running/approach shoes, with less than an hour of that in snow at the top.  A good trail lead from the Nordic center to Lanham Lake, where the bushwhacking began.  From Lanham lake we ascended more or less straight up the ridge to the east, encountering ample devil's club, a bit of slide alder, and generally dense vegetation on a relentlessly steep slope with the occasional cliffed out zone.

'Shwackin' with skis

We made it to the ridge top in due time, convinced we did not want to descend what we had just come up.  We continued up the ridge to a somewhat arbitrary spot near the top of the good skiing slope (the north facing bowl at the top of the Henry Creek drainage).  We were relieved to see this bowl filled with snow after ascending a mostly snow-free slope.  We opted not to put skins on for this stretch due to the firm snow and relatively short stretch to where we would begin skiing.

Hiking up the ridge between the Henry and Lanham Creek drainages with the 'goods' to the left

When we were putting our skis on at the top, Ava threw out the idea of skiing naked.  For those who are not familiar with the Gaffney Numerical Assessment of Radness, or G.N.A.R., one can get serious points for skiing sans clothing.  I highly recommend watching the entire 1 hour and 10 minute documentary film here: http://unofficialnetworks.com/gnar/.  Anyway, that was all the encouragement I needed for the honor of making my late hero, Shane McConkey, proud.

Free the heel, free the . . .

First we noticed the beautiful views of Glacier Peak, then I saw something to jump off of.  Putting two and two together, we set up for this fine shot.  We both feel the following photograph made the entire trip worth it.

Perhaps Ava's proudest moment as a photographer - Glacier Peak in the background

The snow in the bowl was a bit sticky due to the 60 degree temperatures, but otherwise pretty awesome with minimal sun cupping and plenty of open terrain.  Toward the end of the snow, slide-debris covered snow quickly turned to steep, 6-ft wide snow and fir limb covered chutes lined with slide alder walls of death on both sides.  The snow ended as our chute turned into a creek that then cascaded over a waterfall of undetermined height.  Committed to the descent via the Henry Creek drainage, we put the skis back on our backs and prepared for battle.

Near the end of the line, shortly before entering the chutes

We could see a row of mature fir trees about 150 yards to our left, usually an easily surmountable distance.  However, with dense slide alder (is there any other kind?), almost as much devil's club, and skis sticking up well above our heads, every inch was hard-earned.

About to finish the final round of battle

After a 45-minute, grueling, full-body workout, we made it to the edge of the forest and much easier ground.  Over the next couple of miles, we would have to cross a few other patches of similar stubbornness, but this first one took the cake.

It ended up being a 9-hour day, and we never really took a break.  Aside from two people camped at Lanham Lake, we didn't see anyone else the entire day, which is now abundantly clear why.  Despite the difficulties, we both had a great time and enjoyed a much needed day out in the mountains.

Lil' Bucky

Last weekend I returned to Whidbey Island for the second year in a row to capitalize on the deer overpopulation problem during Washington's late archery season.  Thanks to the hospitality of Ann and Ron and the hunting, tracking, and processing support of Kris, Evan, and Pat, I was able to come home with about 65 lbs of meat.  Here's the story . . .

During an intense and grueling two day hunt, I valiantly sat my post in the semi-heated barn.  With temperatures reaching a high of about 29 degrees, this was no easy task.  All day Saturday, nothing walked into the yard until about 10 minutes after it was too dark to shoot.

Sunday morning was uneventful as well.  At 10:00, with no action in the yard, I decided to walk down the street to scope the neighborhood and adjacent properties that we had permission to hunt on.  On this walk I found two does that happened to be flirting with a property line: one side I had permission to hunt on, the other I did not.  Although I was within 10 yards of one of them at one point, the opportunity to arrow it just wasn't right.  Still trying to get a safe shot at the doe, I hear Evan running down the street calling my name and saying "3-point".  I run back to the barn to find that I missed what would likely have been an easy 20 yard shot at a 3-point buck that passed through the yard.

I was disheartened with my bad luck, but more determined than ever to not miss the next opportunity.  I spent the rest of the day in the barn, even after the Seahawks-49ers game started and my support crew vacated to warmer climes with a television set.  At 4:20 pm in GMU 420, a two-point buck ventured into the yard for the last time.  At about 40 yards, the buck was facing me and wouldn't present a shot.  After taking a couple steps closer, he turned mostly broadside, quartering to me just a little.  I drew and released, determined not to make the same mistake I made earlier in the year with my elk.  I made what I thought was a good shot and heard a solid thump that sounded like a good hit, but I couldn't see where my arrow struck.  The deer walked away a few yards, at which point I took a follow up shot.  I guessed it was at 50 yards at that point, but was probably more like 45 based on the fact that my second arrow missed high.  The buck continued to slowly walk off.  At this point I decided to let it walk into the woods, lie down, and die. 

After a half hour (and after dark), Kris, Evan, Pat, and I went in search of my deer.  I found my first arrow buried solidly into the frozen ground a few yards beyond where the deer stood during my first shot, the shaft and fletching covered in blood.  We went to the point where I last saw the deer and found more blood, then the trail became very difficult to follow.  A combination of random searching and failed attempts to follow the blood trail made the search seem futile.  Pat eventually found more blood about 40 yards from the last sign.  Evan was able to continue following the sparse trail where there was typically one drop of blood every 6 to 10 feet.  Eventually Kris and I returned from our search where we attempted to follow the most likely path an injured deer would take (downhill on well-traveled trails) and we all worked to find and follow the blood trial.  The slow and tedious process got us about 200 yards by 8:30, at which point Kris and Evan needed to abandon the search and return to Seattle for work on Monday.  Pat and I opted to stay and continue the search on Monday morning.

At first light, Pat and I were again on the trail where we had flagged it the previous night.  The next blood sign would not reveal itself.  I told Pat to keep looking in the vicinity of the last blood spot while I went ahead and searched in the most likely direction of travel.  I followed a game trail into a small drainage.  About 100 yards from where we were searching, and just uphill from the bottom of the drainage, I noticed a couple of fir trees that looked like they should have deer beds under them.  I went over and found a good spot of blood in one of the beds.  I knew my deer had spent some time here and excitedly went to get Pat and tell him to move up to where I was and continue tracking.  As I returned, I noticed the deer about 10 yards past the bed I had found.  It had apparently been dead most of the night and signs of an overnight scavenger were apparent.  Thanks to the scavenger (raccoon?) going for the belly cavity and the very cold temperatures, all the meat was in fine shape.  The autopsy revealed that my arrow missed its mark by about an inch and a half, most likely enough on a quartering toward shot to result in a single lung hit.  Even so, the deer only traveled about 300 yards and likely died within 30 minutes.

In conclusion, I feel real good about the shot I made.  Each time I make an archery kill, I feel increasingly calm.  Calm is perhaps not the right word, but less uncontrollably excited at any rate.  At this stage in my hunting career, I maintain that any buck taken with a bow is a good buck!  As my first legitimate archery buck, Lil' Bucky's antlers are going on the wall.  Thanks to Lil' Bucky for my nearly overflowing freezer.

The Bittersweet Archery Elk

In late September 2010, Jake took me archery elk hunting in Oregon.  We hunted the last four days of the season and he taught me an amazing amount in those four days.  We chased many elk during the rut, and I learned multiple things each time I failed.  This experience triggered a response more potent than I could have imagined.

As soon as that first hunt was over, I couldn't wait for the following September.  By 2011, I was living in Washington and took it upon myself to learn to hunt a new area.  Somewhere in there, I convinced Kris to buy a bow and hunt with me, finding myself a mentor after only four field days of tutelage.  I did a bunch of research to find an area I thought I could find elk, and off we went.  Turns out I have a knack in Washington for finding elk, but as is the nature of archery hunting, finding them is often times the easy part.  I got close to elk, heard lots of bugles, and generally had at least one amazing experience per day.  I began to think of hunting as hiking with a purpose - a potential to fill the freezer - but I never managed to get a shot.  Leaving empty handed was almost anticipated this first year of hunting without Jake, but I measured success in terms of enjoyment of hiking in the wilderness, learning, and studying elk in their natural environment.  I quickly developed an intense appreciation for how amazing these animals are.

In 2012, I was more optimistic about filling the freezer.  I had a few more close calls, but by the end of it I had still not shot an arrow at an elk.  Later that year, I shot my first big game animal with my bow, a blacktail deer on Whidbey Island.  As tasty as that deer was, the success was not the same as I had envisioned in rising to the challenge of harvesting an elk in the wilderness. . . which brings us to this year.

During the first week of September (and the fist of only two weeks of early archery season in Washington), Kris and I both took off a week of work.  On opening morning, I almost snuck up on a feeding cow elk while still hunting (moving extremely slowly and quietly through the forest in attempt to sneak up on something that you don't even know is there).  For all of this Washington hunting, we've both had a tag for cow or spike, with branch antlered bulls reserved for lucky people who draw one of the limited tags.  So, of course, on day two I find myself 25 yards from a broadside 6-point bull.  With a bull tag, I could have shot him mid-bugle.  The next day we're hunting/scouting a new area.  That night I'm sitting in what I think is a likely spot for an elk to walk by, and right before dark I hear a few of them crashing through the forest.  They're not close enough to shoot and they're moving far too fast.  Instinctively, I head in the direction they were heading, even though by this point it's too dark to shoot.  In doing this, I find a meadow which we will call "Golden Meadow".  Although there are no elk here, I assume this is where they were heading.  I immediately decide to come back to Golden Meadow (GM) tomorrow night with Kris and wait in ambush.  That night I walked back to our camp during the grandest lightening storm and hardest rain I've ever experienced.

The following evening, I station Kris at one side of the meadow and set myself up at the other.  After I'm situated, I nock an arrow . . . it's then that realize there is something wrong with my bow.  During the previous night's return to camp, my bowstring caught on a stick, slipped off the upper cam, and bent the cam in the process.  This rendered my bow about as deadly as a My Little Pony doll.  So, I wait with Kris.  A half our before dark, a cow walks into the meadow.  Kris sees it first and says, "There's an elk!  Right there!"  I can't see it from where I'm sitting, so I advise him to stop telling me about it and shoot it.  Pretty soon I can see it at the far side of the meadow, out of range at about 60 yards.  The cow feeds around and eventually is standing broadside at 48 yards.  This is pushing my comfort zone, but I feel good shooting up to 50 yards with my bow, but not with a rubber horse doll.  Kris doesn't feel he can ethically take the shot at that distance, and I fully support his decision.  This is as close as the cow got.  That whole time I was looking back and forth between the cow and my useless bow.

The following night we tried the same thing.  This time a cow walked into the meadow about 80 yards away, once again 30 minutes before dark.  This ended our first week of 2013 elk hunting.  I vowed to do everything I could get my bow fixed and return for the final weekend of the season.

I couldn't get my bow fixed, but Kris was not planning to hunt and was gracious enough to lend me his bow for the weekend.  I drove back out on Friday, fully intending to kill an elk in GM on Friday night.  On the way over, I stopped for about an hour to sight in Kris's bow up to 50 yards.  This may not make a ton of sense if you're not familiar with compound bow sights, but Kris's sight is different than mine.  Mine has five pins, which I have set at 20, 30, 40, 50, and 60 yards.  In this way, my pins are preset and I can fairly easily interpolate the intermediate distances between them.  Kris's sight has one pin, but a cool mechanism for adjusting it to various distances by means of a dial-like mechanism.  Anyway, I got the bow sighted in and was pleased with how well I was able to shoot with it.

By 5:00 that night I had backpacked in, set up my camp, and hiked up to the meadow.  I neither saw nor heard anything that night.  I became concerned that the change in weather (from cool and rainy to hot and sunny) affected their behavior to the point that they would not be coming to the meadow.  I hunted Saturday morning up higher thinking that the elk had gone up to avoid the heat.  I spooked a couple as they detected me before I could detect them, but noted a wallow and some other promising sign for the future.  That night, I decided to give old GM another try.

I got there early and found a great spot to hide at the edge of the meadow that would also allow me to shoot in almost 180 degrees.  A half hour before dark, I hear a crashing ruckus coming from my right.  As the noise gets louder, two cows charge into the meadow as they're pushed by a 6-point bull.  One of the cows is noticeably bigger than the other, and I am determined to arrow it before it leaves the meadow.  These three elk were playing a game (I'm not sure what they call it) where the bull would charge at the cows and the cows would run several yards before stopping, then repeat.  This happened many times as they pinballed around the meadow. . . 50 yards to my right, 30 yards straight ahead but behind my cover tree, 40 yards to my left.  Each time they moved I would range find them, dial the sight pin to the appropriate distance, and prepare to shoot.  The problem was I could only make it about half way through this process before the bull would chase them again and I wouldn't have a shot.  Eventually I decided to set the pin at 30 yards and just aim high or low accordingly if the shot was anywhere near that.  Then the larger of the two cows stopped broadside at 22 yards.  I hold a couple inches low with my 30 yard pin.  Everything is perfect so far, and I've done a lot of thing right to get to this point.

Then instead of easing the trigger back and making a very easy double lung shot, I rush the shot and jerk it - partly because I'm so excited and partly because I'm afraid she's gonna bolt across the meadow again any second.  Fuck.  I hit amazingly far back for how close the shot was.  I think it's a full on gut shot.  I can see the fletching of my arrow laying in the grass right where I shot her, which I wouldn't expect if it was a gut shot as the arrow would have passed through.  I wait a half hour and go retrieve my arrow, which turns out to be only the back 8 inches of the arrow with blood suggesting I got two feet of penetration.  It's now dark and I can't find a spec of blood anywhere.  I go to the point last seen as she exited the meadow, and about 30 yards into the woods I hear something run away.  I assume this is the cow I shot and the last thing I want it to do is run so far away that I can't find it.  If I don't push her, she's likely to just bed down and die.  So, I decide not to push it further and come back to search at first light.

That night I feel sick to my stomach as I replay my shot in my head hundreds of times and imagine the cow suffering a slow and painful death, desperately wishing for a redo.  After a sleepless and awful night, I return to the meadow just before it gets light.  Even with the daylight, I only find one spot of blood on a single blade of grass, so tracking is out of the question considering all the recent elk activity/tracks in the area.  I begin a systematic search of the vicinity, and after 2 hours I find her about 200 yards from where I shot her.  I can immediately tell that she's dead and had been most of the night.  While this makes me feel better about not causing undue suffering, it's bad because it means the meat did not get cooled quickly and is well on it's way to going bad.  Turns out I hit even farther back than I thought and my arrow went through the meat of both rear legs/butt and the bladder area.  My arrow must have cut some major leg arteries and she bled out pretty fast.

For the next four hours I battled the bees and flies while I skinned, quartered, deboned, and backstrapped the stiffened cow.  Before I leave, and in my own way, I thank the elk for its life and apologize for not doing justice to it by wasting so much of the meat.  Four hours after that I had finished packing out the meat about three miles, along with my camp, back to the car.  All this time I'm thinking the meat has gone bad and it's my punishment to process and pack out the meat and not be able to eat it.

The meat smells a little funky, but I had Kris and Evan help clean it up last night.  We grilled up some backstrap and it tasted just fine.  We threw a bunch out, but think we have about 100 lbs of edible elk left.  Bittersweet.  I feel horrible for making a poor shot and wasting a bunch of meat because of it.  This is somewhat, but not entirely, balanced by the feeling of finally being "successful" during my fourth year of elk hunting with a bow.  Just as in previous years, I learned a lot and continue to gain confidence as an archery elk hunter.

North Twin Sister with Sister

Last Sunday, Molly and I went on a fun little adventure on North Twin Sister.  This bike/hike/scramble came highly recommend by Ava, several of our friends, and the climbing community in general.  The approach involves about 6 miles of logging roads, which gain about 3,500 feet.  Provided you make all the right turns, the logging roads dump you out at the base of the west ridge of North Twin Sister.  I ended up riding/pushing  my bike up the hill while Molly ran and walked to the base of the ridge, where we arrived about 2 hours after leaving the car.

I ditched my bike at the base of the west ridge and we continued up a trail that frequently morphed into a series of trails.  Once out of the forest, this route offers about 1,500 feet of 3rd class scrambling on surprisingly good rock.  We wandered off route a bit on the way up but ended up finding a great new route as pretty much any where you go on this rock makes for great climbing.  We ended up descending the ridge we meant to come up and decided that our up-route was at least as good as the standard west ridge.

Molly scramblin' up the ridge

On the way down with the funky balanced rock in the background

Mt. Baker in the background (Molly's in there somewhere, too)

 

With only about 2.5 miles left to go and the mountain we just climbed in the background

Once back at the bike, I took both of our packs and Molly started running down.  We leapfrogged most of the way as I coasted down and acted as a support crew every mile or so.  With about 1/2 mile left, I flatted my rear tire.  I replaced the tube in good time and promptly flatted my only spare tube about 200 yards later (note that I was using road tires and it's kind of amazing I didn't flat much sooner).  I proceeded to run back to the car with one hand on my bike saddle as I chased it down the road.

I arrived at the car to find Molly running around in circles acting crazy about fish (we had parked next to the Nooksack River).  She soon saw a trout rise and rigged up her fly rod, which she pretty much always carries in her car.  One or two casts later she was reeling in a trout!  A great finish to a great day out in the mountains.

JJAMazama

Explanation of Title
Our two good friends, Kiwi Josh and Melinda, are getting married a couple of weeks before Ava and I.  Since we all love hanging out together and have a very overlapping friend group, we decided to have a joint bachelor/bachelorette gathering in Mazama, Washington for a few days over the extended 4th of July weekend.  Josh+Josh+Ava+Melinda+Mazama=JJAMazama.

Generalities
Many friends pulled together and pitched in to make this a very successful camp out.  We stayed at a Forest Service campground near the town of Mazama, with about 20 friends showing up to camp, climb, and generally act like idiots from July 3rd through 7th.  With two kegs of homebrew, excellent weather, and amazing alpine rock climbing nearby, it was difficult not to have a good time.

Day 1: Concord Tower
We spent our first day of climbing in a relatively large group, consisting of Maiya, Shaun, Molly, Ian, Ava, and me.  After finding the Beckey Route on Liberty Bell quite crowded, the six of us climbed three different routes on the adjacent Concord tower in three rope teams of two.  Ava led Maiya on Patriot Cracks, Ian led Molly on Tunnel Route, and I led Shaun on North Face with an unintentional new route for the second pitch.  It was great to spend another day high in the Liberty Bell group with wonderful friends, rocks, and views.

The Liberty Bell Group
(Liberty Bell on the far right and Concord Tower immediately to its left)

Day 2: Cutthroat Peak
On the second day, Ava and I teamed up with Dane to climb the South Buttress of Cutthroat Peak.  This was a substantially longer day with about 16 pitches of climbing and almost as many rappels to get back down.  We moved efficiently, completing the route in about 10 hours car-to-car.  With simul-climbing, hip belays, and a few pitched out parts, this route definitely had more of a mountaineering feel than a straight up rock climb.  We were supposed to meet up with three other friends who would be climbing the same route that day, but they reportedly zigged where they should have zagged on the way up and botched the approach.

Ava belaying Dane on the final pitch of the South Buttress

Cutthroat Peak from the approach basin

Happy to be back on terra firma

Day 3: Fun Rock / River Time
After a long-ish day on Cutthroat the previous day, we were ready to relax.  After a very lazy hour or two at the local sport crag of Fun Rock, we all admitted to ourselves that we were more interested in spending time by the river than climbing.  We grabbed some picnic/lunch stuff and proceeded to spend the rest of the day in and adjacent to the icy waters of the Methow River.

Day 4: Le Petit Cheval
With everyone else heading home on Sunday, Ava and I got an early start on the Spontaneity Arete of Le Petit Cheval (the little goat, as I'm told).  Simply put, this a very fun moderate route with frequent steps of great climbing intermixed with a fair bit of 3rd and 4th class scrambling.  We encountered no other parties on the route and were able to climb and descend the route in about 6 hours.  We heard thunder on our way back to the car and had rain drops hitting the windshield within about 1 minute of beginning our drive down the east side of Washington Pass.

Ava leading up one of the many great pitches of Spontaneity Arete

Me on top of the Little Goat

Summary
We climbed a total of about 28 pitches in 4 days of climbing, all but one of which were on alpine routes.  While moderately ambitious, this left plenty of time for regular visits to the always-wonderful Mazama General Store and hanging with friends around the campfire.  While no traditional explosives were involved, this may still go down as my favorite 4th of July to date.

Riding the summit of Cutthroat Peak

Elk Scouting + Bonus Goats!

Due to changing hunting regulations in the state of Washington, I will need to learn to hunt a new unit.  Consequently, I'll be trying to get out a few times prior to September to learn a few new areas and try to up my chances of being successful during the all-too-short Washington archery season.

I left work last Friday on my first of such scouting trips.  I selected a location based published maps and Google Earth images.  While driving there, I saw a cow elk crossing the road as well as two deer: a good sign that the elk I was looking for had already migrated up into the mountains where they should be in September.  I started hiking up a sizable, steep slope at about 8pm, with the intent of setting up camp when it got dark at around 9:30.  At about 9:00, I came over a small rise to see a 5-point bull elk about 10 yards off the trail and only about 20 yards from me.  I froze in my tracks and was surprised to learn that the bull had not yet noticed me.  I watched him feed for several minutes.  At one point, he was as close as 15 yards from me.  This time of year, their antlers are covered in velvet, making them appear much bigger than they are.  By the time I managed to retrieve the camera from my pack, it was too dark to capture a reasonable picture.  About 10 minutes later, the bull fed away from me and I moved on, remaining undetected.

I awoke the next morning as soon as it was light enough to see and continued up the slope to gain a prominent ridge.  When I reached the ridge, I began glassing the basin on the other side.  After finding no life with my binoculars that didn't classify as vegetative matter, I set up my new spotting scope for the first time.  I was amazed at the clarity and ease of use of my new scope/tripod setup.  I soon spotted a cow elk lying in the grass on the shady edge of a meadow.  I watched her for quite a while before moving along the ridge to gain a new vantage point.

A short while later, I spotted a bull in the same basin, a few hundred yards from the cow, with my binoculars.  I quickly set up my spotting scope and watched him feed for about 30 minutes.

Photo taken through the spotting scope

Photo taken with 18x optical zoom camera

Another one with the 18x zoom

This was a nice 6-point bull and the largest one I saw on my scouting trip.  I'm not sure how much more his antlers will grow, if any, but there's a chance he was pretty big for the area.  Alas, I will be hunting cows and spikes, so he's safe from me for at least another year.

As I continued across the ridge, I was heading down a slight snow slope when I saw the top of a goat's head moving toward me over a small rise.  I quickly ducked back out of sight, tucked in next to some trees and rocks, and got my camera back out.  The next several minutes consisted of a herd of goats (about a dozen in total), slowly moved toward me.  With goats as close as about 8 yards, I was able to get some great shots.  At their closest, I grew slightly nervous as I remembered stories of a man gored to death by a goat recently in Olympic National Park.  Once I moved to give away my position (I thought this would make them run away), the goats seemed to become very curious and got even closer before growing nervous themselves.

They're coming right for me!

This little guy just couldn't get enough of the snow

The most adorable kind of kid and its mother

Oh, hi.  Didn't see you there.  May I help you with something?

The basin where I'd been watching the elk is in the background

Shortly after continuing on, I spotted another herd of goats on the same ridge moving in the opposite direction.  I ignored them as I was on a mission to learn as much as I could about elk in the area.  I began an off-trail descent of the steep, forested slope a couple of miles from where I had come up.  Shortly after leaving the main ridge and getting back into the forested zone, I jumped another bull.  He saw me first, at about 25 yards, and only stuck around for a few seconds.

I had no idea how much it would work me by the end, but the 3,500 vertical foot bushwhack descent with plenty of dead fall and pretty much no flat ground to stand on, even for a short rest, left me exhausted by the time I returned to the car. . . a terrific end to a successful scouting mission!