Idaho Hunt 2016

“It’s about to get sporty!” I yell as my Whites boots sink another two inches deeper into the gooey mud and I slide another couple feet down the hill. Sam, my brother and hunting guide for the weekend, lets out a few chuckles as he skates past me down a separate muddy trail. We’ve been out skulking around the sage hills for hours in search of the infamous Idaho Mule Deer. The rain hasn’t been able to make up its’ mind all day, constantly on and off like a middle school relationship.  By now, its almost dark, and the rain is in full- force. With flash flood warnings and wind gusts that will take you right off the ridge top, it’s time to head out.

Saturday was quite the comical scene. Sam is an avid hunter, fully equipped with anything and everything that he could possibly need. Along with Sam is his friend, Casey, who is starting up his own hunting guide business. They’ve both spent lots of time hunting in various locations, states and types of terrain, and for some reason, they both agreed to take me this time. Sam and Casey are both head to toe decked out in Sitka gear, Mystery Ranch hunting packs and boots that are more expensive than designer heels. Casey has his rifle in hand, while Sam carries his Camera. Then there’s me.  I’m wearing a pair of wool camo pants that I borrowed from my 6’4 father, a random camo jacket I found in the house and just my typical backpacking pack. My hair is blowing every direction while the rain sinks through my “rain jacket” and into my base layers. My hunting gear is thrown together last minute, and I’m hoping my ragtag attire will be enough to keep me alive for these few hours. The most hunting that I’ve done is out my back door or down in our hay fields. I’m clearly the odd man out.

My leather boots are slogging and sloshing with each step as we make our way up the steep grade. With no deer sightings as of yet, we hope to reach the top ridge, skirt some saddles and glass for our target. I follow Casey up the hill while Sam lurks off to the left, snapping photos like we’re in a fashion show and not in the middle of Idaho, on some random ridgeline. (He actually takes amazing photos. Check out his website: http://www.samaverettmedia.com )By the time we reach our first stop, the wind and rain has become pretty steady.

 A constant chill has set in as we sit glassing the opposite side of the drainage.

Sam and Casey are both fully engulfed in their binoculars, searching the terrain for any form of living organism. Seeing none, we move on, uphill. Using a rock out cropping as a windbreak, we hover behind it and go back to the search. Hours pass but still no luck. The Mule Deer are not cooperating.

            A few hours before dark, we start our route back to the truck. We hope to drop into a few timber stringers, kick out a buck or two, and hopefully get some cross hairs on him followed by a bullet. Alas, no bucks to be found as we trek back to the rig, or rather, slide back. With the dumping rain and increasing mud, I’m pretty sure that by now I weigh an extra twenty pounds. Night has fallen. Clothes sopping. Boots sodden. We reach the truck.

            No deer. Heavy rain. High winds. Beautiful country. Good company. A solid hunt for the books. Until next time Idaho.