The Old Tree Stand

During a December trip back to the Midwest in 2009, to visit family and friends, I slipped away from everyone early one morning for a walk down through the oak covered woods I had known as a boy. My destination was a series of cultivated crop fields which ran alongside a sizeable Illinois creek. I was curious to see if there were any remnants of an old wooden treestand I had built 46 years earlier.

It had been my first real deer hunting stand, built when I was 14 years old. I had located it along a wooded ditch line that separated two of those fields, offering a corridor of cover for whitetails to follow back and forth from the hardwood covered ridges to heavy creek-bottom brush. And that year, I took my first bow-killed deer and my first antlered muzzleloader buck out of that stand. During the 20 years that followed, I had taken another dozen or so deer from the 2'x4' wooden platform that sat about 10-feet off the ground. It was great to see the two heavy oak two-by-sixes still spanning the gap between a pair of black oak trees.

I sat on a nearby log and fondly remembered the young button buck I had arrowed with a bow my favorite Uncle had given me for my birthday...and the eight-ponter (4x4) buck I had downed with the .45 caliber muzzleloader I had worked so hard and saved for...plus two real monster whitetail bucks taken when I was in my late 20s. It had been 25 years since I had last layed eyes upon the stand, and I left the area filled with great memories, knowing that I would probably never again return to the spot.

The stand in the photo at right is not that stand, but another stand I came across while whitetail hunting 60 miles from where I now live in Missoula, Montana. That hunt was during the first week of November 2009. I was hunting a several hundred acre tract of private creek-bottom land that was surrounded on all sides by National Forest. I had gotten permission to hunt the property when I stopped to help an elderly man in his 80s wrestling with tight fitting lug nuts on his pickup as he tried to change a flat tire. Between us, we got them off and the spare on. He asked if I was hunting, and I said yes. He then offered to let me hunt his place, which consisted of about a hundred acres of timber and about an equal amount of hayfields and pasture. I had not seen much deer sign where I had been hunting a few miles away, so I took him up on the offer - figuring that the deer may be coming to the hayfields. The previous year, I had hunted the public land adjacent to this tract of private property, right along a great little trout stream.

Most any morning, I would see 15 to 20 deer. Anyway, I saw that many deer every morning early the first week of the season. And the great thing was, I never saw another hunter in the woods. The general firearm season here in Montana is 5 weeks long. So, I held off hunting again until the end of the second week, then headed back. I figured the rut would be kicking in, and the deer would be on the move even more. Plus, by then there was a light 4 to 5 inches of snow on the ground.

I was hunting alone for a few days, and once I had camp pitched, with my short and fast handling .54 caliber Green Mountain "Brush Rifle" slung over my shoulder, I figured I'd spend the entire afternoon still hunting back along the far end of one hayfield, actually hunting a thick stand of aspens on the public side of the line...then work over to a treestand I already had in place...and spend the last hour or so of daylight watching that end of the field. It was during that slow saunter through the deer woods that I came across this old stand.

The snow on the ground was fresh. In fact, I had driven through falling snow the entire trip over. Here and there, I could see deer tracks that had been made early that morning or the previous day, then filled in with snow. I also noticed other tracks, which I had never seen in the area before - wolf tracks...some fresh.

In the past, I had never hunted this area without jumping a half-dozen or more deer during any walk into the area. Following an old snowmobile trail from where I camped, back into an area that bordered a swampy brush thicket, I never cut one fresh deer track in more than a mile of walking...but wolf tracks were everywhere. Most times, when I eased through the aspen patch during earlier scouting trips or hunts, I'd see a moose or two. Not this afternoon. I didn't even see a moose track.

By the time I reached my portable tree stand, I still had not seen a single fresh deer track. I finished out the day 15 feet off the ground, at the edge of a 50 acre hay field, where deer generally fed almost every evening. Not this evening. Nothing moved. In the very dim last light of day, I climbed down and as I started my walk back to camp, taking a short-cut across the open field, wolves began to howl on a high knob about a half-mile behind where I'd spent the afternoon hunting. And they continued to howl on through early evening as I cooked dinner over the campfire.

I had a small heater in my well ventilated tent, plus a propane lantern. After dinner, I read a little, then shut down the heater, crawled into a hefty sleeping bag, and threw a heavy comforter on top. It was going to be a cold night, with temperatures getting down to about 8-degrees, but I knew I'd stay warm with the thick foam mattress under me and all the insulation on top. Come early morning, I could have the heater going in a few minutes and warm the tent before sliding out of the sleeping bag.

Knowing there were wolves in the area, I had slipped my old Browning A5 shotgun out of the truck, and had it stoked up with "00" buckshot loads. And about two in the morning, I was glad that I had. Wolves had surrounded the camp, and howled for more than an hour. Some sounded less than 75 yards from the tent, and my guess was that the pack consisted of 7 or 8 wolves. It was very comforting having that semi-auto 12 gauge laying next to me through the night. When they finally stopped howling, I fell right back asleep. Then, about a half hour before daybreak, when I got the heater and lantern going, several started barking at the illuminated tent...and I knew they were no more than 50 yards away. I got dressed, then waited for daylight before unzipping the tent and stepping out - 12 gauge in hand.

The woods were very open, and I could see 100 to 150 yards in just about any direction. No wolves were in sight, but when I walked around camp, still carrying the shotgun, it became very evident that wolves had come very close during the night. Some tracks were less than 20 yards from the tent.

I slipped on my required blaze orange vest, shouldered the custom .54 in line muzzleloader, built on a Knight DISC Extreme action, and headed for the knob where I had heard the wolves howling the evening before. (There was a valid 2009 wolf tag in my pocket.) I followed a closed Forest Service road that went to the knob, and while heading down a long open grade, a big black wolf shot across the roadway. I got over to a pine quickly and took a leaning rest. Three more wolves stepped out onto the road cut, and I yelled. They all stopped and looked back in my direction. I guessed the distance at about 175 yards...held for the top of the back of the biggest wolf, then eased back on the trigger...and the heavy 400-grain Harvester Muzzleloading "Hard Cast" bullet flew right under that wolf...and in a flash they were gone. I discovered that due to the huge size of those wolves, I had misjudged the distance by at least 50 yards, and there was just too much drop for such a heavy bullet.

I'd covered about two miles that morning, and still had not cut a fresh deer, elk or moose track. I did find the remains of a wolf-killed adult doe and her fawn, and not much was left. The kills looked to be about a week old. What the wolves had not already killed in this area, they had apparently pushed somewhere else. The game normally found in the area was completely gone. In three days of hunting, I failed to see one single live deer.

I went back for a couple of days this past season (November 2010), after a fresh 5-inch snow fall, just to see if I could find any fresh deer or elk tracks. The snow had quit falling the evening before I got there, so I knew any tracks I found would be just hours old. That first day, I walked at least 5 or 6 miles, and drove another 15 or so on mountain backroads. And did the same thing on the following day. In all, covering some 35 to 40 miles on foot or driving very slowly, in two days I saw a grand total of 7 sets of deer tracks...and each time those tracks were being followed by two or three sets of wolf tracks. I saw absolutely no elk tracks...no moose tracks.

On the way out, I stopped by the elderly landowners place to see if he'd been seeing anything in his hayfields. He sadly reported that he had not seen a deer in weeks...nor an elk in months. He then shared that 10 to 12 years ago, he had between 30 and 40 elk that wintered every year on his place, but since the wolves had moved into his area 6 or 7 years ago, none have wintered there again. He also said that just ten years ago, his hayfields often had 40 to 50 deer in them just about every evening. However, he could now count on two hands the most he had seen in the fields at any one time during this past season.

I then asked him about the wooden treestand in the photo above. He said that he had built the stand about 25 years ago, and hunted out of it for about 10 or 12 years. He then showed me a half-dozen very nice whitetail racks and two exceptional 6x6 elk racks he had taken from that stand. He shared, "Back in those days, you could have killed a buck just about any evening. There were days when I would see five or six good bucks within easy range...but back then I would hunt for a particular really good buck...and if I didn't see him, I just wouldn't fill my tag. I feel we'll never see those days again."

Wolves have changed the Montana landscape. As this is written, Congress has authorized management hunts in Montana and Idaho for 2011. But with the low (187) quota that MT Fish, Wildlife and Parks is recommending, there will not be any "control" of wolf numbers. At best, that quota is no more than 11- to 12-percent of the current wolf population (pre 2011 pup birthing)...and by the time that season (fall) opens, there will be at least 1,600 to 1,650 wolves in Montana...and another spring's calf crop will be once again destroyed by wolves. Even if the quota is met...by this time next year, with the 2012 wolf pup crop, there will still be 100 to 150 more wolves than at the end of the 2011 hunt...and still fewer elk, moose and deer.

More on this issue can be found on the LOBO WATCH website, at www.lobowatch.com .

Toby Bridges
LOBO WATCH

Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf?

This past Sunday, October 11th, our three dogs got a little tired of being cooped up in the house by three days of cold, windy weather. Getting anything done in my home-based office was out of the question. Those dogs wanted to go do something, even if it was just to take a ride along the base of the mountains and look at deer. Anyway, they just about drove me crazy, and didn't let up until I slipped on an insulated jacket, stuck on my usual camouflaged cap, and grabbed my truck keys.

It was getting toward late afternoon and early evening. The sun had finally popped through some thinning clouds, and it had "warmed up" all the way into the low 30s. I knew a spot where I could get about a hundred or so feet above the Clark Fork River, and take a nice photo back to the southeast. The softwoods along the river still had not turned yellow, something I had been waiting for, but with some fresh snow down to the base of the mountains in the background, I still thought it would make for a nice shot or two. So, I grabbed my camera - and Copa, Bob and Tully were soon watching deer out the truck windows as I drove through the river-bottom farm lands, crossed over to the west side and headed north along the river - slowly climbing until I was at the point where the river headed back toward the east side of the wide valley. It was a great advantage point, and after a few minutes, I had taken a half-dozen photos with my old Canon 35mm AE-1.

The winds had died, and to be quite honest, I was glad the dogs made me do this. I was enjoying being out as well. So, the four of us hopped back into the truck, and I drove another 5 or 6 miles on down the often rough gravel road that skirted the west bank of the river. After pulling into where a Forest Service road was blocked by a locked steel gate, the dogs and I got out for a little walk. The dirt roadway meandered up a fairly long, flat valley. The area was as much covered by grass as trees, and was a nice place to go for a several mile walk.

Copa, an Aussie-Shelty mix, is our "old girl", at 11 years old. She stuck with me, while the two boys, our lab Bob and lab-chow-pit bull mix Tully, raced ahead. Those two 3 year olds have a lot of energy, and love the adventure of running in a new area. They checked out everything for a quarter-mile ahead, coming back regularly to check on Copa and I.

We were about a mile into the walk, when I looked up to see Bob and Tully bearing down on us with all the speed they could muster, and when they shot right by and kept on running toward the truck, I sensed something was not right. Like an idiot, I had not thrown my old Ruger .44 Magnum in the truck for this short afternoon-evening excursion. When walking trails well off the beaten path, that ol' hogleg, carried in a shoulder holster, is a constant companion. Why? Wolves mostly. It has gotten that I can hardly take a walk in the mountains or in the foothills without seeing wolf sign - mostly scat filled with bone shards and elk hair. These aggressive predators are everywhere you go in western Montana these days. And they are a true threat to almost every other living thing. Dogs rank right up there among their favorite prey.

Now, Bob and Tully don't run from much. At least five times during the past two summers, those dogs have chased black bears away from camp - without reservation. And a few times they have sent bears running off the trails we've hiked. But on several occasions, when I knew wolves were in the near vicinity, the two would get very nervous.

Realizing that wolves or perhaps a mountain lion were likely the only things that would put such fear into them, I turned and watched for movement down the Forest Service road. Then I called Copa close, and made my way back to the truck - stopping now and then to watch my back trail. Nothing. When I reached the truck, there sat Bob and Tully, very ready to load up and get the heck out of there. And once in the truck, the two kept looking back up the roadway. We sat and watched for about 15 minutes. Still nothing. But the two dogs never calmed down, until I started the truck, backed out and headed for home.

I would give almost anything to know what they had seen...what had sent them packing down the road and back to the truck. My feelings are that we had gotten closer to things going bad for the dogs than I care to truly realize. I also know that I'll never leave that truck again without having the big .44 strapped on.

When hiking, do you take your dogs with you...and do you carry a firearm?

Toby Bridges
MONTANA MOUNTAIN
CHRONICLE


About the photo: Bob (in the rear) and Tully enjoy a morning hike up into the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area. When walking such back-country trails, MONTANA MOUNTAIN CHRONICLE host Toby Bridges always carries a .44 Magnum revolver, just in case of a run in with wolves or perhaps a grizzly.

Last Campout of Summer

The summer that would never end.

That's what some Montanans are now calling Summer 2009. Warm weather came earlier than usual last spring...and right up until the end of September, afternoon temperatures regularly soared well into the 80s. In fact, here in Missoula, our average daily high temperature last month was basically what the area gets in July.

My gal Christy and I love to camp, and through summer we get out and head somewhere at least every other weekend. One of our favorite areas is close to the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area - a camping spot we can drive right to, adjacent to an excellent trout stream, with great trails for taking the dogs on a long hike. The area is teaming with wildlife - lots of white-tailed deer, a few mulies, elk, black bear, and moose. There's also a healthy population of mountain lions, wolves and a few grizzlies. So, for security purposes, we keep a Ruger .44 Magnum revolver close at hand at all times.

Whenever possible, we love to share the enjoyment of getting out with friends and neighbors, inviting folks to join us just about every time we go. At first, few took us up on it. Now, we have company just about every time we head out on a 3 or 4 day camping trip - and we think that's great. We love the company, and the conversation around the campfire at night.

But, most of all, we love the silence of the night as the fire dies down and everyone turns in. When the soft chit chat ends, all you can hear is the water of the creek babbling through the rocks, and maybe the occasional howl of a coyote.

The "endless summer" of 2009 let us crowd in a few extra camping trips. But, snow is now returning to the high country, and freezing temperatures at night are even putting the chill of winter in the air in the lower valleys. Summer has ended, and a short fall follows. By the time I pull out for deer and elk camp in about two weeks, chances are there will already be some snow on the ground, and at night I know I'll be sitting a lot closer to that campfire - and there will be an extra blanket over the top of my sleeping bag.

It's the beginning of another wonderful season here in the Northern Rockies.

Toby Bridges
MONTANA MOUNTAIN
CHRONICLE


About the photo: Christy is greeted by our lab Bob as she "walks the plank" into another of our favorite camping spots - high in the Bitterroots. Just 50 yards down from camp is a several hundred acre lake - where later this same day we watched a huge Shiras bull moose feeding on aquatic grasses. Out neighbors, Patrick, Lisa and Laynie (barely visible, peeking out of a chair), joined us on this late summer campout. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Reflecting Back

This past summer, on June 24th, the day before my 60th birthday, I felt like spending most of the day entirely by myself. And I knew I could accomplish that here in the Northern Rockies by simply spending a day in the mountains.

I spend a great deal of time thumbing through the "Montana Atlas & Gazetteer" - looking for out of mainstream traffic places to go. And one particular mountain lake that set at about 7,000 feet, right along the Idaho border in the Bitterroot Mountains had caught my attention...way back in February. Knowing how snow that high can linger in some basins, I waited as long as I could, then put together a day pack, along with a spinning rod and some baits, loaded up in the truck with my two trail buddy dogs, Bob and Tully, and was headed out before daybreak.

I found the trailhead without any problem, at about 5,000 feet, and wasted little time heading out on a day adventure. It was just cool enough to require a light jacket, and the climb wasn't bad at all. Several times, I stopped along the way to glass a few cow elk on adjacent grassy slopes. By the time I covered the 4-mile walk in, I had seen 9 or 10 elk, and none had calves with them. But several times I had come across wolf scat, matted with young elk hair and bone shards. (This is a topic I will get into soon.) And about half-way up the trail, the dogs sent a 200-pound black bear running off the trail.

When I popped up over a slight rise and peered into the basin, the lake was even more magnificent than I imagined - and larger. It was easily 3/4-mile in length and about 1/2-mile across at its widest point. And from the deep dark blue color of the water, it was apparently very deep. A slight breeze had picked up. As far as the fishing was concerned, I liked the looks of the windward side most - with a lot of logs floated up against the shoreline, and looking not quite so deep. It proved to hold an abundance of 10 to 12 inch brook trout. In less than an hour, I had caught and released 15 or 16. Then, I climbed upon a rock to enjoy the scenery, and a bit of an early lunch.

The entire upper end of the lake was surrounded by towering steep ridges and sheer rock faces, with remnants of the winter's deep snows still coming down to the water's edge. I detected a slight movement on one steep face, and broke out my binoculars. It was a band of 9 mountain goats. I glassed them for about 15 minutes, then finished my lunch - with a little help from Bob and Tully.

The sun had warmed, and I slipped out of the jacket, rolled it up and used it for a pillow - listening to the water lapping against the shore, and the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees. Enjoying the serenity of the beauty surrounding me, I took a fifteen minute snooze. Then just laid there reflecting back on a good life, but not without a thought or two of tough times. Even though the memories were vivid in my mind, somehow, just laying there on that mountain distanced all of them. This was living for the moment at its best.

Another two hours of fishing produced easily another 20 of those colorful brookies -all released to fight another day. In mid afternoon, the dogs and I headed back down the trail, reaching the pickup about an hour and a half later. There was a young couple there at the trailhead, ready to head up for a night on the lake - and to do some fishing. They were the first people I had seen since driving the 20 miles of gravel road from the interstate early that morning. I asked if they had any small Panther Martin spinnerbaits, with a black blade and tiny yellow dots. They answered they didn't. So, I opened my pack and pulled out the one I had caught the majority of my fish on, and gave it to them - telling them to use it wisely...because that's what the fish were biting on.

It had been far better than just a great day. This was the last day of my 50s. And as I made the 70 mile drive home, to a woman I love dearly, I wondered if I would still be able to spend the day on that same lake on the last day of my 60s. And I realized that I had just set a new goal for my life.

Toby Bridges
MONTANA MOUNTAIN
CHRONICLE


About the photo: On the day before his 60th birthday, MONTANA MOUNTAIN CHRONICLE host Toby Bridges hiked into this remote mountain lake, to spend a day hiking, fishing and reflecting back. The spot proved to be an excellent choice for doing all three. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Born In The Summer Of My 60th Year...

Perhaps it has taken me longer to be "reborn" than it did for John Denver in his hit song "Rocky Mountain High"...but I'm sure the feeling is just as refreshing, and life just as good.

Now, I grew up in the farm country of west-central Illinois, in an area that sits close to the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers...where the elevation is only about 650 feet above sea level. So, it may seem a bit odd that a "flatlander" would undertake a blog that focuses on the outdoor lifestyle of the Northern Rockies. But, just because I wasn't physically born here...or didn't grow up here...doesn't mean I cannot consider this part of the country as "home".

I was 15 years old the first time I ever laid eyes on the mountains of the West, during a hunting trip to Wyoming. And all I can say is that I was awestruck. Photos I had seen of the mountains did not do the country justice. I had fallen in love, and knew that someday I would live where I could see the mountains every day.

It just took 45 more years to make it happen.

And now from where I live in the Missoula Valley of western Montana, I can look out the front window and gaze up into the Bitterroot Mountains...or walk out onto the back deck and look right up into an off-shoot of the Rockies - the Garnet Range.

By the time I had enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1968, I knew every tree, every plant, every species of bird and other wildlife in the Midwest better than 90-percent of the older folks who had lived their entire lives there. And relearning all of that here will take a few years, but I truly look forward to the challenge. A single week does not go by that I fail to spend several days out in the wilds, enjoying this magnificent country.

Hopefully, some of you with the same love of the mountains will find this blog, and will freely share what you have learned - whether you are a third...fourth...or fifth generation native of the Northern Rockies, or a more recent wanderer who has just found their way "home".

Toby Bridges
Missoula, MT

MONTANA MOUNTAIN
CHRONICLE


About the photo: While camping this past summer, in the Bitterroots near Darby, after a night of rain at about 7,000 feet, I was up early the next morning, and took this photo as a warming sun hit a cold mountain lake, causing a burst of fog to rise and fill the surrounding timber. (Click on photo to enlarge.)