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for H u n t i n g S e a s o n H u n t i n g Hunting S e a s o n Season
•Sleeping Bags
Blaine Hendrickson
Dale Valade
Eastern Oregon has lots of opportunities for outdoor recreation, and hunting and fishing are among the most popular. And no wonder — Northeastern Oregon has many big game units, offering sport for bow, rifle and shotgun hunters, as well as an abundance of rivers and streams, lakes and reservoirs.
Northeastern Oregon is great for hunting Pronghorn, Rocky Mountain elk, trophy mule and whitetail deer.
By Rod
Just the mention of backpack hunting invokes images of elite CrossFit athletes carrying the latest in ultralight gear as they trek 15 miles into the Valhalla of backcountry big game hunting, beyond the reach of mere mortals.
I aspired to be such a hunter at one time in my life, but then reality set in. I don’t have the time to get into that kind of shape, or the will to endure that kind of suffering.
Over the years I have pieced together some pretty good equipment, but still can’t afford the top-of-the-line, ultralight gear you read about.
And I have packed out my share of elk and deer and have learned that about four miles is as far as I am willing to carry one. Even that is pushing it.
The reality is that you don’t have to be a Navy Seal to enjoy some good backpack hunting. Multiple fish and game studies have shown that the majority of hunters never venture more than a mile from a road. Then you have outfitters, folks with pack animals, and crazy
people that drive deep into the backcountry.
That leaves a nice swath of country two to five miles in that mostly gets overlooked. This country is easily accessible to any reasonably motivated hunters who want to put in the work. Packing in a camp will save you a six-mile round trip every day and a couple hours’ sleep every night.
Getting the proper gear together isn’t as hard as you may think. When it comes to picking a backpack to carry all your stuff, internal frame packs are more comfortable overall, but external frame packs work better for packing truly heavy loads such as elk hindquarters. I take my internal frame pack in and leave an external frame in the truck for when I get lucky.
A pack capacity right around 60 liters will do what you want. Any bigger and you will be tempted to take too much stuff.
While you can get by with some relatively inexpensive
gear, don’t skimp on your sleep system. The good night’s sleep a quality down or synthetic sleeping bag and pad provide are worth it.
Down bags are lighter and pack smaller, but if they get wet, they are useless. The inflatable pads are lightweight, pack small, and are more comfortable than other types. They are pretty durable, but you shouldn’t be throwing them down in a pile of rocks or pinecones.
Giardia is endemic in Grant County. You need a plan to purify water. There are lots of different filtration systems. Pick one that fits your needs. I always take a Katadyn pump with some tablets for backup. While tablets are light, they can make your water taste unpleasant. I hear good things about Steri pens, but have never used one.
A note here. If you’re camping in cold weather, you need to take steps to make sure your filter doesn’t freeze. That makes for a bad day.
Clothes can be kept pretty basic as well. A change of socks and undies, a pair of thermals, jacket, down coat, gloves, wool cap, and you’re good to go. I have been rained on from the jungles of Hawaii to the desert of Arizona, and so I strongly recommend some rain gear. Several times I have been saved by the cheap plastic poncho I keep in the bottom of my pack.
When it comes to packing food, the general rule of thumb is to pack highenergy foods that give you at least 100 calories per ounce and try to get 2,500 to 3,000 calories per day. Plan right and you can keep it to 2 pounds or less per day.
Name brand backpacking food gives me sticker shock. Some carefully chosen food from the grocery store will get you by just fine. Candy bars, granola, trail mix, nuts, dried fruit, jerky, cheese, pepperoni or salami, peanut butter, potato chips, bagels and tortillas will give you all the energy you need to keep going in the backcountry. In cooler weather, I like to take pre-cooked bacon as well.
Some folks plan so they don’t have to cook anything, but personally, I like some hot oatmeal in the morning and a freeze-dried dinner at night.
It is a good idea to mix flavors and textures of foods so you don’t tire of what you’re eating. Also, the back and beyond is not the time to be eating something new. Try it before you go, just in case it doesn’t agree with you.
The “pros” will claim they can do a 30-day trip with a 30-pound pack or some other ridiculous boast, but typically fail to account for water and their rifle or bow. I have managed to trim down pretty well, but my trail-ready pack for a five-day hunt is going to be right around 50 pounds. Now, that ain’t nothin’, but really isn’t that bad for a three-mile hike.
To make the hike easier, I strongly recommend trekking poles. They take some of the load off your knees and help you with balance in the rough terrain. Start planning now and you can have a great experience this fall packing into some good hunting.
CONTRIBUTED PHOTO
Rock buck
This guy was perfectly placed, so he became a rare and endangered species, the rock buck.
Contributed by Connie Jenkins
Foxy pose
I snapped this picture on the McKay Refuge. A vixen eyes me closely as its kits play nearby.
Contributed by Tyler Stewart
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By Blaine Hendrickson For the East Oregonian
I was lucky enough to draw an Oregon premium deer tag in the Eagle Cap Wilderness of Eastern Oregon for a unit we have hunted elk in for 30 years. There is only one tag issued and it allows you to hunt from Aug. 1 to Nov. 30. I was super-excited about the opportunity to learn some new parts of this unit and to take advantage of the youth mentor program that allows kids to hunt with your tag.
After two months hiking my guts out in the high country, I couldn’t find a mature buck to hang my tag on. This experience gave me a greater appreciation for the locals that hunt here and are successful. They know the basin to go look in after their 12-mile hike versus me just trying to learn the unit and looking in every draw for 12 miles. They know where to spend their time, and this can’t be learned in a season.
I did get some reliable intel on a buck and decided it would be the perfect opportunity to do a 3-day high country backpack trip with our 12-year-old daughter, Gracie. We had an absolute blast playing games, telling stories, eating candy, and laughing the whole time.
This trip is about quality time together and being in the mountains. Gracie, 12, was a trouper taking bee stings, frigid temperatures and fog all in stride.
She was nervous that she would mess something up or miss the buck, but I told her there is nothing she could do that would upset me or disappoint me on this trip. This trip is about quality time together and being in the mountains. Gracie was a trouper taking bee stings, frigid temperatures and fog all in stride. Although we didn’t find our target buck if the hunt was over after this trip, it would have been a success for me.
After the bucks got hard-horned, it got difficult to locate them. If I did find a buck it was jumping them while hunting or hiking, getting a fleeting glimpse as they bounded off. I was able to learn a lot of new country and places I wanted to check out once the rut kicked in. As the rut was approaching, we began to switch the focus to using my tag to get our son JJ his first buck.
We had gone out a couple times without seeing any bucks of size, but we were still getting him set up on little bucks and having fun counting coup on them. He said he wasn’t going to shoot unless it was a big one.
As elk season approached, I was excited to have some spotters with my dad, uncles and a couple friends camped out for the season. On the way to camp we got the news that my grandfather that had been battling cancer had moved on to a better place.
I told JJ we were going to hunt and live to honor Grandpa Rich. I told him when he was tired, cold or frustrated, he needed to remember we are blessed to have this opportunity and to be out here in general, let alone hunting rutting bucks. Rich would have loved the fact we have this opportunity.
Although JJ is only 10, he kept up with me just fine as we averaged over 8-mile days. It was also a fun reminder that hunting is the opposite of what a 10-yearold boy really wants to do. As I am trying to be as quiet as possible walking, he was breaking ice out of mud puddles and trying to break anything he could find.
We did finally manage to locate a buck that got JJ excited. We spent close to an hour playing cat and mouse under 100 yards but couldn’t quite line up an ethical shot for JJ. I was super-disappointed we couldn’t get one for grandpa and I couldn’t get JJ on his first buck.
After bringing JJ home, I returned to elk camp and knew I had to get serious. After 5 months of being in this unit, I only had 5 days I could hunt and hadn’t found a buck to get excited about.
I decided to head to an area I e-scouted and a vantage point where several canyons came together. It was a 5-mile hike out in the dark, but as the sun dawned over the landscape, I began turning up bucks. I kept heading farther out, hoping to find that one special buck.
As the sun was setting, I started the long trek back to the truck. I was trying to make it to the bottom of a canyon by nightfall and spotted deer on the opposite face. I gave a quick glass with the binos and I could tell there was a buck over there that would need closer inspection.
After looking through the spotter, I was wishing JJ was with me so we could kill this buck. I was telling
myself if he has extras, I might have to go into predator mode. He turned his head to reveal an inline and I pulled out the rangefinder, 412 yards, and I dialed my scope.
I sat there for 10 minutes and finally decided to pass on the buck that night and see if I could get JJ back up to the mountains. It was a long hike out in the dark with limited cell service and I finally was able to get ahold of my wife. She said it wasn’t going to work out to get the kids there and I should just go after the buck.
I didn’t want my hunt to end, but I only passed on this buck because I wanted one of my kids to shoot it. The next day I repeated the process from the previous day with the landscape blanketed with fog. As the fog lifted, I was able to spot the buck about a mile from where I saw him the prior night.
I amazingly had cell service and called my wife again to see if we could somehow get our son to the mountains while I sat on the buck. She told me they thought I already punched my tag and JJ was excited for me.
After visiting with my wife, I went into predator mode and closed the distance in a hurry. There were also does and rival bucks moving all around me, making it difficult to get in close. As I neared, I was only moving when he would run off a small buck, but he kept snapping his head back in my direction.
I made it to a rock outcropping and ranged him at 187 yards. I set up for the shot and as I moved for my gun he turned, and we made eye contact. I instinctually froze, in a really awkward position, not daring to move. After a while the feeling began to leave my legs, my arms started to tingle, and I was praying for the rival buck to make another move on this old warrior’s doe.
Thankfully, before I lost all feeling this happened, and I slipped in behind my gun. Although I was close, my crosshairs were dancing across the buck like they just scored a touchdown. I started at his back and started squeezing as I moved down the crease in his shoulder, and when I felt the recoil from the 30 Nosler, I knew the hunt was over.
I was instantly sad the hunt was over, and our kids couldn’t be with me to appreciate this moment. When you shoot an animal alone, I believe it gives you a greater sense of appreciation for the animal.
This old warrior buck managed to avoid bears while he was a fawn and moments before I shot was beating up bucks to keep his does. He had lived a life dodging cougars, eluding wolves, and hiding from hunters.
As hard as I hunted, I understand the only reason I was able to find him was because I was allowed to be out here when he was more concerned with expanding his bloodline than avoiding the countless predators. After looking for a mature buck for five months, I had a better understanding that if I want these opportunities to continue for others, and my kids, I need to do a better job of filling my predator tags.
I was able to accomplish all my goals I set out with on this hunt. I also furthered my appreciation for mule deer in our state and how hard it is for them with all the obstacles they face. I was also able to meet several great people or form better relationships with people I knew over the course of this hunt. The thing I will cherish the most is the fun times I had with my family and how lucky I truly am.
Horned owl
I snapped this picture outside the local elementary school one evening as this sleepy great horned owl was trying to wake up to go hunting.
Contributed by
CONTRIBUTED PHOTO
By William Gibbs For the East Oregonian
It has been said the best fishermen never let the truth get in the way of a good story. If this statement holds true, then I have been in the presence of some legendary fishermen. The following account of one adventure with one of these legendary fishermen will be as true as any great fisherman can make a tale.
It was June 21, 2008, when Stan Bird and I slid my white Ranger into the cold waters of Crane Prairie Reservoir. We had been foolish enough to sign up to fish one of the John Day Valley Bass Club tournaments, and we were ripe with anticipation. Stan and I had fished together a few times as he had become a regular partner after the passing of my father.
Crane Prairie Reservoir sits at almost 5,000 feet in elevation, nestled amongst the volcanoes of the Cascade
Mountains. The white snow-covered cones decorate the skyline, making for a picturesque setting. The heavy timber and pole thickets remind you more of an elk hunting trip rather than a place to pursue wily largemouth bass.
The lake itself is filled with standing timber, remnants of a forest now consumed by a reservoir.
The bass had once flourished here but now the population had declined sharply, and I new every bite would be important as a five-fish limit would be a challenge. Armed with this knowledge and an eager mind, we eased our way across the lake at 10 mph after our number was called (10 mph is the speed limit for this timber-filled lake, so traveling any distance took time).
I steered the boat towards a dense patch of fallen
logs, stumps and standing timber, bouncing off of them like a pinball. It was cold and cloudy that morning with temperatures in the upper 40s and water temperatures in the low 50s.
When we arrived at our destination and began casting around the area, bites were not coming and I was beginning to wonder how tough this tournament was going to be. Suddenly Stan jerked his rod hard to the side and exclaimed: “Got one!”
I turned to see his rod bending in the direction of a large bass, and I hustled for the net as Stan made his way to the front of the boat. As I peered into the chilly waters of Crane Prairie I saw a large stump, and I instructed Stan to not let the fish get into that stump.
Not that Stan had ever listened to me anyway. Seconds later the fish buried herself in the top of the stump a few feet under the water. Knowing how important this fish would be, my mind began to race for solutions to unsnagging the fish before she pulled off the hook.
I then told Stan hurriedly, “I will take my shirt off and go underwater to see if I can reach the fish and pluck her from the stump. Grab my belt loop so that I don’t go all the way in!” I then tore my shirt off and plunged over the side head-first into the glacial waters of Crane Prairie.
Everything was going to plan as I felt my knees seat solidly against the boat gunwale and was anticipating a grab of my pants to hold me back. That grab didn’t come.
I then realized that I might be going for a swim and began frantically trying to swim backwards. Time slowed down as I began to wonder how my eulogy would read. Then I felt a sharp tug and I surged backwards.
With my arms flailing I was able to find the side of the boat and pull myself aboard. Half-frozen and bewildered, I peered at Stan with quizzing eyes and blurted out, “What happened? Why didn’t you grab me?”
Stan looked back at me with a puzzled look and said, calmly grinning: “You said to grab your belt when you went over the side, but you didn’t have a belt on, so I watched you and it looked like you were starting to struggle so I thought you might need some help so I grabbed your belt loop and pulled you back.”
Shaking my head and muttering to myself that “no fish is worth dying for,” I threaded my icy body back into my shirt and looked for the fish. Luckily the fish had exhausted herself and was lying limply under the water, still pegged to the stump.
As Stan manned the trolling motor, I moved to the middle of the boat to try to unsnag the fish and I noticed the line had gone slack. Then I saw the fish swimming towards the boat still hooked, much to my surprise. I swung the rod hard just as the tired bass came to the surface and flipped her into the boat.
I reached down and grabbed her jaw to remove the bait when Stan turned around and exclaimed, “Where did that come from?”
“It’s your fish, Stan,” I muttered back coolly, trying to hide my amazement. I then plopped her into the live well, picked up my rod and went back to pursue fish No. 2, which I hoped would be much easier.
For the tournament we ended up with first place, and that fish was big fish at 4.5 pounds the first day.
People always ask why I like to fish so much, and I tell them you just never know what is going to happen when you fish with a Bird.
By Cash Madden For the East Oregonian
At the start of 2023 I made it a goal to kill a high country archery mule deer, and I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me going into the summer.
I started my summer scouting around mid-July and was turning up quite a few good bucks in the higher country but was having trouble finding the one that really got me excited. I made multiple trips into the high mountains of Eastern Oregon just hoping I’d come out of there with a target buck in mind for opening day of the season.
It all finally came together on Aug. 8. After glassing into a huge canyon that we knew had big bucks, my buddy and I were making our way down the mountain when we jumped a group of bucks. Right off the bat we could see they were good bucks but we saw nothing giant until the last few ran out.
There was one buck we named “Big Papa.” He was a giant — typical four point that I’m guessing went well over 200 inches — and there were multiple other 180-plus bucks in the group.
We tried to relocate those bucks for multiple days up there and were never able to find them again, but we just hoped that on opening day we would get lucky.
Sept. 2 came around, which was the opening day of the season. We had our whole plan lined up how we were going to glass that morning, then head down the ridge through the area where we had seen the big bucks.
After glassing and not turning anything up we made our way into the spot we had seen the big bucks just hoping for that chance again, but it just never came.
I ended up spotting a nice 170-inch class four-point. We waited for a few hours for him to get into a good bedding spot and I decided to make a stalk, which went almost perfectly until I got within 60 yards, when he looked up from the brush and busted me. I was pretty sad because everything went so perfectly on the stalk and I had dropped over 1,000 feet straight down to get onto him just to get busted.
Days went on and on with the season and I made multiple other good stalks on bucks with one being another giant typical that I hunted for multiple days. The closest I got to him was 40 yards when he busted me at full draw about to release a shot.
After that I went to a different unit that I had an elk tag in, figuring I’d get my mind off the muleys for a few days and try to get my first archery bull, which didn’t end up talking long at all. After one morning hunt and missing a bull at 40 yards because of a branch I was able to connect with a nice five-point herd bull that evening.
After that I made my way into this new spot that I never scouted but knew there had to be bucks there. On the first trip up there I found a bachelor group of about eight bucks and they were all 150-plus bucks with two or three well over 180 inches. I hunted that group of deer for multiple days, having multiple close encounters and even one that I got full draw on the group just waiting for them to walk out until my wind switched and I couldn’t seal the deal.
Until the day it all happened, I was watching the weather and I saw a big snowstorm was going to blow in around midday, so I knew I had to get up there and get those bucks in the snow while everything would be quiet and easy to stalk in.
I made my way up the mountain by myself going in for a solo hunt just hoping I could locate the deer before the thick fog rolled in. As soon as I got up there I started glassing and instantly relocated the bucks and decided it was time to go.
I made my game plan looking at my map and dropped all my stuff and started my stalk down to the deer. I didn’t have super far to go on this stalk, but it was very cold and very slick with the fresh snow on the ground. I got down there and was surprised when I saw a rack at only 75 yards. I pulled my binos up and saw it was the group of bucks I was after, so I dropped to my hands and knees and was trying to get a view on all the bucks and being super careful, knowing this could be my last opportunity on these bucks since it was getting closer to the end of season.
I started inching closer and closer while having to crawl over deadfall and try not to spook the bucks. I got to 55 yards and knew that was the closest I would get before busting them. I leaned up and saw the big three-by-four that I’d seen multiple other times while hunting these bucks. He definitely wasn’t my target buck in this group, but he was a very mature and a heavy-horned buck.
Knowing he wasn’t the biggest in the group but he was an old, mature buck and I was going to be very happy with putting my tag on him, I ranged him just one more time to make sure everything was right and that’s when I drew back to settle in for the shot.
Everything felt good. I wasn’t shaking too badly, and I felt rock-solid with the shot. I slowly pulled my release and I don’t really know what happened from there, but I watched the arrow go through the air in slow motion, it seemed like, and it hit about mid-body.
I knew right there it was a liver hit, but I was hoping it clipped the lungs since it was closer to
the front shoulder half of mid-body. I waited for about 2 hours and then walked down to the first blood, which was only five feet from where I shot him, and he was bleeding super-good instantly.
I knew I’d have to start my tracking right then because I forgot my headlight at home and I was losing light fast. I definitely wish I could go back now and decide to just wait longer, knowing the hit was far back, but in the moment my mind told me to just find him.
I ended up losing blood at about 150 yards of tracking and at that point I already had my girlfriend and her dad heading up the mountain with lights, so I decided to wait for them to get up there. When they made it we started just gridding around a little bit, trying to find the next blood spot.
It was right at very last light when I saw movement in the brush in front of me. I could just barely see a rack bedded down in the brush and knew it was him still alive.
I ended up kind of panicking for a second before I ranged him at 40 yards and drew back. He wouldn’t stand up forever and I couldn’t get a shot on his body, so I had to make a noise to get him up. That’s when he just jumped up, giving me only a split second to get a shot off, but I couldn’t see my pin well enough since it was too dark and I wasn’t able to make a follow-up shot.
I decided to just come back the next morning with my dad because I knew it would be plenty cold up there overnight and the meat would still be good. The next day was Sept. 21 and we got up there expecting a little bit more snow, but at the top of the mountain there was about 3-4 more inches of snow.
At that point there were no tracks or blood to follow, which definitely gave me a lot less hope and worried me we weren’t going to find this buck. We started gridding and gridding back and forth about 100 yards apart from each other until I walked up onto a thick little group of trees, knowing this was the only actual thick cover in that burn and he would probably be in that.
And there he was, dead, not even 100 yards from where I jumped him the night before.
He was everything I could have wanted in a deer. Super-tall backs with dark antlers — just an old, mature high-country buck.
We got a lot of pictures of the buck and then the work started. We quartered him up and started packing him back to the truck. We had a few miles to pack uphill and it was in the slick snow, which made it pretty brutal, but just all a part of the memories.
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By Dale Valade For the East Oregonian
Every basketball team has its five starters, and then there is the bench. Farther down the roster you’ll find the rookies, the cheerleaders and the towel boy. It’s not that the .308 isn’t a great cartridge, it really is — it’s just not gotten a bunch of playing time on my team as a starter. Looking back at my records I personally have used it to take a few coyotes and feral hogs, a couple of cow elk and one mule deer. Not an unimpressive resume at all but definitely not as extensive as cartridges like my .30-06, .25-06 or .22-250 to be sure, all of which have gotten considerably more playing time than my .308. That rifle was a hand-me-down from my father. It was an anniversary gift to him from my mother several years before I was born. For many years, that .308 was in his starting lineup. His best mule deer buck and bull elk were both taken with that rifle. So in deference to that record, it’s only fair that the old workhorse gets some pasture time.
Be that as it may, the .308 is a very versatile cartridge capable of utilizing a wide range of bullet weights and styles. In the interests of getting my .308 more playing time, I investigated the surprisingly ample selection of lightweight bullets available. When I say lightweight, I mean bullets weighing less than 150 grains.
In all of my previous hunting endeavors with the .308 I had utilized bullets weighing between 150 and 180 grains, which are the best selections for big game. Never had I considered using anything lighter.
At the reloading bench I discovered that velocities well in excess of 3,000 feet per second were possible (even from the 22-inch barrel) with the 110-grain Hornady VMAX. With such a load, some of the desired playing time could be realized as a goodly portion of my hunting each year is for rockchucks, badgers and coyotes.
The 1:12-inch twist of my old Savage 99 E was ideal for these stubby sharp-nosed bullets. Despite the creeping
heavy pull of the Savage’s non-adjustable trigger, groups were impressive. As seen with other handloads in this rifle, I got the best results when using loads near the suggested starting levels of Varget powder as listed in my reloading manuals.
With this load, I fired the best five-shot group I have ever shot in this Savage 99. The Garmin chronograph showed my average muzzle velocity was 2,960 feet per second; a bit slower than anticipated, but with such good groups I was willing to sacrifice some speed.
Recoil was minimal, and noticeably less than any of the aforementioned big game loads of 150-180 grains of weight. Were I to pursue lightweight bullets for deer hunting, I would likely go up to the 125- to 130-grain bullets as they have a heavier jacket than the 110s. I had originally desired to try both the 125-grain Sierra and the 130-grain Hornady bullets in this test, but none of my outlets had either bullet weight available. No matter, the 110-grain VMAX’s are entertaining enough to merit more time afield.
Even though a favorite Leupold M8-4x scope has ridden atop this rifle for most of its time, the desire for a bit more magnification led me to replace it. Groups like the one pictured became more common as I could see better with the new Burris Fullfield II 3-9x variable. Like Dad always says, you can only shoot as good as you can see.
As resources become increasingly scarce and more expensive, it’s important to explore all the available possibilities. Like it or not, I think it’s going to be that way for a while.
Don’t let the lack of your favorite ammunition or components dampen your enthusiasm for hunting or shooting. Broadening our horizons extends our experience and résumé as shooters, and that knowledge will always come in handy.
Get those “Bench and Rookie” guns some more playing time any way you can. I can guarantee you that a .308 works just fine on coyotes, too, as it does for so many other things.
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