He explained that he had decided our hunt should be held near Lima, Montana, because his biologist friend had told him that was the place. We made a date for the trip. Then I dropped the phone and looked for Lima on the map.
Lima turned out to be a small dot ‘way over in the southwestern part of the state, practically under the Continental Divide that separates Montana from Idaho. It’s a little railroad town on U.S. 91.
While waiting for Gene’s hunting date, I made the long shot for my trophy on Bangtail Ridge near Clyde Park. For a couple of days I shadowed a good one that hung out in a brushy canyon on Brackett Creek, not far from Bangtail. I got two glimpses of him, once as he stopped on a distant ridge to look me over and once when he crawled past in heavy brush. Don’t let them tell you that mulies never sneak. This one did.
Jack Ward of Livingston finally got him. I told Jack where to take up a stand while I shook down the little canyon; and on the way to his post Jack jumped the buck, which evidently had anticipated our move and was moving out ahead of schedule. Jack’s .270 stopped him on a dead run as he topped a knob; and when Jack called me on a little walkie-talkie to report, I loudly attributed his success to luck. Jack said it was scientific marksmanship, and in his case I suspect he’s right.
The deer weighed better than 200 pounds dressed, although the rack wasn’t remarkable. By that time I figured Gene Decker really had the dope on the rut. The following Friday night I steered cautiously over icy streets to his Bozeman home, fearing weather might prevent our 250-mile trip to Lima.
Gene was in fine fettle. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he beamed. “I have weather reports for every inch of the way. We’ll run out of ice ten miles out of Bozeman; and if you follow my directions, it’ll be dry roads nearly all of the way to Lima.”
He was right in every detail. We were in Lima by bedtime, even though we stopped frequently for Gene to make contact with various authorities of his acquaintance. He stopped once and got some maps. “With this thorough preparation, getting my buck is merely a formality,” he said.
At Lima we stayed at a railroad hotel and had ham and eggs in a local lunchroom at six the next morning. The temperature got down near zero during the night. Gene got out his maps and started giving me directions. We turned off the highway at Dell, and from there on the landmarks included such spots as Tonsillitis Gulch, Caboose Canyon and Muddy Hole Basin. We headed for Grassy Top Mountain, and from the map which he occasionally allowed me to glance at, I figured we were going to hunt in the Tendoy Range, within about eight miles of the Idaho border.
Unfortunately I had gotten my radar turned around during the night, and north is still south when I approach Lima. I bogged down in the snow when I drove up a draw with a little patch of pines at the upper end. Gene said we’d better put on chains, but I didn’t pay much attention because I was watching 20 or so mule deer trotting out of the pines. Finally I came back to earth, realized I was stuck and got out the chains.
“Forget that bunch,” Gene said briskly. “Nothing but junk antlers.”
“We saw a lot of bucks that day. Some of the bigger ones had harems of a dozen or so does. The country is made up of steep, sagebrush-covered ridges with patches of timber in the canyons. There were several inches of snow.
We’d near the top a ridge and get out to walk the last few yards. If there was some good hunting country visible, we’d walk it out. Generally we’d see deer somewhere on distant slopes or popping up in the sage near at hand.
With me nervously urging him to “look again” at all the big ones, Gene rejected most of the bucks with a single glance. Some he commented on. “Wow!” he’d say. “Look at the prongs on that one.
www.huntlakemanitobanarrows.com
Fort Mc Murray Albera Used Truck Dealer
Auto Dealers Pitt Meadows BC
Midtown Ford Blog
If you want edit me? Go to your profile than add description text. ^_*