Hi-Line Hunt

Going into the Hi-Line Sportsmen's Hunter Mentoring Program, Andrew McKean asked which type of hunt I'd like to do. My selection was deer as it seemed to me to be a perfect entry level hunt. Then he asked which type of deer I'd like to go for – whitetail or mule – as each came with a different style due to the habits of the animals. Wanting to get as much experience as possible for story purposes, we decided it would be best to try my hand at both to compare and contrast.

After my successful mule deer hunt, it was time to for me to experience the whitetail wait. With Thanksgiving and the end of the season fast approaching, McKean and I found an open afternoon that worked for both of us to get out in the field.

The weather – and the wind – proved most cooperative on Nov. 22. Before heading out to the field, McKean gave me a quick lesson on using a tripod and on the new (to me) rifle we would be using. I tried several dry fires with the Savage .280 Ackley Improved and my mentor demonstrated how the rifle and tripod worked together. After a look at the map so that I had an idea of where we would be setting up, we hit the road.

Along the way, McKean used the time to give me a lesson in the value of all-copper bullets. With animals, particularly birds, beginning to fall ill years back, biologists and other scientists linked the use of lead ammunition with the illnesses. Looking at the potential threat to all wildlife over the years, a move was made to adopt copper bullets. The new ammunition comes with pros and cons – safer for the animals and environment but they are also more expensive and require a cleaner shot for a quick kill.

We parked a ways from where McKean wanted us to set up, and walked past the slough to a beautiful spot under an ash tree where we could keep an eye on whitetails emerging from the area around the Milk, heading out for an evening meal.

On our way, we spooked a doe on the edge of the slough. McKean explained how this would push the other animals in the herd back and it might be some time before they ventured from the safety of the trees out into the open. After bellycrawling into his selected spot, we set up. And here is where I must stress the importance of practice, practice, practice when it comes to safe gun handling.

As he handed me the rifle to attach to the tripod, my trigger finger went directly to the trigger guard. Though an accidental shot was averted as McKean called out my rookie mistake, it took several moments for my heart rate to return to normal. After some deep breathing exercises, I felt comfortable returning to the rifle.

Our position under the ash tree mostly guarded us against a deer spotting us from the field, but also added the challenge of finding a clear position without branches obscuring a shot. A few adjustments later, I felt comfortable that I would not be shooting one of the tree's low-hanging appendages.

Expecting an extended wait, McKean had me put my rangefinder and binoculars to use. Not much time passed before the whitetails began to spread out across the field, strolling and snacking on alfalfa.

One small antlerless whitetail grazed ahead of the others, wandering closer and closer to our location. With the wind, McKean explained that if the deer made its way past us, it most likely would scent us on the wind and scatter the rest. The choice was whether to take this smaller animal or risk a much-longer wait for a better chance.

Given our limited time – my lesson with McKean was squeezed in between his other hunts with friends and family – I chose to take my shot. The tripod made tracking the deer easier and I followed its forward motion. Not entirely confident in my ability to hit a moving target, I waited for it to stop, broadside. However, this deer was not ready to play its role in the hunt – each time it stopped, it was head-on, denying me the perfect shoulder shot.

Right as it came it level with us in the wind, just prior to where it might scent us, it stopped broadside. I slowly squeezed the trigger – and was denied by my own oversight. The safety on the rifle did its job perfectly, preventing the shot.

I quickly flicked the safety off and re-sighted. Fortunately for me, the deer had stopped again, the alfalfa proving to be too sweet to pass on. This time my shot was true. The deer managed to move quite a bit more – a result of the copper bullet rather than lead – but fell soon enough. Not sure if my shot had killed the animal, we crept out to where it lay. The animal was indeed dead.

And I had managed to keep my promise to myself to bag a smaller deer than my buck. My doe turned out to be a male fawn, the nubbins of antlers just barely visible below the fur on its head.

So with my promise kept and the deer tagged, it was time for McKean to keep his – I was on my own for field dressing. Well, not entirely on my own. He guided me through the process but each cut with the knife came at my hand. Perhaps due to the young age of the deer, and definitely due to the knowledge of McKean, field dressing went quickly and easily for me. There were a few close calls though where a small slip would have pierced the guts. Even splitting the sternum proved less intimidating than I had expected.

Then it was back to the vehicle. Given the small size of my deer – thankfully I am not feeding a family – it was decided that we could drag the deer back to the vehicle, rather than disturb the area unnecessarily. And when I say "we" I mean that I dragged the deer out of the field to the two-track while McKean photographed it for this story. Here is where I tell the kids not to smoke. Years after quitting, my lungs are still recovering from the damage. Once on the two-track, McKean helped my drag the carcass the rest of the way to the vehicle.

The sunset that evening was stunningly beautiful – a fitting end to another near-perfect hunt – and a reminder that hunting is about so much more than just killing an animal. Hunting is an opportunity to slow down and appreciate the land and wildlife all around us.

Back at McKean's place, we hung the deer and made plans for butchering. I returned the next day since a cold front was due through the region on Wednesday and went through the process again. This time McKean helped with the skinning again, but left most of the quartering to me. I loaded up my cooler and returned to town. The next evening, I set up my production table and completed processing the meat.

As my mentor had said, the roasts came out quite small and there was no meat to grind. I have yet to try any of the meat, which McKean promised will be some of the best eating, as I wait for my CWD results from FWP.

In the meantime, I went back to my mule deer for a Thanksgiving roast. I found a recipe online and applying McKean's advice to cook it low and slow set out to contribute to a homemade Thanksgiving meal for the first time in too many years.

Having had a test-run of the recipe, I felt confident I would be happy with the results. However, I was also serving to friends who don't eat game meat; had had a bad experience with game, and one who grew up on wild game and came to the table with a healthy dose of skepticism in my cooking ability.

Dave Ahlstedt, who grew up on game, came to sample the roast, saying, "Okay, let's see how you did." His first bite he exclaimed, "Oh!" as he reached for another piece. "Oh, damn," he said, mouth full. "You nailed it."

Jim Heavey, who had been pregaming ways to compliment my cooking without hurting my feelings with his true feelings about venison, became a convert. "You've really changed my mind on venison," he said, acknowledging that he could not taste a difference between this roast and a traditional beef pot roast. Even Cat Fisher, who usually refuses game meat, praised the dish and asked for the recipe for her young hunter's future harvests.

On this hunt, I kept the hide on the advice of McKean who said the size of the animal's hide would make for a perfect area or bedside rug. Prior to the holiday, I'd been on a new hunt – one for someone who could tan the hide for me. A call to Morehouse Taxidermy pointed me in direction of a company in Idaho, but my need for instant gratification and a desire to keep this story as local as possible had me quizzing any number of people about potential tanners.

As these things in a small town usually go, I found a friend-of-a-friend who had taken up tanning. Ahlstedt and Fisher directed me to their neighbor, Chelsea Dodd. I'd met her a couple of times and reached out on Friday. A few hours later, I was at her house as she began the process.

Later this month, I will have a new rug and a story on the self-taught tanner and her process.