I thought I would share a few pics from my Alaskan Moose hunt this year. I was able to get into a airplane crash,meet Dwight and Curt from Petersen’s Bowhunting and photograph a bunch of moose all in the same trip. Not many people can say that.Both Dwight and Curt were wearing Sitka gear and also thought it was great stuff. I thought this was kinda of funny so I thought I would share it with you. As I was waiting to get on the bush plane there was anot-her hunter there waiting to get flown out and he saw that I was outfitted  from head to toe in my Sitka gear and he had the 90% jacket in his hand .He asked me if I was going to where that on the plane. and I said absolutely why wouldn’t I and he said because if  the plane crashes and catches on fire I heard that stuff will melt . I told him if I got into a plane crash that would be the least of my worries, not knowing that 45 min later I would be in one. I did not get a moose but did have a pretty good time inspite of the crash. This was my second moose hunt and I still have not harvested one!! I hope my luck will change soon on them

This was the trip that sold me on the Downpour jacket and pants. I had them on every day in rain and snow and stayed dry. I realized how tough they were after surviving sliding down the side of the mountain on the gravel  slides.Since most of you probably get Eastman’s’ Bowhunting Journal, the full story  is suppose to be in there in the Jan/Feb issue 2009.

Here is one of my turkeys I got this spring thought you might like to see.

Desert Sheep

September 2007 and January 2008 are very special months for me.  In September, I was very fortunate to be able to harvest a great Stone Sheep. With the help of a very good friend, Darren Collins and with the understanding and support of my wife, I was able to obtain a Desert Bighorn Sheep tag in the Southern part of the Baja California Surf in Mexico.  This is the story of the Desert Sheep.

I left New Jersey on January 17, and a good friend from Wyoming, Davy Nacey, was joining me on the trip.  We arrived in Loreto right on time and were picked up by the outfitter, Ty Miller.  That first night we got to meet all the guides – Jose Delores, Jose Roberto (to avoid confusion, the first Jose was called Jose and the second Jose was called Roberto), Jorge, Eduviges, Victor and Manuel.  Unlike other hunts with only one guide, on this foray I would have an entourage of people, with everyone having a part in the hunt.  On the 18^th we all headed to the field to set up our spike camp and start looking for sheep.  Right off the bat, 12 sheep were sighted, with one being a good ram, but they were pretty high up and in a very difficult spot.  By the end of the hunt the words “very difficult” that Jose spoke quite often took on a whole new meaning.

That night at the spike camp, the temperature went down to 34, which is not that cold, but I had taken a 50 degree sleeping bag.  I thought it never really got that cold in Mexico – I guess I was wrong.  The next morning those 12 sheep were located again, but they were not very far from their position the day before.  To the south, we located 15 more sheep, including 1 or 2 rams that appeared to be shooters.  To the east, Roberto spotted a slammer all by itself.  We watched the ram for several hours until he vanished behind a rock.  When he was first sighted, I was ready to rock-n-roll, but Jose spoke those words that I heard time and time again – very difficult.  When Jose says it is very difficult, he means that it is just about impossible to get to them without a helicopter.  That lone ram was not seen again.  At noon we decided to come down from the lookout hill and stopped by camp to get some lunch and get closer to the 15 sheep to the south of camp.  After a fulfilling lunch of tortillas filled with meat cooked over an open fire with refried beans and jalapeno peppers, we headed up the mountain to get a better look at those sheep.  On the way out we bumped a 3×4 mule deer out of the bottom of a ravine.

We stayed about 600 yards away on another vantage point.  It turned out there were 4 to 5 rams in the group with one good one and 3 that were passable.  We watched them the rest of the day, and the last half hour a really nice ram appeared from out of nowhere as they all were headed toward a saddle at the top of the mountain.  It was getting late so we made our way back down to spike camp with the idea that the sheep were going up and over to the other side.

That night was just about as cold as the night before, and I didn’t get much sleep.  I got up around 5:45 am, started the fire, and put the hot water on before everyone else was up.  We cooked up a hearty breakfast of eggs and refried beans on a tortilla, then headed south up the center of what I call the bowl to a little hill so we could see the back side of the mountain where those sheep would be located if they had gone through the saddle the night before.  After a few hours, 3 of the 15 sheep came through the saddle and over to the backside where we were watching, but they didn’t stay long before going back.  We stayed in that spot the rest of the day, seeing a couple of sheep here and there but none that was even remotely close.  Right before dark, Jorge spotted a really good ram very low at the end of the bowl, at about 1000’ above the bottom in some heavy cover.  We all got excited in hopes of getting a chance at this ram.  There was not enough time to put on a stalk so we decided to come back at first light.

I didn’t know that January 21, 2008, would be a day that I would remember for a long time.  After a quick breakfast we headed directly to the lookout hill at the south end of the bowl.  Within minutes of arriving we spotted the group of sheep that came through the saddle on the east side of the bowl all the way at the top, but our focus was to find the one we left the night before.  It was late morning by the time Davy spotted him way up high on the west wall in – you guessed it – a very difficult spot.  The decision was then made to go after the ones that came through the saddle on the east side of the bowl.  It took until late afternoon to make the 2600’ foot climb through the rocks and the cactus.  It seemed as though every time I turned around, something was either sticking or poking me, especially the stuff they call jumping cactus.  After getting to the top we stopped and ate some tuna and got some more fluids in us.  I can’t say enough about Wilderness Athlete Hydromax.  It kept me well hydrated for the long climbs on those sweltering days.  Even though the nights got cold, the afternoon temperatures for the first couple of days would go up to 100. 

As we went across the top of the mountain, heading back to the north toward the sheep, we were descending and ascending about 500’.  We were moving fairly slowly to ensure we didn’t blow out any other sheep on the way.  The closer we got to where the sheep were supposed to be, the bigger the rocks and boulders we had to negotiate, and many times we had to back out and take a different route.  When we got very close to where they were last spotted, Jose, Roberto, Davy and I were all looking in opposite directions when, of course, Jose signaled to us that he saw 2 el brago (the Spanish word for sheep).  One was a ewe and the other was an awesome ram at 480 yards.

There were only a couple of hours left of light and the ram, at the moment, was actually in a very stalkable spot.  Davy and I had hand signal sheets that we memorized before the hunt in case we got in this situation so he could watch the sheep and give me hand signals to guide me to it.  We agreed that Roberto would go with me until we got across the saddle and the rest would stay to keep an eye on the sheep.  As we were going across the saddle, the terrain would not allow us to stay hidden from the sheep the whole time due to the cliff and the big boulders we had to negotiate.  Half way across, I told Roberto that I was certain the sheep saw us and we had been pegged, but each time I looked back at the other guys, they were still watching the sheep through their binocs, so we kept going.  When we got across the saddle, which should have been approximately 150 yards away, I told Roberto to stay there and I would go alone the rest of the way. 

Now, I would love to say that this was the smoothest stalk I have ever performed, but I can’t.  It would rank right up there with the worst.  I couldn’t have been more than 10 yards away from Roberto when I ran into a bunch of jumping cactus, and a few yards later I fell when the rocks under me gave way.  With each step I took, I had to be careful and watch where I planted my feet.  After running into the cactus and falling, I thought to myself there is no way those sheep are still on this mountain.  I know I must have sounded like a freight train.  Later, the guys said it was pretty funny watching through binocs.  I looked back at the group, and Davy was giving the signal to keep going straight ahead.  Man, I can’t believe the sheep were even still on the same mountain.  I continued slowly walking and looking mostly downhill for the sheep, when I suddenly heard rocks falling.  I looked to the right at the same elevation I was and saw a ram walk behind a bush.  The ram stood motionless.  I used my Leica BRF rangefinders and got a yardage of 43 yards.  I knocked an arrow, slowly pulled back, placed it right behind the shoulder and let it fly.  The ram disappeared around the rock ledge in a split second.  It was a complete pass through, but the arrow appeared to be a couple of inches too far back. There was a lot of good blood with air bubbles on the rocks, indicating that I had hit lungs.  I wanted to wait a lot longer than I did, but the realization took over that I had just arrowed a Desert Bighorn Sheep, and I just had to look around the rock to see if he was lying there.

When I peeked around the rock, I saw the butt of a sheep through a tree, as well as an awesome ram broadside at 33 yards, and an ewe just beyond him.  I couldn’t see any blood on the ram that was broadside, nor did he appear to be hit.  A lot went through my mind at that moment, not being 100% certain if that was the one I hit or not.  I was thinking this could be the chance of a lifetime – shoot or don’t shoot?  Without seeing any blood on the side, I had to let down, because I could not take the chance of shooting the wrong one.  After several minutes of standing there, he had enough and blasted down the mountain, taking the ewe with him.  The other sheep finally turned his head to look down the mountain, and I noticed he was a great ram also, but not as big as the other one.  I still could not see if he was hit with all the foliage in the way.  I stayed put with an arrow knocked and just watched as he walked over to a little ledge and laid down.  Now all I could see were his nose and the top of his horns, and there was no chance for a shot.  I slowly walked closer on the steep hill and, when I got about 10 yards away, I started to slide down the hill, having to grab onto a tree to stop myself.  I got back up and I could see he was very sick so I leaned over the ledge and shot him again.  The ram then rolled over the ledge and off the cliff.  I yelled back to Roberto, “Do you see my sheep, do you see my sheep?!?!”  “Yes, I see your sheep.  He is hung up in a bush at the bottom of the cliff.”  At this time, you could hear yelling echoing through the valley in celebration of my sheep.  No one ever knew there were 2 rams there, and I ended up shooting the one nobody had seen.

By now it was getting pretty dark, so we had our head lights on to help the other guys make their way over to us.  There was no way we would be able to make our way down to the sheep in the dark, so we started a fire and moved some rocks away for a bed.  Let me tell you, that was one long night.  It seemed to last for 36 hours.  All night I kept reliving the events of the day, impatiently waiting for daylight so we could work our way down to the ram.  Morning finally came, and we started to make our way down to the ram – my ram.  It was very tricky finding the right path to allow us to get there, but we eventually did, and he was everything I expected.  We celebrated again, took pictures, and packed the ram off the mountain.  

I want to give a special thanks to all those who made this happen.  Roberto, Jose, Victor, Jorge, Manuel, Davy and Ty Miller all had a part in me getting my ram.  All those from the tribe are truly good people and have a heart of gold.  A trip like this has required a tremendous amount of sacrifice by my wife, and I want to thank her for that.  

Most of my equipment is gear that I have been using for years because it works so well, such as the good old 3-bladed Muzzy 100gr broadheads, Winnerchoice Bowstrings, Sureloc Lethal Weapon Max sight, Trophytaker Rest, Carter Quickie release, Easton arrows, Leica Brf Rangefinders and Wilderness Athlete products.  I have been using Sitka gear for the last year, and can’t say enough good things about it.  I have been to Wyoming, British Columbia, Newfoundland and Mexico in all types of climates and all I can say is, that their clothing rocks! 

My first buck of the season, compliments of my lucky Sitka hat.  The story goes something like this:  After days of bow hunting with no luck, I summoned up the nerve to ask my father, Greg Bokash, a huge favor.  Since he just completed his Grand Slam wearing a Sitka hat, I thought it would bring me just as much success.  So I head out to the same stand I had been in days prior with no luck.  There I sit, just got out of school for the day, wearing my lucky hat.  It had only been an hour when along comes this five pointer.  I draw, let my arrow fly, straight and true, and it strikes home .   Wow, imagine what I could shoot if I had the whole Sitka outfit.  Thanks for the hat, Dad.

            Fortunately for me, the bear had slowed down.  Something had caught his attention causing him to turn and begin digging for an easy meal.  This allowed me to close the distance to under 10 yards.  Moments later, he lost interest and turned back towards his original destination, a path that lead directly where I needed him to be.

            This hunt began after I contacted Stan Parkerson of Denali Hunts based in Fairbanks, Alaska.  Stan had come well recommended from Mark Buerer of Bowhunting Safari Consultants.  I exhausted all of the references that I was given, and even dug up a few of my own via the internet.  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t find anyone to say anything bad about Stan.  So I booked in January of 2007 and began the process of preparing for this hunt, both mentally and physically.

 Obviously, the idea of getting within shooting distance of a grizzly on the ground is viewed by many as a suicide mission. These bruins have earned a reputation for being somewhat ornery in certain situations.  So, in an effort to learn more about this noble creature, I immersed myself in literature that described numerous grizzly attacks that have occurred throughout North America.  It was my intent to read about these encounters and learn what I could from them.  Now, I am not one that enjoys reading about others misfortune nor do I find it exciting or even interesting.  But, these attacks can and do occur, and we can use those examples and learn from them.  By analyzing the situations and the conditions in which they took place, I felt I had a better understanding of the bear’s behavior.  That being said, most everything that I read stated that to avoid stalking grizzlies or trying to get close to them. That piece of advice was going to have to be overlooked if I was going to slip an arrow in to one of these bruins.

 I generally shoot 4-5 days a week, regardless of the season or what I am going to be hunting.  But, this hunt had added a little stress to my shooting routine.  For whatever reason, something got into my psyche and was causing my accuracy to fall apart.  So, I began the process of blaming it on the bow.  Little did I know this mental shooting lapse would help me to attain a goal that I had tucked away for many years. 

My lack of confidence in my shooting was taking its toll on me.  I would lay awake at night, trying to figure out just what I should do to eliminate this problem and get back on track.  I wasn’t nervous about the hunt and I wasn’t over bowed.  So, one evening I went out in my garage and picked up a riser block that I had glued together a few years before.  I grabbed some glass lams off the shelf as well as some maple tapers and started to make my hunting bow, my grizzly bow!  I’ve built quite a few bows dating back to my college days in the mid 90’s when my then girlfriend and now wife bought me a Bingham’s how-to booklet on building a takedown recurve.  From those days I have modified and created limb and riser designs of my own taste.  As I began building this bow, it became evident why I was having such trouble shooting.  I had always wanted to kill a grizzly bear with a bow that I had made, but in my preparation for this hunt I had been shooting a couple bows that were not of my own making.  This bow went together like a dream, and 6 days before my flight was to leave for Fairbanks, I was putting the finishing coats on it. 

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I don’t advocate grabbing a new bow and just heading for the hills to hunt any animal.  However, accurate shooting is the result of proper tuning and mechanical consistency.  So, if one is consistent in their grip, draw, anchor and release, accuracy should follow if the bow and arrow are tuned properly. My first shooting session yielded tight groups out to 30 yards, nearly twice as far as I would shoot in actual hunting conditions.  I had now regained confidence in my shooting and was feeling on top of my game.  I now understood why I had been having trouble shooting.  It had driven me to complete a step necessary to achieving my goal of killing a bear with a bow built from my own hands. 

            I was greeted by Stan at the airport in Fairbanks.  In no time we were loaded up and heading to get my tag and license.  It was obvious that Stan had things in order for this hunt.  We were loaded to the gills with food and gear.  One thing was for sure, bear or no bear, we weren’t gonna starve to death. 

            The next morning we arrived in our hunting area and set up camp.  One of the great things about this hunt is that we were able to drive to the area that we would use as our base camp.  From there, we were able to hunt the area by glassing both the river bottom and the surrounding mountains. 

            On the first evening we set up along the river in an area that allowed us to see for nearly a mile up and down the river.  It wasn’t long into the hunt when Stan spotted a boar following a sow around midnight.  At this time of the year daylight is with you for 24 hours.  With this being the case, the best time to hunt is late evening on through the night and early morning hours.  Even though the bears were several hundred yards away, I was ecstatic.  Just seeing these bears in their natural habitat is a blessing.  It’s hard for me to describe just exactly how wonderful it is to see a grizzly bear in the wild.  It was in 2003 on a moose hunt in B.C. that I saw a grizzly bear for the first time.  I was absolutely amazed at the their presence. 

We watched the bears for a while as the sow tried to rid herself of the ensuing boar.  He obviously had plans for their date that she wasn’t in favor of.  At times they squared off with each other, standing and swatting at each other trying to work out their differences.  She was probably telling him to take a hike while he was telling her how great that hide looked on her. 

At the time the bears were on the other side of a river, which was impassible in the area that they were in.  So, we hurried downstream to a location that offered good visibility upstream and carried out scent away from the last spot that we saw them.  As we approached the river, we saw two sets of tracks coming from the direction that we last saw the bears.  One was obviously a big bear while the other looked to be a smaller track, most likely the track of the sow.  After sneaking up to the rivers edge we quietly slipped in along the bank and glassed the area to the west.  We waited about an hour and finally called it quits at about 4 a.m.  It had been a great first day with a couple bears sighted and plenty of sign.  A warm bowl of soup and a hot grilled cheese sandwich capped off our first day in the Brooks Range of Alaska, and then it was off to bed.   

Day 2 dawned with beautiful blue skies guarded by white puffy clouds.  From camp we could see a young dall sheep ram bedded to the east.  I set up the target and took a few shots to prepare for the days hunt while Stan worked up some breakfast for us.  I glanced up while pulling arrows from the target just in time to see a porcupine meander across the gravel bar near camp.  Caribou tracks were everywhere, some having passed right through camp while we slept.  After eating we got our gear ready and headed to the West to glass.  After about a mile hike, we set up on a steep valley that overlooked the river.  There were numerous caribou sheds strewn about making me wonder about all the bulls that would be passing back through when the fall season begins to push them to their wintering grounds.  We glassed the area for a couple hours, spotting a half dozen ewes, lambs and caribou, but no grizz.  Stan suggested we head back to move on to another spot to check out.  About half way back, Stan spotted a big boar coming down the mountain and heading to the east.  We took off towards it trying to figure out what the right angle to pursue him would be. 

One thing that I found out fast was that these bears could cover ground in no time.  It was becoming obvious that we weren’t going to catch up with him unless he took a break, or we caught one.  Then, just as he began to ascend the other side, a small group of caribou caught his attention.  This gave us the opportunity that we needed and we closed the gap to around 400 yards.  We were now at the base of the mountain, surrounded by openness with one brushy draw leading in the direction of the bear…. straight up hill. 

From our position, we could see the bear pretty good, which meant he could see us too.  He had decided to take rest in a patch of snow above us.  His dark outline was easy to keep track of as we inched closer through the alder tangle.  The small stream rushing down the mountainside helped to keep our noise to a minimum.  But, the bear decided to get on his way once again and headed straight away, up and over the mountaintop. 

We made our way back down to the river to rest up for a bit and have bite of lunch.  No sooner did I hit flat ground, I realized that I had somehow lost my Sitka jacket on the way down.  A quick glance with my binos revealed that my jacket did in fact lay half way up the mountain in the farthest spot that we had been.  Stan volunteered to go get it, but it didn’t seem right for him to make that hike when it was my fault.  When we had gotten to the top in the stalk, I took my vest off the back of my pack and put it on to keep the wind from cutting through, but I had forgot to tighten the straps on my daypack and the jacket slipped off the pack soon after we began our descent.  By the time I got back, Stan had lunch ready to go and a game plan for the evening hunt. 

Heading downriver, we spotted a sow and 3 cubs about a quarter mile away.  Fortunately for us, she was heading away from us with the cubs in tow.  Later that night, around 2 or 3 a.m., we spotted a nice boar that was tending to a sow.  It was obvious that the river was not crossable at the bear’s immediate location.  We were however able to get within 150 yards or so of the bears as they lounged at the edge of the willows.  We were positioned at the edge of a high cut bank where the river made a large bend.  The rushing water concealed our quiet voices as Stan and I discussed our options.  There was one point where I had thought the boar had heard us, but upon closer examination it was actually his hind leg that he lifted and rested on the sow next to him.  Even in his groggy state, he was constantly keeping track of her whereabouts. 

We decided that our best option was to move downstream and try to wade across in the wider and shallower portion of the river.  With our boots strapped to our packs, we made our way through the rushing current.  There was a point, about halfway across when it became evident that that river wasn’t going to save this bear.  I had a feeling, deep down in my gut, that this was a time in my life that could change things forever.  I knew something was going to happen.  In one way or another I was going to be a moment in those bears lives, as they would be in mine. 

We held tight to the willows as we made our way upstream.  At around a 100 yards or so, we stopped and slipped our bears feet over our boots.  At about 50 yards we ran out of cover.  The bears had been holed up in an island of brush and willows surrounded be gravel bars on each side.  From our location we could see that they were now up and moving around.  There was no real reasoning to their movements, as they meandered back and forth through the brush.  Finally, we decided that it would be best if I try to sneak across the gravel bar while Stan stayed back and kept an eye on them.  Then, once I got across, I could watch them whiled Stan maneuvered to my location.  Then, about 20 yards from the other side I looked up to see the boar coming through the brush, directly at me.  I took a few quick steps to the nearest wisps of brush in the open gravel bar and hit the dirt.  I had an arrow nocked, but the cover was almost non-existent and I was in the wide open.  At around 25 yards the boar walked onto the gravel bar and turned to walk from left to right.  Within a few steps, he stood on his hind legs and stared my direction.  His beady eyes piercing through the early morning shadows, cutting through me like a knife.  My fingers tightened around the string.  My mind raced, searching out how to make the shot.  Quickly, I thought about taking a frontal shot in his chest as he stood, but it didn’t feel right.  I can remember thinking, “I thought you’d be taller than that” as the bear stood, looking my direction then quickly turning his head to find out where his companion was.  It was obvious he wanted out of there, but was not willing to retreat without the sow.  He dropped to all fours and walked in front of me broadside, closing the distance a few yards.  Now I had the shot that I needed, but the brush that seemed so insignificant as cover, now seemed impenetrable to my arrow.  Nothing was coming together like I wanted, but I tried to tell myself to stay calm and be patient.  I have learned that rushed shots usually do not yield the anticipated results. 

Finally, the boar rose to his feet once again, which brought his vitals above the line of brush in front of me.  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.  The sow had come around the point and was now directly to my right.  My eyes focused on the boar, searching out a spot on his side just below his right leg.  The string came back with ease.  Nearing full draw, I knew it was about to happen.  Then, the bear dropped and whirled back to my left and out of range.  The sow cut through the brush trying to catch up with him.  At around 30 or 35 yards, the boar was quartering away.  I raised my bow and gave it a quick thought about shooting, but I knew it wasn’t in the cards.  It was too far and he was too alert.  I was probably less than a half second from reaching full draw and letting the arrow go when the boar had been standing 20 yards away.  

I’ll be honest, for a moment I was somewhat dejected.  That feeling was soon replaced with satisfaction.  The satisfaction of knowing that I had crossed that line, in which fear has the opportunity to take over ones decision making process.  A line that can either elevate you to a new level or graciously grant you the opportunity to fall apart.  I had kept it together.  I had been presented with shots, but they were shots I wasn’t comfortable with so the arrow stayed on the string.  To have loosed an arrow without confidence would have been wrong and not fair to the bear or myself.  We stood there on the riverbank for a while, enjoying the beauty and talking over the events that had transpired.  It was 7 a.m. before we made it back to camp. 

I woke up around noon to the smell of bacon frying.  A hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon started our day off and soon we were heading north.  It wasn’t long before Stan spotted a big grizzly coming down the mountain.  He was covering ground pretty fast as we tried to decipher his intended path.  We set up on that boar for nearly 3 hours but never saw him again. 

It didn’t take long after moving to another area to spot another bear.  This time it was a beautiful blonde colored bear.  He had come from the west and entered the river bottom.  For a moment, we thought he might head downstream and that we would have to retrace our steps.  Then, he abruptly changed course and headed right towards us.  I grabbed my bow while Stan got the video camera sorted out.  As with the majority of bears that we had seen, this one was moving quickly.  Fortunately, he was moving quickly in OUR direction.  The boar moved into a draw that led up our side of the mountain.  Keeping an eye on the bear, I moved into position at the end of the draw.  Within minutes the bear was less than 30 yards, 20, 15.  Then something caught his interest and caused him to turn away from me.  He began digging and I took the opportunity to gain a few precious yards.  At ten yards I dropped down to my knees and readied for the shot.  As if on cue, the bear turned and stepped in the open.  As he became broadside at 8 yards I came to full draw.  The bear whirled at the shot, but it was too late.  The woodsman entered just behind his right front leg and exited mid body on the off side.  He tore down the mountain and I quickly lost sight of him from my position.  I rushed forward hoping to either get second shot off or at least be able to get a visual on his whereabouts.  Seconds later I saw him tip over about 80 yards away.  The exhilaration was hard to contain.  I raised my hands to the heavens, thanking God for the opportunity and blessing. 

At the start of my 2008 year, my girlfriend decided to take up bowhunting.  She had been shooting bows for about a year and took an interest in hunting.  She had asked if she could join me on my hunts.

Our first hunt together was great, we saw a bunch of hogs, but no shooters.  She was hooked from day one!
It was only our second hunt together and things got a little hairy.  The day started off playing cat and mouse with some goats on the hill side.   The goats predicted our every move.  They won that day.! 

It was getting late, so we decided to start heading back to the truck.  On the way back, I heard rustling and snorting in a bunch of lantena.  We both stopped to observe what was happening.  It sounded like there were at least half a dozen pigs rumaging back and forth through the bushes.  Not being able to see,  I told my girlfriend to stay put and nock an arrow while I climbed the nearest tree.  Up in the tree I could see everything.  The pigs were all in the thick, thorny lantena bushes.  I had to find a way in!  I climbed down and grabbed Staci.  At a brisk pace, we traveled the outskirts to find a way in.  Finally I found a small trail that led in to the “nest”.  We slowly tip toed our way in, inch by inch.   The air was filled with the musky smell of boars, I had a feeling these hogs were mating.  I caught a glimplse of a small sow, but there was no lane to shoot.  She slowly trotted off, and once again we crept forward looking for an opportunity.  Just then, something directly in front of me caught my eye.   At first I thought it was a huge rock, but at second glance, I notice that it was a pig.  I stopped in my tracks, and signaled to Staci to get ready.  She was about five feet behind me.  Looking back at the direction of the pig, I noticed that he was not happy.  I think we had rained on his parade.  The pig postured with his back up and nose down, his hair stood firmly on his back.  He started chomping his teeth with foam in his mouth.  I thought to myself ”Oh, oh!”  The only time that I’ve seen this before was when I used to hunt with dogs and knives and we cornered a pig.  Pigs would usually do this as their last desperation charge at either me or the dogs.  Quickly, I nocked an arrow and signaled to Staci to stay put.   I thought to myself, he is either going to run away or run me over.  This was the first time that I actually would’ve been happy if an animal had run away.  We were faced off at about ten yards from each other and he wasn’t going to budge.   Luckily, something in the brush grabbed his attention for a split second.  As he turned his head slightly to the right to observe the commotion, a shot opportunity arose and I instantly sunk an arrow through his chest.  He bolted in the direction that his head was facing. Fortunately, it was not in our direction.  What seemed like an eternity was over in a matter of seconds.  Adrenaline pumping, I turned to Staci.  She had a puzzled look on her face,  as if telling me, “I thought I was supposed to shoot?”  With her face to my back, she really didn’t know what transpired.  At first all I told her was, I shot it in self defense, I promise!

On the very next month, I got Staci another shot opportunity, and she drilled a mature sow that pilled up only fifty yards from where she shot it.

Here are some pics.  I love testing my Sitka Gear, but I’m sure glad that I didn’t have to test if it was tusk proof !

Ryan

After 3 months of taking out other hunters it was my turn to head to the field. Thanksgiving week has become a tradition for some of my friends to head to Northern Montana and hunt public ground for rutting mule deer. Camera and gun in hand we drove to our hunting ground. The rut was in full swing and chasing mule deer around in the deep badland canyons is a blast. After a few pistol misses with my .338 Contender I grabbed my TC Pro Hunter. The wind was typical in this area and the deer were always on the move. After numerous stalks and near misses with the set ups I connected on this average 4×4. It was all caught on film and will be aired sometime in the future. Again my Sitka gear worked perfect. The patterns blend in and the clothing is truly second to none!