Muley Crazy......It's Not Just a Magazine

Wilderness of No Return

by Jon Hazlett

 It all started at my 40th birthday party. Four old college buddies, myself included, turned 40 this year, all within a month of each other. One of them hosted a huge birthday party in Silverton, Oregon, which featured a live band and more kegs than Jon Belushi and  Chris Farley could consume in a lifetime. That, in itself, is a whole other story. The four of us have hunted together quite a bit over the last 20 years. So, we decided to do a "fab four" 40th B-day hunt. The planning began the day after the party. After some discussion, we agreed that an Idaho mule deer hunt was in the cards. As the planning evolved, 2 of our four dropped out due to "work obligations". In the end, it was just me and my celebrity electrician buddy Chris "Torque" Lyda from Forest Grove, OR.

Geared up and Ready to Fly

My trip started with a five hour drive from Medford to the outskirts of Forest Grove where the Lyda Clan thrives . We packed his truck, got a few hours of sleep, and headed for Salmon, Idaho. After a brief stop in Nampa to get some coal, and an agonizing trip to Wal-Mart for some last minute supplies (People of Wal-Mart really do exist), we ventured north into the interior. We finally landed in Salmon, Idaho in time for a late dinner and a little fun on the town. After months of planning, it was hard to believe we'd be boarding a plane the next morning for an air taxi into the Frank Church Wilderness.

Chris Torque and our Islander Taxi

Excited to get hunting, we arrived early to the airport. Our pilot arrived just in time to get us loaded up. His name was Tor. He reminded me of the star of the hit series "The Walking Dead", Andrew Lincoln. No zombies interfered with our flight into the Frank Church. Given our arsenal they wouldn't have stood a chance. After a short flight over a couple mountain ranges and the Middle Fork of the Salmon, our pilot circled the dirt airstrip to make sure it was clear of animals, and then we landed.

Our Approach

We set up camp near the top of the airstrip. The weather was mild and sunny, perfect for getting things dialed. A couple hours and a few beers later, we had our wall tent, stove, and gear ready to get hunting. Our excitement overruled our spent bodies. A thirteen hour drive from Lydaville and sleep deprivation can take it's toll. But, our camp was 100 yards from a trail head, so we decided to check it out and do an afternoon hunt.

Best Camp Ever

Five minutes into the hunt, I turned to Lyda and said, "I definitely feel the elevation". We were only at 4200 feet, but I needed to blame my lack of energy on something. It wasn't long after that Lyda suggested we head back to camp and lay low. We were about to lose our Man Cards when we got bailed out by a small buck. He was a young 4 point and he was on the move.  I looked at Lyda and whispered, "Don't shoot him, buddy". That got our blood pumping and we knew at that point we were officially buck hunting. We spotted a few more bucks that night. That certainly got our hopes up for the rest of the week.

Dude where's my buck?

We explored that same drainage deeper on the second day. Our deer hunt was cut short by some elk that Chris spotted. After a bit of shooting, the elk ran off. As Lyda's barrel cooled, I tried to get my rangefinder to work. A finally ranged a tree at a couple hundred yards away. The fleeing elk were three times that. Guess we scared them off. We spotted a few bucks that day, but no shooters. 

What are you looking at?

Day three involved a combination of getting vertical and enjoying some winter weather. It was cold and snowing most of the day. We hiked up to a saddle and got a fire going. A couple small bucks cruised by as we enjoying warmth of the bonfire and a hot lunch. Didn't see any shooters that day. We did run into that elk herd again. After putting our best sneak on them, we decided to get some more shooting in. Thank God we didn't kill one. They were in a bad spot. Those elk were determined to screw up our deer hunt.

Late season weather is unpredictable.

The next morning was magical. We didn't really have a plan other than doing a little glassing from camp. The view from our wall tent was quite spectacular. The fresh dusting of snow on the ground made it even more appealing. While I was busy fining tuning my pack, Lyda was spotting buck after buck. It was one of those mornings where visibility was good, the deer were out, and the rut was on. One buck in particular looked like a shooter. Lyda told me that he'd found me a buck and that we were going to hike up there and kill it. I've hunted with him enough to know that when he says it's "go time", you'd better get ready to get after it. He is Chris Torque, after all.

Hunting can be gear intensive.

This buck was courting some does near the summit of the range to our west. All we had to do was hike up there, find it, and shoot it. Easy enough? This was new territory for us and we were excited. I think we both had a feeling it was going to be a special day. First off though, we had to get vertical. Once at the top, our target was three draws to the north. We encountered and bumped several deer during our stalk. Several hours later, we closed in to where the shooter buck was last seen. I snuck in on some does, expecting to see the buck, but never did. At that point, we had only a couple of hours of daylight left.

The previous day's look to the kill zone.

All the deer we had seen or bumped that day were heading up towards a big saddle. Lyda glassed up several deer heading towards what he called a "rut party". So we headed up that way to check it out. I got hung up by some does on my way. Lyda ventured ahead and waited for me anxiously. Once I finally caught up, I could tell by his demeanor that it was "game time". He was in full on guide mode. He said there's a good buck up ahead and that I was going to shoot it. We slipped up into the saddle under the cover of a few trees. We had a dozen or more sets of eyes on us and had to be stealthy. The "rut party" was on and we were uninvited guests. I could see several deer but not a shooter. Chris told me to get to the next tree, find the buck in the middle of the group, aim at 300 yards, and shoot. I snuck up to that tree, found the buck, aimed at 300, and dumped it. As it slid down the snowy hillside, I kept the lead flying in an attempt to stop it. I figured I had spined it by how it was acting. I yelled at Chris for an assist. He got a shot or two in at the moving target. The buck must have slid 200 yard before it came to a stop. A neck shot finished the job.

My first Muley and best bro.

It was a surreal moment as we walked up on it. Months of planning, several days of hard hunting, a failed spot and stalk, adapting, improvising, and perseverance resulted in a good buck on the ground, my first mule deer. After putting our hands on it, several hugs and high fives, we got to work. We got the headlamps out and got after it. Lyda, the master butcher, made quick work of my buck. With the whole deer in our packs, we headed back towards camp. It was a brutal pack out. Frozen ground, dead fall, poor footing, and a steep descent made for one of the toughest I can remembered. We finally got back to camp around 11 pm. There's no better feeling than completing a mission like that. That first beer tasted really good.

Fueling up before the pack out.

We slept in the next day. Our legs were ruined. We spent the morning cutting firewood, doing camp chores, and reliving previous day's hunt. Life was good. At that point of the trip, we had explored to the north and to the west of our camp. There was some interesting real estate due east of us that we'd scoped out the day before. So, in an effort to stretch our legs out, we ventured out of camp around 3 pm.

Does this hat make my face look less round?

Nothing in the Frank Church Wilderness is flat, and this was no exception. There was enough lactic acid in our legs to start a fire. It hurt. It was straight up. We hiked straight up an open face aiming towards some rocky terrain that looked promising. The closer we got, the better it looked. Our intention was to get an afternoon scout in. That's the beauty of hunting. You just never know what's around the next corner. We slipped over the rocky ridge line very quietly for our first look. Once again, we were in serious buck country. After a bit of glassing, Lyda suggested we get up to the next bump. There was enough contour that we couldn't see the whole picture.

A satisfied Chris "Torque" Lyda 

Lyda was like a bird dog on point. I was getting the feeling that something special was about to happen. We crept up through the rocks as quietly as our sore legs would allow. As Lyda approached our next glassing spot, I noticed his eyes focus in on something. He slowly chambered a round, raised his 325 Short Mag, and let one fly. That's all I saw from my perspective. From his, a shooter buck stood up out of his rocky bed, exposed his head and neck, and presented a 75 yard shot. The deer got hit hard. This is where the rodeo began.

Chris the master butcher.

He looked at me, we exchanged a few words, and he took off after his deer. As it slid down a rocky chute, he ran after it in an attempt to tackle it and prevent it from sliding off a cliff. It was still alive and thrashing though, and I yelled at Chris to let it go. It settled down in time for Chris to put another round in it, 20 yards from disaster. Wow, what the hell just happened, I was thinking. Our afternoon scout just turned into a jump shoot buck hunt. Awesome! Like many hunts, the fun is over once the critter hits the ground. This was no exception. This deer was in a bad spot. We had just endured a gnarly pack out the day before, and now it was time to get back to work. We slid our way down to deer. It took a little effort to get it into a safe spot take some pics, skin, and butcher. It goes without saying that it was worth it. My best friend Chris "Torque" Lyda just killed his best mule deer. I was just lucky enough to be there. We took our time and savored the moment.

Beer, beef jerky, bucks.... a few of the "b's" that makes a guy happy.

Our pack out wasn't easy. But, once we got out of the rock slide and over the top, we had good footing and easy going. While the soreness in our legs had subsided, there wasn't much left. We were tired, our knees ached, our shoulders hurt. It was a good pain though. The best there is. We had two deer tags filled and two days left to hunt. Life was good.

I tried holding mine out further than Chris, but his still looks bigger.

The next couple of days consisted of packing meat, shooting a coyote, hunting elk, and just soaking it all in. Without a doubt, this was my favorite all time hunt. What's better than mule deer hunting in the middle of the biggest wilderness area in the lower 48 with your best buddy? Nothing. We'll go back. I hope it's soon, because I am officially Muley Crazy.