Our First Backcountry Hunt

We had prepared the last year to hunt the Frank Church Wilderness, learning all we could online and listening to podcasts. The best education, though, comes from experience and lessons learned in the mountains. There is no doubt we found the challenge we were seeking, and the adventure is one we will never forget… alone together, in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness!

“The great purpose is to set aside a reasonable part of the vanishing wilderness, to make certain that generations of Americans yet unborn will know what it is to experience life on undeveloped, unoccupied land in the same form and character as the Creator fashioned it... It is a great spiritual experience. ”

— Senator FranK Church 1924 - 1984

To learn more about how we prepared, scroll to the bottom and jump to our previous blog, “Preparing for our First Backcountry Hunt.” There you will find what equipment we used, links to helpful sites, and how the idea of this adventure came about. Also at the bottom, you will find our YouTube video with highlights from our blog, in case you are too anxious to read my ramblings. Of course, the video doesn’t quite capture the struggles nor the victories that I plan to share with you today, so I encourage you all to keep reading!

Cascade Airport in Idaho, Oct 27th, 2019

We left our home in Washington state on Saturday morning Oct 26th, and drove 10 hours down to Cascade Idaho, where we chartered a flight from G & S Aviation into The Frank, the next day. Our first shock came when they weighed our backpacks together on an airport scale. At home, we had used our bathroom scale where my pack weighed 45 pounds, and James’s weighed 50. However, here they were placed side by side, and the number seemed to grow in front of our eyes as the counterweights climbed higher and higher until the total reached 125 pounds! I cringed to think how far off my own pack was… mentally I told myself that James was carrying the extra 25 pounds and surely not myself. Heck, this weight didn’t even include our water yet, which we would collect and add to our packs once we were dropped off!

Total weight of two packs/equipment = 125#’s

The 45-minute flight on the little 4-seater plane was thrilling. We took off into the rising sun then turned towards the endless mountains. James sat up front with Jim, our pilot, and I sat in the back seat. We continued to climb higher and higher, and when we hit some turbulence that tossed the plane somewhat violently from side to side, James looked back to check on me. A cautious smile on his face, eyebrows up to question my state of mind. I laughed and gave him a thumbs up. He returned the gesture, both of us loving the adrenaline coursing through our bodies as our adventure officially began.

We approached the short US Forest Service airstrip, and I braced myself for a rough landing but was surprised with just a single bounce and smooth, quick transition from air to the dirt runway. We stepped out of the warm cockpit into the crisp mountain air and unloaded our packs. I asked Jim when to expect him Thursday, and he replied, “In the morning.” He smiled , climbed into his plane and waved farewell, saying, “See you when I see ya!” and he was off.

No good luck wishes, or stay safe cautions, or anything else we seemed to have expected. We watched in silence as he disappeared over the horizon. He had been doing this most of his life, and his pleasant lack of concern, we decided, was actually comforting. We turned and looked at each other, then simultaneously laughed and embraced into a hug. “We’re here!” James exclaimed. “Where to now?” I inquired.

We hiked from the rectangular Cabin Creek Airstrip up Cow Creek

James is the one who planned out the hunt. He picked the airstrip and spent countless hours on Google Earth, scouting the terrain. The area had burned from a fire started by lightning in 2017, but the app showed some prospective ridges for mule deer. James decided we would try to hike about 5 miles along the Cow Creek trail and then set up our base camp. He found the path quickly, and we started out at 10:30am and it was about 30 degrees F. The sun was shining, and all that could be heard was the rambling creek that danced in and out of the arms of the trail we traversed.

James leads the way with his 80# Exo Mountain Gear pack.

A couple of miles into the hike, our trail began to crawl away from the creek. We had crossed it three times successfully without getting wet, and before we left its life-giving waters, we decided to fill our Hydrapak Seeker collapsible bladders. Both of us carried a dirty water bag to collect water, and two uncontaminated bags to store filtered water in. We filled the first directly from the creek, then squeezed the water through a Katadyn BeFree Filter, into the clean water bags. The process took about 15 minutes, and it lasted us two and a half days. However, it added what felt like another 10 pounds to our packs, and the next mile really took its toll on us!

Cara follows with her 60# Exo Mountain Gear pack.

We gained elevation with each step and soon crossed over the snow line. It was more of a visual change as the trail was still dirt, but the hills around us were frosted with a shimmering white cap. It was about 1:30pm when we decided three miles was far enough and it was time to find a spot for our tent. Unfortunately, we had already bypassed all of the flat areas. We pushed ourselves around the next corner, and then the next corner and the next hoping to find something. Our legs, backs, and shoulders were aching, and the sloping hills bordering the trail were not giving us what we wanted. We stopped to rest and contemplate. James spotted a ridge in the middle of the mountain in front of us and suggested, “I bet it’s flat right there on that ledge. We could set up our tent and also glass the hills for deer each morning. What do you think?” I responded, “Sure, it’s worth a look.”

Halfway up the hill, struggling to keep our packs balanced as we navigated every single step, and sweating our asses off from the exertion, James looked me in the eye with an apologetic smile and said, “This was a stupid idea.” I was miserable but couldn’t help laughing outloud, and we continued on. It was NOT flat on the ridge, but we were physically spent. James moved some logs around to build up a cradle and cleared some rocks that left just enough room to set up our tent with a tilt. It was actually fine, as his bed ended up flat, and mine had a slight slant, so I just rolled up against him, it was quite cozy. And he WAS able to watch the surrounding hills for deer.

Of course, we learned the next day, had we gone around one more corner on the trail, we would’ve encountered some much better options. Our poor choice forced us to work hard every day when leaving and returning to camp. We tucked this little lesson away never to be forgotten. Evening was approaching, and our sweaty clothes chilled us as the temperature began to drop. James built a small fire, and we treated ourselves to a hot chocolate mixed with a shot of peppermint schnapps.

We each had an MSR Windburner Stove System that uses isobutane-propane to quickly heat water to a boil. We unpacked our first dehydrated Mountain House meal and made dinner, but when it came time to eat, I could hardly force it down. I had started to feel ill and only ate a few bites. I attributed it to my excitement, combined with fatigue. The darkness of night engulfed us quickly once the sun went down. Our fire crackled and popped, lighting up our faces as we made our hunting plans for the next morning. We let the flames die down and embers cool, then prepared to go to bed. There isn’t much room in our 3 person tent, so James went in first to maneuver into his mummy sleeping bag.

Completely dark by 8:00pm and temperatures dropped down into the 20’s F

Away from the fire, standing outside the tent, I looked up at the brightest stars I’d ever seen. Then I shivered from the cold and crawled inside. I removed my mid-layers to sleep in my merino wool long johns and then stuffed myself into a warm mummy bag. I tried to relax, but my teeth started to chatter. I took deep breathes to stop them momentarily, but then my legs began to quiver. I tossed and turned to try and displace the trembling. I didn’t feel cold, I felt good in the sleeping bag, what was my body doing? I could get it to stop for about 15 seconds, then the shaking came back in full force. The thought occurred to me how F’d we were if there was something seriously wrong, so I meditated to keep calm and took a mental inventory of how my body felt. I felt a little cold, a little nauseous, and a little thirsty, but I didn’t feel anything life-threatening. My heart rate was up, but I was admittedly nervous.

“Looking back, we both realize I had the first signs of hypothermia.”

After almost 20 minutes of continual shaking, James, who felt my every move due to the unlevel ground leaning me into him, quietly asked, “Are you okay?” I responded honestly, “I think so… but for some reason, I can’t stop shaking.” He suggested I put my mid-layer back on, and I agreed.

It was the energy I used struggling to put sweat pants on inside my sleeping bag that warmed me up. I also found our water and drank my thirst away. I laid back down, discovered my body was finally peaceful again, and I fell asleep. Looking back, we both realize I had the first signs of hypothermia. Thankfully the 4-season tent, 800-fill goose down mummy bag, and the super impressive insulated sleeping pad, raised my body temperature right back up. Each night after, I went to bed first, and James waited for the fire to go out. Another lesson learned, and Monday morning, I woke up ready for whatever the day had to throw at us next!

We slept in Monday morning, not wanting to brave the cold waiting outside. Honestly, we had no intention of walking out in the dark each morning for our hunt or to sit and watch the sunrise like we do in a blind, back home at elk camp in Washington. Instead, we waited for it to warm up to 22 degrees, drank some coffee, then slipped on our daypacks and set out to causally climb the mountain.

It sure looked easy, but soon we discovered the need to switch back from right to left and back again. We traversed twice as many lateral steps as we did vertically. James was outpacing me, but I didn’t want to get sweaty, so I took it slow. He disappeared over the top, dropped his pack, then came back to carry mine up. We sat down up against a boulder, bundled four layers deep in our camouflage, and commenced the search for any movement on the mountain.

We glassed for a couple of hours. The creek was two hillsides away and no longer audible. In fact, the utterly complete silence was somewhat maddening. Forgive my oxymoron, but it was the loudest silence I’ve ever heard in my life. My ears strained for any noise whatsoever. No birds singing, no squirrels screeching their alarms, and no wind… a total lack of noise... I broke the silence to pull out an energy bar and tear open the wrapping. My husband turned and looked at me with an “are you kidding me?” look on his face. I cringed and smiled apologetically, then crunched away on the granola.

“It was the loudest silence I’d ever heard in my life.”

We decided to take a little walk to warm up. We left our packs and slowly made our way over the top, and to the opposite side of the hill that we were sitting on, so that no game on the mountain we were watching could see us. I pulled out my camera to snap some photos while I stretched my legs. James, of course, had his binoculars focused on the new surrounding landscape. We’ve hunted together for nine seasons now and work well together. We focus hard on the hunt, but we also take the time to admire the beauty around us, and we both like to take pictures. I wasn’t crazy about this open, mule deer country, but there was a different type of beauty accentuated by the blackened remnants of the burnt trees.

We could see the Cow Creek trail we had been on, across the draw from us, and saw that it led over to the mountain we were watching. James suggested we pack up and follow it to reposition. I agreed, and we quietly crept back to our post. We gathered our scattered gear and started packing it up when James urgently whispered, “A deer!”

We both instantly froze in our crouched positions. My back was to the mountain, so I waited for his lead before turning around to look. “Is it a buck?” I asked. “It might be a spike, can’ tell,” he replied. “Where is it?”

James told me to look straight across at the mountain where the trees were silhouetted against the skyline. There it was, plain as day, yet I was amazed he had spotted it. “We better not leave then,” I suggested. “Nope,” he replied, and we both sat back down.

A spike mule deer silhouetted on the horizon.

Now we both used binoculars to bring the muley into focus. It was a little spike, and he was alert, not moving a muscle. He hadn’t seen us though and kept looking at something below him. We followed his gaze, and James was the first to spot two does. He described the landmarks, and I finally got them in sight. He took out his range finder and determined it was a 520-yard shot, across the draw to where the deer were at.

We watched them for a while, the does grazing and the spike still not moving. Suddenly James exclaimed, “A buck! He’s pushing the does!” The buck emerged from the shadows, standing broadside, neck stretched out, sniffing about 10 feet behind one of the does. He was at least a 5 point, with a broad chest… his thick body was enormous. “He’s huge!” I choked out hoarsely. “That is the biggest buck I’ve ever seen,” replied James breathlessly..

THE HUNT

Neither of us has ever taken a 500-yard shot, and it never even occurred to me for James to sight in his rifle. Adrenaline pumped through our bodies as we watched the group, and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. What we needed to happen was for the does to lead this monster buck to the left about 200 yards because the hillside curved towards us, and that would bring him into shooting range. We sat watching them for about 30 minutes. I didn’t have a large enough zoom for a picture, but the extraordinary sight is permanently planted into my memory.

They finally started to move, but it was in the wrong direction - CRUD! I asked James what his plan was. “Let’s take the trail to get up on the ridge, then we can sneak up the hill and hopefully walk right up on him.” With our packs on our backs, James asked if I was ready, then bursting with excitement he raised his fist up in the air and held it there. I took the questions and gave him a fist bump. The chase was on!

It didn’t take long, however, before my legs betrayed my desire. I whistled to get James’s attention. He waited up for me, and I quietly told him, “You go ahead, I’ll catch up… but I won’t crest that ridge until I hear a shot in case you’re sighted in” He looked like he didn’t want to leave me alone. I assured him I would be fine, the trail was visible, and I wouldn’t get lost. “Good luck honey,” I encouraged. “I love you,” he replied. We kissed goodbye, and he was off.

I was relieved not to be holding James back and hoped the buck would still be there by the time he arrived. I took my time, watched him cross the ridge until he disappeared, and then embraced being alone. It was an indescribable feeling, knowing for at least that moment, I was entirely on my own in the wilderness. I practiced tracking James along the ridge, where he had left the path, and I felt excited to spot signs of crushed grass. Clouds had rolled in and I took time out to capture some images.

I happened to notice James’s backpack leaning against a tree, so I dropped mine with his and casually continued after him. Suddenly the mountain air cracked with a big BANG! -he had taken a shot! My heart rate jumped, and I hoofed it determinedly up the hill. It still took me about 15 minutes to catch up to him, where he sat on a stump, looking down a steep draw. I quietly approached, and when our eyes met, he shook his head. “What happened?” I asked.

James explained, “The does saw me as I came up over the first ridge, but they couldn’t smell me since I was downwind. We stood there staring each other down for about 10 minutes. Then the spike came around a different way and caught my scent, so they took off over the next hill. I followed them over, saw the does again, and then I saw the buck running after them too. They all ran over another hill and down this steep draw. It was my last chance, so I took a shot off my shoulder but never hit him.”

I stared down what ultimately looked like a cliff, and then replied to James, “Damn.” … but thought to myself, thank God he didn’t hit it, holy crap, I don’t think I would’ve been able to help pack it out if he had! We started walking back, occasionally stopping to glass the mountains across from us, hoping to see the buck one last time. It was a long hike returning to camp, the thrill of seeing the trophy still fresh in our minds, but the disappointing result weighing us down.

We approached our tent but had about 50 yards of challenging hillside to navigate before reaching it. James plowed ahead, but my legs trembled with each step from muscle weakness. I had to take it slow, and halfway there, I was so frustrated that I stopped and totally sobbed quietly in the middle of the hillside. I released my emotions from the day for a good solid minute. Then I raised my head, focused on the tent, and moved forward one step at a time.

James made it to camp, dropped his gear, and offered to come to get mine. I thanked him but asked that he get the fire started instead. When I joined him, we made some dinner, but together we only ate half of it. I had been in charge of our meals, but I’d packed too much.! I hadn’t realized the dehydrated packages were two servings each… and I also hadn’t realized they weren’t all dehydrated. Some were ready to eat, self-heating packages, and it was a good thing we didn’t need them because those ones froze. Many food lessons learned on this first trip! We DID drink both flasks of homemade blackberry brandy, though, and that night we shared one fireside while snow flurries softly whirled around us.

Staying warm with brandy and a campfire.

Thankfully the snow never stuck, and Tuesday’s hunt offered clear blue skies, but no game. We hiked a while, sat a while, hiked some more, and watched continually. James was remorseful and kept reliving the previous day, kicking himself for not taking the 500-yard shot. I rebuked him, saying I was proud that he was a responsible hunter, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

At camp that night, we realized we would have to hike back to the airstrip the next day, robbing us of a planned day of hunting. We would have to take our time, as I was having issues with my feet, fighting blisters that were forming due to walking sideways and downhill the last three days. We drank our second flask of brandy which warmed us in the drastically dropping temperature. It was so cold, that I thought to myself not even the moon wanted to brave the night. As it turned out, it was the coldest night recorded in that area for October and we slept soundly through the drop to negative 9 degrees F.

Wednesday morning, we had just enough water left for coffee and one meal. We had kept it from totally freezing the night before by combining it all into one bladder, then covering it with our clothes inside the tent with us. It was still chunky with ice. After breakfast, we broke down camp, loaded everything on our backs again, and headed out. It was only a few miles, but my lower back was very aggravated. We stopped often to rest. James encouraged me relentlessly, and I am so thankful for his support. He suggested we listen to our playlists, and he started singing, dancing, and being goofy to make me laugh. I forgot about the pain, and before I knew it, the airstrip appeared!

We walked out into the clearing, I dropped my pack and flopped myself on the ground to rest. We were right at the end of the strip, where Jim would pick us up the next morning. The quiet air came alive with the sound of an engine, and we watched as a plane taxied into view and prepared for take-off. James looked at me and asked, “Want to go set up camp at the other end and see what’s down there? I saw some old cabins when we flew in that you could take pictures of.” I didn’t want to move, but I love taking pictures, so I rolled my eyes with a smile and replied, “Sure.”

Halfway down the strip, we came up to a six person crew of outfitters, resting off to the side with their pack horses. We waved and walked up to say hello. They were rugged and young, and in our opinion living a great life. They had just packed up the cabin tents some paying hunters had stayed in and were taking a break before riding back to their base camp on the next mountain.

“They were rugged and young, and in our opinion living a great life.”

The hunters had just left, but before leaving with them, the pilot had dropped off a couple of cases of beer and 10 pizzas to boost morale. They did NOT invite us to join them, so after an awkward silence we turned back around and set up camp where we had started. I attribute their lack of courtesy to being tired and 20, and honestly, I don’t think I was interested in hanging with 50-year-olds when I was their age either. Later though, both James and I agreed that we would be ordering pizza for dinner the very next night!!!

I was collecting water, and James was putting up our tent when a second outfitting service came by heading in the opposite direction. This one was a thrilling sight, two seasoned guides on horseback, each followed by a train of about 10 horses and mules. They nodded and went on their weary way. As it turns out, they were almost back to their base camp.

15 minutes after they passed by, we saw a few of the mules and horses come back down the hill across the creek from us. They were loose and looking for somewhere to graze. Soon a few more came down to join them. Then one horse came running down with an obnoxious cow bell tied around its neck, and he pushed all the others out of his way. We got a good chuckle at watching them and took a selfie.

However, after dinner and before dark, we heard the cowbell approaching through the trees behind our tent. Here came the entire herd walking in a single line out of the woods and right past us to graze on the open airstrip. I included some footage on our YouTube video of the event to give you an idea of how bizarre it was.

Unfortunately, that damn cowbell kept us awake all night! At one point, we had to yell at the herd to get them away from the tent… they were so close we could hear them tearing the grass out of the ground right by our heads! We have two horses of our own, and I wouldn’t even trust them enough to sleep out in the pasture with them. It was very nerve-racking, but we survived, and by morning they had disappeared..

Jim arrived shortly after 9am. We were still breaking down our camp, so when we heard his plane, we started shoving stuff quickly into our packs. He landed, and we loaded up. The take-off was smooth, and overall, our opinion of flying in and out of mountain airstrips is that it’s a great and fun experience.

Our entire adventure in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness was thrilling. We learned many lessons but also discovered how capable we still are. At one point, James had said to me upon reaching the top of a mountain, “That was so hard, I think it was just pure desire that got us here.” I feel that’s an important statement to remember. We WILL return to The Frank someday, after all… we left some unfinished business deep down in a draw.

Thanks for letting us share our story with you. Click the video below to see it all put together with music. We hope you are inspired to push yourself, take a risk, and live life to the fullest! #JACTventures GODOIT!