I think I'm almost done removing all of the thorns from my legs and arms. I dived headfirst into some of the thickest country this state has to offer yesterday, and my body has the wounds to prove it. But once again there is no meat in the freezer, no hide to be fleshed, and no skull to be boiled. I spent all of this past week trying to memorize the topographic map of the area I wanted to hike into, to the point where I see elevation contours before I fall asleep. I charted a course into my GPS, calculated the elevation difference I would have to recover, even set out certain points that I wanted to stop and glass from. The main destination was a beautiful box canyon that I was absolutely certain would be perfect for spotting and shooting a bear from as it was a perfect travel corridor from water and cover to an abundance of food: Manzanita, Juniper, Choke, Elder and even wild rasberries, not to mention budding acorns on the Oaks, a few succulent Prickly Pears, and ultimately an apple orchard! But for all of my homework and studying I failed to actually figure out how deep the canyon was.
 |
| Love is in the Air |
Upon arrival it was much deeper than I had expected, probably 1000-1500 vertical feet, and straight down. This presented a unique challenge for glassing, as I was simply too scared to lean off a cliff and look into that chasm. Back to still hunting I guess!
 |
| Treasures to be Found |
As I began my decent towards the mouth of the canyon I was serenaded by eager bull elk - this is a sound that I've come to cherish. Its both eerie and beautiful, and is the quintessential noise of wild places. I ended up bumping into a small herd of elk, with raghorns acting like top dogs gathering a harem of pre-estrus cows, which will be stolen by the bigger herd bulls in a few weeks as the cows come into estrus. I cow called to them and had a lot of fun as they meandered back and forth in front of me from 70 to 30 yards trying to figure out what was going on.
 |
Cliffs and Canyons |
I bumped what is quite possibly the biggest Coues deer buck I've ever seen - at a mere 15 yards. The tell-tale (no pun intended) white flag went up and he trotted off. Either he knew I didn't have my bow or the pine country deer just don't flush as hard as the Sky Island variety. I began to ponder my choice of weapon for the day (i.e. my rifle) but I knew that was a fruitless endeavor and reminded myself that I was just holding out for the opportunity to hunt with my friends and father later in November - that this was the right choice, and that I was after bears. Back to bear hunting!
And hunt bears I did- several hours and miles worth. I set up to call on the edge of a beautiful saddle connecting the main slope to an isolated table. Nothing. Well, about a 100 angry wood peckers and mocking birds, and one doe. But no bears. I hiked across the table to a spring I had marked on the GPS, only to find it was quite dry. The dessicated tracks of game in the cemented mud everywhere told me that this was quite the gathering at one point.
 |
| Cliff Dwellings |
A quick bite to eat and a vantage point to glass from yielded up some ancient cliff dwellings across the canyon. What an amazing time that must have been, I tried to imagine life amongst the cliffs; young children laughing and old women preparing food in the handmade pottery, smoke in the ovens and venison cooking, all speculation at best - I am no historian. It was almost haunting looking a the broken remains of the dwellings, isolated and known to only to intrepid enthusiasts and bumbling bear hunters like me.
The rest of the day was uneventful, if that can be said of any time spent in this glorious country. After a long and brutal hike back to the truck I thought that this might have been a rather gracious act of God that I didn't kill a bear, for a could hardly carry myself the last few hundred yards to the truck. A long and pensive drive home back to the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world wrapped up another successful hunt for Arizona black bears.
 |
| There are Six Elk Here, This Raghorn was the Largest |
 |
| Impromptu Rifle Rest |
 |
| The Macroscopic |
 |
| And the Microscopic |
 |
| Looking Southwest into the 'Box' Canyon I wanted to get to |
 |
| Looking Southeast From the Canyon |
 |
Don't tread on me!
|
Just dove? Like its just September? Like its just nearly hunting season? Like its just getting frigid cold in the morning causing elk to sing, the leaves to change, and my blood to boil? Yes they are just dove. And its just hunting. Its hard to reduce any activity that takes me into the field with a gun in hand and dog at side. I guess hunting is in my blood - what can I do? My compadres Joe and Mike, who are also the proud owners of a couple late November Coues deer tags, make for fine field partners, and though our shooting was mutually horrible, we were able to bag nearly a full limit between the three of us.
Our other four legged companion was Britt, a liver on white tenacious little Springer. Britt and I have a history that goes back a good while, I was there when her owner Mike picked her out from among her litter mates, and I had the privilege to watch a great deal of her training. She does well on dove, but its the hill partridge, or Chukar, that she absolutely excels on. Unfortunately, Chukar season will open in Nevada while I am in Arizona this year, and I shall have to stave off the withdrawals on some Gambels quail and glassing for Coues deer. I suppose there are worse things in life!
