(originally published in One Good Shot, the journal of the Thompson-Center Association)
Work ran late on Friday evening, so I didn’t get out of the lab until well after dark.Fortunately, the truck was already packed, so I just slid behind the wheel and laid into the three hour drive.The weather was cold, wet, grey and foggy -- in other words, quite typical for November on the Snake River in eastern Washington.By the time I got to the gravel pit overlooking the ancient tramway that used to run the wheat harvest down to the Snake River 2000 feet below, the fog was so thick that I couldn’t see a stone’s throw in front of me.I parked the truck out of the incessant winds of the Snake River Canyons, took care of a few housekeeping details, and stretched out in the back of the truck with a copy of One Good Shot for some bed-time stories and sweet dreams of the hunt to come.
I woke up before the alarm the next morning and welcomed the new day with a thermos of hot coffee, a couple of breakfast bars and some of Lenita’s chocolate chip cookies.In the pre-dawn darkness, the humid air hung thick and heavy -- it was part of that continuum between fog and drizzle that leaves everything not really wet, but well, just a little bit heavier and damper than it started off.Things looked good for this late-season doe tag, so my optimism cut through the thick weather as the second cup of coffee steamed its last.The daypack was already loaded, so the packframe settled comfortably over my shoulders, the Contender nestled into my gloved hand and off into the fog we went.
Barely half a mile from the truck, I stumbled into a group of those ghost-like forms that just had to be deer, drifting through the fog.They were on top and fairly close to the truck (meaning a nice, flat pack out), oblivious to my presence and well within range.The only problem was I had an “Antlerless Only” tag and in the fog I couldn’t tell whether or not any of these deer had antlers.So, I waited several minutes for them to drift over the edge into the canyons and then slipped in behind them.Daylight was starting to break by then and the fog was breaking up on top, but the canyons were clinging fastidiously to the mists held in their rocky draws. As I neared the edge of the rimrock, it was obvious that I wouldn’t be able to see anything over 30 yards away, as the fog formed a solid, white floor beneath me.A snort penetrated the haze to my right (apparently this fog wasn’t quite as impenetrable from below).I drifted back from the edge and slid around to the right to find out what was snorting at me from just below the rimrock.As I re-approached the edge, a break in the fog drifted in and there, 25 yards below me, were two mulie does, one looking straight downhill and the other standing broadside, looking at her companion.This was going to be too easy!The 6.5 JDJ Contender came to bear on the shoulder of the broadside doe, and I couldn’t see a thing through the scope!While I had been standing at the edge looking for these deer, I had been holding the T/C muzzle down and drizzle had completely covered the rear lens!No problem, I figured, I’ll just lay down the T/C and draw the 629.Nothing doing -- too much motion -- the deer exited stage left.
Moving on to a favorite canyon that has a fair amount of cover, a spring and direct access to Roger’s wheat fields, I settled in to watch over a few well-established “highways”.Several hours later, a group of 8 does came through the wheat fields, having been pushed by something as they were definitely moving hard.The first 7 blitzed down the canyon without giving a clean shot opportunity, but the 8th kind of lagged around on the shelf across from me, and in fact picked up another 2 does out of the brush.At about 250 yards, a nice big doe came out of the bushes and stood broadside at the base of a large basalt outcrop.Resting the 6.5 JDJ on my daypack, the crosshairs settled right along her backline.At the shot, she did absolutely nothing.Another bank of fog was quickly rolling up canyon, so I reloaded and fired again, with the same result.Obviously, I was missing her, but the 120 grain Nosler Solid Bases were hitting the basalt that was only 18” behind her, undoubtedly showering her with bullet and rock fragments, and she wasn’t even flinching!
The fogbank moved in, so I took advantage of it and moved around the top of the canyon to get in a better position to take this foolhardy doe.I got to an ancient, decrepit, barbed-wire fence, about 100 yards from the outcrop that she was standing below, when the fog broke.Sure enough, there she was, and she hadn’t taken a step.I squatted on some loose rocks and rested the 6.5 JDJ on a rather rickety fencepost.It wasn’t the most stable rest in the world, but it was good enough for me to call “heart-shot” when the hammer fell.She didn’t move.I took 3 more shots, called each as a killing shot and each had the same non-effect.Her only response was to turn and look at me.At this point, I had taken a total of 6 shots at this doe, and she hadn’t taken a step!
Taking off the packframe and laying down the Contender, I unholstered the 629 and swung a wide loop over to the top of the basalt outcrop under which this mulie had pitched camp.As everything was wet from the foggy, drizzly weather, a silent approach was easy.As I got close to the edge I could see her ears 15 feet below me.This was going to be too easy!(Sound familiar?)Taking the last two steps, I was looking straight down between her shoulder blades.She had no clue I was standing above her.As I cocked the hammer on the 629, those radar-dish ears swung around and she hit hyper-drive right now!She zig-zagged her way down the canyon untouched and never gave me another chance for a shot.I sat on the basalt and had a good laugh --I shot at her repeatedly and she just stood there unfazed, but that tiny metallic click of a revolver’s hammer scared the daylights out of her.The red gods have such a sense of humor...
Back at the gravel-pit, I checked out the scope on the 6.5 JDJ, and it was absolutely spot-on......so long as I was shooting the Contender bare-handed.As soon as I put on the thick, wool fingerless gloves that I had been wearing all morning, I had difficulty keeping the shots on the paper at 50 yards.I had noticed that the gloves had caused the gun to break differently in recoil when I was shooting at the doe, now I knew that point of impact was also clearly affected.Ah, a lesson learned.
Time to regroup, have a cup of coffee, a quick lunch and go back out.The fingerless gloves were left behind and some simple wool mittens went with me (my favorite hunting gloves were soaking wet and out of commision at that point).I headed back out to the same canyon, about a mile and a half away.The fog was finally starting to clear off by this point in the day (about 1 pm).I settled into a grassy shelf overlooking “my draw” (as well as miles upon miles of Snake River canyons), and kicked back to enjoy the sunshine.It was glorious!About 45 minutes later, there were several shots in a canyon behind me.Based on their cadence and number, it was obvious that the hunter was missing and the deer were running, probably in my direction.As I turned to my right to prepare for whatever came my way, a mulie doe jumped over the fence from the wheat field and froze as we locked eyes 30 yards apart.She broke straight away from me, running down the narrow shelf between the rimrock and the 3-strand fence bordering hundreds of acres of Washington wheat.
The mitten came off at that point.
At 150 yards, she stopped momentarily and stood broadside, ready to lunge at a moment’s notice into the brushy canyon below (so typical of mule deer).Prone behind my daypack, I had been tracking her in the crosshairs for about the last 75 yards, waiting for this opportunity.When she pulled up, the crosshairs locked on and the 120 Ballistic Tip raced over to introduce itself.Typical of a heart-shot animal, she leapt straight up in the air upon impact, legs wheeling madly, and hit the ground moving fast.She dove over the rimrock, raced downhill, lost her footing, tumbled end over end, and rolled for about 100 yards.The 120 BT had gone precisely where it had been told and had removed the top third of the heart and shredded the front third of both lungs.Unfortunately, it also center-punched the leg-bone on the way in and the left shoulder and most of the ribcage was completely bloodshot from all of the bone fragments (I make my own sausage and hate to waste shoulder and rib-meat).Oh well, there was still plenty of tasty venison left untouched.
The field dressing and skinning chores were quickly taken care of, then I cut her in half and lashed the hams onto the packframe.Less than an hour later, that load was being dropped off at the truck, and it was back out for the second load.Back at the kill-site, it was getting good and dark, so I made short work out of lashing the front half and hide onto the packframe.As I climbed my way out of the canyon and up to the top, the clouds broke and a beautiful, bright ¾ moon came out, retiring the flashlight for the evening.The coyotes started to sing as I trekked along the rimrock by the pale, cold light of the moon.It was a moment to be savored.
I got back to the truck with the second load well after dark, and trust me, after two pack trips out of that rugged country, Gatorade never tasted so good!The fog was settling heavily into that folded countryside as I left for home.On the drive back I realized that I hadn’t seen another human being in over 24 hours.It had been a long, educational, fulfilling and lonely day -- but I hadn’t been lonesome in the least.After all, I had my Contender.
